The Paladin Prophecy Read Free Page B

to …”
    “A sucker for marketing slogans and subliminal advertising designed to paralyze your conscious mind and shut down rational impulse control by stimulating your lower brain?”
    Will hesitated. “That depends on what you’re trying to sell me.”
    Dr. Robbins smiled. She leaned down, picked up her briefcase, and slipped out a sleek black metallic laptop. She set it on Barton’s desk and opened it. The screen lit up with a waterfall of data that arranged artfully into animated graphs.
    Principal Barton sat down behind his desk. “Will, do you remember the standardized test you and your classmates took in September?” he asked.
    “Yes,” said Will.
    Dr. Robbins said, “That test is conducted by the National Scholastic Evaluation Agency. On every tenth grader at every public school in the country.” She pointed to a large cluster of squiggling lines in the middle of the chart on her laptop’s screen. “These are the nationwide average scores they’ve collected over the last five years.”
    Robbins punched a key; the image zoomed in on the top of the chart, which blossomed into a smaller group of what looked like dancing sixteenth notes. “These are the scores of National Merit Scholars,” she said. “The top two percent of the database.”
    Dr. Robbins punched another key, and the image moved again, zooming in on a single red dot above the highest cluster. Alone.
    Tendrils of fear wrapped around Will’s gut. Uh-oh , he thought.
    “This,” she said, “is you. One in, to be precise, 2.3567 million.” She cocked her head to the side and smiled again, dazzling and sympathetic.
    Will’s heart skipped a beat. He tried to hide his shock as a single thought raced through his mind: How did this happen?
    “Attaboy, Will,” said Barton, rubbing his hands with glee. “What do you think about that?”
    Will had attended the man’s stunningly average high school for less than two weeks when he took that test, but Barton clearly intended to grab whatever credit he could for his results.
    “Will?” asked Dr. Robbins.
    “Sorry. I’m kind of … speechless.”
    “Perfectly understandable,” she said. “We can go over specifics if you like—”
    A buzzer on Barton’s console sounded. Barton snapped his fingers at Rasche, who turned and opened the door. Will’s mother walked in wearing a scarf around her neck, her eyes hidden behind her big sunglasses.
    Will looked for some indication of her disappointment—he had screwed up big-time and blown his anonymity—but his mother just smiled at him. “Isn’t it exciting?” she said, rushing to give him a hug. “I came as soon as Dr. Robbins called.”
    Will pulled back and caught his reflection in his mother’s mirrored sunglasses. That was odd. She never wore sunglasses indoors. Was she wearing them now so he couldn’t see her eyes? She was acting all excited for the benefit of the other adults in the room, but Will knew she had to be really angry with him.
    As Belinda stepped back, Will caught a faint trace of cigarettes. Odd. She must have been around some smokers at her office. Could workers in California legally light up anymore?
    Will’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Dad: CONGRATULATIONS, SON! Mom must have called him with the news.
    Will’s mom shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with everyone in the room. Then Dr. Robbins took charge again. “If you’d indulge me, Will,” she said, “and if everyone will excuse us, I’d like you to take one other quick, simple test.”
    “What for?”
    “Curiosity,” she said simply. “When somebody shatters the existing statistical model, scientific minds crave confirmation. What do you say? Are you up for it?”
    “If I say no, what’s the worst that could happen?” asked Will.
    “You go back to class, finish your day, and forget we ever had this conversation,” she said.
    Talk about a convincing argument . “Let’s do it,” said Will.

THE TEST
    Will trailed Dr. Robbins down the