“Yeah, but I guess that’s different.”
“Different how?”
“Well, when you’re dancing onstage, you’re just part of a bigger picture. Most of the time, no one is there for just you specifically. They’re there for the performance itself, the set design, all the characters, and the piecesthat go into making the whole thing. I don’t matter… I guess that’s the difference.”
I don’t matter.Her words echoed inside. He looked back to the front, where Claire was now gesturing away at the row of his brilliant brothers and sisters.
“That makes sense,” Romeo said quietly.
“What about you, what makes you not take part in this all?” she asked with so much sincerity, he almost found it funny.
Was it possible that Evie really did not know the truth that everyone else in this room and probably on planet Earth seemed to know?
The truth that, as far as most people were concerned, there were only four Button Heirs in this family. Four genius offspring. And not a single one of them was Romeo.
The truth that if the Button family were a sturdy jacket, Romeo would be the invisible button sewn into the seams. The one always on standby for the unlikely scenario that one of the main, reliably fastened buttons fell off.
“I also hate cameras,” he said, speaking in more half-truths. “I’m terrible in front of them. Likereallybad. Catastrophically bad.”
“I’m sure you’re far greater than you believe, Romeo,” Evie said, and then smiled at him with such genuine warmth he was unsure how to react. So he said nothing at all and returned his focus to the press conference ahead.
The first question was for his father.
“Why this date every year? November twenty-third—does it hold some kind of significance to you and your family?” the journalist asked, offering the tamest of questions.
“Fibonacci,” Mr. Button answered simply with a slight sneer, as if it were obvious.
“The mathematician?” the journalist asked.
“Yes indeed. The genius mind that brought us the Fibonacci sequence, thebrilliantmind I should say…,” Mr. Button began, going into his usual lengthy spiel that Romeo had grown used to hearing over the years.
His dad was obsessed with all the greats in history, not just kid geniuses. He was a fan of everyone from Fibonacci to Einstein, Mozart to Britney Spears (his father was strangely fond of Britney Spears). They’d been made to study them all in excessive detail. But with Fibonacci it was different. He and his siblings were convinced that his father had athingfor the dead Italian genius.
They all knew to never bring up Fibonacci to their father if they didn’t want an hour-long lecture on his brilliance, something the journalist clearly wasn’t aware of. As a result, it took his father a million years to get to the point, but eventually he did.
“I digress… Your question was about the date. Why November twenty-third? Well, the first set of numbers in the Fibonacci sequence starts with one, one, two, three—which gives us Fibonacci Day. And what better day to host the Prodigy Ball that strives to celebrate genius than his day? Though this is technically a two-day affair, with the annual post-ball brunch here in my home tomorrow.”
The brunch none of my siblings and I are forced to attend,Romeo thought with relief.
The next question, to no surprise, was again for their father.
“Could you take us back to the beginning?” an eager journalist asked. A willow of a man with an inquisitive stare. “You write in detail about what you originally called your ‘Saving Humanity Project.’ The adoption of your brilliant children. The project that, soon after, became known as your world-renowned Button Method. Is there anything you’ve reflected on over the years? Any regrets or triumphs?”
His father’s plastic smile faltered ever so slightly, something the journalist probably wouldn’t pick up on, but Romeo did. He was used to the nuances of his father’s ever-shifting face.
“Hmm, what an interesting question,” his father began, which was another dead giveaway that the question had not entirely pleased him. Then again, what could follow Fibonacci? “Yes, I would say the whole thing was a triumphand that because of me, humanity is most definitely saved. I took these children from God only knows what miserable life they might’ve faced elsewhere, and I made them accomplished. My only regret is not expanding the project further. A larger data pool would have not only yielded more results, but would ultimately have saved a lot more kids from their terrible fates. Perhaps when I invent time travel next, I’ll go back and fix mymistakes,” he said. Everyone seemed to laugh except Romeo, who felt a dull ache form in the center of his chest.
One by one, other journalists followed with their own questions for the Buttons, from the professional to the personal, the expected and the unexpected.
“Fola, you graduated with your bachelor of science degree at the impressive age of twelve years and three months. Then you of course completed your PhD in quantum mathematics just at the start of last year at sixteen years old. You are the very picture of what being prodigious is,” one journalist began.
“Yes,” Fola replied in a simple neutral tone, unperturbed by the flattery. Fola knew she was brilliant; it was one of her defining characteristics. As such, she never thanked anyone for acknowledging what was obvious from even the satellites orbiting Earth.
“You’ve done so much already. I was wondering, what’s next for you?” the journalist continued, sweating under Fola’s unflinching gaze.
“Well, I can’t say much at the moment… but I can tell you that I am considering a number of avenues and will announce my decision when I’m ready. Right now though, my main concern is to try and enjoy this short break from academia by focusing on some leisurely competition,” Fola replied.
“And byleisurely competition, I assure you my daughter means that she intends on defending her hard-earned Grandmaster world title in chess,” their father interrupted with his practiced charm and plastic smile.
