The sun and the clouds played cat and mouse with each other for the rest of August in the Pacific Northwest, and life at Lyceum settled down a little bit, at least relative to the dramatic events that had surrounded the enactment of the Nuclear Disarmament Treaty.
Cheryl Adams, the elite gymnast from Sioux Falls, South Dakota, stayed with Ashley right up until two days before she had to be back in school. They began a solid friendship, even though Ashley had to excuse herself for a couple of days to interpret for some visiting French business people at an international trade show. Cheryl was amazed by that assignment and Ashley’s many other responsibilities.
That friendship with Cheryl helped Ashley to put even more distance between herself and the painful memory of losing Tim. She took the risk of telling Cheryl about Tim, and was surprised to discover that Cheryl had also loved and lost already. That common experience deepened their bond, and Cheryl boarded the train for home with many things to think about, things that just might someday fit into her plans for the future.
After
hosting
Dances for a Nuclear-Safe Planet in New York City, Liberty was rarely seen except when she was dashing to a class or running to a work shift. The rotary-wing flight simulator, however, knew her well. And during the last half of August, a date with Jason consisted of Liberty with her nose in an aviation book while Jason massaged her neck and shoulders. He didn’t complain — he wanted to take that phase of their relationship very slowly and
carefully.
Shawn began the Chemistry class, and felt he was really getting close to the branch of science he would like to pursue in depth. He also began to spend considerable time reflecting on the will of God as he was experiencing it unfolding in his life. He seemed to be face to face with some deep-seated assumptions, some powerful taboos that were keeping him from doing what needed to be done. And what needed to be done was becoming more and more obvious, both to others... and to himself.
The F.A.A. examiner, a large and stern lady, arrived at eight in the morning on September 5th, and was pleasantly surprised to be treated to a hearty breakfast with Sisters Erica and Liberty. But she made it clear that hospitality would not cause her to be any less meticulous in her scoring of either the written or performance tests.
“Good!” Liberty said, feeling indignant at the implication. “Lyceum has a reputation for top-notch pilots and beautiful helicopters, and they certainly don’t want me ruining that image.”
Sister Erica nodded slowly with a smirk on her face.
“But you’ll have to understand...” Liberty continued, “hospitality is just what we do here. The Sheriff is over there having breakfast right now, and at that table with Sister Shannon Eileen is a homeless family we’re helping. And tonight we’re putting on a party for some visiting European royalty, where I’ll be helping to serve.”
The examiner seemed convinced they weren’t trying to bribe her, and ordered another cup of coffee. Liberty was determined to show her the best flying she had ever seen in a student pilot.
At nine o’clock Liberty and the examiner entered a small conference room that had been reserved for the occasion.
“Mmm... not bad,” the husky lady said. “Sometimes I have to give these tests in the corner of an aircraft hanger!”
Liberty smiled with pride.
The examiner began to speak rapidly, obviously knowing the lines by heart. “Okay. Down to business. You have one hour to complete as much of the first test booklet as you can. Do not be upset that you cannot complete all
the questions — it was designed that way. You may use pencil, paper, and this calculator, which has only basic arithmetic functions. You may not use any references, notes, or other computing devices. Do you understand and agree to these rules?”
“I wouldn’t make much of a helicopter pilot if I couldn’t handle that much!”
The examiner cracked a slight smile. “True. But you’d be surprised at some of the people I get. Ready?”
Liberty took a moment to make sure the calculator was working. This clunker must be out of a museum! “Ready.”
“You may begin.”
For the next hour, Liberty worked on the problems in the test booklet, her eyes rarely straying anywhere but to the calculator to check the arithmetic she had already done, or at least closely estimated, in her head. The examiner brought out a small portable computer to work on some project of her own, but kept an eagle eye on Liberty. When the hour was over, she interrupted.
“Time is up — put your pencil down.”
Liberty complied, thinking of saying something, but holding her tongue instead.
“How much were you able to complete?”
She asked! “Oh, I finished the questions about ten minutes ago. I’ve just been double-checking my answers.”
“Um... I see.”
After a short break, the second test booklet was placed in front of Liberty.
It was similar to the first, except that no calculator was allowed. Liberty wasn’t bothered. But this time she finished only five minutes before the end of the allotted time.
During the third hour, no scratch paper was allowed, nor any figuring in the test booklet itself. Liberty took a deep breath and began. She had to ask for clarification about halfway through.
“On question ninety-three, can I assume I have plenty of fuel?”
“On
all of the emergency procedures questions, you can assume that all systems are working normally, except those that are specified as malfunctioning. Since it is normal to have a twenty-five percent fuel reserve
over flight-plan requirements, you can assume that much fuel, unless a different fuel level is specified. The one exception to this general rule is that you may not assume you have a co-pilot who can perform any actions for you.”
“I understand,” Liberty said, and went back to work.
At exactly noon, she laid her pencil down for the last time, having answered all the questions and re-checked most of them.
“I enjoyed breakfast, but I will not be able to eat lunch with you, as I have to be checking your test booklets while I eat. I will know by one o’clock if you have qualified for the performance test.”
You can bet your sweet life I’ve qualified! “Shall I meet you in the office at one?”
“Please.”
“Oh, yes...” Liberty said, digging in her pocket. “Here’s a lunch coupon.
You can use it in the cafeteria or at the barbecue in the Plaza.”
A slightly shocked look appeared on the examiner’s face. She was used to very business-like attitudes at that point in the process. Liberty could tell she was at a loss for words, so she slipped out the door, knowing the next hour would be difficult for both of them.
During lunch Liberty ate and drank and talked, letting the late summer sunshine warm her while Jason listened, massaged her tight neck muscles, and coaxed her to keep eating. She had less than an hour to unwind from three hours of tests, and get ready for a three-hour performance exam... if she had done well enough on the written tests.
The F.A.A. examiner exchanged her coupon for a club sandwich, potato salad, and iced tea, and found a quiet table where she had some room to work.
After consuming a quarter of the sandwich, she used a hand scanner to enter Liberty’s test booklets into her computer, and then selected the scoring function.
Liberty was perched on a work table in the office, swinging her legs nonchalantly, when the examiner entered.
“If I hadn’t proctored your written tests myself, Miss Buchanan, I would
suspect you of cheating. But luckily for you, there is no method of cheating that I don’t know how to catch.” A smile crept onto her face. “You have qualified for the performance tests... admirably.”
Liberty held in a grin. “Would you like to use a Bell 6000-C or a Boeing V-800?”
“My God! This is your first ticket. Didn’t you train in anything smaller?”
“Well, we had an M-500, but it’s in Atlanta now.”
“Even
that’s large as training birds go. Are you sure you’re comfortable in those big machines?”
“Sure
am!”
“And you have the permission of the owners to use one of them?” the examiner asked, her tone verging on incredulous.
“Liberty can use whichever bird she, and you, prefer,” Sister Erica said in a calm voice as she entered the room. “There are no scheduled flights until this evening. Sorry we don’t have anything smaller. We have a Bell 5000-A on order, but that’s still bigger than the V-800.”
“Well... I must say it’ll be a pleasure to fly in something other than the open two-seaters I usually get,” the examiner said.
“The V-800 is in Port Two as I remember,” Liberty said. “Will you control for us, Erica?”
“I sure will, Lib. This is a happy — and tense — day for the teacher as well as the student.”
As they walked toward the Heliport, the examiner explained the rules. “It is your responsibility, Miss Buchanan, to demonstrate to me your knowledge of standard operating procedures for rotorcraft category, helicopter class, private certificate, visual flight rules. The best way to accomplish that is to narrate all of your actions and decisions out loud. However, I am not available as a resource of any kind, except in a genuine emergency. If you ask me any question or request that I perform any operation for you, I will simply respond by asking if you want me to take over the craft. If, for any reason, I feel that your piloting is sub-standard or unsafe, I will inform you that I am taking over the craft, and you must surrender the controls to me immediately.
Do you agree to these conditions?”
“Of course.” Have you ever flown anything bigger than a two-seater?
“Good.”
They passed through the Heliport waiting area, empty and quiet at that moment, and Sister Erica unlocked one of the double doors that led out onto the appropriate landing pad. The dome roof was closed, and the medium-size eight passenger helicopter sat still, gleaming slightly in the dim light that emanated from indirect lamps over each exit door.
“Are
you
sure you can handle a helicopter of that size, young lady?”
Liberty grinned. In my sleep!
“I’ll leave you two here,” Sister Erica said. “I’ll have the lights on in just a moment.”
Liberty’s teacher left the pad through a small door, climbed up to the control room, and touched the controls for the interior pad lights. Then she sat back and watched, knowing she had done everything she could to prepare Liberty for this day, and now she could do no more, except be on hand to congratulate a very happy young pilot... or comfort a very disappointed teenager... when the exams were over.
Erica could see Liberty as she began her pre-flight mechanical checks.
Touching another control, she could hear everything that was said on the landing pad below.
“...I am now beginning the diagnostic sequence for the main flight control computer. In this process, all of the pilot’s controls are tested and calibrated.
It takes about fifteen seconds... there. All my indicators are green. Now I’m going up to the rotor inspection hatch to check the linkages and run a diagnostic...”
The examiner was silent, simply following Liberty around, not getting in her way, but making marks on her clipboard periodically.
After about ten minutes, Liberty and the examiner entered the helicopter and strapped themselves into the pilot and co-pilot’s seats. More time passed, and Erica smiled, realizing Liberty was in some danger of boring the examiner to death by checking and explaining every control and subsystem in the craft.
“Ranger K375 to Port Two Control,” Liberty’s voice said.
“This is Port Two Control. Go ahead K375.”
“Requesting dome open and clearance for engine start.”
“Your dome is opening now, and you are cleared for engine start.”
The twin jet engines started smoothly, and had a good, long warm-up time as Liberty checked everything and narrated her every thought to the examiner. Sister Erica had a hunch that Liberty was enjoying herself immensely.
“Ranger K375 requesting clearance for rotor start.”
“You have clearance for rotor start, K375.”
The helicopter’s eighty foot rotor did not start immediately, and Sister Erica was glad, as Liberty had the responsibility to make sure the area around her craft was clear and safe. Eventually the blade began to move, slowly at first, then faster and faster.
“You have flight clearance whenever you are ready, K375.”
“Thank you, Port Two Control. Estimated flight duration, one and a half hours.”
The rotor spun faster until it was nearly a blur. The large helicopter began to lift from the pad, at first slowly and hesitantly, then more assertively. It rose straight up, slowly and carefully, until it was well clear of the port building. Finally, at an altitude of about a hundred feet, it began to move off westward, over the wide Willamette Valley where Liberty had plenty of room to prove her skills.
Jason watched from the Petting Zoo as Liberty lowered the flying machine carefully back into the port building. He waved to the member on-duty, who was supervising some giant tortoise rides, and then headed toward the main building complex. He knew Liberty would still have to go through her shutdown and de-fueling procedures with the examiner, but he wanted to be on hand as soon as she was free.
After detouring to his room for the visual aids he wanted to use, he wandered slowly toward the Main Lobby, and arrived just as Liberty was shaking the examiner’s hand at the front door. The husky lady seemed to be in a good mood, but was saying something about having a dinner engagement elsewhere. Then she turned, slung her computer case over her shoulder, and headed across the Plaza.
Jason stepped beside Liberty, who was still watching the F.A.A. examiner depart.
“Was she nice?”
“She loosened up about ten minutes into the flight, but then I think she peed her pants when I did a complete engine shutdown at five thousand feet, auto-rotated for three thousand, and then did a cold restart.”
“Um... I think I can relate to her response!”
Liberty grinned at her lover.
“So... do you know if you passed?” he asked.
“Nine hundred and ninety-three points!”
“What’s
passing?”
“Nine
fifty.”
“Whoopee!” He took her in his arms, and she held him just as tightly as they spun around several times.
“I get my license in about a week!”
“You’ve also earned something else... if you can get away for a couple of weeks in October.”
“What?”
He pulled the brochure out of his pocket.
The cover told her everything she needed to know, but she feasted her eyes on the maps and pictures inside anyway, a big smile frozen on her face.
“Jason! The Amasia Express! You mean... you and me? All the way from Calgary to Moscow?”
He nodded, a smile also on his face. “And then we can spend some time in the Moscow planning office and fly home from there.”
“I want to pay for part of it!” she said assertively.
“I’ve already got the tickets covered. But I must admit it took nearly every penny I had. You can help with meals and souvenirs and stuff like that.”
“No problem! Oh, Jason, thank you so much! I’ll get to practice my Russian, and I’ll get my first clearance soon, and...” She stopped and looked into his eyes. “And it will give us lots of time to talk about the future, and time for me to show you that I’ve learned my lesson.”
He kissed her on the cheek.
“I’ve learned a lot too... about loving... and about forgiving.”
“Do you think you could love a helicopter pilot who also bakes cakes?”
“If you could love a veterinarian who also plays basketball!”
They smiled, kissed, and walked hand in hand toward the Dining Hall, where they would soon both be helping to serve the fine cuisine, fit for visiting royalty, that was being prepared at that very moment.
The following week was ushered in by an unusually fierce rain and wind storm, but by Tuesday the sun had come back out, just in time for the annual conference of the Association of Industrial Chemists, and the air was clear and fresh. Shawn was planning to attend several of the conference sessions that were open to the public. But on the first day of the conference, the sessions were for Association members only, and the entire Dining Hall had been arranged to handle the nine hundred conference attendees.
Shawn and Sarah spotted each other as they both entered the Residential Lobby to grab a bite to eat. They exchanged smiles and got in line together at the tables that were laden with all manner of sandwich makings.
“Yum! I love egg salad!” Sarah said.
“I’m going to try this roast beef,” Shawn said. “Looks good!”
“Want to eat lunch in the Picnic Area? There’s hardly anyone out there,”
she said. “Everyone thought the storm was going to go on for days.”
“Okay,” Shawn said, delighting in the warm feelings he always had when spending time with his younger friend, and simultaneously sensing the fear lurking inside himself that always arose when he pondered the implications of those warm feelings.
As they carried their plates out into the sunshine, Sarah slowed and then stood still, gazing up at the sky. For a moment Shawn was tempted to ask what she was looking at, but then realized that he knew. Small clouds were flitting across the blue sky, changing their shapes as they went, and Shawn saw them with new eyes, and gazed at them transfixed, and almost imagined that he was actually seeing them as Sarah saw them, through her eyes and her mind.
Suddenly he was struck by a formidable thought, realizing the massive amounts of courage it must take to hold her head up tall, in public and private, even in performances, day after day, knowing that most people who looked at her were only thinking one thing: Why is her face and neck so pink on one side?
A wave of sadness filled him, and he felt like crying, but he held it in. He didn’t want her to think he was crying about her misfortune. And he realized that he hadn’t even thought about her obvious scar tissue in months. It had just become, for him, part of who she was. There were so many wonderful qualities that he admired in her... including her overall beauty... that the one defect others tended to see first no longer bothered him at all.
She turned and looked at him with her clear deep blue eyes, and they smiled at each other. Then they walked on toward their destination.
There was a family with small children and an elderly couple in the Picnic Area. Shawn and Sarah looked around, and both found themselves considering a large fallen log on the far side of the playground. They had both used it previously as a place to read a book or sit with a friend, but had never before sat there together. They agreed silently and walked to it, holding each other’s plates as they climbed up one at a time.
“Yumm! The roast beef is awesome!” Shawn said after sinking his teeth into his sandwich.
“Bite for a bite?”
“Sure.”
They swapped plates for a minute.
Shawn was silent for awhile as he savored his sandwich and gathered his courage.
“I have a problem...” Shawn said, finally broaching what was on his mind.
“What
kind?”
He appreciated her direct question. It made it easier to go on. “A problem figuring out what God wants me to do. So I’ve been praying a lot recently.”
“I’ve seen you. I’ve been doing a little too, but I’m not very good at it yet.
What do you think He wants you to do?”
“Well... there are things I already know He wants me to do, like learn about science. And there are things He might want me to do someday, but I’m not ready for them yet. And then there are things I haven’t even imagined yet.”
Sarah
giggled.
“But He keeps giving me signs that there is something else I have to do, something I’ve already started doing a little bit, but not with my whole heart
yet. I’m sure now... He wants me to do it with my whole heart. He wants me to be a... sort of a... companion to someone.”
“Is that like a work assignment?”
Shawn smiled to himself, thinking for a moment that her question revealed her youthful naïveté. Then he stopped himself, realizing that she was looking down at her plate, fidgeting with her celery sticks, as if she didn’t want him to see her face at that moment. Suddenly he understood the question behind her question.
“If it were just a work assignment, it wouldn’t scare me so much. But I think God wants me to be the person’s companion for a long, long time, maybe for the rest of my life. And the more I think about it and pray about it, the more I think I want the same thing. And that’s what really gets me scared.”
She looked up at him, and her eyes held both the joys of childhood and the weighty concerns of being grown up.
“And I don’t know what to do,” Shawn went on, “because what God wants me to do seems so... impossible.”
“I thought you said nothing was impossible when God wanted it to happen...?” she said in a tone that was both statement and question.
Shawn was silent for a long time. It was his turn to stare at his plate and poke at his olives, making them roll back and forth. “You’re right,” he whispered. “Now I know what a martyr feels like. God’s will is so important, but carrying it out can be so scary... so dangerous... so... seemingly impossible.
I just don’t know what to do.”
“What does God want you to do that’s so scary, Shawn?” she asked.
But before Shawn could even think about answering, he saw that tears were on her face. She already knew what he had been avoiding with his vague words. And he realized that his continued fear and doubt was hurting her. He had to say clearly what was on his mind, and decide once and for all if he was going to be that companion or not, or else he was nothing but the biggest coward in the world. He wanted to cry, and he wanted to run. Please guide me, Father. Please strengthen me! But more than anything else, he wanted to do the right thing.
“I think...” he began in a shaky voice, “...God wants me to be your
companion, Sarah. And I want to be your companion too. But it seems so...
impossible... and I just don’t know what to do...”
She smiled at him, the sweetest, warmest smile he had ever seen. And that smile made most of the fear melt away, most of the doubt evaporate, most of the impossibility change into possibility.
“Maybe... the first thing you could do... if you want to... is hold my hand?”
she said in a tentative voice.
Shawn looked into his younger friend’s sparkling, wet eyes. A fearful place somewhere inside him melted. He felt courage pump through his veins almost as tangibly as blood. A smile grew on his face, and he felt sure he was doing what God wanted him to do, just as surely as when he had left home, and just as surely as when he had confronted his father in Birmingham. He reached out and took Sarah’s hand in his, and squeezed it warmly and firmly.
Neither one spoke for a long time. Both of them, each in their own way, pondered the significance of what they were doing. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t touched before, as friends or fellow Lyceum members. But this touch held meanings that were new to both of them, meanings that spoke of closeness and intimacy on many levels, meanings that were potentially very long lasting.
“I know some of the reasons you were scared,” Sarah said in a soft voice.
“Rachael and I talked about it, and she told me how some people would think it was bad just because you’re older than me. She said that if we became close, we’d have to be careful in public, especially for the next two or three years.”
“That’s okay with me. I know God wants us to take it slowly, and only do things together we’re both ready for.”
“Thanks!” she said, smiling and squeezing his hand. “I’ve always felt safe with you, Shawn, and I know you’d never hurt me. But please don’t think I’m just a little child simply because I’m not as tall and pretty as Liberty.”
A moment of sadness and guilt came over him. He looked down at his plate. But he already knew Sarah didn’t hate him for what had happened with Liberty on the trip. She was trying, he realized, to express a different concern, and he thought he understood what it was. He took a deep breath and put away his guilt feelings. She needed to hear some reassurances.
“To me you’re just as pretty as Liberty, and sometimes I think you’re more grown up than I am. Even though you’re still a little short, I haven’t thought
of you as a child for a long time, and everyone can tell you’ll be tall in just a few years.”
Sarah smiled with both pride and embarrassment. She had made a number of changes in her life since her tenth birthday, but one of the changes she wanted to make required the cooperation of another. Now he was there, holding her hand, and even though she wanted their relationship to unfold very slowly and carefully, at the same time she was excited about the wonderful new things she was going to discover side by side with her special new friend and companion.
Shawn said a silent prayer of thanks for the courage he had found and the companion he had gained, a companion he felt sure was going to be there for a long, long time.
The middle of September passed, and the weather turned rainy. Ashley was just finishing a long day of Childcare, Depth History, and Gardening classes, three solid hours in the gym, an hour of coaching, all followed by French and Interpretive Dance. It was nearly nine o’clock, and she was wandering back from the Recreation Center slowly, with no particular plans for the evening, as all her friends seemed to be busy elsewhere.
She stepped into the Main Lobby, the strap of her gym bag over her shoulder, and looked around. One fireplace was going, and about twenty people were talking or just relaxing. Some acoustical guitar music was playing. She crossed the Lobby, smiling at a very small girl who was sitting proudly in one of the large lounge chairs.
Sister Jennifer, the only person from Ashley’s first evaluation week to so far become a resident member, was at the Information and Assistance desk.
They waved to each other, and Ashley’s mind went back more than a year and a half to that time. She had understood little about Lyceum then, her main quest having been to find a gym where she could train at elite levels. Thinking about it now, it still seemed amazing to her that they had let her come back a second time. But she knew she had very much to learn about people, and she herself certainly claimed no insight into who might, someday, make a good Lyceum member, and who might not. She entered the large back office.
It was softly lit, and very quiet, as only three members were at work.
Brother Paul was at the telecommunications desk, Sister Marscha was putting together a booklet of some kind at a work table, and one of the very old brothers, whose name Ashley didn’t remember, was doing something very slowly at a computer using just one finger, occasionally two.
A call came in, and Ashley stood still and just listened to Brother Paul, knowing that call could have been from her two years before, or it might be from someone who would be her friend someday...
“Hello, this is Brother Paul at Lyceum. How may I be of service?... A private group facility for Samhain? Yes, we have several things you might find to your liking...” He began to access information at a computer screen. “I see... yes... thirteen with sleeping facilities?... okay... I have a small Retreat Center available for that evening... Completely private, including the surrounding five acres... Yes, a very nice campfire circle and all the firewood you need... I’d be happy to send you a brochure, and I can tentatively reserve the facility for you now...”
Ashley smiled, and wondered if she would get to meet them. Maybe they would come up to the Dining Hall for their meals. But except for Brother Paul taking some information, the call was over, so she wandered toward her favorite computer terminal, which was at a little desk by the large windows on the far side of the office.
After entering her private password, she looked over the options. She didn’t feel like writing in her journal, and she was already well aware of upcoming events. News and world affairs didn’t catch her eye, and she didn’t have any new mail to read. Finally she selected her long-range calendar.
The most distant event on it was the Olympics the following summer. She smiled, remembering how she had once not even dared to imagine such a lofty goal. Now preparation for that event was the most important thing in her life, taking up fifteen hours a week, more like twenty-five if she counted her coaching, her dance classes, and the extra time she usually spent in the gym on weekends. And she knew those hours would increase dramatically as the Olympics approached.
Then she noticed the week she would be spending in Los Angeles in October as part of an interpreting team at an international environmental conference, the weekend of the Pan-American Gymnastics Cup in Rio de
Janeiro in November, and the week long training she was going to at the U.N.
in early December. In January she had a one-day gymnastics exhibition, and was part of a team going to France to help with the Nuclear Disarmament Treaty implementation process. And in February she had been invited to the International Historical Society conference in London. She planned to pay for her air fare by giving some gymnastics clinics while she was there, and she knew she could stay at the Lyceum mission support office.
Then in March she had a two-week vacation to visit her parents and friends in South Dakota, and as soon as she got back, her preparations for the Olympics would go into high gear. It looked like an exciting year, and she knew many more things would happen that she could not yet foresee.
Feeling finished with her calendar, she switched to the educational section of her computer files. The first page told her that she had thirty-two quarter credits toward college. At the rate she was going, she realized, she would graduate college about the same time most people her age graduated high school. A smile of pride covered her face. But none of it was any good, she remembered Brother Howard saying, unless it was put to good service.
She switched to her current class schedule. A change or two needed to be made. French 3 was taking up more time than it deserved. She requested the class list, highlighted French 4, and requested the class description.
French 4: a refresher for those with a very high level of fluency, concentrating on technical and diplomatic terminology, rare grammar forms, and unusual idioms. One hour per week. One credit. Sister Viviane.
It would be nice to learn from Dr. Guise again, who had just returned from a residency at the planning office in Basel. Ashley removed French 3 from her schedule and added French 4. Now it was time for the big decision...
She scanned the list of available languages. There were many, as someone at Lyceum spoke every major language in the world. Suddenly her mind went back to her first visit to the General Assembly Hall at the United Nations, and she remembered Sister Heather recommending she consider an oriental language at some point. She also knew from her history classes that more people spoke some kind of Chinese than any other language, and that China was rapidly becoming one of the most powerful nations in the world. She found Mandarin Chinese on the list, and requested more information.
For the next ten minutes, she looked at samples of the writing, listened to several speeches and dialogs in the language, reviewed the geography and politics of the region where the language was spoken, and looked over the class description. It felt right. She added Mandarin 1 to her schedule and grinned.
Then another part of her schedule caught her eye and she looked askance at the four hours of dance classes she had every week in the evenings. That felt like too many... and maybe she would cut back... after the Olympics. But right now they would have to stay. She didn’t want to weaken her training routine just when she finally had a chance at truly world-class gymnastics.
Finally she looked at her history classes. She knew she wanted to add the new History of War and Peace class that Brother Timoteo was going to teach, and she knew she still had plenty to learn in Depth History, but it felt like the right time to let go of General History. She removed it from her schedule and added Brother Timoteo’s class. That seemed like the right thing to do.
Then Ashley turned to her credentials page, pulled her legs up onto her chair, and gazed at the screen. There was her French fluency, her Special Olympics leadership, the Flight Attendant certificate she had recently completed, and her Level Two Diplomatic Clearance. But most of her accomplishments were, of course, in gymnastics. Her mind wandered, first to the routines she was working on for the Olympics, then to the two new gymnasts who had just been offered membership, one of them fourteen and the other twenty. She wondered what they would be like.
She remembered something Tabitha had told her just a few days before, that a fifteen-year-old boy had been accepted who did some gymnastics. For a moment, Ashley let her mind run freely, imagining a cute boy who was good on the rings and the pummel horse and might be interested in a relationship.
But she stopped herself. There were still scars on her face. She could put make-up on them for a public performance now and then, but she couldn’t hide them from her fellow Lyceum members. Boy-hunting would have to wait... until she had the plastic surgery done... and that had to wait until after the Olympics. She sighed, but knew it would all work out okay someday.
At last she felt like she could do no more at the computer terminal, so she pressed the log-off key, grabbed her gym bag, and headed out of the office.
When she got to the Main Lobby, she felt restless, not ready to head for her residence hall yet. She walked out onto the Main Plaza, empty at that hour save for a pair of umbrellas emerging from the South American Garden and turning toward the Welcome Center. The Plaza was, as always, pleasantly lit and inviting, even when the weather was wet.
Even though hundreds, sometimes thousands of people visited Lyceum every day, Ashley knew it was her home, and she was pretty sure she wanted it to remain her home for a long time to come. Her friend Karen had recently been faced with the decision to stay at Lyceum or to return to Maine, and to the amazement of her parents, had chosen to stay. Ashley understood.
A light mist was falling gently from the sky, and it felt tingly and refreshing as it cooled Ashley’s face. It was a good time to be alive, she thought, with so many wonderful places in the world to see, so many curious languages to learn, and so much to discover about people and about life. And, she realized with a smile, so very, very much to be done.