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Tom and Alona jumped and turned toward the voice, their hands dropping by their sides. "Why did you just drag an unconscious scientist into my home?" Tom turned toward the body. "Oh, him!" Tucked in the front of the man's trousers was a clipboard. Tom extracted it and handed it to his dad. Both parents read the top sheet, their faces turning pale. "Does this mean what I think it means? Richie?"
The question was repeated without urgency, as if the speaker was an absent-minded waiter. The itch now leaped with the dexterity of a trained flea onto the boy's leg, and the dutiful fingers followed. He watched as the man in the lab coat, without name tag or company insignia, studied his stack of papers attached to the clipboard. "I'm sorry," he said, "I wasn't listening.
Luckily, she had turned just enough to see him in her peripheral vision, and she threw herself to the floor. Denny flew straight over her and into Ritchie. Kurt tossed his clipboard aside and jumped on Tom. A magnificent brawl had begun in the theater lobby. "Stop! Stop!" Julia yelled, as she pulled herself up. "This isn't worth it!"
Of the two, Nelson was the most likely to make sense of them, but there was no reason to be relaxed about the other. The problem was, no one had a spare. Well, he was in charge now, at least until the Director showed up. Not Forrester, not the clipboard. And he needed some help. There was only one choice he could make. He walked out of the office and to the cell.
"I told you smoking wasn't good for you," Uncle Justin said, scratching his armpit with a clipboard. Julia figured that the worst thing she could do right now would be to have a temper tantrum, but decided to throw one anyway. "What is going on?!" she yelled. Justin shook his head and motioned with his hand to calm down. "Look, this is going to take some explaining.
After studying his situation carefully, he decided that he either must walk the three miles or try that new method of movement that was supposed to be listed in the gray section of the clipboard. And considering that he hadn't exercised regularly in years, the clipboard seemed to be the better option. With only the starlight behind him, he began to read his way through the higher math.
He transcribed his data onto the clipboard at the foot of the bed, and looked guiltily into the hall to see how things were going. He felt guilty because he was tempted to dog it. And he did. He headed for the locker room where he punched a cup of coffee out of the machine and thought some more about Rhoda's legs.
"Thirty minutes out of Litchfield, sir," the ship's officer repeated. "You'll go off by the midship gangway on the starboard side." "Yes, I know. Thank you." The first mate held out the clipboard he was carrying. "Would you mind checking over this, Mr. Maxwell? Your baggage list." "Certainly." He glanced at the slip of paper.
"He's got an IQ close to genius level. Look at this; he never saw a wheel before yesterday; now he's designing one." Lillian's eyes widened. "So that's why Mom's so sharp about sign-talk. She's been doing it all his life." Then she remembered what she had come out to show him, and held out the clipboard. "You know how that analyzer of mine works? Well, here's what Ayesha's going to do.
You have a lot " "Entertainment is at seven, attendance mandatory, unless you have failed to complete part one of the interview." "I'm not completing any damn interview until " "What the hell's for dinner?" the boy demanded. "Let me see, let me see," said the Lab Coat Man, flipping through the pages on his clipboard. "Excuse me. Point of order here..." began Prof. Sigger.
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