Schooled by Gordon Korman Page B

than five miles. The adults on T & T were always going bananas over something, so I wasn’t surprised when the police, the superintendent, the principal, the bus company owner, and Mrs. Donnelly all took turns screaming at me. They even made Rain call from the rehab center, and gosh, it was good to hear her voice.
    “I’m supposed to talk some sense into you,” she told me. “But what I really want to say is congratulations. You did the right thing.”
    “The police don’t think so.”
    “Typical,” she clucked. “Getting hung up on the numbers on your birth certificate when you probably saved a life.”
    “They made me lie on my stomach while they cuffed my hands behind my back,” I complained.
    “Does that bring back memories!” she exclaimed. “Every time I protested the Vietnam War, I wound up in the same position. Those were the days!”
    “It was horrible.”
    “Don’t worry, Cap,” she said comfortingly. “I’m getting stronger every day. In no time at all, we’ll both be back to the sanity of Garland.”
    Just the thought of it warmed me all over. Maybe we could get a stronger generator so we could watch Trigonometry and Tears there. I knew someone as smart as Rain would appreciate it if she’d just give it a chance.
    I’d been doing tai chi since I was five. Rain was my teacher. She explained that if you concentrate to the point where your mind and body become one, all outward awareness melts away.
    It was the first day after I drove Mr. Rodrigo to the hospital. I was halfway through my routine, when there, performing the moves beside me, was that girl Naomi. I recognized her instantly—she was one of the fifty-four names I had managed to learn so far.
    “Extend your fingers,” I whispered. “The energy should begin in your core and flow out through your extremities.”
    She made the adjustment. “Thanks.”
    She turned out to be a natural, but I had to cut the workout short. Zach had scheduled another press briefing for that morning. Hard experience had taught me to leave extra time to find the room.
    “Well, uh, good-bye.”
    “Wait!” she exclaimed.
    “But I have to go to a—”
    “I know.” She looked unhappy. Maybe she understood how difficult these briefings were for me. How I could never answer any of the questions, yet the reporters kept asking more and more.
    “Cap, there’s something I need to tell you.”
    I assumed she was going to give me directions to the journalism lab. Instead she said, “Watch out for Zach and Lena. Watch out for all of us. We’re not as nice as we pretend to be.”
    “You’re nice,” I told her.
    “You’re the nice one, Cap.” And she ran into the school, leaving me wondering if I would ever understand people outside Garland, or if I even wanted to try.
    I was a little late for the briefing because no one had heard of the journalism lab, which turned out to be just an ordinary classroom. Even more surprising, in addition to the usual reporters—Zach, Lena, and Darryl—there were at least twenty kids seated at the desks.
    “Where did you learn to drive a school bus?” came the first question, from a dark-haired boy in the second row.
    “Nowhere,” I said honestly. Then I realized that this could be a chance to learn some new names. “And you are—?”
    “Trent Davidoff.”
    I took out a small notepad and wrote it down. “I usually drive a pickup truck. That’s why I had a little trouble on the corners.”
    “How did you know Mr. Rodrigo was having a heart attack?” queried the girl next to Trent.
    “And your name is—?” I prompted.
    “Caitlin Rankin.”
    I wrote that down too. “I couldn’t be sure it was a heart attack. But he was lying on the floor, unconscious, and that can’t be good.”
    A boy near the back spoke up. “What did the police say to you?” He added, “I’m Trevor Mardukas.”
    I scribbled it at the bottom of the page as I recalled the arresting officer’s exact words. “He said, ‘Keep your