Sean fidgeted before Principal Stewart's inscrutable gaze from across his cluttered office desk. The walls were decorated with memorabilia beloved by academic administrators: certificates of accomplishments were proudly framed, a large cork board pinned with overlapping notices, filing cabinets and bookshelves lined the lower walls. The principal was an imposing man, large framed but not overweight, seeming to dominate the room even when seated in his plush leather swiveling throne. Sean's fabric padded seating wasn't as luxurious or comfortable. It was an odd feeling being summoned to the principal's office without the provocation of an infraction, but Sean had a pretty good guess why he was here.

"I admit I never expected to confront you about overachieving anything," Principal Stewart broke the awkward silence, flipping open a manila folder, "The only times you've been in my office is for having gotten into fistfights with the Fuller boy."

Sean smiled weakly.

"In the past three weeks you have tested out of every standard course that a 11th grader can test out of," continued the principal, "And enrolled in every single AP class that this school has to offer."

Sean nodded, without saying anything.

"Most baffling of all," Stewart thoughtfully scratched his brown moustache, "every AP instructor I've spoken to appears to have a favorable first impression of your academic skill."

"You're too kind, sir," Sean shrugged modestly.

"And yet," Stewart growled, "up until last year you were one of the most unremarkable bottom-percentile mor... er, students to grace Cardiff High."

Guess I spoke too soon, Sean grimaced, "I... I guess my record speaks for itself, sir."

"Normally I would be ecstatic at any improvement in your academic performance," Stewart leaned forward, looming over Sean, "however an underachiever doesn't turn into a whiz kid overnight. Just doesn't happen, outside of cheap fantasy novels. Which raises the question of how you managed to ace those tests. We take academic integrity very seriously here at Cardiff High."

"You think I cheated," Sean's statement wasn't a question.

"The thought did occur to me," Stewart nodded apologetically, "which you'll agree is not an unreasonable suspicion given the circumstances."

It wasn't unreasonable, Sean admitted to himself. From a certain point of view, he was cheating by instantly assimilating books. But was that so different from being born as a prodigy? Or being born rich. He didn't see anyone accusing Jason Fuller of cheating by dint of being born into one of the wealthiest families in New England and the privilieges that entailed. No, some people lucked out in the genetic lottery. And Sean had lucked out... differently?

"I didn't cheat, sir," Sean replied with a trace of contempt, "I didn't need to. I just turned out as a polymath. And I've been doing a lot of... reading."

"Mind if I test that?" Stewart raised a brow, gesturing at the bookshelf behind him, "Which of these standard texts would you say you are most comfortable with? Pick one. Any one."

"Actually... all of them, sir," Sean shrugged. That wasn't strictly true. There were a few books in that collection that Sean hadn't assimilated yet. But he had absorbed most of them by now, so the odds were in his favor. And he could always assimilate an unfamiliar book right there, though taxing his ability in Stewart's office did risk tipping his hand. Besides, the look on the principal's face was priceless, as Sean uttered those words.

Stewart scowled and pulled out a massive chemistry text, flipping the pages at random, "How does a fetus get oxygen when its circulatory system is not connected to its mother's?"

"Equilibrium constants, sir," Sean leaned back, "Fetal hemoglobin has a higher equilibrium constant with oxygen compared to adult hemoglobin, biasing the fetal hemoglobin towards binding oxygen at relatively lower oxygen concentrations. This allows the maternal hemoglobin to hand off oxygen via close proximity in the placenta."

The principal grabbed another book, a physics one this time, pulling out a loose sheaf, "The slide in this figure is shaped into a sigmoid curve with the following equation. 10 meters tall. A ball rolls from rest at the top. What is the velocity of the ball at the bottom? Neglect friction. Take your time. Here is a calculator if you want to crunch the shape."

He's trying to confuse me...how cute, thought Sean and smiled, "No need, sir. The shape of the slide is irrelevant once we neglect friction. Using Conservation of Energy, all we need is to convert the balls potential energy into kinetic energy. The height of the slide is all that matters..."

Stewart slammed the book shut, and grabbed yet an other, a biology text this time, "What is referred to as the Central Dogma of Genetics, Sean?"

"The direction of flow of genetic information, sir," explained Sean, "The Central Dogma states that information is transcripted from DNA into messenger RNA, then carried to ribosomes where it is translated into proteins. The Dogma posits that the information flows only in one direction, though modern research shows that's not entirely accurate..."

"Enough," Stewart stared at Sean, leaning back in his swivel throne with a sigh, "It appears that you are the 'real McCoy' after all."

"Am I free to leave, sir?" Sean asked a little testily.

"Not quite," Stewart frowned, "You see, every year a handful of our top students make the mistake of taking on way more AP classes than is realistic and end up with lower scores in all of them. When they would have been better served by selecting a core few. Even if you can manage all of these extra classes, Sean, it sets a unhealthy example from the point of psychological well-being. The rules do not permit me to deny you any AP class that you have tested into. But I ask you to pare down your advanced courses for the sake of all students."

You don't care about psychological well-being, thought Sean, you are concerned that the school's testing standards might be viewed as too lenient if a loser like me can test out of all of them. Your reputation in other words.

"I see your point, sir," Sean drawled, "I might consider dropping a few fringe courses, if I am allowed into Biology GB. I've been denied admission to that one, though I did test out of Biology A & B."

"Ah, yes," Stewart flipped open Sean's file again, "the reason you were denied is because your four-year track, or what passed for one till now, has been tech heavy and light on the biological sciences. You have cleared the prerequisites, it is true, but you are a grade or so behind than is typical for that class. Mr. Parker - the GB instructor - is quite a stickler on that. Sorry."

"In that case, it appears we are at an impasse, sir," Sean said blandly.

Stewart looked like he was going to pop a vien, "Very well, Cook. I'll put in a word with Mr. Parker to admit you, if you trim your AP selection to a reasonable level. May I ask why this new found interest in Genetics/Biotech? You haven't shown the slightest interest till now."

Sean couldn't tell him his real motivation, so he smiled, "I've come to appreciate the miracle of life, sir."

Stewart gave a snort of derision, with a shooing motion of his hand, "Get out of here, Cook."

#

Sean filed in with the rest of the Biology GB class, while Mr. Parker - their elderly instructor - stared stonily at him over his reading glasses. Sean's hair gleamed unnaturally pristine, having taken special care to apply shampoo that morning. Sean had carefully picked out his target seating, 'accidentally' shoving another girl who was headed for the same spot, receiving a glare in return. He eased into his seat, waited for the class to settle in and then leaned toward the girl seated across the narrow aisle.

"Hi," Sean smiled his most charming smile, extending his hand, "I'm Sean. Sean Cook."

"Judith," the girl responded absently, her eyes belatedly widening in recognition, "Judith Fuller. I know who you are... you are that loser who keeps picking fights with my brother."

Her bubbly voice had grown colder as she spoke, and her brown eyes flashed. Though her natural friendliness still lingered in her cheerful grin on a pleasantly squarish face. Thick reddish-brown hair fell to her shoulders to highlight an elegentally simple designer dress that must have cost more than Sean's mom's entire wardrobe.

Sean laughed nervously, hating the familiar knot in his stomach in the presence of a pretty girl. It wouldn't do to mess this up. After all she was the entire reason he had plotted to get into this class, which was filled with the best and brightest sophomores.

"Come on, now," Sean protested, "that was in seventh grade. You are not going to hold that against me, are you?"

"I'm sure I've heard of more recent inci..." Judith began.

"The point is," Sean interrupted hastily, "we are all a lot older now. More mature. How do you like our instructor? Is he good?"

END OF CHAPTER