In a weird way, she’s grateful for the discomfort, because it blunts the force of her awe. Her father is leading her through the halls of Stanford, his hand grasping hers, and she’s been here before—she’s been visiting him at work since she was a baby—she knows these halls and this campus like it belongs to her, but she’s never been here for official business. She’s here to show her work to a real mathematician, which is even better than showing it to Batman. So, while she hates that she has to do it in a dress, hates that she can’t look like herself while she’s trying to prove she’s as good as she thinks she is, she’s also glad for the distraction. It’s keeping her hands from shaking quite so hard.
“Now remember what we talked about, Dodger,” says her father. “Answer any questions he asks, but only the questions he asks. Don’t start babbling about things he doesn’t care about.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“He may ask you to do some math on his blackboard. If he does, it’s all right for you to do it. He just wants to see that this isn’t a trick.”
If Professor Vernon asks her to do math on his real college blackboard, she thinks she’ll probably die right on the spot. They’ll bury her with a smile on her face, and maybe they’ll be glad she got to go out that way. At least they’ll know for sure she died happy. “Yes, Daddy.”
“No backtalk, and don’t ask about his own work unless he invites you to.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she says, and then they’re there, they’re really there, at the door of a classroom where a man who looks like her grandpa is waiting, smiling the tolerant smile of an adult who’s about to see a child do a very impressive trick. Her feet suddenly feel like they’re made out of lead, but she forces them to keep moving her forward, into the classroom, into the future.
“Well?” asks Peter.
Professor Vernon shakes his head. He is an aging ostrich of a man, tall and spindly, with limbs that seem too long for his body. He’s seen many things in this classroom, geniuses and fools and people who don’t care about math and people who love it like it’s the only language in the world. He’s done his best to teach them all, to offer each of them the support that they need. He’s never seen anything like this.
“She’s solving the problems correctly,” he says. “She’s not referencing a cheat sheet or getting tripped up by things she hasn’t seen before. I think her answer to number three may be wrong, but I’ll be honest: I’d have to pull out a textbook to be sure. If you say that’s her work on the Monroe equation, I believe you. She’s solved it.” He shakes his head. “I never thought I’d see the day. You need to get this girl into advanced classes.”
“She’s already in advanced classes.”
“Then you need to get her into more advanced classes. She needs tutors, access to books . . . She’s a genius, Peter. A mind like hers comes along once a generation, if that. You say she found out about the prize money on her own?”
“She solved the problem before she told us about the prize,” says Peter. “The only thing she wants to do with her share of the money is go to Cambridge to see a pen pal. I’m just relieved she isn’t asking for a pony.”
Professor Vernon is quiet for a moment before he asks, “Cambridge? Really?”
“Mmm-hmm. She says she met him last summer when we sent her to chess camp. We’re inclined to say yes. Dodger doesn’t make friends easily with children her own age. This could be good for her.” What Peter doesn’t say—doesn’t need to say—is that any pen pal of hers is likely to have the same problems. There’s little to be lost by bringing these children together, and there could be a great deal to be gained.
Dodger has finished the problems Professor Vernon left for her. She turns, chalk in hand, chalk dust on her nose, cheeks glowing with exertion and pride. “Do you wanna check my work?” she asks.
“I suppose I should,” says Professor Vernon, and walks over to look at the figures she’s written, perfectly mapping a small slice of eternity.
Later, after Peter and his daughter have left, Professor Vernon stands looking at the board. The girl’s better than he’d expected her to be at