* * * * *
When we entered Bertram’s class, he was writing on the board. The bell rang. He turned to watch us, his piercing eyes commanding our attention. One by one the kids felt his stare and silence settled over the room.
Bertram read the words on the board. “Life can be reduced to probabilities.” He waited for responses, but we all sat there like zombies.
Accustomed to our lethargy, Bertram continued. “For example, someone will win the Mega Lottery. But it’s probable that it won’t be anyone in this room or anyone you know.”
Doug raised his hand. “Why isn't that probable?”
“The odds vary depending on the lottery, but your chances are somewhere between one in 18 million or even one in 120 million. It’s mathematical.”
“But you can change the odds by changing the circumstances,” Elroy said.
“In what way?” Bertram asked.
Josh’s hand shot up. “Buy more tickets. You have to play to win.” A big grin spread across his face and he looked around for approval.
Bertram nodded. “Technically true. Your chances might go from 1 in 18 million to 1 in 12 million.” A ripple of giggles circled the room. “Hardly worth your lunch money.”
“You need to change the odds with inside information,” Elroy said. “Like knowing you should buy stock in a nothing company right before it goes global.”
Bertram shrugged. “If you have inside information, then you are acting on a probable outcome.”
They continued to argue the point, but my thoughts were focused on the possibility of Bigfoot in our woods. I didn’t think the odds were likely, but what were the other possible explanations? What about the expert that George interviewed? He hadn’t really denied that Bigfoot existed.
A squeaking marker jerked me back to the classroom. Bertram had filled the board with graphs and figures.
“Scientific research is based on examining and proving probabilities,” he said.
“But possibilities are what make life interesting and give it meaning,” Gen said. “Otherwise you’ll never take a chance or recognize an opportunity when it comes.”
Josh smirked. “Like sprouting wings?”
Doug snickered. “Or making friends with a wookie.”
A spot of purple colored Gen’s cheek. It was like seeing smoke before feeling the flames. Anger was building inside her, and there was nothing I could do to contain the fire.
Eyes flashing she stood up and faced them. Mercifully the bell rang. Chairs scraped the floor, and pockets of conversation erupted as everyone watched the unfolding drama. I squeezed her arm and said, “Don’t bother. It’s not worth it.” But she wasn’t listening.
She didn’t yell, but somehow her voice carried like low thunder. “Neanderthals. If you have any computer abilities, try Probable Impossibilities…”
“Gen!” I grabbed our backpacks and gave her a push toward the door. “Let it go.”
I glanced back. Doug and Josh did look like Neanderthals with mouths open and vacant stares on their faces. Bertram’s expression was more intelligent, but just as surprised. I ran to catch up with Gen.