Untimely Travel

Alan unconsciously jiggled his knee as he sat on a bench, waiting with his team. There had been a notice in his email box announcing that they would be going to Worcester to compete and that he should meet the team at 6 a.m. in front of the gym. "We'll have breakfast on the way," the missive said. Alan had called both John and Virgil, leaving a voice mail for the first, and actually speaking to the second.

"Man, that's an early start time! How far away is this place? Do you have an address?" Virgil had asked.

"Yes, it is; a couple of hours, I think, and I'll get one and text it to you," he had promised. And he had, to both brothers, hoping all the while that they'd have time to reach the arena before his race started.

The bus had stopped at a fast food place and the team wolfed down a quick meal there. Now they were at the Worcester State University campus, waiting for directions from the staff as to where they should take their gear and change.

An officious-looking young woman, her blond hair pulled back in a severe ponytail approached the team. She was wearing a shirt that had yellow across the shoulders and sleeves, a thin white stripe below that, and royal blue across the bottom two-thirds of the shirt. The picture of a knight was embroidered just below the right shoulder, and her name tag proclaimed that she was Candice Whittaker. "Wharton Academy?"

"That's us, miss."

Candice raised an eyebrow at the coach's mode of address, but said nothing about it. Instead, she plunged right into dispensing information. "You're in locker room D, down this hall here and second door on the right. Once you're all changed and ready, the room's main door will be locked to protect your gear. Then I'll show you where you can warm up, and where your team should sit. Here's your schedule of events." She handed Evans a data pad, which he perused.

After a moment, he commented, "I see cross-country is running today."

She nodded, her ponytail swinging. "That's right. They're preparing the route now."

"What about my men who are doing both cross-country and track? They'll need to change into dry clothes."

The young woman stifled a sigh. "Bring them to me or one of the other coordinators – we're all wearing shirts like this - and we'll unlock the door. They won't have long to change, though. It's going to be a madhouse today."

"Understood." Evans smiled at her. "I take it we're not the only ones competing."

Shaking her head, she didn't try to stifle her sigh this time. "No. There are nine other schools coming here, including the one you're up against. You're the third to show so far. Your opponents haven't arrived yet." She looked pointedly at her watch, and gestured for the team to follow her down the corridor.

Alan, who had worked his way to near the front of the line, heard Zave ask, "What happens if they don't get here in time?"

"They forfeit, just as if they hadn't shown up at your school."

Please let them show up, Alan prayed as he entered the locker room. I want to compete, and I don't want my family coming all the way out here for nothing!

Within the next hour, all but one of the seven remaining schools showed up... including the one that Wharton was to compete against. They were last to arrive, so the other teams began their cross-country runs before them. Alan watched the other teams line up, two at a time, leaving roughly 15 minutes apart. Some of the schools had just boys' teams; others had both boys' and girls', which multiplied the number of actual teams competing.

"They're running the same route you'll run," Coach Evans said. "But they're spaced out so that none of the individual races will interfere with the others." He pointed to the two open doors at the end of the huge building. "They go out the one, and will come in the other, but each group of competitors will come in to a different funnel. That way, there's time to get the previous bunch clear before the funnel is needed again."

Zave groused, "The worst thing about going last is that the route will be all muddied up and slick in different spots. I'd rather go first, when the route hasn't been broken in so much."

Alan glanced over to where a group of boys were entering the arena. One of the coordinators was waving them over to a space on the largely empty bleachers. "Better get warmed up, men," Coach Evans said. "Looks like it's our turn."

As Alan moved from the stands to the field, he noticed a small group of people coming through what he'd been told was the main entrance. There were flashes of light, and raised voices, and glimpses of blue-clad officers. The coordinator who had just come in hurried over to the melée; he was joined there by Candice. Alan tried to ignore the commotion, focusing on his warm up exercises. That is, until his coach shouted, "Tracy! Over here, now!"

Alan obediently trotted over, the trot turning into a sprint when he saw his grandmother, two brothers, and Fermat standing by the coach. "Hey, Grandma! Hi, Virge, John! I'm glad you made it!" He touched a clenched fist to Fermat's. "Good to see you, too, Brain. Thanks for bringing him along."

"Looks like we brought some unwanted attention along, too." John glanced back where security guards were trying to control a small gaggle of reporters. He shook his head, his expression rueful. "Sorry about that, Al."

"They probably knew about Alan being here long before we arrived," Coach Evans said. "I made sure we showed up as early as possible to try and avoid them. You folks just had the misfortune of running right into them." He gave Grandma a warm smile. "It's good to see you again, Mrs. Tracy. You've got another fine athlete on your hands here."

"Well, I hope I get to see how fine he is for myself." Grandma dug around in her purse and pulled out a small box. "Here. It's for you, Alan. Put it on, and do your best."

Alan opened the small box. Inside was an oval pendant with the engraving of a man's haloed head on it. He pulled it out on its long chain to read its inscription, then gave his grandmother a puzzled look. "Saint Sebastian?"

"The patron saint of athletes," she replied. Taking it from him, she indicated that he should duck a bit so she could slide it over his head. "Now, tuck that under your shirt, and go do your best."

"Yes, Tracy, hurry up. They're calling our team."

His face still full of confusion, Alan turned and trotted toward the starting line. From behind him, he heard John call out, "Remember your breathing!" He gave a little wave of acknowledgment, and joined his teammates.

"Do you think that little device will work?" Grandma asked as they settled themselves in the stands.

"It should," Virgil said. His brow was furrowed with worry. "It worked well enough in the trials. I just hope it did the trick for us when we walked in here."

"We'll kn-know soon enough, I g-guess," Fermat said with a shrug. "Will you be upgrading our w-watches?"

"Yeah, that's part of the plan, once we have the kinks all worked out." Virgil had settled back. "We'll probably have to give you new ones..." His voice trailed off, then he snorted. "I bet he's wondering exactly when our family became Catholic."

"Our Irish ancestors were Roman Catholic," Grandma said with a sniff. "If they hadn't married Lutheran and Methodist girls, you boys would probably have had catechism classes and taken first communion while you were growing up. Possibly have been altar boys."

"Altar boys? Us?" Virgil gave his grandmother an incredulous look. "Well, Scott, maybe..."

Better jump in here before we get into a "family discussion". Hastily, John said, "The medallion was a quick fix, and easy enough to alter." He pulled off his own watch and activated the tiny screen. "I still can't believe you and Brains managed to miniaturize the camera fogger tech down that small."

"Well, believe it." Virgil smiled, a smug expression. "It was an interesting challenge. We still have to figure out how to keep the fogger from counteracting the view screen on the watches, and I'm hoping that the current version has enough of a range to keep reporters from getting our pictures. And all this work should apply to our newest tech..."

John waved irritably at his brother. "Shush, Virge. I have Brains on the line." Speaking in low tones, he said, "Brains, do you have him?"

"Y-Yes, John. The tracker is w-working perfectly. Is F-F-F... my son there?"

""D-Dad!" Fermat leaned over to gaze into John's watch, and recognized the control room of Thunderbird Five in the background. "H-How are you?"

"F-Fine, son, just f-fine. We're doing some f-field testing today, so I d-don't have time to t-talk, okay?"

"Sure, D-Dad." Fermat sat back up, but stayed close to listen to the two men talk.

"Virgil, do you have the camera?"

"No, I do." Grandma had brought along fabric bag, and from it she pulled a silver metal box. "This is heavy, and you boys are going to carry it back with you. I won't have it squashing my crotchet thread."

"Don't worry, we will, Grandma." Virgil used his thumb print to open the box, then removed a silver sphere. It was about the size of a baseball, and when Virgil ran his fingers across an almost invisible stud, it began to hum.

"Is that one of those a-a-action cams?" Fermat asked, his voice quiet but eager.

"Yep." The metal box contained a thin wafer of a remote control, and John helped himself to that. "It's really a complex piece of technology."

"Which we've m-made even m-more complex," Brains said. He sounded distracted, as if he were working on something while he talked. "O-Okay. I've d-downloaded the tracker fr-frequency."

"I've activated the camera's anti-gravity and... there!" The small ball began to float over Virgil's hand, and to Fermat's surprise, one side irised open, revealing the camera. With the camera revealed, the thing looked very much like a floating silver eyeball.

John pointed the remote at the camera. "All data is now downloaded." He glanced down at the indoor track. "Looks like Alan's ready to start."

The teams were lined up, Alan behind his teammates as before. The gun went off, and the two teams sprinted for the wide open double doors.

"Then let 'er rip!" Virgil gently tossed the ball into the air. It hovered momentarily, then zipped off after the team, ducking through the doorway, and into the air beyond.

"So, it's g-going to f-follow Alan?" Fermat asked.

"Right. But, with any luck, the fogger in the medallion he's wearing will block the camera's feed." Virgil had taken off his own watch. "I'll be watching to see how the fogger works. John will watch for the how the camera itself works, how it avoids obstacles, the picture clarity..."

"Enough, Virgil. You boys can talk shop later." Grandma now pulled from her bag a ball of thick, shiny thread, dyed blue, and a crochet hook. "I want to hear from Fermat about how his school year has been going and how he broke his arm."

"Y-You heard about th-that?" Fermat asked, his eyes wide.

The old lady pulled herself up, and gave the boy a haughty look, which was belied by the twinkle in her eye. "I am Grandma Tracy. I hear all, know all... but not always all the details." She began to crochet, her stitches tiny and tight. "So, how did that happen, Fermat?"

Alan felt a surge of energy well up inside him as he came in sight of the arena's door. He had been in control the entire time, watching his breathing, focusing on the track and its terrain, which was just as muddied and slick as Zave had predicted it would be. John's advice rang in his head; at times, he'd felt as if his brother were pacing him, and not his teammates or opponents. Little by little he had taken the lead and now, with this second wind, he intended to put some serious distance between himself and his nearest opponent.

However, as he slithered down the last slushy, muddy slope, he could see a crowd gathered along the rope set up to guide the runners inside. He gave an inward sigh, his steps slowing momentarily as he realized who was behind the flimsy barrier. Ignore them, he told himself, and picked up the pace once more, focusing on his task.

A difficult thing to do it was, with the cameras flashing in his eyes, and the reporters waving their microphones and recorders at him, shouting, "Alan! Alan Tracy!" Out of the corner of one eye, he caught a different kind of flash, as of sunlight off a mirror. He sprinted past the reporters without a word or a smile, entering the arena at full speed. Once inside, that bright, reflective sparkle dogging him dulled to a merely gleaming silver. What the hell is that?

It swooped out of his sight, and a good thing, too, as he was now near the funnel – the one marked with the names of both schools on a support pole – with one of his opponents close on his heels. He put all thoughts of the thing aside, and pushed his body a little more, a little faster, keeping that step or two ahead of his rival. The funnel narrowed, trapping them in order, and Alan lifted his fists in triumph as he crossed the finish line. Yes! Yes! I did it! I did it! I won!

In the stands, John and Virgil were on their feet, whooping and clapping. Fermat jumped up and down, cheering, "Woot! Go, Alan!" and Grandma stood, put two fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-splitting whistle. Alan waved at them as he walked around, cooling off. His eyes widened when he heard his grandmother. Where'd she learn to do that?

When his heart rate and breathing were back to normal, and he'd checked his time with the judges, Alan hurried over to his family. "Gotta go get changed," he told them. "Be back soon!"

"We'll be here, Al," John, grinning from ear to ear, assured him. "You did great!"

Alan returned the grin, touched Fermat's outstretched fist with his own, and ran off to join his teammates. He felt so full of excitement and happiness that when he got close to them, he leaped into the air with a, "Woo!", landing right beside Jameson. Grandma watched with pride as, despite her grandson's protests, Jameson ruffled Alan's hair and the rest of the team subtly drew him into their midst.

"Aren't you hungry, Alan?" Grandma asked, looking pointedly at Alan's plate. They had taken an out-of-the-way table in the university's food center, and Coach Evans had given Alan permission to eat with his family instead of the team.

"It's not a matter of hunger, Grandma; it's a matter of not weighing myself down." Alan took another bite of his chicken-laden salad. "I need to make sure I have enough energy for the rest of the meet, but not too much bulk sitting in my stomach."

"It's a b-bummer that you have to w-wait for the r-rest of the teams," Fermat said, shaking his head. "You were here e-early, too."

"Yeah, but our opponents weren't, so we have to wait." Alan shrugged. "Shouldn't be too long, though. They had started some of the field events before our teams finished the cross-country, and the track events as soon as we were done." He peered at Virgil, who was viewing something on the tiny screen of his watch. "How did it go?"

"Not bad, Alan, not bad at all. The camera kept up with you but you were kinda fuzzy."

"Which is exactly what we wanted," John proclaimed, putting his last bite of chicken in his mouth with a flourish. "We'll be able to tweak it more later, and see if we can find a way to have both fogger and the new camera operating at the same time. Very important for our family business."

Alan shook his head. "Can't believe that you fit both a tracker and a fogger on that little medallion."

"Your tax dollars at work," John quipped. "I'm still amazed by it myself."

"I do kinda wish you'd told me, though." Alan took another bite of chicken and chewed, his mien thoughtful. When he'd swallowed, he added, "I nearly freaked out when I saw that thing at the end."

John nodded. "I'm sorry about that, Al, but we didn't want you distracted by it. Not knowing it was there meant you could focus on what counted: your running."

"A-Aren't you w-worried that people saw you with it?" Fermat asked, a concerned frown furrowing his brow. "Could they put two and t-two together?"

"It's a calculated risk, but Dad figured that others would just think that we had the newest toy on the market. We are rich. We can buy stuff other people can't." Virgil pressed a button on his watch, deactivating the screen, and sat back, rubbing his eyes. "Man, that screen is so small. Gives me a headache trying to focus on it."

"Then give your eyes a rest, Virgil." Grandma began rummaging around in her purse. "I have aspirin in here somewhere..."

As Grandma triumphantly pulled a pillbox from her handbag, John began gathering up the detritus from the meal, piling it on his own tray, and stacking the trays themselves. "I'll go get rid of this."

"Let me," Fermat offered, rising to his feet. "No one wants p-pictures of me."

"Might be a good idea, John, until we find out how well the foggers in the watches work." Virgil finished downing the two aspirin his grandmother had doled out, and was putting his watch back on his wrist. "We'll have to tell Brains to keep an eye out for news reports."

John made a face. "And I'll have to check out the online gossip rags, too, when I get back to work." He pushed the trays over to Fermat. "Your offer is accepted, Fermat. Just don't drop anything."

"Yes, sir!" Fermat gave John a crisp salute, then took the trays off to deal with them. As he did, the members of Wharton's track team closed in around the table.

"Time to go, Pinky," Zave said. "Coach is waiting."

"I'm ready." Alan stood, and - much to his surprised consternation - found himself closely surrounded by his teammates.

"Don't you worry, Mrs. Tracy." Zave gave Grandma an ingratiating smile. "We'll make sure the reporters don't get to him."

"Why, thank you, Xavion. That's very kind of you." As the team hustled Alan off, she called, "We'll be there soon!"

Alan's reply was swallowed up by the background chatter. Fermat returned, and slid into his seat. "S-So, what's next?"

"Next, we take the new doohickey back to the car, lock it in, and hurry over to the arena so we can watch Alan compete." John rose and held out his hand. "Grandma? Can I use your bag?"

"All right, John." With a sigh, Grandma handed over her cloth bag. "Just make sure you bring it back to the arena with my crocheting intact. I want to finish that doily for Onaha before I come out to the island."

John grinned, and copied Fermat's earlier salute. "Yes, ma'am!"

"Alan, are you riding back on the bus or going with your brothers and grandmother?"

The meet was over. Wharton had outdone their competition in every event, with the exception of the javelin. Julio Estevez injured his shoulder with his first throw, and the coach – who took him to the university's medical center for evaluation – said he'd be benched with the injury for the rest of the season.

"Um." Alan glanced between his grandmother, who was waiting patiently with John, and Coach Evans, who was checking in the rest of the team. "Do you mind if I go with my family?"

The coach shook his head. "Not at all, Alan. I know they've come a long way to see you, and you're in good hands with them. Just make sure you get your gear off the bus, and bring it to the gym tomorrow."

"Okay. Thanks, Coach."

As Alan searched for his gym bag among the others already loaded, Coach Evans approached Grandma and John, his hand extended. "Good to see you again, Mrs. Tracy. I hope today's competition didn't disappoint you."

Grandma took his hand and shook it firmly. "Not at all, Mr. Evans, not at all. Your boys put forth their best effort, and I'm sure Wharton will be very proud of them. I hope the young man who hurt himself will get better soon."

"It was great to see Alan in action," John said as he shook the coach's hand in turn. "I'll have to make time for another visit to watch him compete again... or maybe for no reason at all."

"I'm glad to have him on my team. He's a good kid, a resilient kid. You have every right to be proud of him."

Grandma reached up to touch John's face with a gentle hand. "I'm proud of all of my grandsons, Mr. Evans. Today, Alan has made me prouder of him... if that's at all possible."

"Found my gear!" Alan sidled up, his bag slung over one shoulder. "I need to get my phone out of the bus..."

"I'll take the bag," John said. "You get your phone and meet us at the car. Grandma? You want to come now or wait for Alan?"

"I'll wait for him, but he'd better be quick about it!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Alan handed his bag to his brother and took the steps to the bus two at a time. "Hey, Carter! You're sitting in my seat!"

"Yeah? So?" Carter folded his arms, and gave Alan a cool look. "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

Alan grinned as he approached. "Nothing! Just need my phone." Digging into the seat pocket, he found what he was looking for. "See you guys back at Wharton!"

A variety of shouts, some silly, some earnest, followed him down the aisle. He paused long enough to bump fists with Zave before jumping from the top step to the pavement outside.

Coach Evans clapped a hand to the boy's shoulder. "Be careful, Alan. We'll see you Monday."

"Yes, sir!"

As the coach climbed aboard, he paused long enough to lean out and add, "Don't give your grandma any guff!"

"No, sir! I won't!"

Grandma took his arm, and they wound their way through the parked vehicles. Behind them, the bus revved its engine, and pulled out from its temporary berth. Alan took a moment to wave before turning again to his grandmother. "I'm glad to be traveling back with you, Grandma. It's like we haven't had any time together."

"I know, Alan. It's such a short visit, but I..." Her words trailed off as Alan stopped in his tracks and stiffened, his gaze drawn to a car four or five rows over. She followed his stricken look to see a quartet of young men laughing as they climbed into their car. "Alan? What's wrong?"

He shook his head sharply, and let out a deep breath. His muscles relaxed somewhat beneath her hand. "Nothing, Grandma. I just thought I saw... I heard someone..."

"One of the men who attacked you?" Gently, she began to guide him away, towards the SUV where Virgil stood by an open door, waiting.

Alan nodded, a quick sharp motion. "Yeah. One of them. I know it can't be him; he's in jail. But still..." He shuddered, and Grandma stopped in her tracks. She put a wrinkled hand to his cheek.

"When do you start seeing your counselor?"

He gave her a rueful smile. "Did Dad tell you about that?" Moistening his lips with his tongue, he paused before replying. "Tuesday evening. She's very busy, or so I'm told. This is one time where I'm kinda glad money talks, and Dad's got a very loud voice because of it."

"I hope she's able to help you, Alan. You don't deserve to go through life looking over your shoulder." They began walking again, and got near to the SUV before Virgil called to them.

"Hey, what took you so long?"

"Had to get my phone," Alan said, holding out the device.

"Ah, I see." Virgil stepped in front of Alan. "Before we go any further, there's something we have to settle."

Alan gave Grandma a quick look as if to ask, "What does he mean?" She returned his glance with a shrug that said, "Don't ask me."

"Okay, I'll bite. What do we have to settle?"

"Which one of us rides shotgun."

"What does that matter, Virgil?" Grandma asked, her tone acerbic. "I said I'd ride in back..."

"I know, Grandma, but you drove this morning, and John rode shotgun. John's driving back, but he wants Alan to..."

"If he wants Alan to ride shotgun, then Alan should ride shotgun."

"But I want to..."

"Hey!" Alan stepped in. "Grandma, we'll settle this in the time-honored way that we Tracys use to settle every dispute of such magnitude: rock, paper, scissors."

Grandma sighed and shook her head. Virgil grinned and said, "Exactly!" Holding one fist in the other hand, he asked, "Ready?"

Alan mimicked his brother's stance, and nodded. "Ready."

"Rock, paper, scissors... go!"

Fists smacked into open hands with each word, and when the word, "Go!" was uttered, each presented their hand. Virgil's hand was still a fist, while Alan held his out flat, fingers pressed together.

"Paper covers rock. I ride shotgun." Alan couldn't help but smirk; it wasn't often he won these little duels against his brothers.

Virgil frowned. "Best two out of ..."

Grandma interrupted. "No. Now that you've settled it in the 'time-honored way', let's get on the road. I'm an old woman and I'm getting hungry."

Virgil sighed. "Yes, Grandma." He stood back to let Alan and Grandma pass, then trudged around the vehicle to the door on the driver's side. Fermat was already in rear seat, on the phone with his father.

Alan commented, "You drove this morning?"

"Well, of course. I asked John when the last time he'd driven in snow was, and he couldn't tell me, so..." She smiled, a slightly smug expression. "He shouldn't have any trouble on the way back, though. The roads should be clear."

Alan chuckled, then handed his grandmother into the seat behind his, closing the door as soon as she was settled. As he swung himself into the front passenger seat, John quietly remarked, "I take it you won."

Alan grinned. "Paper covers rock."

"Ah, good choice." With a glance in the rear view mirror, John, sounding very much like his father, announced, "Is everyone settled back there?" When he received affirmative answers – a rather grumpy one from Virgil – he started the engine. "Well then, let's hit the road."

"You asleep over there?"

Alan took in a deep breath and shook his head. He glanced over at John. "Nah. Just thinking."

"'Bout what, Al?" John studiously kept his eyes on the road. It was fully night now, and in the rear of the SUV, Virgil was dozing. Fermat had finished his call to Brains, and was now texting Tin-Tin, having a spirited long-distance conversation with her. Grandma had a small work light clipped to her glasses. It gave her enough light to see what her hands were doing. The spidery weave of the blue doily was taking shape, but her hands were deft enough that she could crochet and still eavesdrop on her grandsons' conversation.

"Something Grandma said." Alan pulled on his seat belt a little, settling the shoulder restraint back under his jacket collar. "She said that I deserved to live my life without looking over my shoulder, wondering if someone was going to attack me." He glanced over at his blond brother. "Do you think that's true?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" John was puzzled and it showed in his tone. "I mean, no one should have to feel like they're being pursued or stalked." He frowned, his high forehead creasing into slight folds. "You, of all people, have the right to feel safe. You're still... you're still a kid."

"But I have enemies." The statement was flat and matter-of-fact. "And not because I've necessarily done anything, but because of who I am. Who my family is. Who my father is. What we do. None of which I can change." Alan's gaze shifted to the scenery outside; the stands of white birch rose like spindly ghosts from the still-substantial snow cover. "Sometimes I wonder: what if the Hood got out of jail? What if Steve decided to... to finish the job? He's not in jail, you know; he's out somewhere on probation and... he knows where I am."

John was quiet for a bit before speaking. "You know, sometimes I worry about the Hood getting out, too. I mean, with those powers of his, he could do anything. I know Penny's assured us time and again that the prison is taking precautions..." He shrugged, a quick motion. "I can't let it consume me. I've chosen to do what I do. Yes, it makes me a target, not only for the Hood but for anyone with a grudge against International Rescue. I'm a Tracy, and proud of it, even though that makes me a target, too. From someone who hates Dad. Or somebody looking for quick money. Anyone who really hates my books..."

"Hates your books... right." Alan chuckled at this last one. "How much fan mail do you get, again?"

"Well, the fan mail isn't so much about the books as it is about my admittedly tiny but totally sexy picture on the back." John sighed. "Another reason why I don't go on rescues often; my face is out there already." He straightened up a bit. "But back to the subject: you and your safety. Have you talked with Dad about this?"

"Some. I told him about what happened when I gave him the counselors' names. He told me that there was a restraining order against Steve; he'd had Mr. Wolfe set it up after we heard what the judge had decided." Alan wrapped his arms around himself as if cold. "Not that it would do much good if Steve was determined."

"True," John admitted. Shaking his head, he continued, his tone impassioned, "Alan, you do deserve to live a life where you're not looking over your shoulder all the time and starting at every shadow. We all do. But I don't know what else I can say or do to convince you of that." He huffed out a breath in frustration. "I hope your counselor can help in that regard."

"I won't be able to tell her all the stuff about the Hood."

"I know. But you can talk to her about your fears, and not only those stemming from the attack. And I think you'll find that, in time, your fears will fade. Mine have." John flicked on the turn signal. "This is our exit, right?"

"Yeah. It is."

As they eased off the turnpike and slowed to pay their toll, Alan thought over what his brother had said. When they had passed the tollbooth, he asked, "So what's your schedule for the next week?"

John grimaced. "Back upstairs for the remainder of next week and the week after that. Then it's Virge's turn to take Five and I get my week off. I'm going to ask Dad if I can come out and visit again. Still haven't met this mysterious and intriguing Sable of yours, and I'd like to."

Alan held his hands up as if in self-defense and shook his head vehemently. "Uh-uh. She's not mine! No way!"

Laughing, John touched the control for the on-board computer. "I think you protest too much there, Al. Now, where's a good place to eat that's not pizza and games? Grandma said she was hungry, but that was a while ago. She must be ravenous now."

"I'm on it." With that, Alan began the search for a restaurant that would satisfy the various tastes of his family.

The rest of the weekend flew by. Alan tried to return his St. Sebastian medal to his grandmother, but she told him to keep it.

"He might bring you luck, and will definitely keep those reporters from snapping your picture."

The week started its familiar rhythms again, and a knot began to grow in Alan's stomach as Tuesday evening approached. He confided to Fermat. "This is going to be harder than I thought. I guess the old 'Tracys suck it up and don't complain' is tougher to get past than I realized."

"Alan," Fermat said, his tone calm. "Your f-f-f... dad got p-past that, right?"

"Yes."

"And you said J-John did, too, right?"

Alan nodded. "That's what he told me."

"Then you can, t-too." Fermat held his hands up, palms facing the dark sky. "She's not going to b-b-b...eat you."

"I'm not so sure about that. She could have the same personality as Ms. Belvedere.

Fermat laughed, and gave Alan's shoulder a quick, friendly punch. "No one could be that b-bad."

Alan replied with a snorted laugh. "I hope you're right."

Now, it was time. Alan, hands in his jacket pockets and butterflies in his stomach, entered the health center. He greeted Sandy with a quick wave. "Hey. I'm here for my appointment with Dr. Fisher."

A soft voice to his right called to him. "Alan Tracy?" He turned to find a tall, dark-skinned woman rising from one of the waiting room chairs. Her tightly curled dark hair was spangled with silver, and she wore a soft, mint-green pull-over sweater, and a pair of gray woolen trousers. A heavy coat and a leather briefcase lay across the seat beside her. She held out her hand, smiling. "I'm Dr. Alice Fisher. It's nice to meet you."

Taking her hand, Alan shook it firmly. "Nice to meet you, too, Dr. Fisher."

Sandy stood. "Ms. Bell said you're to use her office. If you'd follow me..."

Ms. Bell's office turned out to be comfortable, quiet, and soothing. Dr. Fisher pulled the leather desk out so she would face Alan, who she ensconced in the stuffed armchair that sat in the corner. "I'm familiar with Ms. Bell's office," she said as she did this. "She's okay with my using her chair, as long as I remember to put it back." Finally comfortable with her preparations, she sat down, crossing her legs at the knee. "So, Alan. How are you?"

Alan smiled, an uncertain expression. "Um... okay, I guess. A bit nervous."

"To be expected, faced with a stranger." Dr. Fisher opened the briefcase she'd brought with her. She pulled out a data pad, which she set aside on Ms. Bell's desk. "Let me tell you a little about myself, by way of an introduction."

As she detailed her education and experience, Alan watched and listened to her talk. Not so much what she was saying – though her credentials were impressive – but how she said things. She had a soothing voice, and her hands moved gracefully as she spoke. Finally, she wound down with, "And I have two young grandsons, ages two and five."

"You don't look old enough to have grandchildren."

Dr. Fisher chuckled. "What makes you say that?"

Alan shrugged. "My grandma was here over the weekend. You're much younger than she is."

"And, if my information is correct, all of her grandsons are much older than mine – which would account for the difference." She paused for a moment, searching Alan's face. "Did you have a good weekend?"

This brought out a grin. "The best! Two of my brothers came and they picked her up on the way, so I got to see three family members when I only expected one. I only wish it could have lasted longer. I miss her." Where'd that come from? I mean, yeah, I miss Grandma, but to just blurt it out like that!

"Do you miss the rest of your family?"

"Well, yeah. Of course. I miss them a lot." Here we go, right into picking apart my brain.

She must have seen something in his expression, because she surprised him with a chuckle. "I'm sorry. I meant for our first session to be a 'get to know each other' and I'm already asking the 'counselor questions', aren't I?" She hooked the first two fingers of each hand when she mentioned the second set of words. She picked up her data pad, and settled it in her lap. "Okay, back on track. It's your turn. Tell me about yourself. Introduce me to Alan Shepard Tracy."

He took in a breath, and blew it out slowly, then drew his upper lip between his teeth, letting it slide slowly out. "Okay. So, where should I start?"

"Wherever you like."

"Okay." He rubbed his hands together. "I'm Alan Tracy. I'm fifteen years old and a sophomore here at Wharton. My home is on a private island somewhere near New Zealand. When I'm not here, I live there with my dad, my four brothers, my friends Fermat and Tin-Tin, Fermat's dad, and Tin-Tin's parents, who are our housekeepers."

"That's a good start," she said. "Why are you here at Wharton?"

Alan frowned as he thought about the question. "Well, my dad thinks I need to be in school with other kids, so I can learn how to interact with people my own age. He thinks I should have more opportunities than home education would give me." He snorted a laugh. "Besides, things didn't work out so well at the school before this. I had a little... um... accident."

Dr. Fisher smiled, and nodded. "I know about that, too. What do you think about your father's ideas?"

Alan got a faraway look in his eyes. "Last year, I would have told you he was crazy. I hated it here; I wanted to be home educated so bad. This year... it's different. I understand where he's coming from. I'm doing things now I couldn't do at home and finding out who I am." His focus returned to his counselor and he shrugged a little. "And for once, I'm having fun... though don't tell my teachers that."

Dr. Fisher chuckled again. "I won't; promise." She shifted in her chair a little, hiding the fact that she was consulting her notes. "So, you're having fun. What are you doing that's so much fun?"

"Hanging out with my friends. Being on the track team. Learning new stuff. Going new places. Meeting new people. Too much to tell, really."

"So, you like it here?"

"Yeah. I do."

Dr. Fisher considered him quietly, then asked, "Even with all the not-fun stuff that happened?"

He was quiet for a moment, then he nodded. "Yeah. Even with all of that crap. I still like it here. It's where I need to be."

A slow smile crossed her face. "Good. I'm glad to hear it. We can talk about that crap later. I just wanted to get to know you a little tonight." She shifted her position again, and took the crossed leg down. "Tell me about your weekend. Why was it the best?"

Alan found himself relaxing. When she brought up the "not-fun" stuff, I figured she'd want to talk about it right away. I'm kinda glad I can put it off another week. "My weekend? Well, my brother, John was supposed to come out and see me compete..."