Chapter Nine: I May Be an Idiot, But I'm Not Stupid

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Chapter Nine: I May Be an Idiot, But I’m Not Stupid

They said that insanity was the act of doing something over and over again and expecting a different outcome. The legendary Albert Einstein was the one to make that assertion. The man himself was brilliant, but not as much from a literary standpoint (as some misperceived me to be at times), but rather from a math and science perspective—much like this kid, Luke Daniels. By Einstein’s standards (and most likely by Luke’s, as well), I most certainly was insane.

      Currently, I was seated on a beanbag chair, in the back of the library with my notebook on my lap and Luke Daniels by my side as Brenda practiced her wide range of limited skills that were included among the job description that was a librarian (namely, napping). There was a pencil in my hand, but not even the faintest idea as to what to write in my mind. I had been staring at the same phrase for about an hour now, writing it and then erasing it, only to rewrite it a few seconds later. Presently, I undeniably fit under the category of Albert Einstein’s version of insanity.

      “So, what do you have now?” Luke questioned with an annoyed sigh.

      “The same exact thing that I had the last time that you asked: ‘When thinking about the ordeals faced by teens today, multiple notions of specificity surface,’” I reread the silver words that were scribbled over the smudged area across where an eraser had formerly grazed. “It still sounds like bullshit to me, but I like it!”

      “I don’t really ‘do’ English, but it sounds like you’re trying to be a pompous ass and trying to impress the teacher or whatever. Why not just say what you really mean?” Luke suggested, proving to me that he was, indeed, similar to that of Albert Einstein.

      People always carelessly threw around the expression “so-and-so is no Einstein!” as if it was a form of degradation. Honestly, though, he was a physicist. He was capable in other fields, though preferred the unlimited scope of the sciences. Technically, aside from being completely correct, for there was only one Albert Einstein and no one could ever truly replicate him, the simple saying was almost a compliment, in a way. Einstein didn’t excel in school as some thought him to, for he preferred to work and learn alone.

      Though it was a beyond unlikely comparison, from what I had learned of Luke in the incredibly short span of time that I had known him, like Einstein, he wasn’t into school, but was able to somehow shine in the subjects of mathematics and science. Aside from the way their brains worked, however, Albert Einstein and Luke Daniels couldn’t have been farther apart. One was a deceased German of a secular Jewish faith, while the other was a privileged American who liked to pretend he was rebellious.

      “Say what I really mean?” I said skeptically, expunging the tangible words once more with the pink back of my pencil. “What the hell are you talking about? This is exactly what I mean!”

      “Yeah, but couldn’t you just say something like, ‘Teens have a hard life,’ or something like that?” Luke quirked one of his dark eyebrows as he brought a bottle of water that he had been nursing up to his lips. With a tilt of his head, he allowed the clear liquid to travel down his throat, his Adams apple visibly bobbing as he swallowed. He winced slightly as he set the bottle down beside him as a question surfaced in my mind.

      “That’s water, right?” I asked aloud, pointing to the bottle that he had placed on the floor, next to where he was sitting. I chose to overlook his grammatical blunder.

      “I don’t know,” he shrugged, “why don’t you try it and find out for yourself?” With a smirk, he held up the bottle, offering it to me.

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