Brain Child Page 0,48

he had always knocked at Dr. Torres’s door before going inside.

“Come in,” a voice called from within. He opened the door and stepped through. As with everyone else who had been pictured in the yearbook in his bedroom, he recognized the face and knew the man’s name, but had no memory of ever having met him before. Whatever his flash of remembrance had been about, it was over now.

Dan Eisenberg unfolded his large frame from the chair behind his desk to offer Alex his hand. “Alex! It’s great to see you again.”

“It’s nice to see you, too, sir,” Alex replied, hesitating only a second before grasping Eisenberg’s hand in a firm shake. A moment later, the dean indicated the chair next to his desk.

“Sorry to have to call you in on the first day of school,” he said, “but I’m afraid a little problem has come up.”

Alex’s face remained impassive. “Miss Jennings said I wasn’t in trouble—”

“And you aren’t,” Eisenberg reassured him. “But I did take the liberty of talking to Dr. Torres last week, and he suggested that perhaps we might want to give you a couple of tests.” He looked for a reaction from Alex, but saw none. “Do you have any idea what the tests might be for?”

“To see how much I’ve forgotten,” Alex said, and Eisenberg had the distinct feeling that Alex wasn’t making a guess, but already knew about the tests.

“Right. I take it Dr. Torres told you about them.”

“No. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, you don’t know which class I should be in if you don’t know how much I remember.”

“Exactly.” Eisenberg picked up a packet of standard form tests. “Do you remember these?” Alex shook his head. “They’re the same tests you took at the beginning of last year, and would have taken again in the spring, except …” His voice trailed off, and he looked uncomfortable.

“Except for the accident,” Alex finished for him. “I don’t mind talking about it, but I don’t remember it too well, either. Just that it happened.”

Eisenberg nodded. “Dr. Torres tells us there are still a lot of gaps in your memory—”

“I’ve been studying all summer,” Alex broke in. “My dad wants me to be in the accelerated class this year.”

Which is certainly not going to happen, Eisenberg thought. From what Torres had told him of Alex’s case, he knew it was far more likely that Alex would have to start all over again with the school’s most basic courses. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” he asked, trying to keep his pessimism out of his voice. “Anyway, if you feel up to it, I’d like you to take the tests today.”

“All right.”

Ten minutes later Alex sat in an empty classroom while Eisenberg’s secretary explained the testing system and the time limits. “And don’t worry if you don’t finish them,” she said as she set the time clock for the first of the battery of eight tests. “You’re not expected to finish all of them. Ready?” Alex nodded. “Begin.”

Alex opened the first of the booklets and began marking down his answers.

Dan Eisenberg looked up from the report he was working on, his smile fading when he saw the look of disappointment in his secretary’s eyes. A glance at his watch told him Alex had begun the tests only an hour and a half ago. “What’s happened, Marge? Couldn’t he do it?”

The young woman shook her head sorrowfully. “I don’t think he even tried,” she said. “He just … well, he just started marking answers randomly.”

“But you told him how they’re scored, didn’t you? Right minus wrong?”

Marge nodded. “And I asked him again each time he handed me one of his answer sheets. He said he understood how it was scored, and that he was finished.”

“How many did he do?”

Marge hesitated; then: “All of them.”

The dean’s brows arched skeptically. “All of them?” he repeated. Then, after Marge had nodded once more: “But that’s impossible. Those tests are supposed to take all day, and even then, no one’s supposed to finish them.”

“I know. So he must have simply gone down the sheets, marking in his answers. I’m not really sure there’s any point in scoring it.” Still, she handed the stack of answer sheets to Dan, and he slid the first one under the template.

Behind each tiny slot in the template, there was a neat black mark. Dan frowned, then shook his head. Wordlessly he matched the rest of the answer sheets to their templates. Finally