“That’s because I’m a genius.”
She made theIs that so?face again until she saw I wasn’t kidding. “Wait, really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Does that mean you know everything?”
“Not everything.”
She cocked her head. “What grade are you in?”
Here we go.I cleared my throat. “I’m in high school.”
Emery’s eyes widened. “High school?”
A mental countdown began in my head. Any second now, this girl was going to walk away. May as well get it over with.
“I’m leaving the public school for a special high school in the fall. I have two more years, and then I start college. Then I’ll go to MIT. Just like my dad.”
“But…you’re ten!”
“Iknow.” I sighed. “It’s okay. You don’t have to keep talking to me.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Why would I stop?”
“Because it’s weird.”
“It’s not weird, it’s cool! You’re like Sheldon Cooper! Like on that show?Young Sheldon?”
I stiffened. I didn’t watch TV, but I heard that comparison every day at my high school in Gaithersburg. Mostly, it was the older kids—which was everyone—making fun of me and asking me if I liked trains orStar Trek, or if I had something called a Meemaw.
“No.I’m not like him.”
“He graduated high school when he was eleven.”
“I told you I’m not graduating high school. I still have two moreyears.”
Emery swung her legs and scuffed the heels of her shiny black shoes on the rock. “Well, I think that’s cool. I wish I could be done in two years. Then I could go right to Rizdy!”
“What’s Rizdy?”
“It stands for Rhode Island School of Design. R-I-S-D, but you say it like, ‘Rizdy.’”
“Okay. What do you want to design?”
“The inside of houses. I want to be an interior designer and maybe do big events, like weddings. I love drawing and painting and collaging, but more than anything, I love doing makeovers on rooms. You should see my bedroom.”
I felt heat creep over the back of my neck. I had no idea what to say to that.
“Soooo…” Emery scooted closer. “What’s it like, being a genius?”
“It’s…um, okay.” I stammered because now our arms were touching. “Some good things, some bad things.”
“What are some good things?”
“I can read anything I want,” I said. “I can play some piano. I can do math. Really hard math.”
Emery made a face. “Math is theworst.But I love reading! I loveWings of Fire,andMatilda,andThe Secret Garden.” She was lit up even brighter now, like a live wire humming with energy. “What are you reading right now?”
