Chapter 8: Study room
I entered my room, a nice suite with a queen-sized bed, a desk with a desktop and a laptop, and a smaller table where Brenda was sitting on a cushion.
"We have a problem in your plan, Jake," she turned to me. "I didn't bring the books with me. Do you happen to have them?" she asked, not really believing the answer would be yes.
"No, I don't have any," I replied, exactly what she expected. "But we don't need books."
She sighed. "Jake, if this is just an excuse for us to kiss-"
I cut her off. "No, we don't need books because everything is right here," I pointed at my head.
"We just need a notebook, a pencil, and an eraser," I added. The eraser was more for when she needed to do exercises.
She raised an eyebrow, still suspicious.
I grabbed exactly what I mentioned and sat beside her. "Let's start with AP Calculus AB. How much do you know so far?"
She remained skeptical but began to explain which parts she had covered and which topics she wanted to study today.
"Okay," I nodded. "Let's begin with derivatives." I explained the concept while writing in the notebook.
I paused whenever Brenda had questions, rephrasing and simplifying until she understood better.
To me, someone who truly masters a subject should be able to explain the most complicated things to a fifth grader - not that the kid could solve it, but at least the concept should make sense.
After a while, Brenda looked straight into my eyes. "Who are you?"
"The boy you've been kissing for over a week?" I smirked at her.
"No, seriously. You just wrote down an entire chapter without looking at anything." She stared at me, astonished.
"Okay, I may not look like it, or even act like it, but I'm actually pretty smart. Plus, I have a photographic memory," I revealed to her. Not that I cared much about this secret - nobody here knew the old Francis, and I could always claim I was just hiding it.
Honestly, I was enjoying what it felt like to be a normal person for once - since, from the very beginning, I'd always been labeled a genius.
"Here, let me prove it. Write down a bunch of numbers on this page." I handed her the pencil.
Brenda scribbled 60 random digits in a row. I glanced at the page for a moment, then asked her to visualize it while I began reciting each number one by one.
"It's all correct…" she muttered, staring at me like I had a superpower.
"Well, that explains part of it. Just for your curiosity, most people can only hold about 7 ± 2 digits in their memory - Miller's law."
And before she could ask more questions, I said, "We've already completed part of your studies, isn't it time I get part of the payment?" I motioned with my finger for her to come closer.
"Really..." she approached and kissed me, our tongues intertwining.
"Don't worry, Bren, we're not going to go further than this. And you can always ask me to stop," I told her.
She made a face at me. "You said that, but your hand is still on my butt."
"Oh, I was talking about the calculus," I said unfazed, giving her a playful squeeze.
She tried, but couldn't hold back her laughter. Then she gently took my hand away. "I've paid enough already, mister. Let's move on to the next subject."
And then we moved on to physics, chemistry, and biology. At one point, I gently closed the door (unlike what Murphy's law would suggest, the times Jay and Gloria showed up we were actually studying).
"I still can't believe you know all of these," Brenda spoke, still finding it unbelievable.
"And you're definitely taking advantage of me!" she added as I stood behind her, playfully nibbling at her neck - careful not to leave marks - while my hand rested on her breast.
"My tuition is expensive," I joked.
She placed one of her hands over mine that was on her breast and removed it but then started to guide it lower. I could feel Brenda's heart racing, her breathing turning more uneven.
"Jaake! Afternoon snack!" Gloria screamed from downstairs.
Brenda jumped and ran off my lap like a frightened little rabbit.
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After we joined them for an afternoon snack, she rode her bike back home - but not before whispering that she wanted to continue our study sessions over the next few days.
I walked over to Jay and Gloria, who were still in the kitchen.
"Since Manny was talking about writing poems," I used that to bring up the subject, "I need your help with something, Jay."
"Say it."
"I wrote some books when I was younger, and I'd like your help to secure the copyrights and then publish them," I revealed to the two of them.
"You want to publish some books?" He widened his eyes and asked again, as if he had heard something completely out of reality.
"Yep, they're called Diary of a Wimpy Kid and The Hunger Game," I said, naming the two books I was planning to publish first.
Even though I knew how successful Percy Jackson had been, Richard Russell Riordan Jr. (Rick Riordan) exists in this world, and his manuscript should already be out there (he wrote it in the late 90s), so the chances of lawsuits would be enormous.
Unfortunately, the case of Jeffrey Patrick Kinney is different. I found his record online: one of the victims of September 11.
As one of the books that became hugely popular among orphans (I don't know how many times I read it to them when I visited), I also knew it word for word, and the illustrations are easy to copy (because of their simplicity).
"All mi niños are artists!" Gloria laughed.
"Jay, I think I can make a little money with them," I continued, "and, if anything, I'll pay you back when I get the life insurance."
"You're really serious about this, huh," Jay murmured thoughtfully. "I'll see what I can do, kid."