Chapter 204
After chatting more (I had no classes this afternoon), I went back home (Malibu again).
When I arrived, Uncle Charlie and Dad were still having lunch.
"Good afternoon!"
"Hey kid," Uncle Charlie greeted.
"Hello son. What is that graphene your mother was talking about?" Alan asked.
"It is a 2D carbon structure. Nothing much," I replied.
"Isn't that something that could win a Nobel??" Alan exclaimed weirdly.
"It is. But probably not for me. The Nobel prize is awarded to those who truly contribute to research. Just discovering and funding might not be enough.
Funding does not count, to begin with, or at least it should not in theory" I explained
"If I really wanted to win, I'd need to be one of the project leaders."
Paige would easily give up part of her share to me, but that's not something I want. She already tried that with the Poincare Conjecture (since Ricci flow with surgery — the idea of applying surgery — was basically like handing her a treasure map).
But I don't want to be involved in something I don't fully understand (I can't explain all the steps of Paige's solution, nor am I interested in learning them). The best is to give the treasure map to Paige and let her dig; she's like an excavator, while I'd just be a shovel (Haley would be a teaspoon…)
"There are better people to do it. Gordon was talking about inviting Mildred Dresselhaus, one of the most respected researchers nowadays," I commented.
Me being one of the project leaders could create some discomfort within the team (given that I do not intend to actively participate). A real contribution (besides having discovered it) would be necessary
"So probably not. Besides, I'm not really a fan of theorical physics. Spending years learning and contributing would be a waste of my life."
If I wanted a Nobel, I'd go for the Economics prize — something I actually understand more deeply.
About the Nobel family saying the Economics prize isn't a 'real' Nobel — pure nonsense. They're a bunch of nobodies. Without the surname, no one would even cite them in a footnote.
Besides, Milton Friedman himself was already much bigger than the Nobel during his lifetime. The prize matters because of the media and the winners, not the name.
"And you, Dad, how has it been going back to college?" I asked.
"Wait, what do you mean by going back to college?" Charlie asked, looking strangely at me and Alan.
"I've been doing Postbac Premed classes since the beginning of the year. Where do you think I go every morning and sometimes in the afternoon?" Alan asked, looking at Charlie.
"You're not here in the mornings?" Charlie asked, surprised. "I thought you were like me — going back to sleep after breakfast... besides, you only stay here 3 or 4 days a week...."
Alan snorted. "But answering your question, son, it's been very good. And since I took some DSST (DANTES Subject Standardized Tests), I only need to study six months for the Postbac. I'm really popular there," Alan said with a smug smile.
"Alan, you drive a Ferrari. A monkey would be popular if he drove a Ferrari to college," Charlie mocked.
"And why are you doing that? The post-something," Charlie added.
"So I can study medicine and become a real doctor," Alan replied.
"Why do you want to be a doctor? Now that you have money, you want to work?" Charlie said, arms wide open.
"I won't work — or I'll work moderately. But I've always liked medicine. Now that I have no financial pressure or anything else, I decided to dedicate myself to something I've always liked," Alan explained.
"Huh," Charlie expressed, thoughtful.
"I support you, Dad. It's good to focus on something you like, and you have all the time you need to do it at your own pace," I said.
More than anything, Dad always had a feeling of inferiority for not being a 'real doctor.'
"Moreover," I looked at Charlie, "if Dad knocks up a classmate, at least it would be a future doctor, not some random bimbo."
"Jake!" Alan snapped at me.
Charlie laughed. "Come on, Alan. Jake has a point."
---
After lunch, Alan pointed out, "We need to go to the market to restock the pantry."
"Yes, ma'am," Charlie saluted, mocking.
"We should hire someone besides Berta..." I murmured.
"We did," Alan said flatly. "Charlie slept with her..."
"In my defense," Charlie started.
Dad and I glared at him.
"She was hot, and she was already in my house," Charlie finished.
"Good defense," Alan said flatly, "A female is in the house, she must be mounted" he added sarcastically
"I'll go to the market too," I returned to the topic. "It's been months since I went to one — it'd be nice to see what new products have launched."
---
"Finally, I can use the sports car more often, without looking lame," I said from the passenger seat while Sarah started the Lamborghini.
Jimmy was filming the movie Rush Hour (it would be a waste to the world to be without Jackie Chan, so I even suggested he use that as a stage name).
"A hot driver who also knows how to defend herself and carries a weapon."
"Where are we going?" Sarah asked seriously.
"Jesus, Sarah, you're way too serious. How do you expect to get a boyfriend like that?" I joked.
Now she smirked and looked at me, "Why do you think I'm single?"
I gasped, "Who is the lucky bastard? At least tell me his name."
She gave a rare wide smile. "You know him — it's Jimmy."
"Jimmy???" I exclaimed, surprised. "That is my boi!!" I said cheerfully, and thought: fuck you, Chuck! I'm totally on my Chinese boi's side.
Then I started humming:
♪Hello, there
The angel from my nightmare
The shadow in the background of my mansion
The unsuspecting victim of darkness in the valley
We can date like Jackie and Sarah, if we want♪
"Really?" Sarah glared at me. "And you just drop that on the spot?" she asked, surprised.
"Nah, not really. The original is Jack and Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas," I replied.
"Ha, now I have a nickname for you — Sally," I laughed.
Sarah returned to her usual unfazed expression.
"Ayo, girl, I just hope Jimmy's funny persona rubs off on you a little," I said.
Sarah flashed a faint smile but then asked, "Where are we going?"
"On a super important mission, Sarah..." I said with a serious face. She looked at me.
"...Restocking our supplies. So, to the market!" I finished, and she turned back to face forward, unfazed — but I could see her lips twitching slightly.
Author Note:
As promised - November it is. "It's not a lie if it is true." - Simpson, Homer.
Jokes aside, sorry guys, I've been away from writing for a while. I'll try to find more motivation and get things moving again.