When his stepson asked for help with a school project, Paul Haberman agreed without hesitation. It was early May of 1991, ten years after Paul had joined the family, and he took the request as affirmation of his importance in Kyle’s life, of the trust that had built between them over that time. “Glad to,” he said, not waiting to hear what the project entailed, and experienced such a flood of gratitude that he nearly thanked Kyle for asking. Kyle, for his part, only nodded.
If Paul had thought about it for a moment first, wariness might have tempered his enthusiasm. Kyle was a senior in high school with a solid B average, which to Paul meant his teachers didn’t take grades seriously. From time to time he’d glance at Kyle’s papers and homework assignments, the best of which were full of spelling errors, meandering sentences, unfinished thoughts and red ink. The worst were simply illegible. How he managed to pass any of his classes, much less to meet the requirements for graduation, Paul had no idea, except to believe that failing marks were reserved only for those students who didn’t turn in any work at all.
To everyone’s surprise, though, Kyle had actually studied for the SATs, and, a few weeks earlier, he’d received an acceptance letter from Rutgers, the only school to which he’d applied on time. Since the letter had arrived, he’d hardly picked up a school book, instead heading out every evening in the car Paul and Cynthia...
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