2. Street-Rat
When he was fourteen, Jeremiah was acknowledged the king of the streets – a title that had been awarded to him for being the sneakiest and fastest. His father gave him a yellow-toothed smile, and his mother squeezed his shoulder and prepared his favourite meal, but Jeremiah cared very little for his new honorific. He was careful because it was in his nature, and because he had to be; he doubted very much that it would help him where he really wanted to go.
The Academy of Paris offered but one scholarship, and he was determined to receive it.
He already knew his letters and numbers. Despite his mother's humble beginnings, she was fairly learned, and taught all she knew to her son. However, he didn't delude himself into thinking that would be enough to pass the exams—much less beat the slightly wealthier middle-class, who had been educated since they were children.
So every night, he let himself in the library and read until his eyes were bloodshot. If he was lucky, he'd be able to take the book home with him to examine when he could. He never read during the day – the people, he thought, loathed anyone trying to rise above themselves, and would probably take measures to keep him with them – so the only eyewitness to his extensive studying was the kindly old librarian who left the lamp burning for him.