The Newman Resident (6 page)

“Looks like—” Richard said.

“Still perfectly safe,” Hunter said. “These instruments are called afMRI machines, for Advanced Functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging. You know what MRI machines do. Well, these allow us to observe the brain activity of each of the residents.”

“How are they different from fMRI machines?” Carol asked.

Hunter smiled. “I’m impressed you know about fMRI. Like fMRI machines, these can detect changes in blood flow in the brain. These machines are much smaller, though, and can detect much more subtle flow changes. They are also compatible with these special electrodes you see connected to the residents. The biggest advance—the one that’s most important—is that these babies aren’t restricted to detecting blood flow when combined
with the ftEEG. Because of the research under Dr. Newman’s direction, we can literally watch what happens in their brains in very specific, useful ways as the residents learn. I’ll show you.”

The scientists left the lab, and Hunter pushed a couple of buttons on the control panel. The lights in the lab dimmed down. Simultaneously, identical holographic images of the solar system emitted from each desk with holographic notebook keyboards beside them. The children began studying the images and making notes in their notebooks by moving their hands in the air, interacting with the keyboards.

“Each resident has a monitor here in the control room,” Hunter said. “The monitors allow us to observe what’s going on in their brains as they learn, and computers record and evaluate the data.”

Each monitor had an image of a resident’s brain with different colors appearing and disappearing. White lines, like bolts of lightning, appeared on the brain images. Some would appear and then fade, but many grew brighter and thicker.

“Watch the monitors,” Hunter said. “The colors represent blood flow. When we see a specific section of the brain filling with red, for example, that means that that portion of the brain is being stimulated. The resident is tapping into that portion of the brain while learning what we’ve placed in the hologram.”

“Nothing new,” Richard said. He found all of this fascinating, but that was the last thing he was going to admit to anyone.

“Basically, nothing new,” Hunter said, “though we could argue that the precision and effectiveness are new. But, here’s the really new stuff.” Hunter pointed to the white lines appearing in the brain images. “These lines represent synapses. We can actually see the neurons forming synapses—we can identify where these are
being formed, how strong they are, and how they relate to what the resident is doing.”

“You can see the residents making connections!” Carol said.

“Exactly. And with our computer analysis, we can determine what we need to do to help them learn more, and to do so in shorter amounts of time.”

“Amazing!”

“Let’s shake things up a bit,” Hunter said, pushing a button.

The holographic images of the solar system paused, then disappeared, but the notebooks remained. Within a few seconds, new images came up from the desks—three-dimensional shapes of different colors. The residents would stare at the shapes, sometimes point to two or three of them, then enter something in their notebooks. Soon, the notebooks disappeared and the residents started moving their hands in the air, grabbing the shapes and arranging them in new patterns.

“Notice the changes in blood flow and synapses building,” Hunter said, pointing to one of the monitors. “After the lab work is done, our scientists will analyze the data, indentify the peaks of learning, and help us tweak the exercises we’ve developed to strengthen the residents’ capacities for learning. All beyond cutting edge.”

After a couple of minutes, Hunter pushed a button and the holographic images paused. The lighting in the lab remained dimmed.

“See, Richard,” Carol said. “This is what the Newman Home has to offer our son.”

“Life as a lab rat?”

Carol rolled her eyes. “We’ve got to give Christopher every advantage we can.”

“Watch this,” Hunter said as he pushed another button.

The door to the lab opened and a scientist walked in, followed by a young boy in his safari school uniform. His back was to the mirror. He sat in the center desk and the scientist connected the electrodes and the afMRI machine. Hunter pushed more buttons and the holographic images of shapes resumed. The students went back to manipulating the images. The new student was still, studying the shapes and colors, then quickly moved them in patterns with both hands, almost as if he didn’t have to even think.

“Keep your eyes on monitor number six,” Hunter said.

It was obvious this student’s brain was much more engaged than any of the others’. There was more blood flow in more areas of his brain, and the synapses were forming quickly.

“We’ve just barely started,” Hunter said, pushing another button.

A second holographic image appeared, but only in front of the boy sitting in desk number six. The new image displayed various rocks and minerals to be identified and categorized. The boy used one hand for the shapes and one for the rocks, not slowing down in the slightest. The brain image on his monitor was bursting with color and synapse lightning. It was like fireworks.

“I can tell you from past experience with this resident’s results,” Hunter said, “the synapses will be greater in both number and strength than any other residents.”

“So, what’s the point?” Richard asked. “What does this really tell us about the boy?”

“This resident is one of the smartest at the Newman Home, Richard. He
is
the smartest. Not just now, but out of all the students we’ve ever taught here. And, even more important, he has the greatest potential for developing his brain—learning more than any other resident we’ve seen, and learning it more quickly.”

“I guess that’s great, if you believe your child is nothing more than a brain with legs,” Richard said. “I’m sure his parents must be very proud.”

“That shouldn’t be hard to find out,” Hunter said. “You’re his father. How proud are you?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“3
0 Miles of Books,” the sign said, and Richard felt like he’d walked all of them.

Richard had been in The Strand Bookstore for hours, sitting on the floor, trying to be out of the way as much as possible. He leaned up against the wall with a copy of
David Copperfield
. Stacks of books he’d taken down from the shelves surrounded him, like a wall of sandbags to keep out a flood.

Was Carol right? Was he only thinking of himself when it came to bringing home Christopher for the summer? She was convinced he wasn’t thinking of her, but he knew the demons she fought from her childhood, her sense of never having been in a real family, her confusion over her parents always looking for a way to not be with her. She always insisted the way she was raised worked best for her, but the look in her eyes as she spoke told him otherwise.

For him, wanting to have their son home for the summer was all about Christopher. What made the sabbatical decision all the more difficult was that, for her, it was all about Christopher as well. Their experience at the lab in Newman was palpable proof of what she’d been saying for years about that school and their son. That place would give him the life he deserved. It would help him reach his potential—no, it would give him the potential he
was capable of, then help him surpass it. To take him away from that environment, even for three months, would be to take him away from his future. How would he ever catch up to where he could have been?

They’d argued, of course, but the fight ended with Carol’s promising him that she would sign the papers for the sabbatical if he could tell her to her face that it was the best thing for their son. Not the best thing for Richard, she’d emphasized, but for their son.

Richard’s cell phone beeped, letting him know he’d received an e-mail from his father. He’d called him after the lab performance and spoken with him for over an hour. His father had a way of helping him not only figure out what would be the best thing to do, but also see things he’d never seen before, understand things he’d only felt.

Richard had e-mailed his father a copy of Christopher’s brain scan image, full of color and bright white lines like a snapshot of some festival. When he’d sent it to his father, he’d titled it, “What it looks like to be brilliant.”

He tapped the e-mail and saw a different image: one of Christopher sitting on his lap, before they’d enrolled him into the school. The little boy had his entire hand wrapped around his daddy’s finger, smiling. Underneath the picture was the title his father had given it: “What it looks like to be loved.”

Richard knew what he had to do.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

C
arol and Richard sat in the top row of the darkened auditorium. Along with fifty other couples, they listened to Ms. Garrett explain each slide on the screen. Richard kept tapping his foot, wishing the presentation would all be over so they could see Christopher. The superintendent had agreed to let Christopher take the sabbatical, but insisted that Richard and Carol participate in the prospective parent orientation again.

“Forcing us to sit through this propaganda blitz isn’t going to change our minds.”

“Be patient. And remember, when we finally do get to meet with him—”

“You do all the talking.”

“Right.”

Richard leaned back away from his wife. He felt sorry for the parents—they’d probably visited the finest private schools in the city, or at least read their literature, and their children weren’t even born yet. They’d most likely already chosen a college.

Slide of a typical brownstone
.

“The Newman Academy was founded almost 40 years ago as one of the finest private boarding schools in New York City,”
Ms. Garrett said. “From its very first year, the waiting list was long. Dr. Newman implemented the most advanced educational techniques of the time, relying on cutting-edge technology, like computer-modified learning models, while teachers in public schools were still cleaning their chalkboard erasers.”

Slide of toddlers in navy blue uniforms
.

“After several years of remarkable success, including the addition of four new academies in New York state, Dr. Newman asked, If these techniques work for older children, then why not younger? That simple, yet profound, question inspired the birth of the Newman Home.”

Slide of “The Newman Home” etched over the entrance of the building
.

“Children could now be enrolled at six months. Finally, children would be raised by experts, and parents could rest easy at night, knowing their children were being given the best care possible. As the residents got older, their cognitive abilities—from grasping abstract concepts to calculating complex mathematical problems to interpreting textual significance—improved dramatically under our program. Who knew even toddlers could perform so well on the most advanced standardized tests? Dr. Newman knew!”

Applause. Extended applause, in fact.

These were the parents who had made it to the short list for enrollment into Newman. Maybe ten of these couples would actually get to enroll a child at Newman, but all the couples in the auditorium most likely considered themselves extremely fortunate to have gotten this far.

A rapid arranging of several slides into a collage of a number of buildings that looked almost identical to the one the parents were sitting in, each with “Newman Home” etched over its doors
.

“Today,” Ms. Garrett said, “the Newman Home System boasts twenty homes throughout the northeast. Each home provides
the finest empirically-proven, child-centered education for children from infancy through high school. Our master teachers are certified in the most advanced techniques used by the National Educational Certification Board, the governing body of all education in the United States. Regular independent testing of our residents has proven they have superior cognitive development and extraordinary expertise in the areas that matter most: math and sciences.”

Slide of a male student, wearing a Yale sweatshirt, looking into a microscope in a lab full of other college students. Slide of two young women wearing their crimson graduation robes in front of the statue of John Harvard. Slide of a man and a woman, dressed in crisp, blue business suits, standing in front of the New York Stock Exchange.

“Without exception, Newman Home graduates succeeded at the most prestigious universities in the world. They have progressed to the finest graduate schools, and are now internationally-recognized leaders in the worlds of business, law, and politics.”

Slide of a man in a dark blue suit, holding a leather briefcase, standing outside the entrance to an office building.

“David Anderson, head of The Anderson Group, one of the leading accounting firms in the country.”

Slide of another man, looking similar to David Anderson, standing on the steps of the United States Capitol.

“Andrew Stockman, United States Senator.”

Slide of a woman, in judicial robes, sitting at a desk.

“Ann Stanton, United States Supreme Court Justice.”

The parents applauded, so proud of all that their children were about to gain in facts and dates and formulas and skills. But why didn’t they see what they were about to lose? The chance to rock their daughter to sleep when she became scared because of the thunder...lying on the floor beside a crib that held a restless
boy who couldn’t get to sleep...opening the world of
Winnie-the-Pooh
to a new generation of explorers in the Hundred Acre Wood. Richard looked down at his hands. These were memories of his youth, not of Christopher’s. Christopher had always been too independent during his visits to need such attention. Or, at least, to show that he needed it.

Slide of the building in which the parents were meeting, featuring faculty, administration, and the students, all in safari uniforms. Some students held baby residents in their arms.

“Parents used to say it was too bad children didn’t come with an instruction manual,” Ms. Garret said. “Well, now they do. The Newman Home faculty and staff know the instruction manual by heart for one simple, yet profound reason: we wrote it!”