As jake woke up, he stared confusely at at the unfamiliar ceiling for a second, before remembering his new life, thinking how long would it take for it to fully become familiar.
Maybe a week? A month? Or a year?
"Jake, time for school"
"Im going" Suddenly being interrupted in the middle of his tougths, he answered to Judith
The kitchen smelled like coffee and burnt toast.
Alan was at the counter in his dentist shirt drinking coffee and reading the sports section, which was folded badly the way he always folded it. Judith was standing by the sink eating yogurt and writing something on the paper calendar pinned next to the fridge.
Jake came in and sat on the stool.
"Morning buddy." Alan pushed the Maples loop box toward him without looking up.
Jake looked at the box.
He poured himself a bowl.
"You start 3rd grade today,how are you feeling?" Judith said, still writing on the calendar
"I am alrigth" said jake
"Alrigth?" Judy releated while giving him a look.
"Super happy" sensing his mother gaze he gave her a exagerated smile
"Now thats better" she said while cupping his face cheek.
Looking at the cereal brand in front of him,he decided to check it with Argus, one part for curiosity and another part of just wanting to familiarize with this new form of Argus.
'Maple Loops is a fictional brand of breakfast cereal featured in the sitcom Two and a Half Men, famously associated with a cheesy, successful advertising jingle written by character Charlie Harper. It is portrayed as a sugary, popular children's cereal, often used as a comedic plot device in the show.'
'Huh, i wonder what else is different form my last life.' Jake thought to himself.
As he ate his breakfast, he couldn't help but wanting to explore im detail this parallel world.
"Alrigth jake say goodbye to your dad and lets go"
Sadly, reality is often dissapointing, he was a 9 year old kid, and Judith was ready to go, and was only waiting for him.
"Big day, buddy. First day of school." Alan said, tryng to make small talk before saying goodbye
"Yes," Jake said.
"You nervous?"
Jake considered the question for a moment. He had an advanced degree, twenty two years of professional experience, and a working familiarity with three different engineering software platforms. He was about to spend six hours with eight year olds and a number line that stopped at twenty.
"I guess" he said.
Alan pointed at him with the toast. "That's normal. That's completely normal. First days are tough. You know what I did on my first day of third grade?"
"Alan." Judith opened the front door. The morning air came in, cool and bright. "We are going to be late."
"I cried," Alan said, to Jake, quietly, as Judith walked out. "But it got better. By lunch it got a lot better."
"That's... encouraging Dad, thank you." he said tryng to appear grateful for his advice
"Your welcome Son, have fun at school" Alan answered clueless at his son thoughts while ruffling his hair.
Quickly leaving before Alan gave him more solid "advices", jake got into the car.
Seeing the the scenario of californian suburban homes while "Come Away With Me" by Norah Jones was playing on the radio.
Jake had a plan, lay low for some time, take some time to fully inmerse himself in this new life.
...
Woodward Avenue Elementary
Scratch that, no way I'm staying here.
Jake had not spent much time around children in his previous life. He was beginning to understand why.
They were loud for no purpose behind it, just noise for its own sake, because the option was available. They touched things constantly and without apparent reason
Tyler, the boy sitted beside him, had already touched Jake's notebook, Jake's pencil case, and the corner of Jake's desk, not to take anything or accomplish anything, just to make contact with the world around him like a small confused animal.
Mrs. Patterson a chubby red headed women in her early 40s, had kind eyes and a bulletin board covered in paper apples, which he supposed was meant to be charming.
By 9 o'clock he had confirmed everything he needed to know.
This was going to be intolerable.
He waited patiently through the morning, watching Mrs. Patterson move through her lesson plan with the enthusiasm of someone who liked her job.
He spent recess observing the playground, he stood near the fence and watched and said very little and went back inside when the bell rang, ready for the rest of the school day with a plan in mind.
Mrs. Patterson held up a picture book about a dog who loses his ball, which was apparently the assigned text, and asked if anyone could read the first page aloud. A girl in the front row volunteered and read slowly and carefully, sounding out each word with great effort. The class listened with the attentiveness of children trying to be good.
When she finished, Mrs. Patterson smiled and asked if anyone could tell her what the story was about.
Jake raised his hand.
"Jake"
"The dog is experiencing loss," he said. "But because he's a dog he doesn't have the cognitive framework to understand impermanence, so he just keeps looking. It's actually kind of sad when you think about it that way."
Mrs. Patterson looked at him for a long moment.
"That's a ... very thoughtful observation, Jake."
He nodded and put his hand down. Around him several children were staring. He looked straight ahead.
...
Math came after lunch.
She wrote a problem on the board. A store has 48 apples and sells them in bags of 6. How many bags does the store make?
Hands went up slowly around the room. Jake waited. He let the other hands waver and settle, let Mrs. Patterson's eyes travel across the room in search of confidence.
Then he raised his.
"Eight," he said. "But the more important question is whether the store should be bagging them at all. That depends on the margin per unit versus the cost of the bags and the labor to fill them, which means you need to know the price elasticity of the customer base before you can say if bagging is actually the right strategy."
The room went quiet in the way that rooms go quiet when someone says something that nobody understands.
Mrs. Patterson stood with her marker raised and looked at him.
"The answer is eight," she said carefully. "That's correct."
He just nodded and put his hand down.
...
At the end of the afternoon Mrs. Patterson put a map of the United States on the board and asked if anyone could name the capital of California.
"Sacramento," three kids said at once.
"Good. And can anyone tell me something interesting about California?"
A girl near the window said it had Disneyland. A boy said it was big. Jake waited and then raised his hand.
"California has the largest economy of any state," he said. "If it was its own country it would have the fifth largest GDP in the world. A lot of that comes from agriculture in the Central Valley and the technology sector around San Francisco, but the defense industry in Southern California is significant too."
The silence this time was longer.
Mrs. Patterson set down her marker. She looked at him with the expression of someone recalibrating something fundamental.
"Jake," she said, pleasantly but carefully. "Where did you learn all of that?"
He tilted his head slightly, the way he had seen children do when they were thinking. "A documentary, it was on the history channel two years ago" He paused. "Is that okay? That I said it?" Asked Jake acting as an innocent 9 year old.
"Of course," she said. "Of course it is."
But she was already reaching for her notepad.
...
She asked him to stay behind when the bell rang. Pullingdñ a chair to his level rather than standing over him, she had her yellow notepad on her knee and asked him careful conversational questions in the manner of someone who was conducting an evaluation without wanting it to feel like one.
What did he like to read. Did he enjoy school. What did he find interesting.
He answered each one with carefully. Not too much. Not too little. He said he liked books about how things worked. He said school was fine. He said he found most things interesting if you looked at them carefully enough, which was entirely true.
She thanked him and told him to have a good evening.
Walking down the empty hallway toward the late bus Jake replayed the conversation methodically using Argus, apparently he could use it to relieve memories pertfectly, as if he was experiencing all over again and checked it against his expectations.
The notepad. The careful questions.
She was going to call someone. Probably tonight.
He pushed open the heavy front door and stepped into the afternoon sun and permitted himself, briefly, the small clean satisfaction of a plan proceeding exactly on schedule.