Unselfishness

The first day of school was, as always, a day of introductions and giving out of syllabi, along with hearing expectations from the teachers. For math, Alan and Fermat were again in the same class. Alan had passed his course with Miss Gerrick by the skin of his teeth, mostly by completing the 10,000 word essay she had assigned over the spring break and by buckling down during the last quarter to bring up his grades. The boys could choose a literature elective at this point in their studies, so Fermat choose Shakespeare for the first semester, and Alan decided to take Adolescent Literature. "I'm an adolescent," he quipped. "This should be a piece of cake!"

Science was also different for both boys as Fermat was already a year ahead of Alan and was into Chemistry, while Alan was taking Biology. The younger boy was also ahead of his older friend in Computer Science, and was taking a separate Pre-Engineering course as an elective. Alan had opted for Strength Training as his first elective, but the friends shared their history course and were both continuing their studies in Spanish.

Throughout the day, Alan helped Fermat when he could, handing him off to other friends in the classes where they were separated. Qaeshon took over in Shakespeare and Chemistry, and Dev helped out in the computer science class. It looked like Fermat would be on his own in Pre-Engineering, but another friend of the boys, Jason Cunningham, stayed behind a few moments after his own class to get Fermat settled. The teacher, Mr. Feng, approved of the way Jason helped and gave him a pass to get him into his next class.

"M-Man, am I t-t-tired," Fermat declared as he met up with Alan after their last period classes. The older boy automatically took the heavy book bag from his friend, carrying it in his hand while keeping his own backpack slung over his shoulder. Fermat kept hold of the laptop computer that he had used throughout the day, typing one handed almost as accurately as he typed with two.

"Well, it's only the first day," Alan said in commiseration. "You'll get used to it by the end of the week. So, what are you going to do for extracurricular stuff? You think your dad will let you go for the academic quiz team this year?"

"I d-dunno, Alan," his friend replied. "He might n-not. N-Not after this." He held up the cast-covered arm, wincing slightly. "Oww," he groaned. "I n-need some p-p-p... medicine." The two walked in silence for a moment, then Fermat continued, "I t-t-t... spoke with him last night from the h-h-h... emergency room. He w-wanted to come g-get me."

"Really?" Alan asked, a puzzled frown on his face. "Why?"

Fermat sighed. "He's a-a-a... concerned I won't get along with my new r-roommate. I think h-he feels I c-c-c... won't st-stand up for myself."

Alan gave a disgusted snort. "Fat lot he knows."

"Well, he h-has a p-point, Alan," Fermat remarked. "I r-relied on you a wh-whole lot last year."

"But you've learned a lot this summer, too," Alan countered. "And this year is different. Different classes, different classmates. You're a year older and a year farther along in school. You're established, man. You shouldn't have half the trouble you had last year."

"I hope you're r-right, Alan. The year hasn't s-s-s... begun very w-well."

They climbed up the stairs to Maplewood dorm, and took the elevator up to the third floor. Alan pressed his hand up against the lock's scanner and the door opened obediently for him. He took a look around as he entered and said with satisfaction, "He's not here."

"G-Good," Fermat said, moving to his desk and lifting his laptop's case up to desk level, opening it one-handed, then laying it on its side so he could slide the computer out.

"Where's your painkiller?" Alan asked, putting Fermat's bookbag down beside the desk and slinging his own on the lower bunk.

"The n-nurse has it."

Alan frowned. "How come? What if you need it in the middle of the night?"

"I dunno. Do w-without, I guess," Fermat shrugged. "I need to take it with f-food or milk. We'd better stop by the i-infirmary on the way to d-dinner."

"You'll need to talk to your dad before then," Alan reminded him. "Sign up for extra curricular stuff is after dinner."

"I kn-kn... I will," Fermat replied. He pulled out his satellite phone and speed dialed a number. The connection took a bit of time to make, considering that it was halfway around the world, but within a few moments, the sleepy face of Hiram Hackenbacker appeared in the phone's screen.

"H-Hello, son," he said, stifling a yawn. "H-How's the a-arm?"

"It's o-okay, Dad," Fermat said, smiling at his father's face. "I'm h-h-h... going to d-dinner soon. Alan's here."

"H-Hello, Alan. H-How did your f-f-f... day go?"

"Hey, Brains," Alan said, as he looked over Fermat's shoulder. "It was okay. We figured out a way to get Fermat here from class to class even with his busted arm."

"G-Good. I'll t-tell your f-f-f... dad. Later." Brains had put on his glasses by now and pushed his thin, brown hair out of his eyes. "So, son. Why are you c-calling n-now?"

Alan pulled back out of range, and Fermat took a deep breath. "Well, D-D-D... Father, the sign up for e-e-e... clubs and stuff is after d-dinner. I was hoping you'd a-a-a... let me go out for the academic qu-quiz t-t-t... squad."

Brains looked at the eager, anxious face of his son. "I-I don't know, F-F-F... son. I'm c-c-c... uneasy about s-security. And about you g-going to other schools, or staying out l-late. Your st-st-st... classes come first. You're so much y-younger than the o-o-o... than the rest."

"I know, D-Dad, but I can handle it," Fermat replied with confidence in his voice. "I learned a lot this s-s-s... vacation. Like how to m-make the best use of my time. And you know th-there are always g-g-g... teachers along on the t-trips. I c-can do it. I know I can." He leaned in close to the camera and gave his father what Alan had termed, "the puppy dog look". "Please?"

Brains sighed. "O-Okay. But just the one a-a-a... club. I'll email the p-permissions in the m-morning. Later." He yawned loudly. "Wh-What is Alan planning on d-doing?"

Alan returned to the phone. "I'm going to try out for track and field. My new roommate suggested it."

"I h-hope you m-make the team," Brains said, stifling another yawn. "D-Do you w-want me to t-t-t... mention it to your f-f-f... dad?"

"No, thanks. That's okay. I'll talk to him later. After I've talked to the coach and all," Alan assured him. "He can mention it to John for me."

"Yes, J-John will be particularly interested," Brains remarked. He yawned again. "I n-need to go b-back to bed, son. L-Let me know th-the schedule of m-m-m... events, F-Fermat. I'll see if I c-c-can attend one or t-two."

"R-Really?" Fermat's excitement was palpable.

"R-Really," Brains said with a sleepy smile. "Now get to d-d-d... supper."

"O-Okay, Dad! Goodnight."

"G-Goodnight, son. Love y-you."

"L-Love you, too, Dad." The connection was broken, and Fermat turned to Alan, eyes shining behind his glasses. "D-Did you hear that? D-Dad may come to a meet!"

"Well, he won't have a meet to come to unless we get a move on," Alan said with a grin. "C'mon! I'm hungry!"

The door swished open for them to leave, and Andrew John Trumbull stood there, about to step in. "Who's this?" he asked, looking Alan up and down with a look of distaste. "Don't tell me he has access to our room?"

"This is my f-friend, Alan Tracy. And y-yeah, he has access to our r-r-r... quarters. So get used to it," Fermat replied, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. He pushed past Trumbull and headed for the elevator. "C'mon, Alan. I d-don't want to miss dinner."

Alan caught up to him at the elevator door. "Hey, Fermat? What burr has he got up his butt?"

"I d-dunno. I think he thinks his n-name makes him something sp-sp-sp... unique," Fermat said, looking back at his room as the doors swished open.

"Well, a lot of people think the same thing about me," Alan said, bemused.

"Yeah, but you don't think it a-about yourself," Fermat rejoined, giving his friend a poke in the ribs.

But I do, Alan thought ruefully. And sometimes, I wish I didn't.

They stopped by the infirmary, and Fermat got his dose of painkiller. He had to take it right there in front of the nurse, who gave him a cup of milk to wash it down with. Alan asked what Fermat should do if he needed the medicine during the night.

"He won't. This medication will last twelve hours," she replied. She turned her attention to Fermat. "You see whoever's on duty in the morning before breakfast for your next dose, okay?"

"I-I will," Fermat promised.

Dinner at Wharton was a noisy, sometimes chaotic affair. The food was good; for the money that each student brought to the school, it had to be. In bygone days, the students had been assigned to tables and the food and drink were passed around family style. One "host" was responsible for each table, starting the food around and asking for seconds, while waiters, hired from local talent, brought the dishes to the hosts. The goal at that point was to teach manners to what was often seen as an unruly group of privileged ruffians.

No such decorum prevailed these days, however. The meals were now served cafeteria style, with the boys moving through the lines with trays and having the freedom to sit with their friends. An occasional food fight erupted, friendly or unfriendly, but those who partook of them were given the job of cleaning up afterwards, and not only cleaning up the mess they had made, but the entire dining room as well. Alan and Fermat had learned that early the previous year when a friendly game of "hot potato" (played with a real baked potato) got out of hand and degenerated into a jello-slinging fest. They returned to their dorm room late that night with hands that smelled strongly of cherry, and when they returned home for Christmas, they brought with them an unexpected aversion to red jello that puzzled Onaha.

This evening, Alan and Jason helped Fermat with his tray, while Qaeshon held down a group of five seats. Five because Jason's roommate, a junior named Ralph Santiago, was joining them for the meal.

"Go sit down, Fermat," Jason said, gesturing toward the table with his head. "We've got the food."

Fermat went to join Qaeshon, and watched with bated breath as Alan balanced a tray on each forearm while Jason ran interference. Finally they got close to the table, and Jason, who had put his own tray down moments before, took Fermat's tray from Alan and set it before the injured boy.

"Thanks, g-guys!" he said with a happy grin.

The couriers grinned back and Jason said, "Kay, it's your turn tomorrow morning!"

"Not a problem," Qaeshon replied. He turned to Fermat. "I hope you like Froot Loops and skim milk, 'cause that's all I'm carrying!"

The group laughed, and Alan ruffled his friend's dark hair.

"So, Ralph, what's shakin' with you?" Alan asked. "I hear you made first string soccer."

"Yeah, I did," Ralph said, rolling his eyes. "My dad made a big fuss about it, too. Thinks I'm professional material. Had to come a week early for practice." He took a bite of his roast beef. "Sugi's been busting our cases ever since we got here, though. Wants us up and out by six to run and drill."

"Explains why he was already settled into the room when I got here," Alan said, taking a big gulp of water.

"Sugi's your roomie?" Jason asked, incredulous. "No way!"

"Yes way! Boy, was he surprised to find me sitting there!" Alan replied, eyes shining. "I dazzled him with the old Alan Tracy vertical lift maneuver, and he said I should go out for track!"

"Cool!" Ralph said with a grin. "What do you think you'd go for in track? Field events or running?"

"I think I'd like to see what I can do with the high jump and maybe the pole vault. Oh, and cross country. I spent a lot of time with my brother running the beaches over the summer."

Qaeshon groaned. "Which brother this time?"

Alan grinned. "John. He was home almost all summer long. He used to run track for Harvard."

"How many brothers do you have, anyway?" Ralph asked.

Alan rolled his eyes. "Four, all older."

"And where does the Brain over here fit into all of this?"

"M-My dad is Mr. T-Tracy's top aeronautic engineer," Fermat replied. "W-We live with the Tracys so they can w-work together on projects without having to t-travel long distances."

"Oh."

Alan could see that Ralph was having trouble processing this bit of information. "Hey, man, it's cool. We live so far out in the middle of nowhere that going anywhere is a pain in the ass. Fermat's and his dad have their own house at our family compound, and my dad's got his top designer on hand to discuss new ideas." He shrugged. "It works for us."

Ralph gave Alan an I-don't-quite-believe-you look. "Sounds like you live out in the middle of the ocean somewhere," he remarked.

Alan and Fermat exchanged glances, then said in unison, "We do."

The conversation was interrupted by Lee Sugimoto and his friend, Xavion Lewis, Qaeshon's older brother. He stopped at their table tapped Alan on the shoulder. "You coming to sign up for track?"

"Yep," Alan replied eagerly. "I'll be there."

"Come as soon as you're done. I put a good word in for you with the coach."

"You'd better be there, too, Kay," Xavion said, giving his brother's head a playful push. "We need you."

Qaeshon batted his brother away, irritably. "I'd rather be in orchestra. And on the yearbook staff."

"Those are a waste of your talents, little bro," Xavion retorted. He looked up at Lee, who was ready to go, then jabbed a finger at the younger boy. "Be there, or else."

The older boys moved away, and Qaeshon glanced at his friends, all of whom had questioning looks on their faces. "He's big on threats, but lousy on follow through. I'll do what I want. No way am I living in his shadow."

"Too bad, Kay," Alan said, "It'd be great to have a friend on the track team."

"That's assuming you make the cut, Pinky," Qaeshon shot back. Then he relaxed. "And I hope you do."

"Thanks!" Alan grinned, then finished his last bite of dinner roll.

"So, Brain, whatcha going out for?" Jason asked. "Or does your dad think you're still too young?"

"I'm g-going out for academic qu-quiz team!" Fermat exclaimed happily. "D-Dad gave his permission!"

"Hey, that's great!" Ralph remarked, wiping his mouth. "I hear Israni's the captain this year."

"Is he?" Alan asked, giving Fermat a wide-eyed excited look. "Then you'll be in, pal. No sweat!"

"Yeah, I hear that's the only thing he's doing outside of hall monitor. He's taking a heavy course load. Some AP stuff, too, to give him a boost in college," Ralph continued.

"He can handle it," Qaeshon said confidently. "He's only the smartest guy in school." He glanced around at the empty trays. "You guys finished? I am."

He was met by nods and words of agreement, and the five boys rose from their seats. Fermat and Jason piled the dishes from the younger boy's tray onto Jason's and the older boy took both off to the tray return area. He jogged back and caught up with his friends as they were halfway out the dining hall doors.

As they left, Fermat noticed his roommate sitting alone at a table, looking very small and very uncomfortable. Their eyes met for a split second, and Fermat turned away quickly, returning to the conversations that were going on around him.

"So, Tracy. You want to join the track team, huh?" Coach Evans said as Lee Sugimoto guided Alan to the track coach. He was standing by a table covered with electronic datapads and styluses and on which perched a sign that said, "Athletics".

"Hey, Coach," Alan said with a nervous smile. He extended his hand. "Yeah, I want to try out for track."

Coach looked at him keenly as he shook Alan's hand. "I remember you from last year. You weren't too shabby in my classes, but I hear your academic studies didn't go as well."

Alan fidgeted a little, still smiling nervously. "Yeah, that's true... but I buckled down and brought my grades up last quarter." He rubbed his hands together. "I'm gonna work hard in school this year, too. No shortcuts."

"Hmm. But will you work hard in track?" the coach asked, eyeing Alan's constantly moving body. "Sugi says you've got a jump that, with work, could be an asset to the team. Anything else you can do?"

"I ran a lot of cross-country with my brother this summer. Got up to 5 or 6K."

The grizzled man nodded and consulted his datapad. "We might be able to use you... if you're any good. You taking phys. ed. this semester?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah. Strength Training with Mr. Beccara."

"Good." He looked Alan in the eye. "First try outs are tomorrow at three-thirty... sharp. Dress out and come to the field. We'll see how you do." This time, the coach extended his hand. "See you tomorrow, Tracy."

"Right. Three-thirty, sharp." Alan's smile widened as he shook the coach's hand. He turned to go, then turned around, walking backwards as he pointed at the coach and Lee and called, "I'll be there!"

In another part of the auditorium, Fermat was painstakingly signing his name to a datapad signup list. Dev Israni came up behind him and nearly made him jump as he said, "So, you are going to try out for the academic quiz team?"

"Y-Yeah, Dev," Fermat replied, turning around. "My D-Dad has given me p-p-p..." He paused and took a deep breath. "He says it's okay."

"Good! I foresee no problem with your inclusion. Do you, Mr. Feng?"

Fermat wasn't surprised that his Pre-Engineering teacher was the team's advisor and coach. "No, I don't see any problems here either, Dev." The tall and skinny Asian held out his hand. "Welcome to the team."

The boy took the man's hand and shook it. "Th-Thanks, Mr. Feng. I'm r-really e-e-e... h-h-h..." Another deep breath, then, "I'm really g-glad to be part of this."

"We'll have to see what we can do about that stutter," Mr. Feng said, amusement in his voice. "You'll have to try out, of course. But I think that will be a mere formality in your case, Mr. Hackenbacker." He raised his eyes to Dev. "I'll be back in a few minutes, Devdan. Someone's at the chess team table."

Devdan nodded, and Mr. Feng walked away. "Now we will have a truly powerful team, made up of the best minds this school has to offer," he said, rubbing his long brown hands together and grinning, his teeth white against his brown skin. He leaned in to speak quietly with Fermat. "Has young Mr. Trumbull given you any more trouble?"

"Other than b-being a snob, n-no," Fermat replied.

"Good. Perhaps you should know, my friend, that Mr. Trumbull is as young as you were last year, and that Wharton is merely the latest in a line of boarding schools that he has attended." He put an arm around Fermat's shoulders. "Perhaps you should... cut him some slack, also."

Fermat sighed, and gazed up at Dev with a long-suffering expression. "I'll t-try, Dev. Promise."

"I require no promises. But I am glad you will try," Dev replied, removing his arm. He pointed to a spot several tables down. "Look, there. He has interests in music."

Indeed, Andrew John Trumbull stood before the music director, who oversaw both the orchestra and the chorale. He was putting his name down on an electronic sign up pad just like the one Fermat had just used.

"Interesting. I hope that if he has an i-instrument, he uses one of the pr-practice rooms, and not our r-r-r... quarters," Fermat said wryly.

"He shall be reminded of that social nicety should he try to disrupt the harmony of our hall," Dev assured him. "Now, you look like you are sleepy. Perhaps you should return to the dormitory and go to bed."

"It's the p-p-p... medicine," Fermat admitted. "It makes me drowsy. Plus I was up so late last night..."

"Then go, and sleep well."

"I w-will."

Fermat walked out of the auditorium, yawning widely. His arm didn't hurt, but he could feel the beginnings of a chafed spot on his neck where the strap of his sling rubbed against it. He grabbed the loose side of his light jacket and drew it close over the immobilized arm; the night was breezy and cool and he felt slightly chilled. He looked up at one of the clear places where the leafy oaks did not obscure the night sky and said a quiet, "Hello, J-John. How's life a-among the stars?"

He walked slowly along the paved path, so often smoothed and patched where the unruly roots of the oaks had broken through the concrete slabs. The breeze blew through his hair, mussing it, and the leaves of the oaks, so soon to turn a bright yellow then fall off, rustled above him. He smiled, feeling peaceful for the first time all that very busy day.

He had just passed the Oakwood dorm, which was perpendicular to his own Maplewood, when he heard some loud laughter, and a familiar voice call out, "Let go of me, you bastard!" There was the sound of cloth tearing, and an unfamiliar, older voice called mockingly, "Whoops! Didn't mean to do that!" Then the jeering laughter again, from more than one person.

Fermat stood stock still, frozen to the spot by indecision. What do I do? What can I do?