A/N: Please, don't kill me if some of this stuff doesn't ALL make sense. I believe there is an explaination down at the bottom, and... I was falling asleep while I was typing this. Literally, I was typing and sleeping at the same time, and when I woke up, nothing made sense. It's complicated to explain, so I'm just gonna let you read this now. Enjoy-eth!
Jack Spicer, Evil Boy Genius, Project JS908-1
"So... Jack? You LIKE being called Jack? Not by your real name?"
"Nuh-uh. Just... Jack Spicer, Evil Boy Genius. Or even... Jack Spicer, Prince of Darkness. Oh, or how about... Jack Spicer, Evil Emperor of Darkness. Yeah. The last one is really cool."
"Uh...huh. So. Jack. What do you do for fun?" This doctor asked WAY too many questions. Wasn't he supposed to be really smart or something, and have a PhD. That's what it said on the paper.
Dr. Roy Newman, PhD.
"I like to work on my robots." Jack answered, sitting down, or rather, flumping down on the squishy lounge chair. The doctor scribbled something down, but Jack could care less, as the doctor wanted to ask more questions. "I see. And how often do you work on these robots?"
"Every day. Hey, did you REALLY get all those certificates from THAT many schools?" Jack asked, curiously scanning the wall. The doctor nodded. "Yes. Each one from a different school. All Ivy league. Like you." Jack shrugged. "I guess. But I only went to one REAL school. The rest were, I dunno, Tech schools or some kind of specialty schools or whatever."
"I'll bet. But they were the best that money could buy, right?" Jack turned back to him, a sharp, foreign look spanning his face. The doctor had never seen this side of him, and would be hard pressed to see him like this again.
Unless he found the right button again. "Yeah. Like you." Dr. Roy blinked, and rubbed his balding head, before looking back up at Jack, who had gone back to looking around the room at the many certificates that hung on the wall. "So, Jack, what about your friends?" Jack didn't look at him, but seemed to stop looking around. "Friends?" "Yes. The people you... HANG with?" Jack rolled his eyes and sighed shortly. He hated it when old people tried to talk cool. Next thing, he would be asking Jack which boy bands rocked out loud.
'Fo' Shizzle? Word.' Jack grimaced at the thought, and looked at his wrist. Two bands glittered up at him from it. One was his watch, which read "1335". Great. A whole... fifty-five more minutes of this nonsense. The other band held his detecto-bot. It lay on his wrist, waiting, just waiting for something more exciting to happen, and carry them away to some faraway land that Jack had probably been to as a tourist, but never a treasure hunter. But, he was thinking too much, and the doc was still asking his never ceasing, annoying questions.
"Jack? What about your friends?" Jack scoffed. "I don't need any." He replied shortly. Dr. Newman stopped scribbling to look back at Jack. "So... you don't have ANY friends... do you, Jack?" Jack swallowed a tough lump in his throat. 'That's not supposed to be there..." And he realized that it was getting harder to see, as well. He wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve, and turned back to the doc. "Well, no, I don't. But if I did need one, it'd be a slim chance, by the way, if I'd need a friend, then I'm SURE you'll provide one for me. Or my mother will. Or my father will. Either way, I don't need one. My parents will get it for me when I see fit." His voice had become host to an unmistakable air of pride.
"Jack... tell me more about these... robots. Does it come easy to you to build your robots?" Jack nodded. "Sure. Whenever they're de-- I mean. Yeah." He almost let slip what was really going on. Between him and the Xiaolin losers. But not for real. "Look, building my robots, any kind of robot, it's pretty simple. Not to mention the repetative BORING tasks that I have to do with it." The doctor looked intreguied, so Jack pressed on. "Piano, geography, government and politics. Then I've got speech, robotics, engineering, chemistry. They said, my parents said, that if I wanted to build the robots, I had to keep up with my other... talents... as well. I've got an enigmatic mind, doc. And you haven't even scratched the surface. That's what you're doing, isn't it?" The doctor stared into his dark, crimson eyes, but didn't recoil. "You're trying to... what is it... divulge into my innermost thoughts? Find my childhood demons? Get me to open up?" Jack scoffed and opened a bag of Skittles. "Forget it, doc. No one's going in there." He said, tapping his head, and popping a few of the chewy candies into his mouth.
They were his... dare he say it?... addiction. Some people smoked, some were alcoholics, some were chocoholics. He was a Skittleholic. If that even was a word. Still, he always carried around a bag, just in case he needed something sweet to chew. The doctor, noticing his need for sugar at a high tension time made a note, and continued on. "Jack... do you have... have you ever..." Jack looked up at him, as the doctor searched for the right words to ask him this question. It could be evident, by his choice of candy. (Taste the Rainbow...) But decided now would probably NOT be the best time to ask such a thing, and pressed on with a different quesiton.
"So... you find building robots and all these other things you do easy. What about... other things. Physically demanding things, for instance." Jack looked back down at his bag of candy and shrugged. "I'm pretty good at basketball." He mumbled. It was true, as it was his favorite sport, and he was pretty good at it. But no one ever played with him. No one wanted to. Not his parents, and his Jackbots weren't any good. It was always just him, by himself. "Is that all? You don't do anything else?" Jack glared at him. "What, do excpect me to do some other tricks like some common place show dog? No, doc. That's all." The doctor was beginning to understand, and was closer to scratching the surface than Jack thought.
All these things Jack is good at, it's all predictable. Chemistry always dealt with the same numbers, when you got down to it. Government, politics, history repeats itself, so it was easy to figure what would happen next. That was Jack's talent. Prediction, reading into things. If nothing else, Jack could find the rhythm to just about anything and jump right in, if you get that sort of metaphor. And I hope you do. The doctor just had to ask a few more questions--He looked back at the clock--and he was running out of time.
"Jack, it is to my understanding that you set your old house on fire. Can you tell me about that incident?" Jack grinned. "Classic. Yeah, I did. I was playing with a box of matches around my parents curtains. Now that I think about it, I don't remember why. Just the sheer fun of having fire in my hands... Sorry. Anyway, next thing I know, the curtains are on fire, and the smoke alarm is going off." The doctor nodded, and took some hurried notes. 'Just a little more...' He thought. He was close. Deliciously close. "So, it didn't occur to you that you should call for help?" Jack thought back, popping more Skittles into his mouth. "I dunno. I guess not, 'cuz I kept right on playing with the matches until I ran out, and then... I dunno, I went outside to play. The babysitter chick who was supposed to be watching me..." His voice trailed off. "Jack, did something happen to the babysitter?" Jack blinked, his mind snapping back to reality. "What?" "Did something happen to the babysitter that day? Maybe she got burnt?" Jack gave him a wierd look. "No, she got out okay. I was just thinking how hot she was." Jack said plainly. The doctor chuckled, and to his surprise, Jack did too. "Oh, man, I remember this one time," The doctor looked back up at the clock. "2:20". Time was running out. He didn't have time for this...
"...And then she told me that I was too young to understand such intricate relationships." Jack finished. He looked to the doctor, who, it seemed, was staring at the window, but was actually staring at the clock. "Yo, doc, if I'm not interesting anymore that's fine, but at least let me know so I can go home." The doctor looked back to him. "Oh, no, it's not that, I was listening, I was... uh..." Sweat began to form on his forehead, but he quickly wiped it off. "Jack, don't you think it was common sense to just have... let someone know about the fire?" He asked. Jack rolled his eyes. "I don't know. I guess. Maybe. What does that have to do with anything?" Dr. Newman took a shaky breath. "Jack, if you could, please untie and then retie your left boot?" Jack raised an eyebrow, Dr. Newman gave him a simpering look that could only be a plead for cooperation, and then looked down at his boots.
At first, it was hard to tell if Jack was really thinking, or just stalling. Roy Newman wished he wouldn't. But after ten seconds, Jack did the thing he had been hoping for him to do. He held up his two hands to his face, and began to mumble. The doctor couldn't hear what he was saying, but he had an idea, as Jack began to form the letter L with his left hand, and put his left hand right above that boot. He quickly untied his boot, before stopping and slowing down to retie it. It took him a little more than a minute, but sure enough, not the first time, nor the second time, nor the third time, he got his shoe tied. "There. I don't get what that was all about." Jack said, as if the time he took to tie his shoe was the normal time EVERYONE took to tie their own shoes. Roy Newman smiled. "No. No big deal."
Beepbeep. Beepbeep. Beepbeep. Beepbeep.
"FINALLY! It's over. I'll have you know that THAT was worse than school. Torture, doc. Oh, and one more thing. You haven't gotten into my head. Not even barely." He said, walking up to the door. He tugged at it, and, leering bragginly at him, turned to walk out the door, slamming it behind him. (What, you think he would have walked right into the door? I don't think so.) Dr. Roy Newman, PhD, smiled. "Oh, Jack. I've scratched more than you think." He said, taking off his glasses and setting them down next to his notes.
The last line of which read: Jack Spicer, Albert Einstein-like genius. Blessed with intelligence of the Rhythmic sort, he can only figure problems that have a set rhythm, if you may. Probably one to listen to music as he works, or make up a theme song for himself. However, this intelligence comes at a price, as said boy genius lacks what most of the society today takes for granted--common sense. As with most geniuses, such as Albert Einstein, Jack lacks the area which allows him to understand common, everyday tasks, such as tying his shoes or alerting someone of a fire.
Doctor Newman stood up and looked out his window, down far below to the boy that not minutes ago sat in his office. The boy looked up at him, with a strange gloating look on his face, as his driver opened his door for him. Jack climbed into the limo's back seat, and drove off, the doctor smiling, beaming in his wake.
Ladies and Gentlemen, we have found this generations new Albert Einstein. And his name is...
Jack Spicer, Boy Genius, Lacking of Common Sense.
A/N: Alright, so this installment wasn't even consistant of the others, but that's perfectly alright, isn't it? Well, I think it is. Anyways, review, as I enjoy reading them, and, oh yes, one last thought: I finally figured it out! It is true, ladies and gentlemen, that Albert Einstein had no common sense. For example, he often forgot to put on clothes, unless his wife was there to remind him. Don't believe me, look it up. But it's true. And so, it all finally clicked. Why was Jack so doofy later on in the series? Because he had developed so much of his brain earlier on, like, when he was acutally developing, that the rest of his brain just didn't. Okay, well, I hope this made sense to you, and clears some stuff up. Or, at least, clears up what I think happened. Review, please!
Less than Three
Halfhuman
