Chương 3: Book 1 - Chapter 2

Following a breakfast of cereal we headed to school the next morning. I turned in my missed homework to my teacher as soon as I arrived at the classroom. That afternoon I had GT (Gifted and Talented). It was basically an extra class that the smart kids in each grade got to attend for forty five minutes on Thursdays. We worked together in the school library writing articles for the school newspaper. The need to show off hadn't been satisfied yet.

"I've read every book in this library," I bragged. They didn't believe me.

"No way, John," Max scoffed.

"Wanna bet?" I challenged.

"Find a book, open it, tell me the page number, and I'll quote it." I caused a massive flurry of people grabbing random books off the shelves. I was firing off quotes as fast as they showed the front of the book and called out a page number.

"Page 22!"

"The third chapter is called 'Why we grow,'" I shot back.

"Page 87!"

"The picture is of a blue jay attacking a snake, and the caption reads, 'Rare sight.'" The librarian, who was also the editor of the school newspaper, initially frowned at the chaos they were generating as each tested book was placed on a table or chair and they rushed back for another.

"Please put those books back neatly, children!" she hissed, her voice sharp with annoyance. However, once she realized the impossible accuracy of my responses, and my fellow students excitement at every accurate answer, her expression shifted from alarm to disbelief. I heard her step back to her desk and quietly dial a number. I could hear the muffled voice on the other end: "Principal Lewiston? You need to come to the library right now. John Cook is... doing something impossible."

Seeing her make the call, I knew I needed to control the scene.

"Okay, Mike, put that one back on the top shelf, third section," I instructed the nearest boy, pointing. The boy, stunned, ran to comply.

"That book goes next to the dictionary!" I called out to Mandy. I continued reciting from pages they called out, but now I was simultaneously directing the cleanup by pointing out the shelf location after each quote. Just as the last few kids got their turn, Principal Lewiston stepped in to observe. The kids were excited and getting loud, so I started grabbing the random books that were still out of place.

"Here, you take this Cindy. It goes right next to the atlas," I said, handing a geography book her, then grabbing another, handing it off and pointing to its specific shelf location. The grade school library is a room half the size of a classroom. It has shelves with books mostly along the walls, tables and chairs in the middle. It's a cozy space designed for half a class to come at once for story time, or an entire class just for a weekly library visit. The Principal spoke quietly with the librarian for a moment.

Seeing the Principal, the class had calmed instantly. She glanced at the clock, then clapped her hands sharply, bringing the remaining students to attention.

"Alright, GT students! Time is up!" she announced, her voice firm.

"Remember, your article submissions for the next school newspaper are due Monday. We need them to have next week's paper ready on Wednesday! Get back to your classrooms now." As the rest of the group hurried toward the door. I placed the last books in their correct place, and the Principal stepped forward.

"John," he said, his voice low and serious.

"What exactly were you demonstrating?"

"I'll show you. Pick any book," I replied instantly.

"Tell me the page number, and I'll quote it for you."

"Are you sure?" he asked, his skepticism returning.

"I'm absolutely sure. I just discovered that most people can't do this. I think that's why nobody believes me when I tell them I can."

"Would you like to take an IQ test? It'll measure how smart you are."

"Sure, but I really want to take the Fourth Grade test."

"Fourth Grade? Aren't you in third?"

"Third's almost over, and I've got all A's. I borrowed a Fourth Grader's school books, and I'm sure I can pass. I wanted to see if it would be any harder than Third Grade. It wasn't," I said, putting some disappointment into my tone.

"That's really surprising," he said.

"I'll see what I can do. I won't test your book skills right now, so why don't you head back to class?" My teacher had been told by the other students that I was talking to the Principal, so there was no question as to why I was returning late. After my demonstration, there was some conversation among the students about my display of memory. I felt a moment of guilt at my bragging behavior. I hadn't personally read all those books, but I possessed the memories of reading them.

Other versions of me had each picked a different book, read it, and logged the pages. I could access and recall the individual pages from when those other 'me's' had finished. It feels complicated in my head when I try to explain it: I possess memories of experiences that have not happened, and never will. There is no subject, no question, no skill that some version of me hasn't pursued to completion and mastery, ensuring I have the information and skill now.

As Mom finished her last bite of dinner that evening, she turned to Dad.

"I had an interesting call from Principal Lewiston today." Dad looked up from his plate, a piece of chicken suspended on his fork.

"Oh? Everything alright with John's make up work?" A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Mom shook her head.

"It was about the library. Apparently, John put on quite a show in the GT class. Mr Lewiston called me after the students left. He said John was reciting pages, word for word, from any book the students picked up, just by knowing the page number." Dad whistled softly.

"Well, he's always been good with books."

"No, Ray, this was different," Mom insisted.

"Mr Lewiston said John was cleaning up the mess while still quoting from pages the kids were calling out. He called to ask for Johnny to be tested tomorrow." She paused, meeting Dad's eyes.

"He's going to give him an IQ test and the Third Grade final exam." Dad turned to me.

"Johnny, I'm happy to hear you'll be taking tests tomorrow. Do your best, but don't worry about it too much. That's what I do." It was exactly what I had wanted to happen. For the first time, I hadn't just remembered a future outcome—I had engineered it. I began to see how powerfully I could manipulate events by just doing the right thing, the right way, at the right time. Turning little actions—like a boyish brag—into larger, unexpected but guaranteed events.

I had the knowledge, and now I understood the variables. The world is a chaotic jumble of luck and chance. My memories of infinite futures proved that. It was also a solvable system with predictable inputs and outputs. A chaotic library would become a casual dinner conversation at some house in Stigler. Events moved—an avalanche triggered by one small stone.

As expected, as soon as my teacher saw me on Friday, she said, "John, put your homework on my desk, and your backpack on your chair, then head to the main office." The class gave me the obligatory, "Oooh, you're in trouble." I just ignored it, leaving the classroom and headed down the hallway. Principal Lewiston met me just outside the school office. With a hand on my shoulder, he guided me past the counter and office secretaries' desks, to his office at the back.

"It is great that you are on time," he said softly as the door closed behind him.

"I'll be administering the tests, so you'll be with me all day today. I won't tell anyone about the testing before your parents say it is okay. So don't worry about your classmates." He had a small student desk set up in one corner of the room, which he pointed me into. As I settled behind the desk, I asked him, "How many tests will you be giving me?"

"Before lunch, we will do two tests. We are going to do an IQ test first, then I have the Third Grade final exams. After lunch we will do the Fourth Grade exam if you passed the third."

"That sounds good. Let's get started," I said with excitement. He retrieved the test booklet from his filing cabinet and placed it on the small desk.

"Alright, John. This is the IQ test," he explained, tapping the cover.

"You have seventy five minutes to complete it, but only if you need the full time. Use this pencil, and only one answer per question." He nodded, giving me a focused look.

"When you understand the instructions, you may begin." There are three ways for me to do a multiple choice test. Way one: a billion other versions of me take the test, each selecting random answers. Whichever version achieves a perfect score, I copy their answers. Way two: I use the collective knowledge of a few hundred other versions of myself to actually answer the questions. Way three: I copy the answers from the version of me that used way two to answer the questions and achieved a perfect score.

I tore the small piece of paper that sealed the test book with my pencil, deciding on way two. This method ensured that I genuinely understood the material, which would be crucial when the Principal quizzed me. It was a very fast method. With each question, I experienced a rapid influx of relevant experiences, specialized research, and deep knowledge—potential memories became real experience. The seventy five minute test was completed in twenty minutes.

The Principal was skeptical, "I don't think I could take that test in twenty minutes. Are you sure you didn't just pick random answers?" I grinned, knowing I had not picked random answers.

"Mr Lewiston, please ask me any questions from the test you wish. Or even a variation of any question. I know this stuff. This is not a knowledge test, it's vocabulary, logic, reasoning, and some math. It's for kids near my age. I got a perfect score." He reluctantly asked me a variation of a math question.

"Alright. If the sequence is 3, 7, 11, 15... what is the next number?"

"The next number is 19."

"That was very quick, and correct," he acknowledged.

"That question was a variation of test question 54. The one on the test was 2, 6, 10, 14." He looked down, consulted the test, and sighed.

"That's correct, also." He considered for a moment, then straightened his back.

"Okay, if you got a perfect score, then that changes everything.

"We will plan on doing the other two tests today to be sure you've mastered third and fourth grade skills. Provided you pass them, I see no reason not to accelerate you." He glanced at his wall calendar.

"We have six weeks of school left. I'll arrange to get the school books and course work for the next few grades from the Middle School. We can set you up here, or in the library for self study. When you're ready, I'll give you the end of year tests. If you pass, I'll move you into the next grade and its coursework."

"Provided I pass the tests, how much forward are you wanting to accelerate me?" I asked"Either until you reach a point where you can't progress further on your own, until the school year ends, or until you have completed the requirements for high school," he explained.

"Once the school year ends, then you will be somebody else's responsibility, I won't have any control over that. I'll bring the district Superintendent in on this tonight. I'll need his help to get the school materials."

"Okay, let's do the next test," I told him. Then with my best Okie drawl and a big grin I added, "You keep the learnin' coming, and I'll keep giving you my best!" He laughed, and set about giving me the next test. It took thirty minutes.

"I'm finished!" I announced.

"That's supposed to take an hour," he said, startled from the work he was doing at his desk.

"That one wasn't multiple choice."

"A lot of writing," I agreed. He looked at the clock.

"Plenty of time before lunch. I'll grade it now," he said taking the paper as I handed it to him. I sat quietly and watched as he used the answer key to grade the test.

"Excellent work, looks like you only missed two questions."

"Which two?" I asked.

"Number 42 and 43, the math problems."

"Those answers are correct," I insisted.

"Please check my work on the problems." He looked at the problem, grabbed his pen and paper, and did the multiplication longhand.

"Perfect score," he confirmed, looking at his paper.

"It looks like somebody transposed two answers on the answer key. I'll have to make a note of that for the teachers." I did a little cheer: "Woohoo! I'm a Fourth Grader!" He smiled at my cheer.

"How about we get an early lunch at the cafeteria, my treat."

"Lunch sounds good," I agreed.