L.A.O.S. Absolutely Ordinary: Chapter 2A

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Chapter 2 Part A

“Right,” she said. “So it’s like this. Brain.” She swiped a sheet of paper off Pip’s desk – a printout showing the various areas of the brain. I’d never noticed how long and slender Megan’s fingers were before – not that I’d had the excuse or opportunity. “Comprised of different, specialised areas that in and of themselves are pretty darn clever – but the sum is greater than the parts.”
I shrugged. “Right. And?”
She glanced around at the others. “There’s a theory that people who are extra smart have hyper-developed brains. Obviously,” she said, cutting over me, “something about a super intelligent brain is more efficient, allowing it to work better, but I mean more than that. There’s a hypothesis” – she glanced meaningfully at Matt and Pip – “that super intelligence requires an enlargement of the relevant area of the brain.”
“And?” I interrupted, impatient. I hadn’t come here for a biology lecture.
“And,” she said, raising an eyebrow, “logically that implies that all functions relating to that area of the brain would be boosted. It’s a little iffy, neuroplasticity and all that, but the general concepts seem to hold.
“You’re good at trig. I’d guess that means that your parietal lobe is enlarged. Your visio-spatial processing and mapping is probably pretty good.”
I snorted. “This room is one-hundred and eighty-three steps from our Maths room. At a guess I’d say it’s six-point-seven metres wide, a few centimetres under eight metres deep, and” – I glanced upwards – “three-point-two-oh metres high at the apex of the ceiling.” I gestured to a metre ruler lying on the teacher’s desk. “Wanna check?”
Megan grinned. “No, I trust you. Here.” She held out her hand.
Warily, I placed mine underneath it, and she passed me a Ping-Pong ball. “It’s a ball,” I said flatly.
“Yup,” she said happily. “See that cup up there?”
She pointed, and I looked up to see a paper cup balanced precariously on the rafters. “Yeah…”
“In theory, you should be able to bounce that ball on the floor at the right angle and with the right velocity that it would hit the blackboard, bounce up to the roof, then ricochet off and land in the cup, right?”
I shrugged. “I suppose. In theory.”
 “So do it,” she said, and leaned back.
My eyebrows knitted together. “Really?” I stared at the cup, a good metre and a quarter over my head, then considered the blackboard. I shook my head. “No one can actually do that, it’s impossible.”
“No. You just said yourself, it’s theoretically possible.”
“Yeah, but—“
“So do it.”
I stared at her for a long moment. “You’re crazy, right? That’s what this is actually all about. Either this is the Insanity Club, or you’re all having a big joke at my expense.” I glanced around the room. Matt and Pip seemed pretty incapable of having a joke full stop, so they were obviously the insanity contingent. Greg and Megan, though? They were capable of anything, and the way Greg was peering intently at me, arms folded over his chest and lips pressed so tight you could barely see them, did nothing to allay my suspicions.
Megan gave an explosive sigh. “Look, I really want you to figure this out on your own. Heaven knows, you’re smart enough. But being smart isn’t enough; you have to believe things are possible, too.” She caught my eye and held it. “This isn’t like primary school.”
Her face gave nothing away, but my stomach flip-flopped. How the hell did she know about my Chris-fit days? “What do you mean?” I said, unwilling to admit to anything.
“You know what I mean.” Face impassive, gaze unwavering.
I held my own for a second longer, then screwed up my nose. “Oh, all right. I give in. You win. Yes, it’s theoretically possible. No, I seriously doubt anyone can do it. Yes, I’ll try anyway, and if I find out any of you are filming this with the sole intent of making me the laughing stock of the school, I swear, I will make your life a misery.” I squeezed the ball in my hand. “Here goes nothing.”
I stared at the blackboard, lips moving as I tried to think about where I would have to hit it to get it to bounce to the angled ceiling. And where should I hit that? If I got it right where it peaked in the middle of the room, it might drop close enough to straight down into the cup, but getting it there from the blackboard would be almost impossible.
I shook my head. What was I thinking? The whole thing was impossible.
Jaw clenched, I traced the necessary path of the ball backwards, aimed at the spot on the floor I’d picked, and threw.
The ball bounced into the blackboard, ricocheted off to the ceiling, then promptly spun out of control and flew into a window.
I swallowed and released the breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding. “There. See? Nothing. It’s just not possible.”
Megan snorted. “Idiot. You’re not really trying.”
“I am so!” I clenched my fists. “I’m trying as hard as I bloody well can, alright?”
“No, you’re not,” she said. “You’re getting in your own way. Up here.” She tapped her temple. “Stop thinking so hard and just do it.”
Behind me, Greg snorted. “Oh, just give up, Meegs. He’s not going to get it. He’s been hanging out with the cool kids for five years; he might have some intelligence left in there somewhere, if you say so, but there’s too much attitude in the way.”
Says he, king of arrogance. “Look, shut up, all right? I’ll get it. Just tell me what I’m supposed to be getting.”
Megan studied me, eyes wide. “Are you really sure about this?” she asked eventually. “Because once you’re committed, there’s no going back. This isn’t the kind of thing you can un-do, or un-see.”
Nerves and frustration and anger and impatience warred for control. “Look, I can handle it, okay? I’m not stupid, and my attitude” – I glanced at Greg – “is fine. Just tell me what I’m trying to do, or how it is I’m supposed to do the impossible, or whatever.”
Megan stared at Greg contemplatively. “It’s about belief, you see,” she said slowly. “Knowing something in your head and knowing it are different.” Her eyes flicked up and found mine. “Sometimes it helps to see it first.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Greg give an imperceptible nod and hold his hand up between us.  I tore my eyes away from Megan's ocean-blue ones and stared at him. He grinned wickedly. “Anything’s possible, if you can just figure out how.”
It took me a second to see what was happening – and the moisture fled from my mouth. “Is that… is that supposed to be happening?” I asked as I stared at Greg’s hand and took an involuntary step closer. His nails had turned white, and the longer I looked, the whiter his hand became. It really did look like... “No blood?” I whispered, tilting my head.
“Yup.” His grin broadened. “Complete physical control,” he said, then lowered his hand and shook it. It turned purple, then red, then gradually flesh-coloured as the blood rushed back into it.
I swallowed. “That’s not possible.”
Megan handed me the Ping-Pong ball. “Theoretically, it is. You just have to believe hard enough, and get out of your own way.”
Slowly, I reached out and took the ball. “I… I believe,” I whispered. I stared up at the paper cup and tried to relax, to force my mind to stop chittering and calculating, and just let it do its thing – the same way it did when I knew exactly how big a room was without trying, or how I knew I’d walked four thousand, three hundred and ninety-two steps since I woke up this morning.
And then I felt it: something clicked in my head and the room went quiet. It wasn’t just sound that drained from the room, but colour, movement – anything that might distract me and that wasn’t completely relevant to getting that ball into the cup.
There. My gaze landed on a patch of carpet ever so slightly to the left of where I’d thrown the ball originally, and I knew exactly how hard I’d have to pitch it for this to work.
I breathed in, and as I exhaled, I released the ball. One bounce on the carpet, a second on the board – it almost seemed to be flying of its own accord, bouncing off one side of the roof, then the other – then straight into the paper cup.
A smile softened the tension in my jaw. I did it.

Amy Laurens (c) 2012