NUMB, Judy Colella [i am malala young readers edition .TXT] 📗

my system is repulsive to me, okay?” He smiled, but there was a hard edge to the expression that St. John suspected was normally absent. “Feel free to keep asking, though. And if you like, I’ll continue to let you draw blood and test me.”

This time, the silence was briefer and seemed to contain a measure of annoyance on the parts of the other Board members. The Professor, however, was unapologetic in both demeanor and reply. “It’s my job to make sure about these things, Mr. Kinsley. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

Jett nodded, but said nothing more.

“Well!” The Board President cleared his throat before continuing. “Yes. Now that we’ve gotten that white elephant out of the room, let’s see if we can formulate a curriculum that takes advantage of our new colleague’s expertise, shall we?” He gave Jett a friendly grin, and the meeting continued without further acrimony.

Two hours later, the meeting adjourned. As the room cleared, another faculty member entered, one who, as far as Professor St. John was concerned, had as much to do with the Athletics Department as Gregor Mendel had to do with NASA. However, Dr. Mitchell Frommer was the head of the Mathematics Department, and had been largely responsible for the University hiring Jett as a part-time Math Professor. He had been the Olympian’s third-year professor, and as he’d expressed to every teacher who would listen, had been so astonished to find a die-hard athlete who was a math whiz, too, that he had decided to work with the then-student outside of school, giving him advanced math tutoring until Jett graduated and entered the Masters program a year and a half later.

A colleague in the Math Department had been forced to reduce his classroom hours because of health problems; he might have been put on leave because of it, but Frommer suggested having a fill-in for part of the week, which would allow the ailing teacher the time he needed for hospital treatments while keeping the class viable so there would be no question of forcing the man to take an unwanted medical leave. Upon recommending Jett Kinsley to the Board, he had been granted permission to approach the Olympian and see if he’d be interested.

By this time, Frommer and Jett had become good friends, and when he’d proposed the teaching post, he reported to the Board, the athlete had agreed readily. Only Professor St. John had verbalized reservations.

“Listen,” Frommer had told him, “I believe I can count on Jett’s generous spirit and kind nature, even though this means the young man will have to push himself harder than expected.”

“Can you, now!” St. John’s voice had held a sour note he wasn’t trying to hide. “Sees to me that between his new responsibilities with the University’s sports division and his personal training time, the added burden of teaching in the classroom will be too great a strain.”

“I doubt it. Jett has proven himself capable of working well under extreme pressure. I doubt any of us would have the ability to concentrate and succeed so much that we’d earn a gold medal for it. For that reason, I expect and am hopeful things will work smoothly for everyone.” Frommer had crossed his arms, his own determination obvious, and St. John had backed down.

He nodded to Frommer as he headed out of the room, and prayed nothing would ever be revealed about the Olympian that could sully the school’s reputation.

 

 

“Dr. Frommer!”

“Mr. Kinsley.”

The Professor and his former student grinned at each other and shook hands.

“How’d it go?” Frommer had been sitting right outside the room, which was hardly sound-proof, and had heard the opening salvo. Jett’s response had pulled a deep chuckle from him, but he’d grown quickly bored once the meeting continued. So he knew how it had gone, but was curious to hear it from Jett’s viewpoint.

“It went. After asking me about steroids – ha. Didn’t see that one coming…er, sarcasm alert, by the way. Anyhow, after that, we got some pretty cool ideas for improving the T-and-F Team’s record. I think it should be a great year.”

“Sounds terrific. Hey, you up for some lunch? I have information you need to study about your class, and thought I’d give you the file while you were here. I didn’t have time for breakfast, so – ”

“Say no more, Mitch. I’m starving.”

When they got to the school’s cafeteria, Frommer pointed to a windowed door at the far end marked “Faculty.” He smiled. “Might as well get used to using that – you’re one of us now.”

“No more lunch-lady specials, eh?”

Frommer snorted. “Right. Believe me, Jett, what we eat in there comes from the same place, unless we bring our own or order out.”

“You can have food delivered?”

The professor shrugged. “No big deal. The most popular delivery is Chinese, and since none of the pizza places around here deliver by the slice, when someone orders a pie, it usually gets shared with the rest of us. Nothing more elaborate than that, though.”

The Faculty lunch room was an uninteresting space – grey walls and floor, white Formica-topped tables with wooden chairs painted white, the seats covered with yellow gingham tie-on cushions, no windows, a few still-life prints of daffodils framed in gold on one wall. A refrigerator tucked between a wall and a narrow counter on which resided a coffee machine and a microwave completed the room.

“I hope you weren’t looking for ambience,” Frommer said, his tone as wry as his smirk.

“Ambience, no. Food, yes. How do I get some?”

“See that clipboard?” The professor pointed to one hanging on the other side of the fridge. “The top sheet is a list of today’s fare; remove one of the pages under it, fill out your request, and slide it into the large slot in the wall on the far side of the fridge. You’ll find a few choices you don’t have out there.” He nodded back at the door to the main cafeteria.

“Awesome.”

Frommer, who had retrieved his lunch from the refrigerator, was almost done eating by the time Jett came back with his own meal. “You’ll get used to ordering.”

“That was the easy part – it was finding that strange side-hall thingy into the staff kitchen to go pick it up that took forever.” He peered at the plates of food on his tray. “Looks good, though.”

“Meh. Have a seat. Tell me about married life.”

“What – don’t you know what it’s like?”

“Funny, Jett. That isn’t what I meant, smart-ass.” He grinned and took the last forkful of his pasta salad. His own marriage of five years was still going strong, but he’d been older than Jett when he’d married.

“Yeah.” He poked at the spaghetti in front of him, a slow smile growing at about the same tempo as a deep blush. “It’s amazing.”

Enjoying the younger man’s uncharacteristic shyness, Frommer sat back, uncapping his bottle of water. “How so?” As if he didn’t know…

“I don’t, it’s – it’s Atarah. She’s incredible in so many ways. We spent as much time talking as we did, um, doing…other things.” He finally looked up and met his friend’s gaze. “You’re laughing at me.”

“Yes. In a nice way, though.”

“Huh.” He took a bite of his food, nodding.

“Come on, Jett – you’re not the most outspoken person I’ve ever met, but you almost never have a hard time expressing yourself, or your ideas. In fact, you’re one of the most easy-going, sociable individuals I know. So, well, it’s kinda interesting to see you at a loss like this. See?”

“No.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Okay, yes, I do. But I don’t have to like it.”

Frommer laughed. “I suppose not. Anyway, what plans do you two have for the future?”

Jett shrugged. “Nothing specific yet. We did discuss getting a vacation home in Tuscany, but after we have kids. So that won’t happen too soon. And that’s about as specific as we got about anything. Well, except us both wanting lots of children.” He started eating again.

“I think you’d make great parents.”

“You do? Why?”

“Aside from being so in love with each other, you mean? Or the fact that you’ll be able to afford to give them everything they need?”

“I think there’s a little more to parenthood than that, Mitch.”

“There is, and that’s my point. You’ve got the hardest stuff covered already. All that’s left is loving them enough to give them lots of attention, care, things like that. And from what I know of you, that won’t be a problem. I can only assume Atarah is every bit as devoted and caring as you are.”

Jett closed his eyes for a moment, sighing. “She’s more of everything good I can think of.” He opened his eyes again. “Not that I haven’t told you that a billion times since I started dating her. Did you think our getting married would change any of that?”

“Did it?”

Jett chewed his bottom lip for a second or two. “Yes, now that I think of it.”

“How?”

“It all got even better.”

“Wow. Looking at you, one would never imagine you to be such a romantic.”

“What does how I look have anything to do with…and I’m not a romantic, Mitch. I’m just in love. Forever. With the most perfect woman on the planet. That doesn’t make me a ‘romantic.’”

“Really.” Frommer was trying not to laugh. “What does it make you, then?”

“Blessed, I guess.”

“So you’re a religious romantic, now.”

“I’m also a lot bigger than you.”

Silence.

“Wise-ass. Eat your lunch.”

An hour later, after appeasing several wild-eyed fans begging Jett to autograph their tee-shirts, crumpled receipts, and other bizarre objects, Frommer and Jett made it across campus to the Mathematics and Sciences Building. The people they’d encountered had been among the year-round attendees, and one summer school student.

“I have a feeling you’ll be dealing with a lot of that once the actual semester begins,” Frommer said as he unlocked his office door. “You handled it rather nicely, though.”

Jett gave him an odd look. “How else was I supposed to handle it? They’re kind enough to support what I do, and I appreciate them.”

Frommer pursed his lips, nodding, watching the twenty-four-year-old athlete as he took a seat by the desk. Jett was almost movie-star handsome with dark brown hair, light green eyes, and symmetrical, sensuous features. And at six inches taller than Frommer’s own six-foot height, all of it chiseled muscle, the young man was impressive on many levels.

Despite this, Jett was kind-hearted, pleasant, unassuming, and of a genuinely humble nature. It was almost impossible not to like him, even for the ones who envied all those physical stats. In fact, the only thing anyone could resent him for, perhaps, was his social status. Even without the fame he was privileged, having been born into a family of generational wealth. His parents seemed nice enough, though, not at all haughty or snobbish. Which was probably why their son was so down-to-earth, and why Frommer had found it so easy to like him.

These ruminations only lasted a few seconds, during which the math professor went to one of the file cabinets by the door and took out a thick folder. He dropped this on the desk as he sat, and then pointed at it. “The requirements for Professor Crandall’s class are extensive. I believe you’ll be able to teach it with no problem, but don’t hesitate to come to me if you have any questions or hit a snag.”

“You said Tuesdays, Thursdays, and every other Monday, yes?”

“Right. Those are the days he has either Chemo or blood work at the hospital. Fortunately, his Chemo sessions are mild – that’s how he explained it – so it doesn’t keep him from coming into class the next day, as long as he goes home and rests immediately afterward.”

Jett shook his head. “That’s got to be rough. I’m glad this works out for him, though. I mean, my being able to fill in for him. I’d hate to think he might lose his job otherwise. He’s a great guy.”

“How many classes did you have with him?”

“Just one, in my Sophomore year.