Secrets

Setting: Ten friends attend a 30-year Yale University class reunion on the school campus. They haven't seen or heard from each other since graduation because of a well-kept secret.

I walked into the teeming Schwarzman Center on the campus of Yale University. My mind harbored feelings of both eagerness and dread. Today was the day ten old friends would reunite after a thirty-year self-imposed absence. As I scanned my fellow members of the class of 1991, it was obvious time was once again winning the aging war. My nine comrades stood at the far end of the hall. I made ten, but there should have been one more.

As I confidently strode toward the group, weaving around fellow alumni, my mind flashed back to that fateful spring night thirty-odd years ago. Each one of our merry band had both above-normal IQs and a penchant for getting into mischief. Out of the five girls and six boys, Jerry was by far the most intelligent and daring of the group. His specialized skill set included anything to do with computers.

In the early '90s, hacking was in its infancy, with Jerry leading the charge. He could break into almost any system that was connected to the burgeoning internet. Government or private system, it didn't matter. Jerry wasn't the only one in our group with "special" skills. Marvin majored in engineering and could design and build anything from scrap metal and plastic parts. Sarah loved fashion and eventually became one of the most sought-after designers in the world. As for me, I'm a planner. Whether a company needs a logistics strategy to move its goods around the world, or someone wants a foolproof plan to rob a museum, I get the call. Yes, we all have special skills.

What we lacked back then were money and social status. Unlike many who attended Yale, our group came from working-class families. If the rich kids flunked a semester, it really didn't matter. If we didn't pass every class with honors, we would lose our scholarships and probably never get to finish our education. I couldn't let that happen to any of us.

It was time for finals. Every one of us had a class or two we struggled with. I devised a plan by which, using Jerry's computer skills and Marvin's ability to build things, we would all be able to ace our finals. Marvin's black box was skillfully attached by Peter to the school's mainframe computer, where all the professors' desktops are linked. Pete had worked part-time as a janitor at the school's administration building and regularly swept out the computer room.

Once attached, Jerry had access to every professor's desktop.

The plan worked flawlessly. We had copies of every test to be given as a final. I made sure no one aced a final in subjects they were having difficulties with but did well enough to graduate. At the end of the semester, we all received notification of graduation. It was time to celebrate!

The accident was a fluke in every sense of the word. We were celebrating in a bar in downtown New Haven. Two of the locals overheard our conversations about cheating the system. They threatened to go to the Yale administrators with the information. Jerry reacted first. He threatened to hack into one man's bank account and leave him penniless. His friend jumped up and pushed Jerry to the floor. Jerry fell, striking his head on the edge of the table. He died of severe brain trauma the next day.

They never caught the two men. Truth be told, we didn't want them to be caught. If they were arrested, our lives would have ended as well. We agreed to separate and remain isolated from each other, never finding ourselves in another compromising position. We also agreed that, if possible, we would reunite at our 30th class reunion.

We spent the evening telling stories about our adventures, successes, and failures over the last 30 years. It was a fun evening but grew somber at the very end. I rose from the table and raised my glass. "To Jerry. Without him, none of us would be here tonight."