THIRTY-ONE

Thomas opened his eyes slowly, cautiously, almost afraid to hope. The table came into view one tiny bit at a time, blurry and gray at first, and then with a sudden shock of color. He stood up so fast his chair clanged to the floor behind him. He didn’t care. The orange was there, really there, a lone splash of color in the otherwise dingy room. The light refracted from its shiny skin, giving the fruit an almost otherworldly glow.

He reached out, mouth agape and heart racing. It was real. The fruit was solid. He ran his fingers over the thin skin, marveling at the slightly oblong shape and strange navel. He picked it up. It wasn’t just an orange. It was the orange. The exact same one.

“I did it. I did it.” The words came out as an awed whisper, along with a soft swear. He could practically hear his mom’s reaction to his language but was too stunned to feel guilty. He ran to the door. “I did it! Huxley! Adelia! I did it! Professor Reilly! I did magic. Real magic!”

He waited, listening for a reaction, then shouted again. The hallway was silent. His stomach wasn’t. A deep rumbling reminded Thomas that he needed food. He looked at the orange, reluctant to destroy the proof of his achievement.

Fresh gurgling in his gut settled the argument. He tore at the peel until the fruit was free and the first wedge was in his mouth. Sweet juicy citrus burst against his taste buds like a revelation, spilling droplets down his chin.

He wiped a sleeve across his face and took another bite. The aches and pains faded as he savored the fruit, replaced by a temporary state of near bliss. When the final slice was finished, he licked the last droplets of deliciousness from his fingers and looked longingly at the empty peel. What now?

Footsteps and voices echoed down the hallway, growing progressively closer until the bolt slid and Professor Reilly burst into the room. Huxley followed close behind.

“You did it! I knew you had it in you! Well done, Thomas!” shouted Professor Reilly, wrapping his arms around Thomas and lifting him off the floor in a gigantic bear hug. Thomas’s lungs protested at the rib-cracking squeeze, but his joy compounded as the words sank in. I did it! I really did it. Enrique’s not going to believe this. Enrique. A stab of sadness threatened to kill the celebratory mood but vanished as Huxley stepped into the room.

“Very well done indeed!” said Huxley. His eyes sparkled, the gold flecks shimmering in the yellow light. “Not a single one of your ancestors made their first breakthrough that quickly. Your great-grandfather Charles was the last to attempt that particular exercise, and it took him the better part of three days. Every time we tried to sleep, he’d start shouting and pounding on the door. When he finally made it, Adelia had to spend hours pulling splinters out of his hands.”

“Three days?” Thomas grimaced. “Ten more minutes and I might have started gnawing on my own arm.”

“Three days,” said Huxley. “We had to sneak him water while he slept. I’m glad, for all of our sakes, that it didn’t take that long for you.”

“Me, too,” said Thomas. The idea of three days without food was horrifying. “Why was he trying to learn so fast?”

“The war,” said Huxley. “Things weren’t looking so good in Europe, and his dad—your great-great-grandfather Marcus—had gone to England to help the Allies. He wanted Charles to be ready, in case the fighting got worse. Of course, Charles wanted to rush over and join his dad anyway. Luckily for all of us, the war ended before that was necessary.”

“Oh,” said Thomas. World War II.

“Come on,” said Professor Reilly. “Ling Sun must have known you’d be finishing soon. There’s dinner waiting upstairs. We’ll pick up the practice once you’ve eaten and gotten some proper rest.”

“Dinner?” Thomas’s ears perked up. He was in the hallway without even realizing he’d moved. “Let’s go! I’m starving.”