The gangly blonde teenage girl gingerly stepped up onto the porch and took her usual place on the swing chair. Seconds later, a slightly-balding man in his late 30s exited the house. The girl startled imperceptibly as the door opened, even though she was expecting it.
"Hello Jennifer," the man said, smiling. "You're a little early this evening."
Jennifer smiled up at him and shrugged. "Hi Mr. Stone. War broke out early tonight. Mom normally waits about an hour after dinner before she attacks, but tonight she started as we were clearing the table."
David Stone took his usual spot beside her on the swing chair. They had been doing this almost every evening since she was a young girl. "My wife said the brownies will be ready in a few minutes. I see you're wearing your homemade wackadoodle t-shirt."
Jennifer smiled her Cheshire cat smile. "I believe in truth in labelling, Mr. Stone." She looked down at it and clucked in dismay. "Can't wear it much longer. I've grown so much this spring, it looks more like a halter top." There was a pause in the conversation as both of them listened to the yelling coming from next door. "I have no idea what set her off tonight. Then again, I rarely know what triggers her explosions."
Amelia Stone came out the front door with the usual two lemonades and a small plateful of still-warm brownies. "David dear -- the fold-up tables?"
"Sorry honey," he said, as he quickly set up the TV dinner tables they kept on their porch for exactly this purpose.
"Hi Mrs. Stone," Jennifer greeted her with a different type of smile. "The brownies smell delicious as always."
Amelia smiled down at the teenage girl. "A baker always loves to hear compliments, Jenny. Thank you." She deftly placed the glasses and the treats on the tables. "Now, Jenny, don't keep my hubby out all night. I've got a long list of chores waiting for him bright and early tomorrow."
Jennifer giggled, both at the admonition and the thought of her principal having to do chores. "I'll try and keep it short, Mrs. Stone." She giggled again.
Amelia turned to her husband. "David, promise me you won't bore the girl with any lectures about medieval literature." She laughed and popped back inside the house before he could splutter an answer.
"Why does she think we talk about medieval literature?" Jennifer asked, puzzled.
"She doesn't. She debriefs me every evening just before we head to bed." Stone waited for a response then said, "It looks like you're in literal mode tonight."
"Sorry," she sighed. Slowly, she reached for her brownie, not wanting to appear too eager. "So, what's the topic tonight? The now-triple dip recession? Faster-than-light travel? Why Jennifer Hodges wishes she could've gone to Ender's battle school?"
Stone laughed. "That was the topic-de-jour for almost 4 months after I gave you a copy of Ender's Game. You were 9 years old."
This time, Jennifer's smile was that of a little girl. "I'm nothing, if not obsessive. And I identified so readily with Ender. And Valentine, I guess--." The tone of the voices coming from #19 Thorn Road changed. "Sounds like they're into Round Two already."
Stone hid his sad smile by covering his mouth and faking a cough. "Well, tonight, I have some good news and some not-so-good news for you. But first, do you still want to be a doctor?"
Jennifer jerked out of her comfortable slouch. "Of course, I still want to be a doctor. When I was eleven, I wanted to be a physicist like Sheldon Cooper on Big Bang, but, about a year later, when I saw that news special on TV--." She stopped, her eyes now far away, remembering images seen over 3 years previous. "I bawled my eyes out, Mr. Stone. The vets coming back from Afghanistan with hands and arms and legs blown off. I remember looking back at my dad, almost wailing, saying 'I've got to do something for them. I've got to make them whole'. I still have to. I've got to show them that someone cares. That they will be well again."
Stone nodded somberly. "Then the news I have for you will be good. First, the not-so-good part." Jennifer turned in the seat to face him.
"You're not going back to high school in September."
A look of sheer panic fell upon her face. "Why? What did I do wrong?"
"You haven't done anything wrong." He violated his own unspoken no-touch rule, and patted her reassuringly on her arm. "You're