Agnes sat at the chair in the metallic classroom and felt shivers run up and down her spine. The old furtiveness rushed back from the wooded classroom of St. Patrick’s. High school algebra in plain view, tutoring from Sister Kathryn James in private.
“Don’t tell your uncle, he wouldn’t like it. You’re smarter than the boys. If they can learn calculus, so can you.”
Uncle Collin did unearth the truth. Why did her own uncle have to be the school principal? Agnes had apologized for her vulgar display of mathematics. She went back to algebra – but Sister Kathryn James kept tutoring her after the lights went out.
Today she sat at the desk in the War Department. It might be ‘42, but she was still the only woman in the room. Twenty young men with thick glasses and thin ties, and she sat there in her calico print dress, her red hair in a single pony tail. Dr. Aaronson came into the room and handed them their booklets. She opened hers and recognized the familiar symbols. She knew exactly what to do.
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