JULIA

Miss Julia Forth,

You have been especially selected to attend the Performance Institution for Talented Youth. If you choose to attend, send your reply to the address listed below.

Classes will start June 17 and end August 1. Food and boarding will be provided, as well as all equipment needed for your studies.

Please respond as soon as possible.

J.Q. King, Provider of P.I.T.Y.
1217 Murray Drive

"Why would you get a letter like that? You ain't talented. Not one bit."

Julia shot her little brother a dirty look. He was leaning over the back of the couch she was sitting on, grinning impishly and chewing a big mouthful of gum, lips smacking.

"What would you know about talent?" she snapped defensively.
Her brother shrugged his shoulder dramatically. "I dunno," he answered. "I just know you ain't got none."

Julia wanted to pull the wad of gum out of his mouth and shove it up his nose. But she was babysitting the little demon for the night while her mom was out late at work. The extra hours were really taking a toll on her mom, just to add onto the already present stress caused by Julia's dad's sudden injury. It would crush her completely if she came home to find bubblegum lodged in her son's nostrils.

"So what you gonna do?" he asked bluntly. "You gonna accept it? I wouldn't." He snorted. "What kind of a name is PITY, anyways? Sounds like they're just sorry for you, taking in a whole bunch of losers and--"

"Shut your gum-hole," Julia interrupted sharply. He was wrong, she told herself. She was special; she was talented. She would show him--the institution wasn't taking her out of pity. It was out of admiration. She was certain. Why else would they "especially select" her?

"Just you see," she said, voicing her thoughts aloud. "I'm going to go, and I'm going to be the most talented person there."

Her brother grimaced. "You do that. I'm gonna go play video games."

MADISON

Miss Madison Levine,

You have been especially selected to attend the Performance Institution for Talented Youth. If you choose to attend, send your reply to the address listed below.

Classes will start June 17 and end August 1. Food and boarding will be provided, as well as all equipment needed for your studies.

Please respond as soon as possible.

J.Q. King, Provider of P.I.T.Y.
1217 Murray Drive

Madison sent the letter into the wastebasket with a flick of her wrist. She smirked and chuckled to herself, craning her head back to see the hundreds of trophies and medals that lined the shelves and hung from the walls of her room. She didn't need a dumb summer school to tell her that she was talented. She was already well aware of it.

"Madison, would you please get down here and do the dishes?" she heard her mother calling up to her from the bottom of the stairs. "Not now, Mom!" she yelled back. She was too busy sorting through her mail.

Her mother clearly didn't want to wait. She marched into Madison's room briskly. Madison didn't look up, didn't stop tipping backward lazily in her desk chair, and didn't stop thumbing through her piles of letters.

"What are you doing?" her mom questioned, looking at the papers over Madison's shoulder.

"I'm sorting out the junk," she replied, tossing another letter into the bin. "Anything praising me--keep. Anything else--throw away."

Her mother shook her head and walked over to the trash. She reached a hand in and pulled out at least a dozen letters. "A letter from your friend?" she asked, appalled. "Junk?"

"Yup."

"Your report card? A birthday party invitation?" she continued looking through the pile. "Your congratulatory certificate for winning the triathlon?"

"Oh," Madison said suddenly, snatching the envelope out of her mother's hand. "I didn't realize that was what it was. Keep!" She slammed it onto her desk.

"And what is this?" Her mother stared at a red envelope, eyebrows raised. "The 'Performance Institution for Talented Youth'? Why was this in the trash?"

Madison shrugged. "I don't need that...that PITY place. I already know I'm the best teen athlete there probably is and ever was. Besides, school during summer? Yuck! I don't need any more than what I've already got crammed into my brain."

"But you'll be surrounded with people just like you--geniuses, athletes, maestros, artists! Wouldn't you like that?"

"What I like is living among average people, so I stand out more easily. The less work, the better."

Her mother sighed and gazed at the letter dolefully. She had spent her own entire childhood hoping for a special opportunity like what was always being offered to her daughter. But she had never received it. Now that her own child had another chance, she decided she was not about to let her throw it away...literally.

"You're going to that academy," she said sternly.

Madison jumped straight to her feet, sending papers flying everywhere. "No way! You can't make me!" she nearly screamed.

"Yes I can, and I will. You are much too talented to sit in your room and sort mail all summer. You're going and that's final."

Once her mother had left the room, Madison sat down on the floor, landing with a sullen thud among her mail. It was the mail that people sent her to tell her how awesome and excellent and outstanding she was. I don't need that school, she thought. I've got all I need right here.

AMANDA

Miss Amanda Rogers,

You have been especially selected to attend the Performance Institution for Talented Youth. If you choose to attend, send your reply to the address listed below.

Classes will start June 17 and end August 1. Food and boarding will be provided, as well as all equipment needed for your studies.

Please respond as soon as possible.

J.Q. King, Provider of P.I.T.Y.
1217 Murray Drive

"I see," Principal Collins muttered. "You want to go to this, Miss Rogers?"

Amanda could think of nothing else to say. "Yes."

"And you do realize that going to this would prevent you from being available for summer school?"

That was exactly why she wanted to go. "Yes."

The principal sighed and laid the red letter on his desk. "And you do know why it would be best if you stayed and did a summer school program?"

"Yes," she replied. "Because I missed so much school."

"Remind me. Why did you skip class so many times?"

"I was at the town library," she replied shamelessly. "Reading. They've got a better collection there than at the school."

"Normally I would be overjoyed to hear that from a student. But in this case, your enthusiasm for reading had interfered with your studies."

"I know."

"If you don't make up the work, I won't be able to move you up a grade next year."

"I know."

"Then why do you insist on going to this institute?" he asked, disappointed.

"Because I'll be with people who have an appreciation for living life to its fullest," Amanda said with a shrug. "Who knows? I may meet someone who loves reading and problem solving as much as I do! And between you and me," she said, lowering her voice, "I'm no good at anything else, especially not what this school here has to offer."

Principal Collins tried to smile, but inside he was growing slightly impatient. "You don't mind that you will be a grade behind all your friends?"

"I don't have any friends," Amanda replied frankly. "I don't think I fit in here, Mr. Collins."

He cleared his throat. "And you believe you will at this...PITY place?"

"Yes."

The principal suddenly felt sympathetic toward her. She really was a smart girl, if she put her mind to it. She was just so reclusive that she couldn't learn well among others in a normal environment. What she needed was a change of scenery, an escape from the concrete world of public schooling. "Maybe," he began. "Maybe we could work something out--replace your term of summer school with the term of this institute. It is longer anyway, and you will probably be learning things in more depth--"

Amanda straightened in her chair. A bright spark lit up her eyes. "You'd do that?" she cried out, overjoyed and surprised.

The principal smiled and nodded. "I will try to arrange something. It will be well worth it if it is for the good of a student."

When Amanda was dismissed, she almost flew out the door. She was going to the institute, and she wouldn't have to do summer school or be held back! She was going to live in a mansion for the summer. She hoped it was old and decrepit and mysterious. She loved mystery, and she could feel there was something about PITY that would pull her into an exciting and irresistible adventure.

RICK (and ROY)

Mr. Roy Manning,

You have been especially selected to attend the Performance Institution for Talented Youth. If you choose to attend, send your reply to the address listed below.

Classes will start June 17 and end August 1. Food and boarding will be provided, as well as all equipment needed for your studies.

Please respond as soon as possible.

J.Q. King, Provider of P.I.T.Y.
1217 Murray Drive

"You can't be serious, I've got the same exact one!" Rick Hunter held out a twin envelope and grinned a wide, toothy grin.
"Except, you know, it has my name on it instead of yours."

Roy Manning just stared at the letter in awe. He had no notable achievements. No, nothing at all would qualify him for a school for the talented. Unless that King fellow new about the paintings he was creating and selling under a different name. But no one knew about that, not even his best friend Rick. It was supposed to be a secret.

"Don't you think it's a bit weird, though? We both got the same letter, and we're both just about as talented as a clod of dirt!" Rick prompted, laughing at his own joke. Of course, that wasn't really true. He had memorized seven different languages and could decipher almost anything. But he hadn't told a soul, so how could PITY know?

"It is weird," Roy agreed. "Just a really crazy coincidence...or accident."

Rick nodded. "Definitely." But he felt there was something else going on. It couldn't have been an accident. There was someone who knew what he hadn't shared, and he wanted to figure out how.

"Let's get our parents to send us there, Roy," he urged.

"I was going to say the same thing, Rick."

STEWART

Mr. Stewart McAffy,

You have been especially selected to attend the Performance Institution for Talented Youth. If you choose to attend, send your reply to the address listed below.

Classes will start June 17 and end August 1. Food and boarding will be provided, as well as all equipment needed for your studies.

Please respond as soon as possible.

J.Q. King, Provider of P.I.T.Y.
1217 Murray Drive

"This looks very nice, sweetie. Do you want to go?" Stewart's parents were sitting across the dining table from him, smiling wide encouraging smiles. His mother was speaking in a sugarcoated voice. "What do you think? Please tell us."

She wants me to say something, Stewart thought. She wants me to speak, but she knows I can't. Well, I can, but I won't.

"Stewart McAffy, answer your mother," his dad demanded.

Good cop, bad cop. Again? It never works.

"Please honey," she pleaded. "Just try to say something."

"Do you want to go?" his dad asked bluntly.

Stewart nodded slowly. What else can I do with my summer, Dad? I don't have friends. Who would be friends with a mute? Give me school any day. As long as there are no oral reports.

Stewart's mother walked around the table and wrapped her arms around him. "Then of course you'll go. Anything you want, sugar-pie. How much does it cost, Steve?" The last question was aimed at her husband.

"I think it's free," he replied. "Good thing, too."

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Our Stewart is going to a special school. Our talented boy!"

I am going. But I'm not going to share my talents, whatever they are, in any way. And I am certainly not helping any of the other students with their studies. I have my own thinking to do.

***

Many more identical letters were sent out to various teens, identical except for the names. The individuals who received them weren't necessarily talented, special, or smart in any particular way. They really only had one thing in common, and that was known only by J.Q. King.

He sat in his clover-shaped office on the very top floor of Murray Mansion, shuffling his playing cards, smiling, then shuffling. "They will find their way to me," he said over and over silently to himself. "The little cardlings will come."

He counted he cards quietly, and then counted again. "Now where did I put that naughty little two of clubs?"