Everyone in the room knew Tums would feel like he’d won the lottery if the troublemaker kid was on the way to being somebody else’s problem.
Storm’s parents waited in the car while he cleaned out his locker. In the few minutes that took, he had already made a list of questions. He couldn’t keep himself from peeking into the classroom where he would normally be looking for something to occupy his restless mind and body. When the other kids looked up and saw him at the door, he gave them a goofy smile and a wave, just so they'd know he hadn't been led away crying or something disgraceful like that. He wanted to leave with his reputation intact.
Prune Face Blackmon followed the eyes of her students to the classroom door which stood open to the hallway. “Mr. Storm. Do you have someplace you need to be?”
He didn’t want to give her the finger. He really, really, really didn’t want to give her the finger. But he gave her the finger, and trotted away grinning at the uproar of laughter from the poor douches who were going to be stuck in that hellhole the rest of the hour.
"Not a bad exit," he thought to himself. "Points shaved for lack of planning, but..."
He didn’t know where he was going or what he was going to do. But he would have felt really good about the whole thing if he had known that Sol Nemamiah would have laughed, on the inside, had he witnessed the teacher receiving a prime example of bird as a parting shot. What you want at your back if you’re heading into a nest of unknown f**k all is not a man who was afraid of a little authority as a kid. That guy would just as likely freeze and shit his pants or vice versa.
Sol's philosophy, had he ever been asked, would have been something like: “Give me a kid with a proud third finger and I’ll give you back a vampire slayer.”
The Storm family stopped at McDonalds drive-through on the way home, then settled down at the Formica top kitchen table with a yellow legal pad and the goal of making a comprehensive list of ask-now-or-hold-your-peace questions.
What was the scope of this “first class education that money cannot buy”?
Did it include geometry, foreign language, literature, biology?
Would he be receiving a diploma?
Would it be accepted by desirable institutions of higher learning?
Where would he be going?
Could he leave if he didn’t like it?
Would he be able to call home whenever he wanted?
Could he visit them?
Could they visit him?
Would he have a room of his own?
Would he get spending money?
Would he have an opportunity to spend spending money?
Would he be signing up to get an education or pledging himself to pay off the investment in service to a job that wasn’t his choice?
Would he have an opportunity to interact socially with others his own age?
And, did they know it wasn’t all mind-blowing test scores and high I.Q.; that he had been in trouble at school pretty much nonstop since first grade?
By the time his two siblings got home from school, Storm and his parents were agreed on which questions were deal breakers.
He and his dad pulled down two duffels they kept in the attic for camping. After packing everything he wanted to take, he hadn’t even completely filled one. That realization gave him pause, but not as much as the fact that he didn’t have any friends worth lying to about where he was going.
He didn’t sleep that night. At all. He didn’t know whether he should be excited or apprehensive. So far the information he had was cryptic at best. What he did know was that it was an adventure come knocking at his door and that this kind of thing didn’t happen every day. In fact, he’d never heard of it happening to anybody. Ever. The idea of a school that wanted him was so outrageous it made him smile to himself in the dark.
The next morning Storm said goodbye to his older brother and younger sister when they left for school, then sat down at the kitchen table with his parents to wait. His duffel was by the front door just in case. At precisely ten o’clock the doorbell rang.
Nemamiah was invited in. He graciously accepted coffee and the four of them sat down in the modest living room for a question and answer discussion about the future of a very special boy. After all their questions had been answered, to everyone’s satisfaction, Mr. Nemamiah clicked open an old-fashioned, battered, brown leather briefcase and withdrew a contract.
Storm’s dad put on his reading glasses. Every one of the questions they had asked was covered in the contract already. It spelled out what they would do for Engel Storm. It spelled out that the initial choice of facility would be theirs, but that he might be transferred at any time at the discretion of Saint Black's which was the parents' code name for the organization. Storm and his parents agreed not to say anything other than that he had been awarded a scholarship to a private school. When Mr. Storm was finished reading, he handed the contract to his wife and asked Mr. Nemamiah to excuse him and his son. He took Storm into the back room, closed the door, and gestured for him to sit on the bed.
“Your mother and I want to do the right thing, the best thing, for you. If you decide to accept this offer, we want to be sure that you’re doing it for you and not for... any other reason. We love you enough to let you go if you're inclined to think this is the best thing, but we want you to stay if it’s not. Do you understand?” Storm nodded and tried to swallow back the lump in his throat. That was the longest speech his father had ever made, that he knew of, and he heard the love in it loud and clear. “Alright. You know what you want to do?” Storm nodded again.