Clever Girl

Chapter 9: Prime Numbers

It turns out that ignoring Jay is even worse than having to talk to him. His relentlessness could make a stubborn fly blush. No matter how many times I try to wave him off, he won't stop buzzing around.

After that humiliating encounter in the cafeteria, he followed me through the halls, repeating his usual holier-than-thou nonsense at me; that I'm useless, that I'm ruining the school's reputation, and that trying to teach me has been an absolute waste of his precious time. He then marched along side me as I headed out the front door, never once taking a proper breath as he continued to berate me.

All the while, I didn't say a word. I didn't even turn to face him. I kept my focus straight ahead, hoping he'd finally take the hint.

Now I'm about to turn a corner, on the sidewalk leading to my house, and it's clear he won't give up. His voice has become a cluster of gibberish, and I can feel the anger bubbling higher and higher. If he doesn't stop soon, I'll lose control.

"Oh, and let's not forget all the tutoring, that you're stealing methods and answers from random sites online. Like you can cheat your way into tutoring a whole class into getting A's. And that's on top of the Mensa-level papers I found in your bag, that you supposedly faked-"

"Hey! None of that is any of your business," I finally say as I come to a halt and glare at him.

"I'm supposed to help you raise your average, so if you're actually not an idiot and you're just wasting my time, it is my business."

"I can't keep having this conversation with you. And you know what? It doesn't even matter because after next week... I'm dropping out. So you can continue on with your weird delusions about me, tell Cranston, tell... whomever. After next week, I won't have to see any of you ever again."

He stares at me with those almost-crystal blue eyes, maybe finally speechless. Maybe he's trying to understand why anyone, in his perfectly structured world, would drop out of high school. Maybe angry that someone he's tutoring is seemingly failing him. 

I wait another moment for him to verbalize his thoughts, but he just stares on. So I back away, "Look, it's not a big deal. I drop out. The school's down a number, which means my marks won't contribute to Apollo's average. It'll be like I was never there. Everybody wins."

"Are... are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious. Trust me, this'll be good for the both of us."

He walks up to me, and I still can't tell what he's actually feeling; relief, irritation, defeat. Or a combination of all. When he speaks, though, it's with curiosity over everything else, "Why would you do that? If you just focus, you could get great marks. You're obviously not as big of an idiot as you want people to believe. Don't you want to go to college? Have a future?"

"Okay, you're obviously not getting this, so we're done here." I face the way home and continue walking. This circle we're running in is exhausting, and I'm over it. As I walk I hold my breath, knowing Jay will follow and continue berating me. But when a moment passes and I hear nothing, I breathe out in relief.

***

I've been trying to solve the Riemann Hypothesis for almost nine years now. A rather tiny droplet in an ocean of years, of the greatest minds in the world attempting just the same. But what if I'm that one in a billion? As I go through the problem, I'm reminded that while prime numbers are absolute in that they can only be divided by 1 and themselves, they are still universally misunderstood. Maybe my fascination with this particular Millennium Prize Problem is because I feel connected to it. Like I'm a prime number. Absolute but misunderstood.

Or maybe I'm just another pretentious fool who thinks she's special, when she's really just tired and alone. Unsolved formulas, functions and equations, microbiology and theoretical physics, Hugo and Faulkner. Maybe I'm obsessed because there's really nothing else to me.