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.He didn't miss one, not one.""Maybe he just got lucky.He's a smart kid, but --""He's more than smart.He's truly remarkable.""I don't know what to say.""You'll need to think and do some research, but I'd be happy to help you in any way I can.""What would I be researching?" Rachel asked awkwardly.Mrs.Harrington frowned.She was probably wondering where Wesley had gotten his brains, definitely not from Rachel's side of the family, judging by how many times Mrs.Harrington had had to repeat herself"Schools, of course.This is a wonderful elementary school, but we don't have the technology, the science labs, the art classes, the math projects that will stimulate and challenge Wesley.There are some very good small, private schools in San Francisco.I can give you a list if you like.""Wesley isn't going to change schools," she replied, shocked by the suggestion."We live here.""I understand it's a lot to digest all at once.But I hope you'll think very seriously about making a move.Your child deserves a chance to challenge his incredible mind.""Couldn't you move him up a grade?""I'd have to move him up to middle school at the very least, and that would be difficult socially and emotionally.""Middle school? He's eight years old.""Exactly.That's why he needs a special school where he can be with children his own age who are also very bright.If he stays at his grade level in our school, he'll simply be bored and probably lose all interest in learning, and who can blame him? I have twenty-seven other children to consider.I don't have the time to give Wesley extra projects, not without it coming at the expense of the other children.""I don't know.I can't think right now, I bet that sounds funny.I'm the mother of a genius, and I can't even think.""It's understandable.It's a lot to take in all at once." The teacher pushed a file folder across the desk."I've collected some information that will get you started."She took the folder but didn't bother to open it.She doubted she could read a word with her mind spinning the way it was.She'd come to the conference thinking it was about Wesley's reluctance to admit his father was dead, not about his IQ or some tests that he'd taken.He'd always done well in school.He'd read at an early age, but she hadn't noticed anything abnormal.Had she been wearing blinders with Wesley, too?"Mrs.Tanner?""What?" she started, realizing that the teacher was regarding her with some concern."Are you all right? You look pale.""I'm fine.""There is something else.While Wesley's test scores are exceptional, in the past week I've noticed a deterioration in his actual schoolwork.In fact, today he deliberately misspelled several words on a spelling quiz.Words that he had spelled correctly three times before.""Okay, now I'm totally confused.""I believe Wesley's determination to stick to his fantasy of his father's eventual return is due in part to his extreme intelligence.For the first time in his young life, Wesley doesn't want to believe the facts in his head.So he's rejecting them.Perhaps he believes that if he's right about the spelling, his brain might be telling him the truth about his father, which is unacceptable.So he purposely makes errors.""Wesley doesn't want to believe himself? Is that what you're saying?""Yes.Although I'd highly recommend that you speak to a counselor who has greater training in this area than I do.Wesley is a wonderful child, a bit more complicated than most, but perhaps that's the other side of genius.""Genius," Rachel echoed, still not believing that word could possibly relate to her son.She got to her feet, desperate to leave before Mrs.Harrington told her something else she didn't want to hear."I'm available if you wish to speak further about this," Mrs.Harrington added as Rachel opened the door."Thank you." Rachel walked out into the hall.Wesley sat at a nearby table.He didn't even look up at her, so engrossed was he in coloring something on a piece of paper.The sight reminded her of her mother.In her mind she could see her mother with a paintbrush in her hand, completely absorbed in her work.Now it was Wesley with a crayon in his hand, completely absorbed in his work.Oh, God! But this wasn't the same situation.It wasn't even close.She pulled out a small chair at Wesley's table and sat down."Hi, there," she said, forcing away any hint of anxiety or panic."What are you doing?""Do you like my picture, Mommy?" Wesley moved his hand so she could see his drawing.It was a house, a house very much like the one they were building.His drawing was excellent, too, the lines straight, the curves in the right places.There was a purpose to the sketch, a sense of planning and organization.It could have been drawn by a much older child, or an adult, or his father."It's very good," she murmured."Does it look like the ones Daddy draws?""Yes, it does.Maybe you'll want to be an architect when you grow up.""And work with Daddy." He sent her a defiant look."I can't wait till our house is done and Daddy comes back to live with us.Then we'll be together all the time, not just on the weekends."He dared her to deny his claim.She could see it in every taut little muscle in his body."I can't wait until the house is done either," she said.Maybe she did need to take Wesley to a counselor.She didn't know whether to keep correcting him or just let him accept things in his own time."Am I in trouble?" Wesley asked, changing the subject when he failed to get the reaction he'd been expecting."Is that why Mrs.Harrington asked you to come in?"She shook her head."You're not in trouble.But I would like to know why you spelled some words wrong on your test when you knew the right spelling.""I forgot," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze."Really? Or did you stop trying?""It's just a stupid quiz.And the words are stupid, too.They're too easy.""So you did know how to spell them?""I guess.Are you mad at me?"How could she be mad at his sweet angel face, his expression so clearly worried as he was caught between defiance and confusion? So she did what she'd wanted to do all along: she pulled him into her arms and gave him a hug.She still couldn't believe her little boy was a genius.Where would he have gotten those genes? She'd never been more than an average student in school.And her father hadn't put much store in test grades.Which left only Gary or.Not her mother! Definitely not her mother.Her mother had been an artist, not a math whiz.Although Rachel remembered her father using the same word, "gifted." He'd once said her mother was a gifted artist.And her mother had left because of that gift.Now they wanted her to take Wesley to some place where he could use his gift.But their home was here.This was where they lived, where they would always live.She couldn't uproot her child, especially not now.They were building their dream house, for heaven's sake.They were going to live there together.Wesley wouldn't want to go to a private school.Even if she wanted him to, he wouldn't.There had to be some other solution."Can we help Dylan work on the house now?" Wesley pulled away from her arms with another show of independence."I promised to help him after school.""What about your homework?""I already did it.""You did?"He nodded and reached into his backpack to remove several sheets of math problems."See?"Rachel ran her eye down the problems, noting the neatness and accuracy of his answers."Did you do this in class?""No, I did it while you were talking to Mrs.Harrington.It was easy.""So it didn't take you very long?"Wesley shrugged."Nope.""Do you have anything else?""I already read the story and answered the questions, too.I'm done, so can I go see Dylan?"Rachel glanced at the clock on the wall.It was three-fifty-five, and she'd begun her appointment with Mrs.Harrington at three-twenty
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