Chapter 5 Escape Plan
Two hours.
That's how long I lasted in middle school before I realized there was no way in hell I was going to survive this.
The moment I walked into my first class, I knew I had made a mistake.
The desks were small. Uncomfortably small. The room smelled like teenage body spray and crushed-up dreams. And the noise?
Pure chaos.
Screaming, whining kids. Some were throwing paper airplanes, others were giggling over some dumb joke, and then there were the ones actually trying to learn. Poor souls.
The teacher—Mrs. Carmichael—clapped her hands, trying to get everyone to settle down. "Alright, class! Today, we're going to review our multiplication tables."
I froze.
No.
Oh, hell no.
She turned to the board and wrote, in big, horrifying letters:
2 × 2 = ?
I clenched my fists.
This was torture.
There was no way I could sit through this every day, pretending to be some clueless kid while my brain was running at quantum processor speeds.
I needed to get out.
I needed a plan.
Step One: Making Waves
I spent the next hour subtly messing with the class. Not in a prankster way—more like an "I'm about to make every adult question why I'm even here" kind of way.
When Mrs. Carmichael called on me for a basic math problem, I solved it instantly. Then, for fun, I also solved the next ten problems she was about to ask.
When we switched to English, I corrected her grammar.
By science class, I was debating the chemical composition of table salt at a level she definitely wasn't prepared for.
The other kids just stared at me like I had grown a second head.
The teacher? She looked concerned.
Perfect.
By lunch, I could already hear whispers.
"Did you hear what Jake did in math?"
"Mrs. Carmichael thinks he cheated, but how do you cheat at knowing everything?"
"Maybe he got abducted by aliens and they made him smart."
That last one actually wasn't too far from the truth.
I smirked to myself. Step one was a success. Now it was time for step two.
Step Two: The Principal's Office
I wanted to skip a few grades. Maybe go straight to college. But that wasn't going to happen unless I forced the adults to take notice.
So, after lunch, I did the most logical thing:
I walked straight into the principal's office.
Principal Henderson was a balding, slightly sweaty man who looked like he had been just about to enjoy a donut when I arrived. He blinked at me. "Jake? Shouldn't you be in class?"
I sat down across from him, completely at ease. "Actually, that's why I'm here. I need to talk to you about my educational future."
He frowned. "Your… what?"
I leaned forward. "Let's be honest, Principal Henderson. I don't belong in middle school."
He rubbed his temples. "Jake, if this is about homework—"
"It's about wasted potential."
I gestured dramatically. "Do you know what I did in math today? I sat through multiplication tables. MULTIPLICATION TABLES, Principal Davis. Do you know how insulting that is?"
He looked at me like I had grown three heads.
"Jake—"
"I corrected my English teacher's grammar. I explained chemical compounds to my science teacher. I am dying in there." I pointed toward the classroom halls. "Send me to high school. Hell, send me straight to college."
He sighed. "Jake, skipping grades isn't that simple. You'd have to pass extensive testing, meet with counselors—"
"Great! Give me the tests."
He blinked again. "Right now?"
I nodded. "Right now."
I could see the doubt in his face, but I also saw curiosity. Middle schoolers weren't supposed to demand to skip grades.
And that's how I knew I had him.
Step Three: Proving It
Two hours later, I was sitting in a quiet office, a thick stack of placement tests in front of me.
Math. Science. English. History. Everything they thought a kid should know before moving up.
I cracked my knuckles.
Time to show them what I can really do.
I picked up my pencil and got to work.