Life After Genius Read Online Free PDF Page A

you are,” Hayley says. “I remember you from first grade.”
    “I was never in first grade,” Mead says.
    “Yes, you were. I gave you a shoebox with a dead bird in it for Valentine’s Day. You know, because your dad’s an undertaker. It was a pretty awful thing to do but I was only six. I hope you can forgive me.”
    Great. Of all the people in all of High Grove that Mead has to end up sitting next to on the worst day of his life is the girl who was responsible for the second worst day of his life. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific,” he says. “I got a lot of dead birds that year. Was it the robin, the blue jay, or the wren?”
    “I never heard this story before,” Mead’s father says.
    “And you didn’t hear it just now either, Dad. She’s making it up. Or maybe she’s thinking of somebody else.”
    “Teddy’s right,” Martin says. “She probably gave it to the other undertaker’s son. You know, to Percy.”
    Not a single person sitting at the table believes that Hayley gave a dead bird to Percy for Valentine’s Day. Not a one. He just wasn’t the kind of kid to whom other kids gave dead birds. He would much more likely have been the kid who handed them out. Besides, Percy wasn’t even in first grade the year Hayley and Mead were. He was in fourth grade.
    “Congratulations on your recent graduation,” Mrs. Sammons says and reaches across the table to pat Mead’s hand. “I saw the announcement in the local paper.”
    “What announcement?” Mead says and looks at his father.
    “Your mother sent one in to the
Grove Press
,” he says. “They weren’t supposed to publish it until next week.”
    “Phi Beta Kappa,” Mr. Sammons says. “That’s pretty impressive.”
    “And yet you don’t look a day over sixteen,” the missus adds.
    “He’s eighteen, Mother,” Hayley says. “Like me.”
    “Hayley just graduated from high school,” Mr. Sammons says. “Last week.”
    Everyone in the dining hall is shouting to be heard above everyone else and all the yelling is beginning to give Mead a headache. That and the cigarette smoke. A waitress drops by the table to take a drink order and Martin asks for a pitcher of beer but it is unclear to Mead whether he is ordering it for the whole table or just for himself. Mrs. Sammons orders a gin and tonic. Hayley asks for a Pepsi. Mead looks up at the waitress and says, “Two Tylenol, please.” She thinks she has heard wrong and asks him to repeat his order. He motions to his glass, using international sign language to say, “I’ll just have water.” But when the waitress comes back, she places a frosted mug in front of Mead and fills it with beer. “I’m underage,” he says and tries to hand it back to her. “I don’t drink alcoholic beverages.”
    “If I was you,” Mr. Sammons shouts above the din, “I’d learn how.”
    T HE ROAST BEEF IS CHEWY and the string beans are mushy and bland —just like in the university cafeteria —so Mead has no trouble at all swallowing them down. What he does have a hard time swallowing is the sight of his uncle, hunched over his dinner plate as if the weight of the whole world rests solely on his shoulders, as if he has cornered the market on bad things happening to good people. But it simply isn’t true. Shitty stuff happens to good people every day. Okay, so maybe Mead wouldn’t have believed that a week ago. A week ago he would have thought that people bring bad stuff upon themselves. A week ago, if you had told Mead that everything he has worked so hard for was going to add up to squat, he would have dismissed your words out of hand. He would have thought you jealous or delusional or worse. But he would have been wrong. Mead does not mean to take anything away from his uncle. The man has a damned good reason to be angry —he really does —but so does Mead. The difference being that Mead is not wearing his heart on his sleeve, because he does not find it to be a very attractive