Two weeks flew by in a blur as Jake wrote his valedictory speech.
For a fleeting moment, he had considered taking the easy way out, copying a famously inspiring speech from the future, but his pride quickly vetoed the idea.
He wanted the words to be his own since he had never given a public address before.
When graduation day finally arrived, Jake stood amidst a sea of towering teenagers wearing a traditional black gown that draped heavily over his small frame and a mortarboard cap resting securely on his head.
Draped over his shoulders was the bright gold Valedictorian Stole, which clinked softly against the heavy brass medals he wore for being a National Merit Scholar and a champion of various science olympiads.
The gymnasium was packed, echoing with the chatter of the families.
Principal Skinner stepped up to the microphone.
"And now, to deliver our valedictory address, I invite to the stage a student whose intellect is matched only by his unique journey. Ladies and gentlemen, Jake."
Jake carefully managed the long hem of his gown as he ascended the wooden stairs to the stage, walking with a steady pace ignoring the thousands of eyes tracking his every move.
Reaching the podium, Jake had to stand on his tiptoes to grab the heavy metal neck of the microphone, pulling it down.
"Good morning, everyone.
I know it's a bit strange to have an eleven-year-old standing up here. Most of you are looking forward to college, your first apartments, and the start of your adult lives. Usually, when people talk to me, they focus on how fast I'm moving. They ask me about the next grade or the next big goal.
I used to think that was the whole point; that life was a series of doors, and the faster you could unlock them, the better you were doing. I spent a lot of my time, counting the minutes until I could get to 'the next thing.'
But lately, I've realized that life isn't just the doors. It's the hallways in between.
If you're always looking at the horizon, you never notice the ground you're standing on. You miss the way the morning air feels when it's still cool and bright.
I want to thank my mom for being the person who always reminded me to come back down to earth when my head was too far in the clouds. And I want to thank my dad for showing me that a simple afternoon spent together is worth more than any achievement on a piece of paper. You both taught me that the best moments aren't the ones you plan for, but the ones that happen when you're not looking."
In the third row of the audience, hearing those words made Judith's breath hitch. She started to tear up, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a tissue, only to be completely interrupted by Alan's loud, unapologetic sobbing beside her.
"Dude, keep the camera straight," hissed Charlie, thoroughly annoyed at his brother's sudden, camera-shaking emotional outburst.
From the stage, Jake offered a small smile and continued. "Uncle Charlie, thank you for teaching me that life doesn't always need a map."
"That's me, I'm Charlie." He whispered, flashing a brilliant smile to the good-looking brunette sitting to his left.
"My grandparents Sheldon and Lenore for their support. And last but not least, my Grandma Evelyn, for always being there for me.
There's a famous saying that life moves pretty fast, and if you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.
So, as we all leave here today, heading off into a world that is only going to get louder and busier, I have one favor to ask.
Stop.
Just for a second. Before you get in the car, before you start planning your next move, just stand still. Look at the people who came here to support you. Listen to the silence for a moment.
Don't let your life go by while you're busy waiting for it to start. It's already happening.
Thank you for listening to me."
The gymnasium erupted into applause as Jake stepped back from the microphone, and left the podium, retreating to his seat.
After the sea of tossed caps and flashing cameras subsided, Jake reunited with his family. Alan was still sniffling, Judith gave him a fierce hug, and Charlie ruffled his hair. To celebrate the monumental day, they drove into the city and spent the evening laughing and eating at a fancy, steakhouse.
Summer faded, and as September quickly arrived, so did a wave of biological changes. The growth module seemed to be doing its job since he had shot up to 160 cm (5'3"), outgrowing his shoes twice in three months. His features were gaining sharper angles, and a faint, stubborn shadow of peach fuzz had appeared above his upper lip.
More noticeably, his voice had developed a traitorous habit of cracking.
This new physical phase accompanied him on his very first day at the California Institute of Technology.
The Pasadena sun beat down on the beautiful Spanish-style architecture and the famous olive-tree walkways.
His first day was a blur. While other freshmen were moving into dorms and discussing fraternities, Jake was looking at the sprawling physics buildings. He drew plenty of stares, but most students were too absorbed in their own academic survival to say much.
When he sat in the front row of his first lecture hall, his sneakers tapping against the floor, the professor paused mid-sentence, nodded at him in recognition, and then simply continued writing equations on the chalkboard.
The rest of the week settled into a demanding but boring rhythm since he had spent the two years in High-School studying the college curriculum.
He spent his afternoons buried in the quiet sanctuary of the Millikan Library, reading the books and quickly learning the campus layout, finding the best shortcuts between the chemistry labs and the cafeteria to avoid the worst of the afternoon heat.
Despite his initial isolation, the social barriers began to break down by Thursday. During a grueling calculus study session in the student lounge, a pair of exhausted nineteen-year-old sophomores hesitantly asked him to look at a tricky differential equation. When Jake solved it effortlessly in under a minute, the age gap seemed to have vanished.
By Friday afternoon, Jake sat by the turtle pond eating a sandwich. The first week had been fun.
...
Author note: Sorry for not uploading, I've been sick with a fever.