14
Talents
“Which of you is Kaitlyn Wright?”
Professor Mubarak held a manilla folder open on his lap. He was sitting on the floor in the middle of the lodge’s exercise facility, a large, open space without any furniture at all. There was another room next door with weight machines and treadmills, but this one was obviously designed for group classes, its floor covered in a blue mat-like material, soft and springy. Daniel would have said it was for yoga. Mackenzie would have said it was for sparring.
“I’m Kaitlyn,” she said brightly.
“Excellent!” He sat cross-legged, facing the group, with his students spread out before him in a rough semi-circle. He turned to Kaitlyn, placing the manilla folder aside.
“These sessions will be informal. They will not be classes in the traditional sense. In fact, I hope to learn as much from you as you will from me! So, please, call me Amr.”
“I’m sorry, Professor, but I’m not sure I can.”
“I understand that it will be strange for many of you, at first, to call a grown man by his first name—”
“No, no, it isn’t that,” Kaitlyn said quickly. “It’s just that, um…” She trailed off and cocked her head at him, pursing her lips, trying to think of how to say what she was thinking in the kindest possible way. “Well, I’m not sure I can pronounce it?”
At this, Amr Mubarak laughed out loud—a rich, deep laugh that made Kaitlyn smile. “Of course! My apologies. Amr is an Arabic name.” He pronounced it with the ‘m’ running directly into the ‘r’ and then trilling away with a roll of the tongue that did not exist in English. “Americans find it easier to say ‘Umar’ or ‘Amir.’”
“Which do you like?” Kaitlyn asked, but he shrugged her concern away.
“You may pick either one, or something else you think is closer. I will not be offended at the American pronunciation.”
“Hmm…” Kaitlyn thought for a moment. “I really don’t want to just say it wrong all the time. What about a nickname instead? Like ‘Ammu’?” she asked. “‘Am’ from your first name, and ‘Mu’ from your last name, kind of squashed together?”
Amr Mubarak looked at her with an odd expression that she couldn’t quite read, and then a huge smile lit up his face. He laughed again. “Why, I think that would be quite fitting, yes! That is a wonderful name!”
Kaitlyn looked at him questioningly. There was obviously something more to her suggestion than she realized.
“‘Ammu,’” he explained, “means ‘uncle’ in Arabic, specifically in my own Egyptian dialect. I had never noticed that about my name before. I would be deeply honored if you would call me this. It would please me greatly.” He smiled at each of them in turn. They all nodded or smiled back—all except Rush, who stared at him coldly.
“So!” he continued. “Having worked out our introductions, let us begin again! Kaitlyn?”
“Yes, Ammu?” she replied, grinning.
“Are you aware of any special gifts or talents you have already developed? Anything at all for which you might have a particular affinity?”
“I’m good at fixing things.”
“Wonderful! What sort of things?”
“Gosh, anything really. I’ve fixed all kinds of small things at the G&G, but I’ve fixed bigger things, too, sometimes. Like Grandma Maggie’s refrigerator.”
“And what is the G&G?”
“Oh, sorry! The Gears and Gadgets Repair Shop. People bring computers and TVs and blenders and microwaves… stuff like that.”
“Why, that is a magnificent talent!” Ammu exclaimed, and Kaitlyn beamed with pride. “And when you fix these things, do you find that you have a special talent for reading their manuals as well? Do the diagrams make sense to you?”
“I don’t really use manuals,” Kaitlyn admitted. “I take things apart, and then I can just kind of see how they’re supposed to work. Maybe there’s a wire that isn’t connected right, or maybe a gear has worn down so it isn’t catching anymore, and then I know that’s why it isn’t working. I fix the wire or put in a new gear or whatever, and then it works again.”
“So if I brought you something broken, Kaitlyn,” Ammu asked, “could you show me how you would fix it?”
“Sure! But I’d need a workshop. You know, with tools and parts and things. I mean, sometimes I just need the right screwdriver. But other times I might have to scrounge a new part from the stuff I have lying around.”
“Hmm, yes. Yes, I see.” Ammu pulled a yellow pad of paper from a stack of them that sat beneath his folder, and he withdrew a pen from a small, white carton. He handed these to Kaitlyn, who took them and then watched him expectantly.
“While I speak with the other students this morning,” he said, “would you make a list of the things you would expect to find in a well-appointed workshop? Start with the essentials, and then move on to things you might not use as often but would still prefer to have, if you could. OK?”
“OK!” Kaitlyn licked her lips and wrote ‘WORKSHOP’ in capital letters across the top of the page. Grinning, she began to scribble furiously.
“So then.” Ammu looked back and forth between the remaining two girls. “Which of you is Mackenzie Gray?”
“That’s me,” Mackenzie said. She remembered Sam’s comment at the airport and tried to sound more casual this time.
“Excellent! I am very pleased to meet you, Mackenzie.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Please, you do not need to call me ‘sir.’ Ammu is quite fine with me.”
“Yes, s— I mean… OK, Ammu.”
“And are you aware of any special gifts you might have developed, Mackenzie?”
“Well, I don’t know whether this counts, but I’m pretty into Muay Thai.”
“Just about anything can be a pathway of communication between the conscious and unconscious minds. But Muay Thai is not something with which I am familiar. Could you tell me about it?”
“Sure!” Mackenzie said, already warming up to the topic. “Muay Thai is a martial art. You know, like Karate or Jujitsu. But it’s really fast. You use your hands and feet and knees and elbows as weapons, so there’s a lot of striking. I’ve studied some Taekwondo also, and some Brazilian Jujitsu, but I use Muay Thai more. I like it because most Muay Thai schools focus on actual sparring, and I like to compete.”
“That is very impressive!” Ammu said, and Mackenzie smiled. “Do you go to competitions often?”
“Definitely. I try to go to one at least every three to four weeks. Sometimes they’re small, you know, but it’s still a competition.”
“And I take it you win often?”
“I do OK,” Mackenzie said, shrugging a little.
Ammu regarded her for a long moment before replying.
“Please, everyone,” he finally said, looking around the room. When Kaitlyn kept scribbling on her pad, Sam nudged her a little with an elbow.
“Huh?” she said, looking up in surprise. “Oh, sorry.”
“Thank you. Please, everyone, this is very important. It is admirable not to want to appear boastful in front of your peers. I understand that, certainly. But this is not the time for modesty. What each of you can do is already extraordinary, and I expect your abilities only to grow with time. If I ask you whether you have excelled in a given area, please do not minimize your success.
“If you genuinely feel that you are only doing ‘OK,’ as you say, then it is perfectly acceptable to say so, but if the truth is more impressive, please be honest. We are here to explore your talents, and to make them stronger. Now is not the time to blend in with the crowd. This summer is about standing out. If anything, you are expected to stand out, each in his or her own way. Do you understand?”
Everyone nodded, even Rush. His nod was perfunctory, at best, but at least he acknowledged the request.
“Thank you. So, Mackenzie, do you win a lot?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I take first place almost every time. The only times I don’t win are when I’m not feeling well, or when I’m upset about something else that disrupts my attention.”
“And can you show me something? What this sport looks like?”
“It doesn’t really look like much without someone to fight. I mean, anyone can throw a kick in the air. It’s landing it on a moving target that matters.”
“Yes, I see,” Ammu said, nodding thoughtfully. “And I suspect that fighting a beginner would not be much of a showcase for your talent either, correct?”
Mackenzie chuckled a little. “No, it wouldn’t,” she admitted.
“All right, then. We will see if we can come up with a sparring partner for you. Thank you, Mackenzie.”
“You’re welcome,” Mackenzie replied politely.
Ammu wrote something down on a yellow pad of his own and then glanced into the folder again.
“Daniel Walker?” he asked.
Daniel raised his hand.
“Good morning, Daniel.”
“Good morning,” Daniel replied.
“And what about you?” Ammu asked. “What particular interests have captured your attention?”
Daniel shrugged. “I like music,” he said quietly.
“Go on,” Ammu prompted. “In what way do you enjoy music? Do you listen to it? Do you play an instrument? Do you sing?”
“All of those, really,” Daniel admitted. “But I don’t sing much.”
“Ha! Don’t listen to him, Ammu. He sings plenty,” Rush interjected, grinning wickedly.
“Oh?” Ammu asked. “So, Daniel, you have shared your talent with your new friends already? How wonderful!”
“Oh, he shared it all right,” Rush said. “Shared and shared and shared, didn’t he, Sketch?” Roman giggled on cue. “Heck, Mister Stayin’ Alive over here won’t stop singing.”
“That is quite enough now, Mr….” Ammu held up one hand, but he did not yet know Rush’s name.
“Knock it off, Rush,” Mackenzie said at the same time, glaring at him over Roman’s head.
“He’s ‘Mr. Hunt’ in your file,” Sam offered.
“My name is ‘Rush,’” Rush snapped at Sam.
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said, rolling her eyes. “I just said ‘in the file.’ He’s trying to figure out which one you are, genius.”
“Please, children. That is enough,” Ammu said, interjecting again.
“We’re not children,” Sam muttered under her breath.
“Listen to me, please,” Ammu continued. “I know you have only just met each other, but it is critical that you try to get along. You will be working very closely together this summer. Very closely. Although I do not wish our meetings to be formal, I would ask nonetheless that you not interrupt each other, that you respect one another, no matter how you might be feeling in the moment. Daniel, please continue. Tell me about your musical ability.”
Daniel didn’t say anything, looking first at Rush and then down at his hands in embarrassment. At least Rush hadn’t said anything about the love songs, but still, he was mortified. As the pause dragged on, Kaitlyn reached out and placed one hesitant hand on his knee for encouragement. Daniel looked up in surprise and then smiled just a little. She patted his knee and withdrew her hand, but it had been what he needed.
“I have perfect pitch,” he said quietly, looking back down at his hands. “If you play me any note, I can tell you what it is, just from hearing it. I like a lot of instruments, but guitars are my favorite. And I do sing a little, but I really don’t like singing in front of people.” He glanced over at Rush, still embarrassed. “I just get carried away sometimes.”
“I’d like to hear you sing,” Kaitlyn said quietly, and she smiled at him, which made him blush.
“As would I,” Ammu agreed. “But if you are more comfortable, Daniel, we can start, perhaps, with some guitar music? If you brought such an instrument with you?”
Daniel nodded.
“Excellent! Then will you please bring it to our afternoon session? I would love to hear you play and perhaps engage in some simple exercises.”
“OK,” Daniel agreed, but inside he was horrified. Kaitlyn was smiling at him, and Daniel wasn’t sure whether that made him feel better or worse. There was a part of him that wouldn’t mind playing for her, at least a little, but not like this, not in front of everyone, especially not with Rush and Sam watching.
“Very well, then. Thank you, Daniel.” Ammu turned toward Roman and smiled. “I take it, then, that you are Roman Jackson.”
“My name is Sketch,” he said immediately, and Rush smirked just a little.
“Oh? I apologize. Roman is the nickname listed in your file.”
“It’s new,” Roman said proudly. “It’s my gamer tag. Cause I can draw.”
“I see!” Ammu smiled gently. “And what do you like to draw?”
“Just stuff,” Roman said cautiously. “People, mostly.”
“That is very interesting. Would you consider that to be your special talent, do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Roman answered, shrugging a little.
“You’re good, man. He said don’t be modest. Tell him.” Rush shoved Roman lightly in the shoulder, and Roman grinned up at him shyly.
“I’m good, I guess,” Roman said.
“He’s really good,” Rush offered, and Roman beamed with pride.
“Well, if that is the case, then I would like very much to see your work. Would you draw something for me?” He picked up another yellow pad and pen and handed them toward Roman, but Roman hesitated, not taking them. He was afraid Ammu would ask him to draw someone here in the room, and he didn’t want them to know how he saw them, not even the good stuff.
“Um, I’m really better with pencils,” he said quietly.
“You should bring him your pad this afternoon,” Rush told him.
“Oh? Do you have a sketching book here with you?” Ammu asked.
“Yeah. It’s upstairs,” Roman responded, grateful for a way out of Ammu’s initial request.
“And would you be willing to bring it to me this afternoon? Along with some pencils, perhaps?”
“Sure,” Roman agreed. That last bit didn’t sound promising, but at least now he would have until the afternoon to figure out how to handle things.
“Wonderful!” Ammu said, smiling warmly, and then he turned his attention to Sam.
“So, then. You must be Samantha Prescott, yes?”
“That’s right,” Sam said. She was already dreading this conversation.
“And what would you say is your field of expertise, Samantha?”
What was her field of expertise? Everyone else had these amazing talents: music, art, mechanics, martial arts. Sam didn’t do anything like that. She did well in school, but that was it. She didn’t play sports. She wasn’t musical or artistic. She had been wracking her brain this whole time, and she still didn’t have an answer, but now she was on the spot. She had to say something.
“I honestly don’t know. I get good grades, and my teachers say I’m really good in math?”
“Mathematics can certainly be a pathway,” Ammu said encouragingly. “When you solve math problems, do you follow the steps as they have been taught? Or do you tend to see the solution as soon as you look at the problem?”
“I follow the steps,” she admitted, already disappointed. She saw what he was getting at. She was good at math, but it was something she did consciously, following logical steps that she understood. She didn’t leap to unconscious conclusions about math problems. Math might be one of her strengths, but it wasn’t her pathway.
“Interesting,” he said, watching her thoughtfully. “Do you, perhaps, find that you often know what people are thinking or feeling?”
“No,” she admitted, her voice becoming quieter. If anything, human emotion seemed like an unsolvable mystery. She was much more comfortable in the world of math and science and logical rules.
“And yet,” he said gently, “you knew why I was asking about following the steps, did you not? You knew it immediately.”
“That was just logic,” she said, her voice rising a bit. “You said you’re looking for the pathways between the conscious and unconscious minds. I knew that’s what you were looking for because you told me. It’s not like the vine example.”
Ammu pondered her silently, while Sam felt more and more embarrassed. Everyone was staring at her. Everyone else knew their talent. Sam was used to being the very best student in class, and now, suddenly, she wasn’t just average, she was worse than average. She was the worst student in the class.
Do not cry in front of everyone. Do NOT cry in front of everyone! She fought to control her feelings, struggling not to get up and storm out of the room.
Ammu seemed to sense her distress, and he spoke to her again, very gently, which only made her feel worse. Now she was the dumb kid. The one the teacher felt sorry for.
“I think, Samantha, that you have more of a gift than you realize. We will discover it together. You will see. Perhaps you can spend some time over lunch thinking about the things you like to do. It might be a hobby or a simple pastime that will lead us to your special pathway, even if it is not something you recognize as a particular skill.”
Sam just nodded, not trusting her voice to speak, and she huddled into herself, hugging her knees to her chest as he moved on to Rush.
“And what might your particular talent be, do you think?” he asked, watching Rush with interest.
Rush had his own reason to believe he might not have one of these special pathways the guy kept talking about. After all, he had answered most of the multiple-choice questions on that crazy test by just filling in random blanks! But at least he had a talent to distract everybody with—not like that poor Sam girl—and he wasn’t going to be shy about sharing it.
“I’m a gamer,” he said. “They call me Rush because I’m so fast.”
“So you consider this to be your talent?” Ammu asked. It was an innocent question, but it reminded Rush of his father’s taunts, and he felt a flash of anger and resentment surge within his chest.
“When I left home to come to this place, I was number eighteen out of four million beta players in HRT Alpha,” he said forcefully. “Four million! And the only reason I wasn’t in the top five was because I didn’t want to get that high before the invitational. I’m not just good. I’m pro good. I’m as good as it gets.”
“I apologize,” Ammu said, raising one hand in appeasement. “I was not challenging your claim. I was simply confirming my understanding. A talent for video games could certainly be a pathway between the conscious and unconscious minds. I would like very much to see you play.”
“Yeah, well you can’t,” Rush said, his voice full of bitterness. “Like Kung Fu Barbie over there, I need a real opponent to show you what I can do. In fact, I need a whole team of opponents. Only we don’t have any Internet, so I don’t have anybody to play. Get me on the Internet, and I’ll show you what I can do.”
“I am afraid I do not have any control over that,” Ammu said gently, “but it seems to me that you have a whole team of potential opponents sitting right here. Perhaps we could set things up so that you could play against your classmates here at the center.”
“You don’t get it,” Rush shot back. “Unless any of these guys is a top contender, me competing against them is the same as her competing against someone who has no martial arts training. You admitted we aren’t good enough for her, so how come they’re good enough for me?” He indicated Mackenzie by thrusting his chin in her general direction over Roman’s head.
“Call me ‘Kung Fu Barbie’ one more time, and I’ll put you on the floor whether you’re good enough to bother with or not,” Mackenzie growled.
“Peace,” Ammu said, raising his hands again. “I do not want Mackenzie to fight an untrained opponent in live combat because I do not want the opponent to get hurt,” he said, explaining his reasoning. “I would like to see you play against your classmates, even though they are not at your level, because they can not be harmed by a video game, and because the Internet problem is not, as I said, under my control. Until the system is up, I would like to see something of your skill, even if it is not the best showcase for your talent. It is, at least, a place to start.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
“If you would write down for me—” Ammu began, ignoring Rush’s tone and preparing to hand him a pad and a pen, but Rush cut him off before he could finish his sentence.
“I can tell you what we need right now. Six HD monitors. They don’t have to be as big as the ones upstairs. I like a twenty-eight inch, but twenty-four is OK. Five more gaming consoles. I’d use mine. Four more controllers. Sketch can use my extra one cause I trust him not to mess it up.” Roman beamed at him. “Five more headsets if you want these scrubs to have half a chance of hearing me coming before I kill them anyway, and the Internet to download five beta copies of HRT Alpha: Year One, cause it’s not out on disc yet, and even if it was, you have to get the updates online. But if you get me the Internet, then we already have what we need, cause I can play on my own console and destroy some actual competition.”
Ammu continued to ignore Rush’s tone, calmly taking notes throughout his tirade.
“So if we could get you five more consoles with HRT Alpha: Year One—I have that title right?”
“Yeah,” Rush confirmed.
“OK. Five more consoles with the game, then you could play against the others here at the center?”
“You can’t,” Rush said. “Like I told you, it’s in beta. It’s not out yet.”
“I understand,” Ammu said, smiling graciously and putting the pad of paper away underneath his folder. “I think that is enough for this morning, everyone. You are dismissed. Lunch will be available between noon and 1:00 p.m. in the main hall. Please be back here by 1:30 to continue where we left off. Thank you for your time and attention this morning, and peace be with you.”