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she
pushed the book she had been reading across the table to Sam. He
turned it around and read its title: Differential and Integral Calculus by
Courant.
    “You understand this?” asked Sam, amazed.
    “Of course. I like to use Courant with
students because his presentation is clear and concise. Most of the
newer texts are murky.”
    “You said that you’re 13, right?”
    “Yes. I’m what they call a mathematical
genius. Not autistic. That’s something different. I have a
photographic memory and a penchant for logic,” replied Becky. “I
tutor four seniors at UCI. I met them through Rachel, of
course.”
    “OK, Becky. Let’s back up a bit. Do you go to
school? Where are your parents?” asked Sam, wanting to dig into
this girl’s past a little more before he decided what to do with
her.
    “Look, Mister Crown . . . Sam. I don’t know
you, but I need help. The police can’t find out about me. They’ll
just put me in the System . . . and I’ll die there! But with Rachel
gone, I don’t know what to do. I can’t drive, so I can’t get to my
tutoring jobs. The car was my home, so now I need a place to stay
until I can figure out what to do. I’ll tell you about me, but if
you turn me in, I’ll run away!” exclaimed Becky.
    The kid sure has grit!
    “OK, Becky. One step at a time. Tell me about
your problems, who you are, what happened to you.”
    Sam’s heart was going out to this poor
waif—genius waif! He had one of his flashbacks to ’Nam—seeing
visions of the countless children he could not save. Could he help
this one? Save her?
    Becky told her story. She was born January
12, 1985. She never knew her biological father—just someone her
slut of a mother slept with. Her sister Rachel also could not
remember her father—a different one from Becky’s. Eventually,
Becky’s alcoholic mother Clara married a loser named Jake Rogers
when Becky was 8 and Rachel was 13 and changed their last names to
his. He began screwing Rachel and her mother never interfered. When
Rachel was 16, she could take no more of it and left home. That was
two years ago. Becky was 11 at the time and was crushed not to have
her sister to protect her from the stress and the violence in the
house. When Becky turned 12, Jake Rogers started screwing her just
as he had Rachel. Six months ago, Rachel dropped by to visit Becky
and caught her stepfather on top of Becky, her mother stoned. She
hit him in the head with a lamp, knocking him cold. They packed
Becky’s meager belongings and left. Rachel had left a note for her
mother saying she was calling the police.
    As soon as Jake Rogers woke up, he and the
mother packed up and moved to Georgia where Jake had some relatives
to sponge off of. Becky had not seen them nor heard from them since
the day she left. She and Rachel had been living out of the car
ever since.
    Rachel had dropped out of high school, but
Becky—whose IQ was off the charts—went to school everyday so the
authorities would not get wise to the fact that she was living on
the streets. Child Protective Services would have picked her up.
Faking the 8th grade was a challenge, of course, because with all
of her reading, she had already absorbed the equivalent of a
college education. She did not want her teachers to know how smart
she was, because they would want a meeting with her parents to
discuss special education programs. Then, the jig would be up.
    Sam’s heart was breaking, but he didn’t know
what to do with the pitiful, lost girl. He knew he should not get
involved, but something made him press on.
    “Give me your mother’s and stepfather’s names
again. I’ll track them down and have them prosecuted. The bastards
belong in jail!” exclaimed Sam, livid over what they had done to
Rachel and Becky.
    “No! Please! I would have to testify, and
that would put the spotlight on me and I would end up in some
fucking foster home!” pleaded Becky.
    She’s got quite a mouth for
a kid her age! Can’t blame her I