A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my brother, who provided some inspiration for my view of Sam.
Sam Evans: Science and Scissors
Sam Evans has never done particularly well in school. He tries hard. He remembers most of what has been said. He remembers the little details of things he hears, and he can tell you things from the books about the stars his mother read him as a child. But, when he tries to write things down, they get messed up. The letters twist themselves into chicken scratch under his pen. The order of the letters, and the sounds they make do to make sense in Sam's brain.
He hated pens until he was forced to pick them up. Most three years olds like coloring. Not Sam Evans. His mother gleefully relates an incident when parents ever talk about introducing their children to scissors. She let Sam cut up any junk mail she got. Her normally energetic son would sit still for a good fifteen or twenty minutes in the middle of the day if he got to use his safety scissors on a credit card application. He was far more efficient than any shredder.
One Saturday, she and Mr. Evans were discussing a missing finance check. Sam's dad was a salesman who submitted an expense report at the end of each month. The company sent a check to pay the expenses. Sam's mom asked her husband how they could pay the bill, when little Sam walked into the room. "Mommy, I made a square!" He said, holding a scrap of paper with half a zero followed by 75.6. His parents just groaned. The company re-issued the expense check, once all the shredded pieces had been resubmitted along with an adorable picture of Sam. His mother got better about where she left the mail, and scissors, too.
Sam only had two subjects where he did really well: physical education and science. Even if he could barely read, and wasn't entirely sure the difference between an independent and a dependant clause, eight year old Sam could name all the moons of Jupiter. At twelve, when he mastered the ability to read quickly and silently, Sam taught himself all the functions and organelles of the cells. At fifteen, Sam had trouble writing a basic five paragraph essay or a thesis, especially if he was doing it by hand, but on his first date with the beautiful Quinn Fabray, he pointed out the stars, and named the constellations for her.
Sometimes, he and Quinn talk. Actually, Quinn likes to talk. Sam would be just as happy making out, but Quinn feels a need to discuss things. Jesus is one of Quinn's favorite things. Sam isn't sure he belives in Jesus.
He knows he believes in God, though. Sam wonders how he cannot believe. Not that he would admit it, but Sam loves beauty. The simplicity of a water molecule, the smattering of stars on a clear night, Quinn's smile. Sam knows beauty when he sees it. And, there is no way that the beauty he knows could have happened by random chance. The way the far away stars burned, and provided light and dreams. Sam didn't believe in random chance. There had to be an unmoved mover.