She'd play all day if we let her. In fact, her musical abilities are the reason she's between schools right now. We're in the process of transferring her to a school with a strong music program. Ifs about an hour outside of Stoneybrook. The teachers and Mr. Felder and I are hoping that, through music, Susan can acquire some meaningful language as well as some social skills. We feel this is the best way to reach her. Of course, we want her to study music for its own sake, too.

"One more thing," Mrs. Felder went on. "One other peculiar talent. Susan seems to have a calendar in her head. Although no one has ever explained days, weeks, months, or years to her, she can tell you the day of the week that any date fell on, as long as you don't go more than sixty years into the past or more than about twenty years into the future. She found a perpetual calendar once and seems to have memorized it." "You're kidding!" I exclaimed.

"Nope," said Mrs. Felder, looking proud again, but mystified, too. "I'll show you. Think of a date that's important to you." "Okay," I said. "Um ... the date Emily, my adopted sister, was born." "Do you know the day of the week that happened?" "Yes." "All right. Tell me just the date." I told her. Mrs. Felder called Susan over and told her.

"Monday," said Susan in a monotone voice without hesitating. Then she flapped her hands and ran back to the piano.

"That's right!" I cried. "It was a Monday!" "Susan is correct about ninety-five percent of the time." Mrs. Felder paused. "But if you ask her how she is, what she wants for dinner, if she has to use the bathroom . . . nothing. No response. She never initiates conversations, either. She just does not communicate.

She can be very trying at times, too. Stubborn. Especially if you want her to stop playing the piano. But she's never violent. . . .Do - do you still want the job?" "Oh, yes!" I said.