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“Not to mention, it’s, like, a crappy zone for cell signals,” agreed a blond girl who was working on her phone.
“Why can’t we have our study group at Java Works?” another boy complained, putting his head down on the desk. “We could get coffeeandhavea decent connection.”
“Well, print books aren’t affected by bad Wi-Fi.” Adam pushed his chair back and went to the science section. After perusing the shelves, he grabbed a few books and returned to the table. “Tell me about the concepts you’re working on.”
One by one, the kids outlined the problems they were trying to solve, from cyclic quadrilaterals to rational functions and wave particle duality. Although Adam no longer worked directly with equations and problem-solving, it was an easy, comfortable return to familiar territory.
He liked explaining the principles behind the concepts, how to solve the equations, and—most importantly—why it all mattered. The kids didn’t light up with fascination, but they grudgingly did the work, and a couple of them even sat up straighter when they understood what they were doing. Even Peter took a few notes.
“Yo, Powers.”
They all glanced up to find Clyde Constantine standing nearby, decked out in his black special ops ghost-hunter gear and fully made-up and hair-sprayed.
A few audible gasps of awe came from the students. Clyde gave them a sweeping smile before settling his gaze on Adam.
“We need to start shooting right at eight.” He tapped his military wristwatch pointedly. “I’m not working a minute past ten tonight.”
“I’ll be ready as soon as I’m done here,” Adam said.
Clyde frowned. “I need you to check the lighting before we shoot.”
“I’ll get to it.” Adam turned back to the physics student and continued helping him work out the problem.
When the teacher arrived with apologies for being late, Adam said goodbye to the kids and walked down to the basement, where they’d set up tonight’s shoot.
“Yo, what the hell was that?” Clyde demanded, his fake-blue eyes hardening.
“What?” Adam picked up the shot list and scanned it.
“You can’t contradict me in front of my fans,” Clyde hissed.
Adam smothered a groan. He’d learned long ago that Constantine had a paper-thin ego, but he was still figuring out how to deal with it as the show’s director.
“It’s almost eight,” he said, turning everyone’s attention to the task. “Let’s get started.”
“Clyde, you’ve got a shiny spot.” Paul indicated his forehead.
Clyde darted over to Krista, who waited with her arsenal of makeup to de-shine the star.
The shoot itself went smoothly, with Clyde reciting his lines into the camera, discussing the results of the previous night, and widening his eyes in astonishment over some discovery that they’d figure out and edit in later.
Clyde left at five minutes to ten, and the crew started packing up the equipment for the night. As Adam wound up an extension cord, his phone buzzed with a call from his sister. He tossed the cord into a crate and answered the call.
“Have you talked to Dad?” Laura asked after they’d exchanged greetings.
“Not for a while. Why?”
“He mentioned Martin Thornwall yesterday, which was a surprise. I hadn’t heard him talk about Thornwall since you resigned.”
Adam frowned. “Why’d he bring him up now?”
“He’d heard that a professor from some German institution had accused Thornwall of stealing his data. Something about a couple of elements.”
“Not surprising.” Adam crossed the mezzanine. “I knew I wasn’t the only one he’d stolen from. Probably not the first either.”
“No, but you were the only one who made a public charge against him,” Laura said. “And an accusation from another professor might give you more credibility.”
“Who’s the professor?”
