“An Agent?”
Nigel shook his head. “No, not an Agent. They’re under strict orders to stand guard outside. You wouldn’t like their company anyway—too serious!”
Nigel placed his briefcase on the table.
“This may take a minute, depending on whether she’s within call.”
The Recruiter unfastened the case’s clasps and buried his entire head within it. Max heard his muffled voice cooing.
“There’s my girl. Oh, you’re getting so big and gorgeous! No, no, I don’t think you look fat. Don’t tell Mrs. Bristow, but I think you’re holding your shape quite nicely! Oh, well, thank you very much, indeed. Don’t mean to sound immodest, but I have been trying to train up a bit.”
Nigel pinched his rather flimsy biceps while his head remained in the case.
“Yes, well, I’ve got a little favor to ask. Would you mind looking after a friend for a few hours? You wouldn’t? Bless you, my dear—he will be most relieved.”
Max took a step back as Nigel thrust his arms into the case and strained forward to hoist something out of the bag. He withdrew and turned, cradling a pink piglet as if she were a newborn.
Max rubbed his temples and shook his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The piglet sniffed the air and focused her drowsy eyes on Max. She blinked several times and promptly burrowed her snout into Nigel’s armpit.
“Max, I’d like you to meet Lucy!” said Nigel cheerfully.
Max’s voice was steady and measured.
“Nigel, you are not leaving me in the care of a pig.”
Nigel smiled. “I’m not leaving you in her care; I’m leaving you in her company. You should consider yourself lucky—Lucy’s the best company there is!”
Lucy wriggled to gaze lovingly up at Nigel, releasing a wheezing burst of gas in the process.
“But…!”
Nigel ignored Max and gently lowered Lucy to the floor. She trotted toward the kitchen, snorting happily.
“She’s a snap, really—just let her have a bite, or three, of whatever you’re eating. When your dad gets home, slip her out the back door and she’ll find me.”
Defeated, Max looked at the floor and nodded. Something fell in the kitchen. He turned to see Lucy perched precariously on a chair, nosing through the leftover batter.
“Well,” said Nigel with a glance at his watch. “I am now running quite late and really must be on my way. I know it’s all been a whirl, but don’t let it get the best of you. Things will sort themselves out sooner than you think! It’s been my pleasure.”
Nigel smiled and extended his hand.
“Will I see you again?” Max asked.
“I’d like to think so—I certainly hope to see you at your orientation!” He smiled and patted Max firmly on the shoulder. “I hope you’ll join the new class, Max. I think Rowan’s just the place for you.”
A moment later, Nigel had gone. Max watched him walk briskly down the sidewalk, briefcase in hand, before he turned off Max’s street. Feeling very alone, Max locked the door and gathered up the plates and glasses. On his way to the kitchen, he passed Lucy, who trotted past him into the den. Stepping over the rather large mess she’d made, Max sighed and piled the dishes in the sink. He left Lucy in the den, where she seemed content to snort and roll.
Max was vaguely aware that the Chicago Cubs were losing to the San Francisco Giants when he heard the front door open. Bolting upright in his father’s chair, he switched off the radio and skidded to the back door clutching Lucy, who had been curled up on his lap. The piglet shook herself awake with a series of startled grunts.
Setting her down outside, Max scratched her ears and whispered, “Thanks for staying with me, Lucy. Sorry I doubted you. Can you find Nigel?”
Lucy nuzzled his leg and, with a jaunty turn, trotted out into the yard, disappearing behind the fort. Locking the door, Max padded barefoot to the front hall, where his father had just let his bag thump to the floor.
“Hey, Max. How were the Raleighs?”
“Er, fine,” Max said, avoiding his father’s eyes. “I’m glad you’re home, though.”
“Yeah, well, so am I. Had a chance to cool off a bit in KC, and I think we’ll ground you for one week rather than two. Cooped up for two weeks is too much during the summer. Sound fair?”
“Sure,” Max said. “Um, Dad, we’re going to have someone coming by the house tonight to talk with us.”
“Who’s that? You’re not in trouble, are you?”
“No, nothing like that. I won some kind of scholarship.”
Scott McDaniels glanced from the mail to Max. “Really? A scholarship? What kind of scholarship?”
“I don’t know exactly, but they’re offering me full tuition at some school.”
“What school?” asked his father, giving an inquisitive smile.
“Rowan Academy—in New England.”
Mr. McDaniels’s smile vanished. “New England? That’s hundreds of miles away, Max. How did you win this scholarship?”
Max began fidgeting.
“Um, I guess I did well on some tests and, uh, they found me.”
“And who is this person coming tonight?”
“Someone named Miss Awolowo.”
“Humph,” his father snorted. “That’s a mouthful. We’ll see what Miss Aloha has to say.”
The two made turkey sandwiches and took turns dipping into a colossal tin of potato chips. Mr. McDaniels regaled Max with stories about a new paper towel that offered astonishing absorbency.
Miss Awolowo arrived precisely at eight o’clock. Towering to nearly Mr. McDaniels’s height, she was an elegant woman whose age Max found impossible to estimate. She wore multicolored robes, a necklace of heavy beads, and carried a woven bag decorated with flying birds. She placed the bag on the step and extended her hand. Her skin was as smooth and dark as a coffee bean, her voice rich and tinged with an accent.
“You must be Mr. McDaniels. I am Ndidi Awolowo from Rowan Academy. It is my very great privilege to meet you.”
Scott McDaniels paused somewhat awkwardly before concluding the handshake.
“Yes, of course. Very nice to meet you, too. Please come in.”
“Thank you,” said Miss Awolowo, sweeping past him into the foyer, where Max lingered nervously.
“Hello there—you must be Max! I’m Miss Awolowo.”
Max took her hand and felt his apprehension wash away. As with Nigel, there was a reassuring strength and warmth to this woman. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he led her into the living room, where Mr. McDaniels fumbled with coffee and a tray of sugar cookies. Settling at one end of the couch, she directed her bright eyes alternately between Max and his father.
“You have a beautiful home, Mr. McDaniels, and an extraordinary son. I must apologize for visiting on such short notice; we only recently received Max’s results. Have you had an opportunity to review the scholarship we would like to offer him?”
“Yes, and we sure do appreciate that, Miss Ahoolaloo.” Max squirmed as his father adopted the tone of voice he used with clients. “That letter got us tickled pink, but I think we’re going to have to take a pass. Max’s been through a lot these past few years, and I think it’s best if he stays close to home.”
Miss Awolowo nodded soberly and paused before replying.
“Yes, please forgive me for being direct, but I am aware of the situation with Mrs. McDaniels. I am sorry.”
“Er, yes. Yes, it’s been difficult for us, but we’re managing.”
“Of course you are. You’re doing a wonderful job, Mr. McDaniels. You’ve raised a fine boy under very trying circumstances. I do hope, however, that you will not permit a tragedy in your son’s past to obstruct a wonderful opportunity in his future.”
“I only want the best for Max,” said his father defensively.
“I know you do,” she said soothingly. “That is precisely what we offer. Our program is better suited to serve your son than a mainstream curriculum. You see, Mr. McDaniels, a boy with Max’s aptitude and creativity cannot flourish in a program that does not recognize and develop his unique skills.”