“But why?” Seven asked for the hundredth time as he stepped back judiciously. “You have youth, health, money, intelligence—”

“Life doesn’t make it, that’s all,” Will replied, with such unconscious arrogance that Seven just shook his head.

But Seven stood there stubbornly, and suddenly a great energy possessed him: Will, denying life, was so full of life, that Seven decided to try again, and to present Will with his (Will’s) own strength and validity. Seven summoned Will as Will was and could be, and when Seven stopped changing shapes, Will stood there gasping, for he was staring at—himself. Only this self was so fulfilled and accomplished and loving that on the one hand, Will couldn’t take his eyes away—while on the other hand, he could barely stand to look. All the yearning he’d ever felt in his life was fastened on that image. To be that person! If anyone so marvelous could be considered human. And this superversion of Will smiled at him, and though Will heard no words, he knew that this other self grew up from his own roots—that his, Will’s, doubts and challenges had somehow led to this superversion, in which he himself existed.

At the same time, though, and paradoxically, it seemed to him, Will felt his resentment grow in proportion to his appreciation. Because this super Will wasn’t just a better Will, which he could understand, but an Olympian self in ways he sensed but couldn’t comprehend; a giant-sized self in terms of power and emotional reality. In fact his ideas of the good self didn’t fit this Olympian version at all, which was too powerful to be good, he thought uneasily. Yet he knew it wasn’t evil either. And if it wasn’t good or evil, then he didn’t know how to handle it at all, he thought angrily.

“You don’t really exist either,” he managed to shout. And the superversion of himself vanished.

Oversoul Seven cleared his throat.

Will was too shaken to pretend that he wasn’t impressed. And now that the image was gone, he felt its warmth and vitality, perhaps because he wasn’t as frightened. For a moment he felt himself responding, and in a split second he was the superversion of himself, regarding his usual self with the craziest kind of love and sympathy. There was nothing conventionally pious or good about the love, which was emotional and personal yet also composed of some gigantic, objective kind of support. And the sympathy had too much humor in it to be saintly, yet was too full of appreciation to be condescending. Will became so engrossed in trying to figure it all out that he never noticed as the classroom walls disappeared and a grinning Oversoul Seven waved to him from the window just before it vanished.