Read Online Yesternight by Cat Winters - Free Book Online

went dry from gaping. I stammered and fussed with my papers, slicing a thumb on a sharp edge of one of the pages, and I managed to sputter up one more equation: “What do you get when you multiply four fifths by seven eighths?”
    Again, Janie peeked up at a corner of the room and squinted with one eye closed. I peeked over my left shoulder, just to makesure that her father wasn’t standing there, an abacus and a slide ruler in hand, mouthing the answers to her.
    â€œSeven tenths,” said Janie with a nod, and she gave another little tuck of her hair behind her right ear.
    I jotted down the equations and dithered for a moment, forcing myself to remember how to multiply fractions. My brow sweated; my nose itched from all the eraser flakes showering my paper as I rubbed away mistakes.
    The answer that emerged at the end of all my pencil scratches: seven tenths.
    I looked up at Janie, who smiled and resumed swinging her heels against her chair.
    â€œSee?” she asked. “I like numbers.”
    â€œS-s-splendid,” I said, and with shaking fingers, I opened the record booklet and tried to remember what the devil I was supposed to do with rickety old Stanford–Binet, which didn’t seem at all like a proper test for a child such as Janie O’Daire.
    I maneuvered us through all of the regular sections of the examination—the color identifications, the coin counting, the scrutiny of an illustration, the comparison of two objects from memory. Janie spoke with eloquence, answered all questions with ease, and demonstrated the intelligence of a person at least four to five years older than herself. Her math level was equivalent to that of a person fifteen years old or above.
    Fifteen years old or above!
    â€œWhat is your earliest memory, Janie?” I asked before she could leave her chair and skedaddle off to her seat in the classroom.
    She scratched the tip of her freckled nose, and I couldn’t help but wonder if her father had coached her in the answering of this particular question, even if he hadn’t been responsible for her impressive feats of calculation. He was the one who advised me to ask it, after all.
    â€œHow far back can you remember?” I asked again with a tilt of my head. “For most people, memories start around the age of two or three, although some people insist they can remember being babies. I myself—” I bit my tongue and refrained from projecting myself into the situation.
    â€œI remember being a baby,” said Janie, and she peeked up at me from beneath her golden-red lashes.
    Out in the main section of the schoolhouse, the children applauded a student who must have given an oration or performed some other act of classroom bravery, and for the first time since Janie sat down, I became truly aware of the rest of the school.
    â€œAnd . . .” My heart beat to the rhythm of the second hand on my wristwatch. Janie’s patience would soon wear; Miss Simpkin might poke her head around the corner to check on the welfare of her niece. “Is that as far back as your memory goes?”
    â€œI remember.” Janie licked her lips and turned her eyes toward the window beside us, through which sunlight shone for the first time that day. “Mother tied a creaky wire contraption around her waist—a bustle—and it made her . . .” Janie snickered and covered her mouth with her right hand, her shoulders shaking. “Her backside looked like it was trapped in a birdcage. My sister and I laughed so hard we fell off Mother’s bed.”
    â€œOh?” I sat up straight. “You have a sister, then?”
    Janie merely blinked, still gazing out the window. A pinkish-yellowish light glowed across her cheeks and hair.
    â€œYou didn’t mention her when I asked about your family,” I said. “Does she live with you and your mother and aunt?”
    Janie drew both hands into her lap. “I haven’t seen her