Connect the Stars (2 page)

And this lie would not have put you in a very bad, lie-intolerant mood, so that when Lyza told you
her
lie, you didn't just walk away like you should have but instead stopped dead in the middle of the hallway and said, “You gave your grandmother double pneumonia?
Double?
Wow. That's cold, even for you.”

And Lyza would not have narrowed her eyes and said, “I didn't give it to her. She lives three thousand miles away from me, at
least
. She just got it.”

And you would not have said, “Did you ever consider, even for a second, just telling me the truth? Just saying, ‘Audrey, I uninvited you to my party because I didn't really want you there because we aren't really friends, and I thought that maybe you'd never find out I had it, but then everyone came back to school talking about how my dress matched the hot-pink icing on my three-tiered red velvet cake, and now you know I had the party, and I don't care that much, but it is just a little bit awkward, so I think we should both just forget about it and move on.' Did you ever think of just saying that? Instead of making up a lie about your grandmother having pneumonia in not one, but
both
lungs
? Old people can die from that. Did you know that, Lyza?”

And if you were hoeing your bean field in your straw hat and old clothes, miles away from Harriet Tubman Middle School, Lyza would not have started waving her arms around, her big, shiny, obviously new silver bracelet with the rhinestone cursive L dangling from it would not have been practically blinding you, and she would not have started shrieking indignantly, “How dare you call me a liar? Yeah, we're not friends because—guess what?—you don't have any friends anymore because you think you're so great and no one can stand you!” so loudly that everyone in the entire school and possibly everyone in the entire town and possibly even Lyza's grandmother in California could hear.

And all of this is why I should have moved to that house in the woods before middle school even started.

Because I had made a vow never to lie, I couldn't say, even to myself, that what Lyza said to me didn't hurt. It hurt a lot, and part of the reason it did is that it was—at least partly—true. I had decided weeks ago to just stop having friends (except Janie) because if you didn't have any friends, you didn't have to walk around worrying that one of them was going to lie to you. I'd stopped answering texts, stopped asking people over, stopped accepting
invitations, and people noticed. They thought I was pushing them away, which I guess I was. Still, it hurt like a kick to the shins to hear Lyza say that I didn't have friends. I stood there, pressing my books against my chest to keep from shaking as she stared at me triumphantly.

“That's not true,” I said. My voice came out so small, it was almost a whisper. “Janie's my friend.”

Lyza rolled her eyes and said, “Hah! Janie hardly ever even comes to school anymore, probably so she doesn't have to see
you
. And when she does come, she hardly ever talks anymore, probably because she doesn't want to talk to
you
.”

“She's been sick a lot lately,” I said.

“Sick of you,” said Lyza.

That's when I did what I should have done from the beginning—turned my back on Lyza and walked away. A minor crowd had formed around us, and as I walked through it, I looked for Janie's face, but it wasn't there. I remembered her saying something about maybe coming in late that day.

As I made my way through the throng of onlookers, kids jumped back or turned sideways to let me pass, like actual contact with me might bring them bad luck, like friendlessness was contagious. I thought about striding straight past my classroom, out the door of the school, and
into the woods. That's what Henry David Thoreau would have done. But Henry David Thoreau probably never had a last-period math test that was worth one-eighth of his grade. I walked to my class. I stayed.

And that turned out to be a big mistake.

Dolley Madison Middle School

West Chester County, Pennsylvania

I CAN REMEMBER ALMOST ANYTHING. When I run across a fact on Google, or in the pages of a history book, or pretty much anywhere else, it goes into a folder on my mental hard drive. If I need it later, I click the folder, and out pops the fact.

And sometimes facts pop out whether I need them or not.

If I hear a symphony, or overhear a conversation, I can play the whole thing back in my head, note for note, word for word, like it's streaming over the internet from a giant data server in rural Oregon. Except it's not in Oregon. It's in my brain.

Most people think it would be great to have an onboard computer like mine, and I can see how you might get that impression. Automatic hundreds on every
test, and no pesky studying, right?

If only things were that simple.

Not that I'm complaining. My brain
does
come in handy. If you need to know all the vice presidents in chronological order, or the definition of onomatopoeia, or what the fourteenth element on the periodic table is, then I'm your man. In first grade, when Hardy Gillooly picked me to be on his football team at recess, I dropped six straight passes, and he got sort of mad, but after I recited every single Heisman Trophy winner since 1932 at lunch, he forgot all about it, and we've been best friends ever since.

On the other hand, if you want to know something that's not written down anywhere, like how a king feels about his kingdom, or the true meaning of a poem—well, I'm coming to that.

When I got to seventh grade, my English teacher, Mrs. Dunaway, who was also the Quiz Masters coach, told me I should join the team. Which turned out to be a good idea. My teammates elected me captain, and we swept all our matches leading up to the state finals, where we were favored to win the Pennsylvania State Quiz Masters Championship. For six straight years, the Dolley Madison Destroyers of West Chester County (that's us) had been runners-up to the Philbrick Philosophers of Pittsburgh, but this season, that was going to change.

All the pieces were in place. The sixth grade had thrown a car wash to buy us uniforms with our names on the back. The student council had held a bake sale to raise money for a nutritious lunch at the Spaghetti Factory before the competition started. The volunteer fire department had made a donation so we could ride to Harrisburg in a limo, a yellow stretch Hummer.

The
West Chester Watchman
did an article on us and put our picture on the front page: Hardy Gillooly, Jimmy Stell, Andrea Lark, and me. The reporter made it official. In letters two inches high, she declared
DESTROYERS DOMINATE: THIS IS DOLLEY MADISON'S YEAR!

On the ride to Harrisburg for state finals, Mrs. Dunaway ran the team through one last set of drills. To simulate actual game-time conditions, she sat us in a row on the backseat of the Hummer, set a bell on the little table bolted to the floor, and barked questions at us.

“History,” she began. “The Smoot-Hawley Tariff was signed in what year?”

Ding.
“Nineteen thirty,” I said.

“Geography. The nation bordered by Ethiopia, Somalia, and Eritrea is—”

Ding.
“Djibouti,” I said.

“Wild Card,” said Mrs. Dunaway.

I liked Wild Card. It could get interesting.

“Of the two most famous T.E.s in history, one is Thomas Ernest ‘T. E.' Hulme, noted British poet, and the other is—”

Ding.
“Thomas Edward ‘T. E.' Lawrence, 1888 to 1935, also known as Lawrence of Arabia,” I said. Of course, there was also T. E. Newell, who played one game at shortstop for the St. Louis Brownstockings in 1877, got zero hits in three at-bats, and disappeared before anybody could find out what his T. E. stood for, but no way was he up there with Lawrence of Arabia, so I kept him to myself.

“Correct,” said Mrs. Dunaway. “Geology. The temperature at the Earth's core is—” began Mrs. Dunaway.

Ding.
“Ten thousand eight hundred degrees Fahrenheit, or six thousand Celsius,” I said.

“So,” said Mrs. Dunaway, setting down her notecards, “the team strategy is to depend on Aaron for all the answers?”

“Exactly!” replied Hardy.

“Yes, ma'am!” said Jimmy.

“I guess,” sighed Andrea.

“Andrea?” said Mrs. Dunaway.

“It's just that sometimes—” began Andrea.

“Yes?” prodded Mrs. Dunaway.

“I feel kind of awkward,” said Andrea. “I wish the rest
of us had more to do. I mean, I know Aaron is just doing what he's good at, and he's the whole reason we've gotten this far, but he answers ninety-eight percent of the questions.”

She was right. That number was pretty much smack on the money, based on our successful run through the city, county, and regional championships. Since everything is stored so conveniently in my brain, it usually comes out really fast. So ninety-eight percent of the time, I hit the buzzer before anybody, even my own teammates. Who were actually pretty good, when they got a chance to answer.

“What should we do, team?” asked Mrs. Dunaway, sitting back in her seat with a thoughtful look on her face. She did this kind of thing in class too. She was one of those teachers who let students have a crack at problems before she weighs in. Which I always appreciated, even though it makes more work for us.

Andrea just shook her head. Hardy scratched his ear. Jimmy shrugged.

“Aaron?” said Mrs. Dunaway. “You're the team captain.”

See, this was the kind of question I was talking about before, when I said sometimes things are not so simple.
Figuring out what to tell Andrea wasn't like remembering nineteen digits of

or the capital of Kazakhstan. Which is Astana. I could see how she felt, but what should I say? I had no idea. Then a thought came to me. “Rafael Belliard of the Atlanta Braves,” I told Andrea, “had a batting average of .000 in the 1995 World Series, but the BRAVES STILL WON!”

That didn't sound quite like what I was after.

Andrea got a funny look on her face.

“Scott Pollard of the Boston Celtics won an NBA championship ring in 2008, even though he didn't play a single minute of a single game,” I tried.

That didn't sound right either. What I was trying to get across was—I didn't
know
what I was trying to get across!

“Are you saying I'm Scott Pollard?” asked Andrea a little bit stiffly. “Is that supposed to make me—”

“We're a team, Andrea!” interrupted Jimmy. “We all worked hard this season. If we win, every one of us deserves the championship as much as the others, no matter how many questions we answer in the finals, or don't.”

Yep. That was it. Jimmy had hit the nail on the head. Andrea seemed to feel better. Why couldn't I ever think of things like this?

“Thank you, Jimmy,” said Mrs. Dunaway, shuffling her
notecards. “And now. More geology. The pressure at the center of the Earth is—”

Ding.
“Three million six hundred thousand atmospheres,” I said.

“While we're on the topic of geology,” said Mrs. Dunaway, scanning through her cards, “what do you know about minerals? Just, I mean, a general overview, so we can go on to other topics?”

“The aforementioned pressure extremes have created many of the minerals valued by people of today,” I began.

“Aforementioned!” cried Hardy.

“Examples include apatite, turquoise, gypsum, dolomite, quartz, talc, garnet, molybdenum, and moolooite,” I added.

“Moolooite! Yeah!” hooted Jimmy giving me a high five.

“Not to mention diamonds,” I concluded.

“We're gonna cream those guys!” added Andrea, perking up.

“You probably are,” said Mrs. Dunaway quietly.

“Awesome!” said Principal DuPlessy, who was riding up front with the driver. He turned around to address us. “That kid is smart. Two thousand eight hundred degrees!”

“
Ten
thousand eight hundred degrees,” I corrected. “Fahrenheit.”

“Whatever,” said the principal, digging out his cell phone. “I'm calling Knotts. And this time I'm betting him a—a—a head shave!” Mr. Knotts was the principal of Philbrick Middle School. Principal DuPlessy had bet Mr. Knotts something increasingly dire every year for the past six years, and lost, so he had to carry a teddy bear around school for a day, or wear pajamas, or dye his hair green or . . . now . . . possibly shave it all off—although there was no way that was going to happen.

“Plus,” the principal went on, “when we win, the whole school gets a Tae-Kwon-Do-Gurt Fresh Yogurt and Toppings party! With all the toppings! Except peanut butter cups, of course, due to allergy concerns.”

Hardy and Jimmy high-fived each other. “Tae-Kwon-Do-Gurt!” exclaimed Jimmy. “Aaron, you rock!”

“Now get out there and win!” thundered Principal DuPlessy, suddenly sounding just like General George S. Patton sending his troops off to battle in Europe. “Or else!” He narrowed his eyes at us. “Just kidding.” He chuckled, and we all relaxed. “Not really,” he added, his smile disappearing. “'Cause if we win, I've got a shot at Principal of the Year. But if we lose, I have to cut off all my hair.” The
limo pulled up to the Spaghetti Factory across the street from the convention center. The principal climbed out and stomped away across the parking lot.

“I guess we better win,” observed Jimmy.

“Principal DuPlessy does seem kind of worked up,” I said a little nervously.

Hardy said, quietly and sincerely, “Aaron, you've got a superpower. A
brain
superpower. Maybe one day you'll use it to do something great, like save a city, or the world. But today, we have some Philosophers to beat!” Hardy was something of a superpower aficionado. Sometimes he and I discussed how many strikeouts Superman might throw if he were drafted by the Phillies. Four million?

“Do you really think I'll do something great one day?” I mused.

Mrs. Dunaway answered. “It's certainly within reach,” she said. “For all of you.”

“In the meantime, Aaron,” said Hardy, “I figured out we have a chance to break the state record. A hundred and four points. Set by the Philbrick Philosophers in 2011.”

“Awesome!” said Jimmy. “Plus, get ready to win us a Tae-Kwon-Do-Gurt party!”

Alec LeBec, the famous game-show host, who had grown up in Harrisburg, drew the first Quiz Masters question out
of the fishbowl. “Category: History. Name the opening battle of the American Revolution.”

Zzzz!
I buzzed in.

Hardy fist-bumped Jimmy, who fixed his tie and smiled for the photographer. Andrea watched me intently.

“The Battle of Lexington and Concord!” I said.

“Correct,” said Alec LeBec. “More history. The treaty ending the Civil War was signed in what town?”

Zzzz!
Me again.

“The treaty to end the Civil War was signed in Appomattox Court House, Virginia,” I said.

“Category: Technology and Exploration. The first man to walk on the moon was . . .”

I could tell by the look on Andrea's face. She knew this one. I let my finger hover over the buzzer so she'd have a chance.

Zzzzzz.

Only.

It wasn't our buzzer that'd buzzed. It was Philbrick's. During my moment of hesitation, Sheryce Norman of the Philosophers had beat us to the punch.

“Neil Armstrong,” said Sheryce. She looked a little baffled. She'd heard about our team. She was probably surprised she'd even gotten a chance to answer. Andrea shook her head. She looked upset with herself.

Alec LeBec checked his slip. “Correct,” he said, and drew another slip. “Science,” he intoned. “The boiling point of mer—”

Zzzz.
That was me.

“Destroyers?”

“—cury is six hundred seventy-four point one degrees Fahrenheit, three hundred fifty-six point seven degrees Celsius,” I answered.

“Literature,” read Mr. LeBec from the next slip. “The author of—”

Zzzz.

“Dolley Madison Destroyers?”

The name that appeared most often on the bookshelves of my brain was . . . “William Shakespeare.”

Principal DuPlessy began to applaud from the front row. Before he was principal, he used to be the basketball coach, and he liked winning. The crowd joined in.

I knew it was time to do my thing, and I did it, so the Destroyers went on a little bit of a roll after that. By the end of the preliminary round, we had fifty-six points and the Philosophers only had four.

“Now,” said Mr. LeBec. “For the bonus round. Philosophers, how many points do you wager?”

“Um, well,” mumbled Sheryce. “One, I guess. Since
there's no way we'll win anyway.” The rest of her team nodded sadly.

Turning to us, Mr. LeBec said, “Destroyers?”

“Fifty-six!” called out Hardy.

“Wait!” I said. “I mean,” I whispered to my team, “that's
all
of our points. We'll win even if we don't bet a thing!”

“Yeah,” said Hardy. “But we need to bet a
bunch
to get the record!”

It was true. In the bonus round, if you answered your question right, you doubled your bet. On the other hand, if you got your question wrong, you lost your whole wager. The current high score was 104, achieved in 2011 by the Philbrick Philosophers. With Hardy's bet, we had a shot at scoring 112.

“Maybe we should just go with what we've got?” suggested Andrea.

“Aaron won't get our question wrong,” Hardy said. “And we've got to set that record so high it will stay on the books forever! Think about it! A hundred and twelve points! This is your day to shine, Aaron. Knock it out of the park! Fifty-six points, Mr. LeBec!”

Alec LeBec said, “The Destroyers wager fifty-six points.”