The Strangeness Within Pt. 01

Mr. Langdon took a quick peek at the results for himself, and they saw the way his eyebrows rose. But then he quickly taped them up for everyone to see.

Esther's name was at the very top of the long list. She had gotten a perfect score, far above the second student. The only other name from their school was Samuel, a quiet tenth-grader who'd managed an honorable mention.

There were some more or less enthusiastic congratulations to Esther, though mostly the other students seemed awed. Even Mr. Langdon was looking at her with wonder.

"It doesn't make sense," Esther muttered as she walked off with Javier. "I couldn't solve that question, though I managed to prove a weaker version."

"Maybe there was something wrong with it, like you thought," said Javier. "They made a typo and so they threw it out. Anyway, who cares? This is tremendous, Esther. I think you just won enough money to go to any college you like, even the really expensive ones. And surely you'll get in. Aren't you excited?"

"I guess," said Esther. "Yes, of course I am. It's just -- oh, I don't know. It's complicated. I suppose it's hard to envision getting to choose my future like that."

"We should celebrate, anyway," said Javier. "How about an all-out battle of the sticks? This afternoon. Best of three games. Don't think of going easy on me, because I'm sure I'll get you this time."

Esther smiled, and they had an awkward hug. And then he watched her walk away, his heart brimming with pride and selfish worry. Because of course Esther should go to the best school she could. And that certainly wasn't the nearby Grace College, or the similarly close state university he had his own sights on.

* * *

"Hah!" exclaimed Esther, collecting his last stick pile.

He loved her like this, animated and free and almost gloating. She deserved a lot more of that. A patch of sunlight shone on her raven-black hair, and for a moment she looked like an impossible creature from the forest. Delicate, but with an iron strength inside.

Esther glanced at him, and she must have seen something in his eyes, because she blushed a little. So he leaned over to hug her, carefully keeping his hands at what he hoped was a safe height.

She was so short that even with him leaning over awkwardly, his face was in her hair. She smelled nice. No makeup, no perfumes, just Esther. Without thinking he kissed her softly on the side of the head, then hoped she hadn't noticed.

Esther pulled away slightly, tilting her face up to his, and then she kissed him right on the lips. It was clumsy, but Javier didn't give a fuck, and it was everything he could do to slow down his racing heart and remember that she wasn't like Clara, wasn't like any of the more self-assured girls he'd been with. He kissed her, and kissed her more, tasting the sweetness of her lips. Slowly her mouth relaxed and she stopped moving around quite so much, at least until she suddenly jerked away.

She was breathing so fast, like when she'd worked too hard in gym class.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

Esther made a confused gesture and put her hand on her face.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Nothing, I think," he said. "Maybe you're nervous. But I really, really liked that."

"Me too," she said tiredly. "But what if -- Javier, I --"

She didn't say any more, but Javier had some guesses. So he took her hand in his.

"There's no rush," he said. "Whatever we figure out that we like, whenever we're ready, that's enough for me."

* * *

Esther closed and locked her door, sitting on her bed. What an eventful day! Father had been so excited for her that he'd promised to take her out tomorrow night to the restaurant down the street, the one where he and Mother sometimes had gone for special dates.

She lay on her bed, and her mind turned inexorably towards everything that had happened with Javier that afternoon. She shivered, her memory almost recreating the feeling when he kissed her. He was so good at it. He was obviously experienced with girls -- normal girls. She doubted he fully understood how difficult all this might be. She sighed and loosened the top of her dress so she could remove her bra. Lately the area between her breasts had been itching fiercely, and she didn't have any underwear that didn't irritate it. And it wasn't like she could go without, for any number of reasons. It was yet another unexplained annoyance from her body.

She could feel that familiar fluttering feeling low in her stomach, the itch of another sort entirely. It was past time to stop hiding from whatever she'd done to herself.

She was horny. She turned the word over in her head, smiling a little. Horny. She liked thinking of herself that way.

In a few minutes she was comfortably naked, rocking gently on her back and remembering the feeling of Javier touching her there. She almost wished she hadn't stopped him. It had felt even better when he did it to her, but it really wasn't fair to take advantage of him that way.

Cautiously she brought her hand down between her legs. The wound had pretty much healed within a week, but she wasn't sure what to make of the little hole that remained. She could just about fit her pinky finger inside, though there wasn't much of an inside to speak of. It was all terribly sensitive, but she wasn't sure if it was a good kind of sensitive.

She moved back to circling the wider patch of skin, feeling for the thicker ridge underneath. It was pleasurable enough, but that was all. The slow rubbing of her back felt better, and she was getting that new tingling in her chest. Cautiously she reached her pinky inside the hole, and found it was -- easier. Easier than a few minutes ago, as though the space there was expanding a little. The way normal girls were supposed to, and yet really not the same.

She suddenly pulled away her finger, uncertain. None of it really added up, and all the changes were too distracting. So she just lay there and thought about Javier, his powerful legs, his solid chest, his hands on her back. Even if she didn't understand herself, she knew in theory the kinds of things that could make a boy feel good. She'd practically felt her ears burning when she sneaked off to a corner of the library a couple years ago with that particular book.

Javier was right, of course. They should take their time, frustrating as it would be to go slowly. She sighed, drifting to sleep with thoughts of a Javier's muscled butt, his stiff penis cupped in her hands.

* * *

"Esther?"

Her math teacher beckoned her over while the other students filed in. Mr. Langdon was well-meaning enough, but he just couldn't understand how shy she was. But it wasn't about class at all.

"Esther, we're all so proud of you for what you accomplished on the exam. You seem to have impressed a lot of people, because there are two real mathematicians who'd like to talk to you. Professors, all the way down from Stanford! You're excused from class, if you're willing to meet them, and I strongly encourage it. This is a very unusual chance."

Not knowing what else to do, Esther nodded, making her way to the vacant classroom where the professors were waiting. Stanford! Javier had said it was one of the best schools, and it wasn't as far away as most of them were.

Inside the room were two men who stood quickly when she arrived. One was short and very round, with thinning white hair and a friendly face. The other was slimmer and much younger, with brown skin and black hair, and very intense eyes.

"Esther Thompson?" the older man asked. He had a strong Russian accent.

She nodded, and he smiled, extending his hand. "I'm Anatoly Kuznetsov. This is my colleague, Raj Patel."

She shook hands with each of them, and they pulled some chairs across from her.

"Now, don't be nervous. We're here because you did so extraordinarily well on the exam, of course, but we have a particular interest. You see, the exam committee contacted us asking for a special kind of problem. We do this kind of thing from time to time, but in this case --"

"They asked us for an unsolved problem. An unsolvable one, even," the younger man interrupted. He pulled out some papers, and she recognized a copy of her attempt at that one problem. Understanding washed over her, along with a new confusion.

"So no one knows if the proposition is true or false?" she said slowly. Professor Kuznetsov smiled and nodded.

"That doesn't make sense," she said. "Why would you make students attempt something like that?"

Professor Patel gave her a small smile, flashing his teeth. "It is a better idea than you might realize. This is what the two of us do, after all! On the edge of what is known, you always struggle with questions that may be too hard, which no one knows the answer to. For the very best students, as you clearly are, seeing how you react in such circumstances is useful."

"And it is your response that astonished us," the older professor said. "Tell me, have you ever seen this problem before? It is not very famous, but in our small field it is somewhat important."

"No," said Esther. "I'd never seen it before."

"Do you know anything about the field of elliptic curves?"

She shook her head, and the two professors shared a glance. "Would you be willing to go through the answer you wrote, explaining your reasoning again?" asked the younger man, pushing her papers closer to her.

Esther nodded and began. Partway through she realized they had intended to have her use her own notes as a guide, but of course she didn't need them.

"You have a spectacular memory," Professor Patel said with wonder when she'd finished. "And that was very clearly explained. Now, the weaker proposition you chose to prove is a known result. But it wasn't proved until a few decades ago."

"I remember it well," said the older professor. "Because I was the one who proved it. And I'm not ashamed to say your proof is far shorter than mine was. It has been proved in different ways since then, but yours is absolutely novel, and among the most elegant. And you did this under exam conditions? Your calculus teacher said you haven't even taken more advanced math courses, to his knowledge."

"No, but I read all the textbooks in the library," she said.

"Which ones?" asked Professor Kuznetsov, and she recited them. The two men nodded.

"That explains the elementary nature of your solution," said the older man. "The necessary background for it is fully contained within those texts. It is a remarkable achievement. But here is the crux of our visit. You indicated an opinion that the original proposition may be false. What motivated that opinion?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "I've thought about it more," she said. "I don't know. It just doesn't feel correct somehow, in that part of my brain that works through things before I can put words to them. But I can't get any further than that. It's frustrating."

Professor Kuznetsov burst unexpectedly into laughter, though Professor Patel simply stared at her with his intense eyes.

"Raj shares your frustrating intuition," the older man said. "Though I am neutral on the question. In any case, we have high hopes from a collaboration with our computing department. There are reasons to think we will find a counterexample, if there is one. And Ms. Thompson, you can expect a lot more frustration if you come to Stanford to join us in our research. But I think you would enjoy it a great deal."

She felt her heart pounding, and her breathing was becoming too fast. She gripped the chair tightly. Professor Kuznetsov must have noticed.

"But there's no rush, of course!" he said. "What we mean is, as long as the rest of your academic work is acceptable, and I'm sure it is, we can help assure you admission. And whenever you felt settled enough in your coursework, we would welcome you to our collaboration. But the earlier the better from our perspective! We could also help your finances with a research stipend."

"But -- the scholarship," she said. "Wouldn't that all be taken care of anyway?"

The two men shared an uneasy look. Professor Patel broke the silence.

"There are some conditions you may not be aware of. I'm not sure we're the right ones to explain them, as I don't entirely understand it myself despite helping grade the exams. The truth is, I offered to the committee to verify that your performance was legitimate, though secretly I had no doubts. Our offer to you is completely separate from the exam and its scholarship, and I'm not sure the committee would look upon it very favorably. But Stanford is extremely generous with financial aid, and I am sure we can make things work. A student like you deserves as many choices as possible. Even if you don't choose Stanford, we would be delighted to stay in contact. I will have our admissions office call you, and I'll leave you my card in case you have any questions. Please call me any time."

* * *

"I liked them," said Esther as they ate lunch. "They seemed kind and honest. They treated me like an equal."

"Stanford," mused Javier. "That is such wonderful news. I'm so proud of you. And there are other state campuses I could apply to, ones closer to Stanford. I didn't want to move so far from Mamá, but --"

"Don't make any decisions like that, not yet," said Esther. "We still have time, surely."

"Right," agreed Javier. "And who knows? Maybe all the professors will be arriving shortly, begging for you to attend their particular school. You'll have your pick, and they'll have to compete. Like if you were a superstar athlete."

Esther smiled, not sure whether he was joking. But the end of the meeting had bothered her. "What about what they said about the scholarship? What does that mean?"

"I don't know," he said. "I don't recall anything like that. I guess you'll have to ask tomorrow, when they present it. I hope it's nothing too complicated."

* * *

Esther supported Father slightly as they walked home from the restaurant, which wasn't such an easy task. She didn't mind at all, though. He'd drunk several glasses of wine, but he'd been so happy, despite the memories that place must have. She felt as though a great burden was starting to lift, one she hadn't known she carried. Father was beginning to move on.

It was nearly dark when they reached their house. Esther squinted in confusion. There seemed to be two people waiting for them by their door.

"Esther Thompson?" the woman asked.

Her father shook off her arm and moved forward.

"Who are you?" he asked, not in a very friendly fashion.

"Apologies," said the woman. "My name is Myra Jackson, and this is my colleague Fred Daniels. We're part of the committee presenting the award tomorrow. We came by earlier, but we missed you then."

Her father relaxed. "We didn't expect to meet you until tomorrow. What can we do for you?"

"We have a few questions, a little paperwork to sign in advance. Just getting the processing going faster, and filling in some details for the little speech Fred gets to give tomorrow. Do you have a few minutes?"

"Of course," her father said, his mood brightening. "We're very grateful for this opportunity. It's still quite overwhelming."

The four of them arranged themselves in the living room. The woman smiled and handed Esther a pen and a form to fill out. The pen felt heavy in her hand. Expensive.

Father beamed at her as she began to fill it out, and he turned his most polite smile on the others, motioning them to the couch. Esther printed her name and began to fill in the details neatly. She liked writing with this pen. As always she felt a slight unease as she filled in her birth information, but of course that was an ordinary thing. She filled in a few towns of residence she'd learned from before her memories began, then the more recent information. They'd always moved frequently, until they came to this house. She was so glad they'd stayed.

"We understand Esther was home-schooled until this most recent year, by her mother," said Ms. Jackson. "We're terribly sorry to hear about your loss. She must have been a remarkable woman."

"She was," said Father, and Esther could hear the love and pride and pain in his voice. She hoped they didn't ask any more about Mother.

"When did you learn that Esther was so precocious? You must have been so proud."

Father smiled, with a hint of nervousness. "She's always been special. The brightest star in our life. Always curious."

Mr. Daniels cut in. "What we mean is, we were astonished at her performance on the exam. She is absolutely exceptional. When were you aware of her talents? Often they manifest even in a young child. Was it when you were in ..." He made a show of reading some notes. "Virginia?"

Father grew much more nervous. "I don't see why that's so important," he said awkwardly. "We never pushed Esther, and it was a while before we understood how much was going on in that brilliant little mind of hers."

The man held up his hands placatingly. "Just fishing for some anecdotes to pepper my speech. I didn't mean to pry."

There was something Esther didn't like about this man's tone. For that matter, when she looked at Ms. Jackson, she saw something odd as well. Like her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Maybe it just was her professional business face. The pair must be tired and a little annoyed at having to wait so long to talk to them, but they wouldn't want to show that.

"Well," said Father, obviously fishing for something to tell them. "She does have an amazing memory. We had a little book about animals of the world, and I still remember the feeling when she repeated back the entire book to us, as though she was just reading it in her mind. And she reads so fast."

"That's wonderful," said the man, flashing a smile and nodding to his partner. He accepted the form that Esther had finished filling out. "Now, we should explain the modest conditions of the scholarship."

Esther tensed. She hadn't told Father about any of her fears about this, not wanting to spoil their night of celebration.

"Conditions?" her father asked, confused.

"Nothing onerous," the woman assured. "You see, our corporation is always looking for bright new recruits, and so we ask that our recipients spend a few hours a week in an internship at one of our offices. And then full-time during the summer." She turned to Esther, handing her a sheet. "It does somewhat limit the schools you can practically attend. But they include some of the best math departments."

She stared. None of the schools was nearby, and almost all were clustered on the East Coast. Stanford wasn't one of them.

"These are so far away," she said weakly.

"We would provide you a travel stipend," the woman said. "We do cutting-edge mathematical work, and I promise you would not be bored."

"What type of work?" Esther asked. Something was off about this conversation.

"I'm afraid we can't fully explain," said Mr. Daniels. "You see, we partner with the government in these endeavors. You would get a security clearance, really a routine task, and then you would find out about our research when you met your wonderful colleagues. But I can promise that it is not only exciting intellectual work, but that you would be making a real difference in the world! What we do makes everyone safer."

"Military," her father said with distaste. Esther tensed, knowing what was coming. "I should have known. They're the ones who want smart people, who will pay them with their dirty money."

"Father," Esther said placatingly.

"No, no, we're not military," assured the woman. "We're not designing weapons or anything like that. It is just important theoretical work that needs a certain amount of secrecy."

"Security clearances. Secrecy," Father spat. "You can take your dirty money. Esther has other options, in any case."