A Steel Trap

A Steel Trap

Weeks passed. 

In Georgia, Chad was finding out that drugs had not ruined him utterly.  He had to work harder, mentally, but he could still perform.  To his own mind, it was like moving from a sports car, to a pickup with a trailer in tow.  He had to cope with a less responsive vehicle of thought, but school alone had never demanded his utmost effort.  “This must be what frat boys and sorority sisters feel like, after a weekend of binge drinking,” he thought.  “I wonder if I'll always feel this dumb, from now on.” 

Preston and Britain were officially incredulous that he had been dosed.  They had “left early” to get a head start on a weather system.  Was there any evidence that anyone else might have been there?  Only a pair of panties?  No, they did not belong to Britain.  Had Chad been drinking... or taken something voluntarily?

Self doubt beset Chad.  He didn't know for sure that he had not made his own bad decision, and he did not pursue matters further.  He had a one track mind, and his limited social intellect was employed in hating Dr. Busch, across town at Emory.  However, his desire for revenge was not all consuming.  His focus was his school work.  As his father had told him any number of times, “Life isn't fair.”

Because of his new understanding with Julie, he moderated his attack on his studies by drawing her into his research a little more.  She, in turn, began to integrate their social calendar more with other couples.  Chad began to have social friends, as well as teachers. 

By staying in touch with Jerry, he learned that intelligence is not only measured by pattern recognition (book smarts.)  There was also social intelligence, and spatio-relational intelligence.  Those with elevated social intelligence could collaborate in managerial projects, and might do well as politicians and counselors.  Simply put, social intelligence leads to social intercourse. 

By contrast, spatio-relational intelligence actually teaches quarterbacks how to pass the football exactly where a wide receiver will be at some future point in time.  Another application of it serves Generals in organizing their troops, for attack.  Likewise, a mechanic with good spatio-relational intelligence knows just by thinking about it, that s/he only has to remove three parts to reach a clutch assembly. 

To accomplish the same task, a pattern recognition thinker might have to take a car completely to pieces, and replace the clutch that way.  This works, given infinite time, but s/he would have difficulty economizing the effort. 

Chad pondered these revelations less than most nerds.  He simply accepted that he could excel in academics, and worked to capitalize on his strengths. It was more characteristic of him to retaliate by winning, than to respond with "Tit for Tat" play.  


“You just have to play the hand you're dealt,” he always told Jerry. 

By staying in touch with Rachelle, Julie was happy to report that her nerdy boyfriend was becoming something of a geek.  Apropos of Chad being drugged, the conversation eventually turned to Julie's “War on Drugs,” class.  “What was most memorable?” she asked. 

“The pictures of 'Meth-mouth' were remarkable,” Julie reported.  “And there were thousands of them, right in Google image.  And then there was one part, where they made cocaine using leaded gasoline as a solvent,” Julie continued.  “No one who has seen THAT done would want to poison his brain that way.  It's ghastly!”

At this moment in time, Julie got a text.  It was from Dr. Busch. 

“I kind of want you,” it read. 

A flush of adrenaline ran through Julie as her thoughts raced.  What was up with Dr. Busch?  Why?  Should she tell Chad?  Should she tell Rachelle?  ...should she reply?  She dutifully resisted. 

“Rachelle?” she asked, her tone changing slightly.  “Do you remember all that shit about Dr. Busch?  He just texted me!” 

It was Rachelle's turn to thrill for a moment, but not for the same reasons.  “What do you want to do to him?” she asked instantly.  Poetic justice was “a consummation devoutly to be wished.” 

This response had the effect of reinforcing Julie's elastic resolve, and she pondered for a moment before replying.  “I don't want to ruin his life,” she answered.  “Is there anything we actually CAN do, besides report him?” 

Rachelle had no trouble replying in the affirmative.  “Of course there is.  In fact, it almost takes an act of congress, just to get the school to notice,” she argued.  Then she smiled.  An act of congress?  That made for a private joke of it's own.  “You want to set the hook with a reply, or just start a rumor going around?” 

Julie was already experiencing a version of buyer's regret.  It would have been more fun to sneak around with Dr. Busch, and even though she had told Rachelle, she mentally sighed, before turning back to the straight and narrow.  Chad had been the reason she resisted, so it was Chad that she would include.  “I want Chad to help,” she answered straightforwardly.  Chad would certainly have included her, if their roles had been reversed. 

They spent a time, discussing it intently.  Rachelle left Julie with the parting instructions that she should buy a “Go-phone,” and use it to send anything “incriminating,” to Dr. Busch. 

The sun rose and set, before Chad and Julie met again.  As they developed their plan over the next two days, Julie arranged to respond to Dr. Busch on the new phone.

A stream of illicit texts began.

Julie: “I want what I can't have, do you?”

Dr. Busch: “Thinking of you makes me want it. ...or maybe wanting it makes me think of you.”

Julie: “Make me chaste and pure, but not yet.”

.

.

.

Dr. Busch: “Opportunity is offered with difficulty, lost with ease.”

Julie: “The stars incline, they do not determine.”

Dr. Busch: “The stars never lie, but astrologers lie about the stars.”

.

.

.

Julie: “You're having your effect on me.”

Dr. Busch: “Has your boyfriend ever given you a hickey, right below the water line?” 

Julie: “Are you saying, 'Don't wish ill for your enemy, plan it?'”

.

.

.

Dr. Busch: “When was the last time you were well had?”

Julie: “Hunger makes the best sauce.”

Dr. Busch:  “How about some wooly mammoth?”

Julie: “Fortune favors the bold.”

.

.

.

Dr. Busch: “I've been saving it...”

Julie: “When?”

By this time, Chad had been doing his own part.  His texts had been in a totally different vein.  “Flash mob at the Courtyard by the Marriott.  Pajama party theme.” 

Dr. Busch: “7:30 pm?”

Julie: “Courtyard by the Marriott, room 177.  My treat.”

Her final text was not on the go-phone.  Instead, she texted Chad from her own phone.  “7:30, tonight!”

She then called the school newspaper. “Harold Turner is announcing a run for Class President, Courtyard by the Marriott, 7:30.”  He was well known as an environmentalist, and it was plausible, if unlikely.  Next, she ditched the go-phone, and departed for the movies.  If things worked out as planned, Dr. Busch was in for a surprise.

She expected Chad's inquisition to be memorable for all present.