Sean did a double take as he bumped into Tiffany outside physics class, berating himself yet again for being a sucker for a pretty face. The blond girl seemed lovelier than ever to Sean's eyes, her silken hair glossier and straighter each day. She sported a pleated plaid skirt and crop tank from Forever 21 or Aeropostale or wherever upper-middle class cheerleaders shopped. A pink Michael-Kors handbag completed her outfit. That was one more strike against Jason in Sean's mind. Girls like Tiffany seemed to gravitate to the jock, while he'd be lucky to get the time of day from them. Not that he had the time for hangers-on, Sean told himself. Time enough for hot girls later, once he was on speaking terms with the likes of Warren Buffett.

"You've quite a nerve," Tiffany's face twisted into lofty derision usually reserved for him, mixed with another unidentified emotion, "chasing girls way beyond your league." 

"Oh," Sean was taken aback for a second, then sighed wearily, "For the last time, I wasn't chasing Judith. Not that you would care, Miss Minion Barbie."

"Oh, Jason cares," Tiffany smiled grimly, "and he's pissed at being grounded. Guess who he's going to take it out on."

"He wouldn't dare," Sean scoffed cautiously, "Not when his dad could cut off his allowance."

"I'd watch my back, if I were you," Tiffany lowered her voice, her eyes lingering on Sean's cast, "especially if you're wandering around giving soccer presentations after school."

"Who told you that?" Sean demanded. Was that grudging respect in Tiffany's eyes? Naaah, he must be seeing things.

"Phyllis has been bitching about clueless noobs wasting her time," Tiffany sniffed, "meddling in stuff they know nothing about. That would be you... and girls soccer."

Phyllis Gibbs was a fellow junior. Reginald's sister and co-heir to the Gibbs fortune. Varsity soccer player. Yet another one who automatically annoyed Sean by being blessed with both looks and riches. She usually ignored Sean for the peasant that he was, but had doubtless received a biased account of Judith's party from her brother. Phyllis had an independent streak if Kaitlyn was to be believed, insisting on playing soccer 'her own way' and wasn't much liked either by her team or the coach.

"Nobody is making her attend," scowled Sean, "It's not like I have official standing with the team."

"Oh, trust me, she wouldn't miss this for anything," Tiffany smiled cloyingly, "Making a fool of yourself before the girls varsity would make her day. Cardiff hasn't even gone past quarter-finals in years... and you're supposed to be this.. Chosen One who'll take us to the regionals. Riiight... Can you really?" Tiffany ended uncertainly with her mockery attenuated.

Kaitlyn's faith in him was flattering, if only she wasn't so enthusiastic in marketing promises on his behalf.

"I don't know," Sean said brusquely, "But why the sudden concern for my welfare? If your boyfriend is really planning something, I mean."

"Jason isn't my boyfriend, you jackass, just a good friend," retorted Tiffany, "Pull your mind out of the gutter."

"Better luck next time," grunted Sean, pushing past Tiffany into the classroom.

#

"...it was up to Galileo two millennia later, to figure out that any mass falls with the same acceleration under negligible air resistance, thus disproving Aristotle's theory of gravity. Strangely enough there is no evidence Galileo actually conducted his iconic experiment of dropping weights from towers," Mr. Turner's chalk squeaked out equations on the board, "...the world had to wait for Newton's mathematical description of gravity to shed light on why objects fall as they do..."

Sean looked up as silence lingered several seconds after Turner ended his lecture. The class was looking at him expectantly.

"What?" Sean frowned, "I didn't say anything..."

"Exactly, Mr. Cook, that's rather unusual these days," Turner said wryly, "No pithy comments pointing out errors in my lecture? No special insights to enlighten us?"

"Um... why not," Sean sighed, "Just a teeny nitpick... the world needn't have waited for Newton or even Galileo to figure out that all objects fall alike. Heck, Aristotle himself could have realized that, if he had only sat down and thought about it for maybe two minutes."

Scattered giggles.

"How so?" Turner's grin widened.

"Aristotle's theory is self-contradicting," continued Sean, "as Galileo himself realized. If a large rock is supposed to fall faster than a small pebble, then it should fall faster than a heap of small pebbles, right? After all, pebbles of the same mass shoud fall at the same rate. Even Aristotle would agree. But what is a large rock, if not a bunch of pebbles stuck together by molecular glue? By that logic, a rock would have to fall faster than itself... which is contradictory. The only way out of the contradiction is if heavier objects fell at the same rate as lighter objects. No math needed for that bit of insight."

Tiffany didn't roll her eyes this time, looking thoughtfully startled instead.

"I concede your point, Mr. Cook," Turner laughed delightedly, "See me after class please."

Sean followed Turner out of the classroom, vaguely wondering why the physics teacher had requested his company on a stroll around the school grounds. It was another bright chilly autumn afternoon on the playground. Turner picked a path that circumscribed an elliptical ring of stadium lights on the left and expanses of baseball and softball fields on the right. Turner strutted along with a bird-like gait, pushing back his glasses as they kept sliding down his nose. They passed a soccer field where freshman girls were out on practice, their yells filling the air. Sean watched the game moodily.

 "I always knew you had it in you, Sean," Turner gave him a sidelong glance, "but I never expected your academics to catch up so fast. It's not often that a teacher's fondest hopes suddenly come true."

"Um," grunted Sean. Turner had addressed him by his first name, Sean noted, instead of his typical mock formality. 

"It hasn't escaped my notice that your studies picked up immediately after the unfortunate accident at Brookhaven," Turner stopped in his tracks and turned to Sean, "which incidentally is a blot on my record. Is there anything you wish to... confide in me, Sean?"

Sean froze, trying to think of a reply. Turner's glasses magnified his eyes giving Sean the impression of being scrutinized by a bipedal bug. And Sean's mind flashbacked to a storm drain beneath Fuller Dynamics ... chrome bandsaw grinning against steel stake-studded jaw... an insectile mind hunting him from behind bulging crimson lenses... agony of bone splintering...

"Um...what?" Sean blinked, "Uh... I was just... shaken by the accident, sir. Made me sit down and rethink what I was going to do with my life... you know."

"A major life event can have that effect on some people," Turner turned away to resume his walk, his voice flat, "speaking of which you seem to have the knack of getting into trouble. I refer of course to the cast you are wearing."

Sean wondered if he was in for a moral sermon. He'd received a couple of those from his parents and was getting rather tired of them.

"Have you heard of the Zero Sum Institute, Sean?" Turner's change of subject startled him, "No? I'm not surprised. They are an obscure for-profit think-tank based in New Haven, attempting to solve some of the most intractable problems around the world. For a price. I consult for them occasionally... I know what you're thinking. What's a humble high school physics teacher doing consulting?"

"Oh, no sir," Sean lied, "I wasn't..."

"That's a long story which I won't go into now," Turner laughed, "but I do have my uses, Sean. Anyway, Zero Sum is looking for gifted interns... if you're interested in applying."

"Me?" Sean gaped, "Don't they need more... qualified candidates? And what's in it for me?"

"Their interns are usually undergrads or even grad students, that's true," Turner nodded, "you'd be their first highschooler if you clear their screening. As for what's in it for you, I assume you intend to pursue college?"

Sean nodded. Even if he planned on not working for anyone, he was realistic enough to know that plans seldom survived contact with the real world. Having a college degree was a permit to being taken a tad more seriously by those he'd have to deal with.

"Well then," Turner gave a pleased smile, "College admission boards are always looking for students who stand out from the pack. Interning for an organization addressing real world issues will put you ahead of the line. You'll have more options as to the college of your choice."

Truth be told Sean was a getting a little bored. With his power, even AP classes were no longer challenging. Perhaps interning over the summer break before senior year wouldn't be a bad idea.

"I'll think about it," Sean acknowledged. Their path swung around the soccer field and paralleled the edge of a sandy embankment railed off by a white picket fence. Fifty feet below, the Old Coast Road wound up to the main entrance of the school. Beyond the road, glittered the waters of the Sound, sprinkled with white-crested waves. A steady wind blew in from the Atlantic, causing Sean to pull up the collar of his jacket. They stopped at the fence to watch sail boats maneuvering.

 "Know anything about sailing, Sean?" Turner asked staring out to sea.

"Um... sailing?" Sean frowned, feeling off balance by the changes in subject, "no, sir."

"See those two boats," Turner's outstretched arm picked out a couple of sailboats that appeared to be turning in a tight arc, one behind the other, their sails taut, "the first boat is bearing north-east at the moment, and the second one north-west. If those boats stopped turning right now and maintain their current headings, which boat do you think would go faster eventually?"

"Well, it's an east wind," Sean frowned at the seemingly trivial question, "The second one, I expect. The first one is headed against the wind at an angle."

Turner's grin was shark-like, "What's propelling those boats?"

"The wind of course," Sean replied testily, "or relative wind speed to be specific. Not sure what you are getting at, sir."

"Which boat will have the highest relative wind speed eventually, I wonder," Turner mused, adopting a mock thinking pose.

"The first one of course... oh," Sean trailed off, his face grimacing in chagrin, "I really should have figured it... if I had thought it out..."

"It's what sailors call tacking. You can't sail straight upwind, but you can zigzag to reach an upwind destination. But it's not intuitive, so you gave the first answer that popped into your mind," Turner leaned against the picket fence, his face expressionless, "You're very good at pattern matching stuff you've read in books within the context of a classroom or an exam. But out in the real world, problems don't come neatly classified. And it's easy to miss stuff unless you are sufficiently motivated to look beyond easy answers."

Motivated by dreams of wealth or the urge to impress his peers, Sean thought but didn't say.

"Sometimes a spade is just a spade, sir," Sean sulked.

"Touche," Turner laughed, "A parting word of advice, Sean. You are a big fish in a small pond now. Don't let that get to your head. You're already gaining a reputation for manipulating young women..." Turner held up a hand to forestall Sean's protest, "Far be it for me to judge. But may I humbly suggest that you might reach your own goals faster by helping others reach their goals. Use your skills to give them what they want. The shortest path is not always the fastest, especially when sailing upwind."

"Ah," Sean nodded, "you're saying the best way to manipulate people is by helping them?"

"I wouldn't phrase it that way," Turner smiled, "but yes."

"Sorry, I couldn't resist," Sean grinned in return.

Turner took his leave and walked away jauntily, leaving Sean to his thoughts. Soccer practice was still in session. Maybe he really should take deeper look at optimizing the girls' varsity game like he'd promised Kaitlyn. His first attempt at trawling the sport archives had been discouraging. The coaches weren't stupid after all, and the matches seemed as competently managed as he had feared. In something as competitive as high school sport, with every team squeezing the last bit of relative advantage, no team would leave metaphorical money on the table... would it?

And then Sean saw his mistake. No team would give up advantage, but individual players might. Rare was the human institution that perfectly aligned its incentives with that of its members. And misaligned incentives were always ripe for correction... if he could find it.

#

Turner walked briskly towards the main building. He extracted his phone after a quick look around and dialed the number he had memorized.

"Megan Murphy, DOE Liaison speaking," she growled in un-liasion-like fashion which clearly conveyed : better have a freaking good reason for disturbing me.

"Subject is primed," Turner said softly.

END OF CHAPTER