"Allan…"

"No one likes the gifted. We had the Special Olympics and everyone clapped as the 'special' people staggered across the finish line or threw a ball. A ten year old writes symphonies and we hush him up and tell him to be like everyone else. Not again, Archie. Never. I won't hush him up. There is a genius waiting outside your office right now. Let's do better this time."

Allan stood and left.

Archie stared down at the book. The picture was covered by the piece of notebook paper but the name was not.

BLAISE PASCAL (1623-1662)

Archie looked down at the end of the entry.

Whether we look at his pure mathematical or at his physical researches we receive the same impression of Pascal; we see the strongest marks of a great original genius creating new ideas, and seizing upon, mastering, and pursuing farther everything that was fresh and unfamiliar in his time. We can still point to much in exact science that is absolutely his; and we can indicate infinitely more which is due to his inspiration.

With something that could be tears in his eyes he looked up at the walls of his office.

He remembered when he had first accepted the position as principal. He had held it in his mind like he had held his first child.

He remembered how his shoulders had gone back and the smile that refused to leave his face. He remembered how proud he had been.

Now, looking at the pieces of paper on the walls of his office from places that probably wouldn't exist, ever, he remembered the opposite moment.

He remembered finding a boy hanging from a pipe in the boy's washroom on the second floor.

The tears in his eyes were real now.

Julie hated being right.

Of course, she loved it too. Her greatest successes had come from being right when everyone else had been wrong.