Redemption Prep - Samuel Miller Page 0,21
crate of art supplies and Post-it notes, nothing on the walls but his fragile basketball posters, starting to slip—
“John Stockton,” she said.
“What?”
“You love John Stockton.” She gestured with the beam of her flashlight. “The posters. It is not enough to see John Stockton once? You must see him five times? A John Stockton for every wall, and two for the desk?”
Evan nodded, his tongue still drowning in saliva.
“Why do you love him so much?”
“He’s good at basketball.”
“Does he have a stutter?”
“No, no. Just good at basketball.”
She turned her flashlight onto the ground and crouched to his level. “Your progress is slipping here, Evan. Something is creating a blockage, something you can’t even see yourself. And we have to find it and kill it; otherwise you won’t be able to move forward. Have you been taking your supplements with lunch?”
“Yes.”
“You know those aren’t optional; we need those to keep your bodies healthy in the environment.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been doing assessments with Dr. Edwards?”
“Yes.”
She pulled a Post-it note and pen from her pocket, quick scratching and signing at the bottom, holding it out to him by a single finger. “Give this to him tomorrow. You’re going to do assessments with me now, and we’re going to fix whatever it is that’s happening in you.”
Robert, Evan Andrews is going to check in with me. Thanks, C.R.
“Let us know if you hear anything about Emma, okay? You’re the light of the world, Evan.”
“Thanks,” he said, but she was already out the door. For a moment, Evan sat in silence, looking poster to poster, Stockton to Stockton, waiting for the final click of the door and for the sounds of the hallway to disappear.
In each photo, John Stockton was perfectly focused. Whether he was bouncing the basketball, or leaning forward to throw it, or high-fiving with Karl Malone, he always stared forward with singular, objective, uninhibited focus. John Stockton wasn’t distracted by the noise of the world, the grinding of its motion, the expectations of his coaches, the opinions of his teammates, the size of his opponents. This was the source of his greatness—not what he saw, but his ability to see. Evan loved that about him, even if he’d never watched a basketball game in his life.
He went to the largest poster, on the wall across from his desk, and reached for the tacks at the top, pulling it down and rolling it into a small cylindrical container. He repeated this for the other four posters, carefully placing the tacks in a plastic casing. Taking a flashlight from the bottom drawer, he turned his attention to the far wall.
Sprawled about before him, interweaving and overlapping, was a system of string, Post-it notes, and photos from last year’s registry. It stretched from one wall to the next, bending in the corners, weighed down by meticulous detail. First, in the corner above his desk, he found the photo of Zaza from last year’s yearbook. There was only one note beneath it: basketball stats. Evan traced the line back to the center of the far wall, holding a single Post-it. Day 37. 2:30p outside C-School dorm. He added, Day 40. 7:30p zaza dorm. Nothing in the school buildings, nothing in the Human dorm, nothing suggesting a monetary exchange. Emma never read books, and she wasn’t carrying any when she’d returned to her dorm earlier. Their interests were incompatible and showed no signs of a social friendship. Evan followed the line back to Zaza. Below basketball stats, he added adidas jacket.
Anyone at Redemption who interacted with Emma received a breakout section of the wall. There was so much detail in Neesha Shah’s section of the map that she’d necessitated her own wall, near the door. He traced his finger to corresponding dates. Day 37. 2:50p neesha dorm. He added, Day 40. 7:40p neesha dorm. Every time she talked to Zaza, she talked to Neesha immediately after. A pattern.
He tacked the list of students at the center of the converging lines, each name aligning with one of the outward-branching strings. He copied the phone number from the top of the list onto a Post-it, and placed it on the phone calls section of the board. Zaza was right, Emma had made a dozen phone calls from Dr. Richardson’s lobby. Now he knew the number she was calling.
Evan turned and, after double-locking the closed door, pulled open the top of his backpack and removed the soft, leather-bound testimonial journal. He took the Bible quote she’d scribbled in the magazine and pinned it