The School for the Insanely Gifted (3 page)

Chapter 4
Myron Holds His Ground

T
he next morning, after a quick breakfast with Ron, Jazmine, and Little Jack, Daphna grabbed her book bag and bolted for the door. While most of her classmates commuted to school by bus, car, or subway, Daphna was one of the lucky few who lived in the neighborhood. Down the block, she turned the corner, and moments later, there it stood, nestled between a neighborhood drugstore and an Indian restaurant: the Blatt School for the Insanely Gifted.

The famed school had once been the private residence of Cecil C. Brackerton, one of New York's most prominent millionaires. Though the old home had fallen into disrepair by the time Ignatious had purchased it, he hadn't wasted any time before remodeling it in his own colorful image. He'd had the exterior painted bright yellow and the shutters a vibrant pink. An orange wrought-iron door was installed in front, and the roof was fitted with a giant turquoise dome. The manicured grounds were adorned with beds of violets, lilies, and roses, then enclosed in a fence painted shiny gold. A passerby would not be faulted for thinking the school had been transported to New York from an amusement park.

If only it had a different name. Over the years, Daphna had grown tired of people—sometimes complete strangers—asking her how it felt to be insanely gifted. An old lady had once even stopped her on the street and peered into one of her ears, saying, “Let's see that brilliant mind at work.” Why couldn't Ignatious simply have named his school the Blatt Institute? Or at the very least the Blatt School for the
Very
Gifted? But Ignatious wasn't a man to mince words.

“To call the school anything else would be dishonest, wouldn't it?” he had said in an interview a month before the school had opened seven years earlier. “My students have gone through a battery of intensive tests. Every one of them possesses intellectual and creative capabilities that truly are insane!”

Daphna thought back to her first day of kindergarten. How she had clutched her mother's hand in the school yard. How her mom had leaned down to give her a kiss and told her that everything was going to be okay. She had met Harkin, even then in a blond ponytail, while playing with blocks. And Cynthia? After their initial meeting on the playground, she had stood before their class that first day and sung a flawless rendition of “Doe, a deer.”

Daphna pushed through the front gate and followed a cobblestone path that veered in and around three separate flower beds, then curved around the back of the building to the playground. Her fellow schoolmates—that year, there were precisely one hundred students in the school, from kindergarten through eighth grade—were killing the final minutes before class playing freeze tag, scaling jungle gyms, and seeing how high they could go on the swings. Daphna cut around a group of kids playing kick the can, heading toward the orange bench near the seesaws and the meeting with her two friends.

It appeared that Cynthia and Harkin had drawn a crowd. At first, Daphna assumed Cynthia was being mobbed by well-wishers congratulating her on her Broadway opening. Instead, the focus was on a boy wearing bright purple jeans, a lime green polo shirt, and shiny yellow loafers. Perched on his nose was a pair of thick glasses. His hair was slicked back and parted down the middle.

“No, no, no!” he was crying. “It'll be out soon!”

He was Myron Blatt, son of Ignatious Peabody Blatt. It was rumored that Myron had failed the school's rigorous entrance exams and that his father had bent the rules to secure his admission. But whether or not he was truly worthy of the label “insanely gifted,” Myron Blatt was still a member in good standing of the seventh grade.

“Very,
very
soon!” he went on.

“When already?” a small boy asked.

He was Daphna's classmate Jean-Claude Broquet, who had moved to the States two years earlier from Paris.

“I don't have exact dates, for crying out loud,” Myron said. He had a high voice that cracked when he got excited. “He doesn't tell me everything.”

“It's been forever since your dad released the Hat-Top,” Jean-Claude went on. “Practically two years!”

“Make that three!” someone cried out.

“Try four!” someone else called.

The crowd surrounding Myron had swelled to include most every child on the playground. Only Thelma Trimm, a thin girl who wore her dirty blond hair in two short pigtails, didn't venture across the playground to see what Myron had to say about his father's new product. Then again, the fact that Thelma preferred to play hopscotch by herself came as no surprise to Daphna. She was so shy that she rarely spoke, and none of the other students knew precisely what her insane gift even was.

“Genius takes time,” Myron was now telling the crowd. “And my father
is
a genius.”

“Maybe so,” Jean-Claude said. “But does he even have a new idea?”

Myron's face turned bright red. “Of course he does!” he cried. “You watch. It'll be great!”

“Where's your dad been?” a girl shouted. “We haven't seen him since the first day of school.”

That was Wanda Twiddles. A small girl with dark hair and a pug nose, she was a fifth grader who had been recently contracted by the state of Minnesota to design a new suspension bridge over Lake Superior.

“I know! He skipped town!” This last was spoken by Wilmer Griffith, the largest kid in the eighth grade. All shoulders and muscles, Wilmer more closely resembled a football player than the numbers whiz that he was. “He's in an Eskimo village, working on his new invention. Seal-Top, a computer that juggles a ball on its space bar.”

The kids laughed as they often did when Wilmer Griffith said something, whether it was funny or not.

Myron frowned. “My dad is not in hiding. I see him all the time.”

“Then why haven't
we
seen him?” a boy asked.

“You must know something about his new product!” Wilmer shouted.

“I know,” Jean-Claude Broquet said. “It's a computer that speaks Chinese.”

“No, it's the Navel-Top!” Wanda Twiddles cried. “A computer that attaches to your stomach!”

“How about the Ear-Top!”

“Or the Neck-Top!”

“No, the Nose-Top—a computer that has the mouse up the user's nostrils!”

The school yard filled with laughter, and Myron's face burned bright red. Daphna knew it was mean to hold him responsible for his father's actions, but she laughed right along with everyone else.

To his credit, Myron held his ground. Gathering his wits, he stepped onto the first rung of the jungle gym so that he stood a few inches above everyone else.

“My father is Ignatious Peabody Blatt, the greatest computer mind of his age!” he shouted. “Do I need to remind you that the United States government just asked him to donate his brain to the Pentagon when he dies? Or that a strand of his dental floss just sold on eBay for twenty thousand dollars? He'll announce his new product when he's good and ready!”

There was a split second when every student on the playground was absolutely silent. But in the next moment a faint whirring filled the air. A large red shape blocked the morning sun and spread an ever-growing shadow over the yard.

“What's that?” Daphna called.

“It's a blimp!”

“It's an asteroid!”

“It's a flying mastodon!”

“No, no!” Wilmer Griffith said. “It's a giant red helicopter!”

It was true. The helicopter hovered over the playground, sending up a flurry of dust.

By that point Myron was jumping up and down, laughing. “I told you my dad hadn't skipped town! Watch out, world! Here he comes!”

Chapter 5
The Great Blatt

E
veryone knew that Ignatious Peabody Blatt liked to travel by helicopter. Some said he had a fleet of helicopters, one for each day of the week. Some said he even
lived
in his helicopter.

So as the great machine hovered over the playground, Daphna and the rest of the students had no question as to who was on board.

“It's Ignatious, all right,” Cynthia said.

“But why is he visiting now?” Harkin wondered.

“It's strange, that's for sure,” said Daphna.

Was Ignatious coming to pick up Myron to visit a sick relative? Or to give out a special homework assignment? Or could it be something truly exciting? Was Ignatious going to unveil his new product right then and there?

Quickly, the students cleared a wide landing area at the center of the playground. As the helicopter began its descent to the makeshift helipad, the whir of the rotors became so loud, the students were forced to hold their ears. When the helicopter finally touched down, the pilot cut the engines, and the playground suddenly went still. A third grader made a break for the great red machine, eager to be the first to shake the famous man's hand. But Myron cut him off.

“Be patient,” he said.

The back door to the school swung open. Out stepped a tall woman with a regal nose, a prominent Adam's apple, and a penchant for pink high heels. She was Headmistress Elmira Ferguson, the lady in charge of running the school in Blatt's absence.

“All right, children,” she called. “Make room for the faculty!”

Daphna, Harkin, and Cynthia moved to the far end to get a better look at the arriving faculty. First out the door of the school was Bobby D'Angelo, an enormously fat science teacher whose jowls sagged almost all the way down to his shoulders. His third-grade elective, Introduction to Black Holes and Other Astral Phenomena, was a school favorite. Next came Horatio Yuri, a squat man no taller than a fire hydrant. Each semester, Mr. Yuri taught a lucky group of fifth graders
War and Peace
in the original Russian. Fast on his heels came Josie Frank. A severe-looking woman who wore riding boots that came all the way up to her upper thighs, her signature class was The Genghis Khan I Love.

Next came Daphna's favorite, Mrs. Zoentrope, her music teacher since kindergarten. An older woman with bright red hair that rose straight up from her head, she waddled into the yard clutching an old musical score. Catching Daphna's eye, she smiled brightly, then followed her colleagues out onto the playground.

One after another they came—thirty teachers in all. Along with traditional subjects such as social studies, math, and history, there were the instructors recruited to teach the more specialized offerings in the Blatt course catalog. The classes in nuclear physics and conversational Swahili. The seminars in Shakespearean humor and bear anatomy. The lectures on medieval cutlery. The list went on and on.

As a hush fell over the playground, a lone pigeon landed on the helicopter's rotor, took in her surroundings for a moment, then coasted to a window in the neighboring Indian restaurant.

“What's taking him so long?” Daphna whispered to her friends.

Harkin smirked. “Probably brushing his eyebrows.”

Daphna giggled. A flurry of whispers circled the playground. Elmira Ferguson took an unsteady step forward on her pink heels to quiet the crowd. As the word
patience
trembled on her lips, the helicopter door burst open.

Students and teachers gasped. As well-groomed as he looked up on a billboard, Ignatious was even more striking in real life. He wore an orange and yellow suit with a lime green tie and purple cowboy boots. His hair, goatee, and blond eyebrows were perfectly combed. His silver tooth sparkled.

“Greetings,” he called. “My brilliant students! My wonderful teachers! How good to see you all!”

Cheers filled the playground. Within seconds, those cheers grew into a chant—
“Blatt! Blatt! Blatt!”
Smiling wildly, Ignatious hopped out of the helicopter and waved.

“Did you see his rings?” Daphna whispered to Cynthia.

There was one on each finger.

Her friend nodded. “They say that the one on his pinkie is a Return key with a diamond in the center.”

“The ring on his thumb is the world's only emerald cell phone,” Harkin said.

Blowing kisses, Ignatious took several strong strides to the far end of the semicircle. From experience in past years, Daphna and her friends knew what was coming next. Though his appearances at the school were rare, Ignatious prided himself on keeping up with each student's accomplishments. Every time he visited, the great man took it upon himself to greet each and every child personally.

“My dear Jean-Claude!” He took the boy's hand in his and shook it hard. “Madame Camus told me you translated the Gettysburg Address into Medieval French. So useful! So insanely gifted! And my, oh my,” Ignatious said, moving down the line, “it's Wanda Twiddles. How is work on the suspension bridge coming? What's next? A bridge from New York to Moscow?”

After dispensing with Jean-Claude and Wanda, he continued working his way down the semicircle, patting heads and shaking hands.

“And is that you, Steven?” he asked a serious-looking fourth grader. “I hear you're making remarkable progress on your second novel. Is it really about a blind raccoon who leads a team of sled dogs to the North Pole? And Wilmer!” he went on, shaking the big eighth grader's hand. “Thank goodness someone finally figured it out. Of course, there's only one billion astral miles between the third moon of Jupiter and the ninth planet in the Andromeda galaxy. Genius, my boy. Genius!”

Ignatious moved down the line, passing out compliments to the students and nodding at the teachers, pumping every person's hand like he was their long-lost brother. He even had words for his very own son. “Never forget, Myron,” he said, pinching the boy's cheek, “a hearty breakfast enriches the mind. Look what I found on the kitchen table!”

Ignatious reached into his pocket and produced a single bite of what appeared to be a leftover waffle.

“Sorry, Dad,” the boy stammered, and dutifully gobbled it up.

As Daphna watched Ignatious move closer and closer, her heartbeat quickened. Though the Great Blatt never had an unkind word to say about anyone, his fame intimidated her. Soon Ignatious was standing in front of Cynthia, holding her hands in his.

“Ms. Trustwell. You've done it again! I just read the review in this morning's
Times
.” He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the paper, and riffled to the correct page. “‘Cynthia Trustwell does for dogs what Thomas Jefferson did for freedom.' Exquisite! Do come by my office later this morning. I want to pick out a night to see it, then have dinner with you and your parents. We must celebrate.”

Though she knew that Cynthia would most probably make fun of it later, Daphna could tell that she was pleased. Praise from Ignatious Peabody Blatt always made a person feel special. An offer to share a meal? That was unheard of.

“Of course,” Cynthia said.

Ignatious had already turned to Harkin. He was pumping his arm so hard, Daphna worried he might pull it off.

“And Mr. Thunkenreiser,” Ignatious said, “your new car sounds ingenious.” He chuckled. “Or is it really just a large go-kart? Oh, whatever it is, you must take me for a ride. May I add that your blond ponytail is looking particularly stylish this morning!”

“Thanks,” Harkin muttered.

Ignatious moved before Daphna. Up close, the colors on his orange and yellow suit were so vibrant, she practically had to squint. His purple cowboy boots glinted brightly in the early-morning sun.

Daphna swallowed hard, too overwhelmed to speak.

“The composer extraordinaire!” Ignatious cried.

Daphna felt him take her hands in his.

“I'm still so upset about your poor mother,” he said as he shook his head sadly. “Such a kind lady. Such a beautiful soul. I can't tell you how much we admire how you've soldiered on over the past two months.” Then he smiled. “Did I tell you how much I love your Piano Sonata no. 3 in C Major? I listen to it daily. I was telling your mother that very thing just before spring break.”

“You saw my mother?” Daphne asked. “Before she . . .” She swallowed, unable to bring herself to finish the sentence.

Ignatious didn't miss a beat. “Didn't you know? She dropped by my office to talk about your work.”

A breath away from crying, Daphna blinked back her tears.

“Remember, my dear,” Ignatious went on, “if there's ever anything you need, you know who to ask.”

Such kindness!

“That's so nice of you,” Daphna stammered.

Ignatious gave Daphna's hand a short squeeze, then spun around.

“Tell me, have I said hello to all the children?”

Students and teachers looked as one over to the far side of the playground to Thelma Trimm, still engrossed in her private game of hopscotch, pigtails flapping. But if Ignatious was insulted, he didn't show it. On the contrary, he seemed delighted.

“You keep playing hopscotch, Thelma, dear,” he called. “Think deep thoughts. That's how I got where I am today, dear friends,” he went on, turning back to face the students and faculty. “By being like young Miss Trimm. By marching to my own strange beat and engaging openly with the world and all of its possibilities. In any case, young Thelma can hear what I'm going to say from over there. Now, students, tell me: Who here has heard of
The Cody Meyers Show
?”

Daphna looked at Harkin and Cynthia. Everyone had heard of Cody Meyers, the host of the most-watched talk show in the country.

“Everyone?” Ignatious said. “I'm booked to appear as his guest this Monday afternoon. To spice things up, I proposed to Mr. Meyers that I bring along one of my students. One of my most insanely gifted. In fact, the absolutely
most
insanely gifted student of all!”

For a moment the school yard was dead silent. And then everyone was talking at once—even the teachers. This was incredible news. While the students at the Blatt School were all brilliant, they all had unique talents. Never before had there been an attempt to single out the best!

“The most insanely gifted?” Jean-Claude Broquet blurted out. “But how will you choose?”

Ignatious hopped onto the first rung of the jungle gym, just as his son had done earlier. The children pushed close. As a delivery truck noisily pulled to the front of the neighboring Indian restaurant, Ignatious milked the drama for everything he was worth, using the shiny diamond in his Return ring to tweak his goatee.

“Correct me if I'm wrong,” he said. “Everyone here is working on an end-of-the-year project? Of course you are! This Monday morning there will be an assembly in the school theater. At that time, each student will be given the chance to give a short demonstration of what you've been up to. Wilmer can show us his research on alien life in the Andromeda galaxy. Miss Twiddles can show us her designs for her suspension bridge. When everyone who wants has had a chance to compete, the very best will be declared the lucky winner of the Insanity Cup and come with me to
The Cody Meyers Show
that afternoon to show the country his or her special gift!”

“That's me!” a third-grade girl suddenly screamed. “Who else here speaks ten languages?”

“It's me!” yelled a short boy with wire-frame glasses. “I'm writing a novel in Swahili.”

“Who cares about Swahili?” a girl cried. “Mine's in Polish!”

That's all it took for the dam to burst. Though the students at the Blatt School tried to be mutually supportive, it didn't take much to bring out their competitive natures. Wild shouts echoed through the school yard.

“I'm working on a cure for mad cow disease!”

“I've already cured it!”

“I've made a robot with nine arms!”

“My raspberry jam has the protein content of steak!”

“I've cloned a goat!”

“I've cloned a mastodon!”

“I'm creating something so insane, I can't even talk about it!” Harkin shouted, his ponytail swinging wildly back and forth. “But hear this: chewing gum will never be the same!”

Not to be outdone, Cynthia put a foot up on the seesaw. “Friends, Romans, classmates! Welcome to the dawn of a new age in theater! I'm talking about my one-woman
Macbeth
. When I find a producer with a little imagination, it'll be good-bye to dressing up as a golden retriever eight shows a week. I'll finally be recognized for what I am: a true artist!”

As the swirl of voices overlapped and grew in intensity, Daphna listened, equal parts appalled and fascinated. Her fellow classmates were all very smart—brilliant, even. But wasn't she just as good? How many children had written a sonata at age two and a half? Or a full-length opera at age eight? Daphna wasn't the type to blow her own horn, but was there anything wrong with standing up for what she could do? Not at all.

Daphna drew in a deep breath, ready to give herself the shout-out she deserved. Before she could, a voice rose above the tumult.

“
You think you're all so great?
Well, I'm better than everyone. I've developed a laser that can fix satellites from Earth. I've invented a lip balm that stimulates brain waves. Within the next three years, I plan to travel back in time to witness the big bang.”

All eyes turned to the hopscotch court, stunned. Was that Thelma Trimm, jumping up and down, bragging wildly?

“How nice to finally hear her lovely voice,” Ignatious said. “Remember, students. Never become so self-involved that you don't appreciate the hidden talents of your classmates.” Ignatious stood to full height and gestured grandly to Thelma. “Keep plugging, Thelma. Your inventions sound truly insane.”