A letter came in the post that summer, offering a scholarship for a law degree at Harvard University. It''d only been a year since he began attending his local high school, St. Pursuit, but to Atlas Bentley, such academic excellence was less of an achievement and more of an expectation. A straight-A student, model classmate, and member of the school’s student committee, he was what every parent wished their son could have amounted to at the ripe old age of 16. His outfit was well-managed, not a single wrinkle present on his juniper green blazer and button-up white shirt. Straight and pristine, his matching plain tie hung from his neck, dangling down to his midsection with a tie clip securing it in place around his chest. A clean, grey V-neck jumper clung to his trained body, accentuating his well-kept physique. Atlas always thought he would look better if he grew his hair out, but his parents insisted he kept himself presentable in his formative years, allowing him to keep a soft side part that extended only a few centimetres from his scalp. “Look the part and soon enough, you''ll be the part,” they had told him. It was a decent train of thought, akin to “fake it till you make it,” but Atlas didn''t have to fake anything. He had what others could only hope for. Talent. Legalese, mathematics, literature—all of it came naturally to him. It was simple, easy to understand. He was good at it. Very good at it. Good enough to warrant an invitation to study the law at its highest level in his college years, provided he maintained his exceptional grades throughout the remainder of his high school years.


    A beeping sound echoed through a large, sparsely decorated room. Atlas shot awake, disregarding his desire to sleep for a few more minutes as he glanced over to his alarm clock, reading the time as 6:30. He flung his bedsheets off him, sliding out of bed in a single smooth motion as he had done countless times before. His uniform was laid out pristinely on the opposite side of the room, resting on a small coffee table next to the door. Atlas strode purposefully to the uniform, putting it on piece by piece whilst taking great care not to crease anything he touched. Bed-head wasn''t something Atlas usually had to worry about on account of his short cut, but today his quiff seemed especially uncooperative, drooping in each cardinal direction in an attempt to disrupt the cohesion of his haircut. A few dollops of hair wax were all it took to sort out that particular problem, however, with it taking just a few moments for Atlas to sort himself out in front of his bathroom mirror. He grabbed hold of his electric toothbrush, squirted around a pea-sized amount of paste on it before cleaning his teeth for precisely two minutes and spitting it out again, rinsing his mouth with half a cup of water. Atlas proceeded downstairs after making sure of his appearance, finding his parents both sitting at the long, ebony table situated in the centre of their dining area. Gold and turquoise leaves were scattered across the wallpaper in the living room and dining room hybrid that constituted the first floor of the Bentley’s abode, but Atlas paid little attention to all of it. After all, he''d seen it thousands of times over the past five years since they had moved into the small town of Stowe, Vermont. A simple, black school rucksack was resting by the front door, likely filled with school supplies and a fresh new laptop for Atlas to utilise in his studies.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "Atlas," a subdued and sophisticated voice echoed from the wide, intricate table, "make sure you take your bag. We didn''t prep it for you not to take it."


    "Of course, Father," Atlas responded. He glanced over to his dad. Warren Bentley was an otherwise average-looking man with an extravagant haircut so abnormal it was clear he was trying to overcompensate for something. What exactly that was, Atlas was scared to question, so he always remained silent.


    "Good. We reviewed the timetable St. Pursuit sent out. Don''t be late home—it is crucial we discuss your potential extra-curriculars for the coming years, after all."


    "I understand."


    "Very well. Be on your way, Atlas. Do not disappoint us."


    "I won''t."


    Atlas slid on his pointed leather shoes, taking extra care in tying them, ensuring they would under no circumstance come undone. He stepped out the door, wishing his parents a good day before walking the short trip to St. Pursuit High School, going over the previous year''s material as he did so. Equations, covalent bonds, promissory estoppel—none of it was a challenge to recall. All Atlas had to do was mildly recall the subjects, and the details flooded his mind. He was gifted, and he knew it. In fact, he more than just knew it. He''d been told it by his teachers, his peers, even his parents. Each and every one was convinced Atlas possessed something others his age did not, so what reason did he have to doubt them?


    Class began in 15 minutes, but Atlas had been trained into viewing a quarter hour early as being on time. He stood perfectly still outside of his first class, ignoring the world around him as if it didn''t exist at all in the process, too preoccupied with thoughts of last year''s materials to bother with what was going on around him. Moments passed with Atlas simply envisioning the content he had drilled into him the year prior, examining each and every detail to maximise his chances at passing any exam which may crop up during the first few weeks. After 10 minutes of Atlas going over each possibility, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Another boy, who he could only assume was the same age as himself, came speeding down the hallway, crashing into Atlas near the entrance to their first classroom. The force of the impact sent each of the boys tumbling a few metres down the hallway in a tangled ball, both crashing into the wall with a violent impact.


    "OW! That hurt!" Atlas exclaimed as his head hit the wall behind him.


    "Well, that makes two of us," the boy responded whilst rubbing the back of his head, "not like it didn''t hurt me as well."


    "Of course it hurt you too. Look where you''re going!"


    "Yeah, yeah, I''ve heard it all before," the boy responded. "Wait, are you in Mr. Mitchell''s class?"


    "I don''t see how that''s relevant, but yes, I am."


    "Amazing," the boy responded with a giggle, a prankish smile spreading across his face, "looks like we''ll be spending some time together."


    "I wouldn''t get your hopes up," Atlas responded. "I''m far beyond whatever you''re capable of."


    "Oh yeah?"


    "Yes. Harvard agrees."


    "Oooo, Harvard. I''m shaking in my boots, really I am."


    "Are you always this insufferable?"


    "I''ve been told so."


    "Of course you have. Well... if we''re going to be spending this class together, you may as well introduce yourself."


    "Oh yeah, forget about that part. I''m—"