The Smartest Kid in the Universe Read online

  Jake, of course, knew that Dr. Garcia, who had emigrated from Cuba, had received a PhD in Latin American literature with an Afro-Hispanic emphasis. He also liked to sing and cook. His favorite dish to prepare was ropa vieja, often considered the national dish of Cuba.

  Jake didn’t learn all that from the jelly beans. He’d actually read it in a newspaper article Grace had forwarded to his phone on the bus ride down to the campus.

  “A lot of brilliant thinkers have come out of Riverview,” the professor said as he gestured for Grace and Jake to sit down. “But, Mr. McQuade?”

  “Yes, sir, Professor Garcia?”

  “You might be the single most brilliant mind to ever attend the school—at least since my daughter got there.”

  Grace blushed. “Papi?”

  “I’m serious. For decades, Riverview has produced great thinkers, athletes, performers, and business leaders. It’s proof of the power of public education. It’s why my wife and I insisted that Grace go there. But I must admit, it’s a shame that your beloved alma mater has become such a shambles.”

  Jake had a slightly distressed look on his face. Because, for the first time in his life, he realized that, in Latin, alma mater meant “generous or nourishing mother.” That was just weird. Who’d call their mother, especially if she was generous and nourishing, a middle school? It’d be rude.

  “Jake?” said Dr. Garcia. “Are you still with us, son?”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Jake’s a little overwhelmed by his recent burst of intelligence,” explained Grace. “He had a mental growth spurt.”

  Jake nodded. “I sometimes surprise myself with the things I suddenly know.”

  “You seemed to surprise your principal, as well,” Professor Garcia said with a chuckle. “I watched Mrs. Malvolio last night. Her mouth was hanging open the whole time you fielded all those questions. Can I be honest with you, Jake?”

  “Yes, sir. ‘Honesty is the first chapter in the book of wisdom,’ according to Thomas Jefferson, who sold all of his books to the United States of America after the British burned the original Library of Congress to the ground in 1814.”

  “Jake?” said Grace. “Focus.”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  Professor Garcia chuckled some more. “I like you, Jake. I like you a lot. But I don’t like what Mrs. Malvolio has done to your school.”

  “Me neither,” said Jake. “But what can we do to stop Mrs. Malvolio from tearing it down?”

  That seemed to startle Professor Garcia. “Is that her intention?”

  “We think so,” said Grace. “Her uncle is Heath Huxley. The real estate developer.”

  “Ah, yes. The notorious Mr. Huxley. He’s the one who tore down a senior citizen housing complex to build a shiny mall full of ridiculously expensive shops.”

  “Mr. Huxley wants to build a high-rise condo right where the school is and call it Riverview Tower,” said Jake. “He’s already selling apartments in it.”

  Professor Garcia nodded thoughtfully. “Well, Jake, however you acquired this ‘instant intelligence,’ it seems you have been given a great gift. If more people learn about your incredible brainpower, you could show this city—nay, this whole country—the power of public education and why we need to keep Riverview Middle doing what it’s done for decades!”

  As the professor went on to list a lot of incredibly successful people who went to public schools—Oprah Winfrey, Steve Jobs, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Warren Buffett, and on and on—Jake started to worry that maybe he wasn’t cut out for this.

  At first, it’d been kind of fun being super smart.

  A game. Now the future of Riverview Middle School was suddenly riding on his shoulders. And all those brainy public-school people Professor Garcia just mentioned? None of them got their smarts from jelly beans. He was pretty sure theirs mostly came from books, hard work, and old-fashioned studying.

  “I’d like to run a few ‘intelligence’ tests on you, Jake,” said Professor Garcia. “Generate some irrefutable proof. Tomorrow’s Saturday. Are you free at, say, eleven?”

  “Sure.” Jake was trying to sound confident.

  But inside he was terrified.

  Early the next morning, Jake rode with Grace and her father back to Warwick College.

  “It’s the weekend,” said Professor Garcia. “We’ll have the campus all to ourselves. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve asked a few of my colleagues to join us as we test your IQ.”

  “A number designed to rank my intelligence in relation to the entire human population,” said Jake.

  “That’s right. I, of course, think intelligence is much more than a number. And numbers can never give us the full measure of a person. But, well, people like numbers. Numbers give them something they can relate to.”

  Jake nodded. “Did you know that the abbreviation ‘IQ’ was coined in 1912 by the psychologist William Stern for the German term ‘Intelligenzquotient’?”

  “You speak German quite well,” remarked Professor Garcia.

  “Vielen Dank, Doktor Garcia. It’s Spanish I have trouble with.”

  “I heard that Albert Einstein’s IQ was somewhere between one hundred sixty and a hundred ninety!” said Grace.

  “Putting him in the ‘exceptionally gifted’ category,” said Professor Garcia.

  “What’s the highest IQ ever scored, Papi?” asked Grace.

  “It’s hard to say. Some claim it’s Adragon De Mello, who graduated from college at age eleven and supposedly scored a four hundred on his IQ test. But that was never properly certified. We estimate that the IQ for the smartest person on the planet would be approximately one hundred and ninety-four point six.”

  “Approximately?” Grace said with a laugh.

  Her father laughed back. “Approximately.”

  * * *

  —

  “Thank you, once again, for agreeing to do this, Jake,” said Professor Garcia as he led the way into a lecture hall with at least two hundred seats.

  A desk and a chair were set up on the floor at the base of the steep amphitheater. Three adults sat in the front row looking extremely brainy. Grace grabbed a seat in the row behind them.

  “Jake,” said Professor Garcia, “I’d like you to meet my colleagues. “Doctors Amanda Jones, Milton Thomas, and Jennifer Sniadecki. They do research and lecture in the Education and Psychology Departments.”

  “Uh, hi,” said Jake, giving the three professors a nervous finger-wiggle wave.

  They nodded grimly, their faces masks of seriousness.

  “They will certify the results of this test before we make them public,” said Dr. Garcia.

  “We’re going to make my score public?”

  “Yes. With your permission, of course. It might help sway attitudes about the power of a free public education.”

  Jake nodded because he remembered his mission and that line from Spider-Man about great power and great responsibility. He also remembered that Grace was the one who told it to him.

  She gave him a big thumbs-up from the second row.

  “Let’s do this thing,” he said.

  “Very well. Let’s begin.”

  Dr. Garcia held up the first card from two tall stacks piled at the edge of the desk.

  “What number should come next in this series?” he asked.

  1—1—2—3—5—8—13

  “Twenty-one,” said Jake without missing a beat. “Each number is the sum of the two numbers before it. Thirteen plus eight equals twenty-one.”

  “Correct,” said Dr. Garcia. The professors behind him scribbled on their clipboards.

  “Please complete this comparison,” said Dr. Garcia, holding up another card.

  PEACH is to HCAEP as 46251 is to:

  “One five two six four—the numbers in r
everse,” said Jake.

  “Correct.” Dr. Garcia held up card number three.

  “Please pick the next image in the sequence: A, B, C, D, E, or F.”

  “The answer is ‘B,’ ” said Jake. “The blocks build into a column and then we shift over one space to repeat the same sequence.”

  “Correct.”

  And on and on it went. It was easy-peasy all the way.

  In the second hour, the trio of professors stopped taking notes and just gawked at Jake as he fired off one correct answer after another. (Luckily, there was no Spanish-language section.)

  Later, in the afternoon, after the professors had huddled and made several phone calls, the college held a press conference. Dr. Garcia and his three colleagues boldly proclaimed that “Jake McQuade, according to our certified and documented testing, has an IQ well in excess of three hundred. He is, without a doubt, the smartest kid in the universe!”

  Cameras flashed. News crews pushed in for a close-up. Jake had two dozen microphones jabbed into his face.

  “And,” he said, as heroically as he could under pressure, “I owe it all to Riverview Middle School! The best middle school in the city, maybe the world! Gooooo, Pirates!”

  Behind the crowd of eager reporters, Jake could see Grace smiling at him.

  She even put her hands together to form a heart.

  That’s when he really started to sweat.

  Heath Huxley invited his niece to join him at his penthouse apartment bright and early Sunday morning.

  “Are we doing brunch?” Mrs. Malvolio asked with a nervous giggle that made her chunky necklace clatter.

  “No. We’re watching your student, Jake McQuade, on TV. He’s doing CBS Sunday Morning. That’s the show all the smart people watch when they should be sleeping!”

  “What’s Jake doing on TV?”

  “Didn’t you see the news yesterday? Some eggheads at Warwick College certified him as a genius with an IQ that’s off the charts!”

  Mr. Huxley and Mrs. Malvolio settled into a twin set of plump white chairs in front of the TV.

  Mrs. Malvolio looked around the living room. “Do we have snacks?”

  “Shhhh! Here he is.”

  “So, Jake, you’re twelve?” asked the interviewer.

  “Yes. I’m a seventh grader at Riverview Middle School—that’s a public school, a school maintained at public expense, so I want to say thanks to the public.”

  “He’s doing an ad for keeping your wretched school open!” fumed Mr. Huxley. “We have to put a stop to this, Patricia. We have to stop it immediately!”

  “Yes, Uncle Heath.” She fanned the foul air underneath her nose. When her uncle fumed, he literally exhaled fumes. It was almost as if he had chunks of rotting egg salad sandwiched between his teeth.

  “Are you looking forward to the State Quiz Bowl competition?” asked the interviewer.

  “Oh yes,” replied Jake.

  “That’s, what, ten days away?”

  “Good math,” Jake said with a wink.

  The reporter chuckled.

  “And he’s charming, too?” seethed Mr. Huxley. “We need to hatch a plan. We must destroy this boy.”

  Mrs. Malvolio fanned faster. Her uncle’s seething smelled worse than his fuming.

  “What are you studying to prep for the competition?” asked the TV interviewer.

  Jake shrugged. “Nothing special really. Just what they teach us at Riverview Middle School. Did I mention how awesome it is?”

  “Several times. So, Jake, some viewers have sent in questions that they think will stump you. Are you game?”

  “Sure. Fire away.”

  “Okay. This is from Jenna Bellish in Warren, New Jersey.”

  Jake waved at the camera. “Hey there, Jenna.”

  “Here’s your question: If you take one letter away from the word ‘friend’ and put the rest into a different order, what word would you create? ‘Blend,’ ‘diner,’ ‘fiend,’ or ‘freak’?”

  “Ah,” said Jake. “Very tricky, Jenna. The answer, of course, is ‘diner.’ ‘Fiend’ is the word you would get if you took away one letter—‘r’ in this instance—but didn’t rearrange the letters. ‘Diner’ fulfills both criteria specified in the question.”

  “You are correct!”

  “Shut it off!” demanded Mr. Huxley.

  Mrs. Malvolio found the remote and snapped off the TV.

  “I’m not going to let that boy stand between me and what is rightfully mine!”

  “You mean the buried treasure?”

  “Exactly!”

  “Well, Uncle Heath, not to be a Debbie Downer, but technically, until we recover the treasure, it’s not really”—she made air quotes—“ ‘rightfully yours.’ ”

  “Oh yes it is, Patricia. It is my inheritance. It is our family’s legacy! Whatever is buried under that school is Mieras money!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Our ancient ancestor was Alonso Mieras, a bold seafaring man.”

  Mrs. Malvolio smiled and nodded as if she understood what the heck Mr. Huxley was talking about, even though she didn’t.

  “My grandfather, your great-grandfather, was Miguel Mieras. He changed our family name to Huxley because he wanted people to think we were British. That we came from a noble line of dukes and earls, instead of being the direct descendants of a Spanish pirate! One whose treasure was stolen from him by a bratty little cabin boy!”

  “Wait a second,” said Mrs. Malvolio. “Are you telling me that our ancestor Alonso Mieras was the pirate captain known as Aliento de Perro?”

  “Yes!” cried Mr. Huxley. “He was Dog Breath!”

  Well, that would certainly explain a lot, thought Mrs. Malvolio.

  Mr. Huxley stood up, clutched his hands behind his back, and started pacing around the room.

  “For centuries, our family has tried to find the treasure that was stolen from us. My father failed. His father failed. And all the fathers before them? Failures!”

  “Why didn’t someone tell me?”

  “Because they didn’t want word of their bungling to spread. I was the first to even have an inkling as to where the vile cabin boy had hidden what is rightfully ours—because I paid good money for that information. Now it is up to us to avenge our family’s honor and reclaim Dog Breath’s buried treasure. It is our destiny, Patricia. And to fulfill it, we must tear down that school! ¿Me ayudarás en mi búsqueda?”

  “Of course I will help you in your quest, Uncle Heath. What do you need me to do?”

  “Don’t let foolish children crush our dreams. Deal with Jake McQuade, Kojo Shelton, and that brainy girl, Grace Garcia. If she is really related to Mr. Charley Lyons—”

  “Oh, she is!”

  “Then she is also related to that ungrateful scoundrel and thieving cabin boy, Eduardo Leones!”

  “No!”

  “Yes! You must do this for our family’s honor! Can you? Will you?”

  Mrs. Malvolio smiled. “¡Sí, tío! ¡Sí, sí, sí, sí, sí!”

  Monday morning, the phone wouldn’t stop ringing at Jake’s apartment.

  Fortunately, Kojo had come over to “strategize” with Jake before they headed off to school. Jake’s mother was already at work.

  “That publicity stunt at the college?” said Kojo, crunching into a piece of cinnamon toast. “Now, that was pure genius, baby. You’re going to be getting offers to endorse products. I’m thinking Cracker Jacks could be renamed Cracker Jakes!”

  “Jake could become an Instagram influencer!” said Emma. “You do know big corporations pay people to promote stuff on social media, right?”

  “Of course,” said Jake, even though he actually didn’t, because stuff like that wasn’t included in Mr. Farooqi’s jelly beans.

  What o
ther information am I missing? he wondered.

  “I’m also figuring we can swing a deal with Frito-Lay,” said Kojo. “They make Smartfood—that popcorn with the white cheddar cheese you have to scrape off your fingers with your teeth. We post a few snaps of you munching popcorn while doing some kind of Einstein-looking formula at the whiteboard. KA-CHING! Then there’s Smartwater. KA-CHING! When you turn sixteen, we talk to the folks who make Smart cars.”

  Most of the phone calls were from the media. After his ratings-shattering appearance on CBS Sunday Morning, everybody wanted Jake on their morning, afternoon, evening, and late-night shows.

  Big companies and multinational corporations were calling, too. His mom had a stack of phone messages they’d “look at later—when things settle down.” It seemed like everybody in the world wanted the “Smartest Kid in the Universe.” (Whenever Jake was shown on TV, that was the caption zipping under him.)

  Some callers offered him high-paying consulting positions.

  “Maybe this summer,” Jake told them. “Mom always says I should look for a summer job, even though I’m too young to get a work permit. I think she was thinking camp counselor, not chief financial officer, but maybe we can work something out. Later. I’m kind of busy right now. We have to save our middle school.”

  Before the jelly beans wear off, he thought but didn’t say.

  Yes, he was still worried.

  What if his incredibly high IQ vanished as quickly as it had appeared? What if Haazim Farooqi’s brain boosters had an expiration date?

  “We need to focus on the State Quiz Bowl competition!” Grace told Jake when he and Kojo finally arrived at school.

  So on Monday and Tuesday, Mr. Lyons drilled Jake, Grace, and Kojo. He had agreed to be their official Quiz Bowl coach because he really didn’t want anybody tearing down the school, either.

  “Okay, team—these are some Quiz Bowl questions I found online,” he told them. “They’ll give us an idea of what you’re in for. For instance: What is the largest two-digit prime number less than a hundred?”