MC (POV)

The Cadillac came to a smooth halt outside the office building.

"We are here Mr. Stirling." The driver said, turning around to the backseat where I was reading a brochure.

I looked up at him, "Please, call me Ricky. Mr. Stirling is my dad." The words came out of my mouth as I prepared to disembark from the car.

The moment I opened the door- "Actually, I just call him Sir." Mister… whoever the hell he was spoke up.

I sighed, "I bet you do." I replied, chuckling lightly.

I got out of the car with a duffle bag hanging loosely on my shoulders.

After walking through the entrance of the building, I made my way to the top floor, appraising the sleek interiors adorning the walls. The lift pinged, signaling its arrival to the top floor and the doors opened. I walked out to see… oh damn.

Apparently, my dad built a 30 storeyed office building, and had the balls to convert the top two floors into a luxurious penthouse suite.

And not just some run of the mill suite either. He went full on Rockefeller it seemed, not sparing a single fucking expense. I mean just, looking at the view from the floor to ceiling windows justified splurging at least a million dollars.

Though I quickly realize how wrong my cost estimation was as I pass an opulent kitchen and walk into the living room.

From the walls which were decked out with an expensive art collection, to the balcony with an alfresco dining set-up, the numbers in my head kept going up and up and up and… yeah you fucking guessed it, up.

"Five minimum, maybe six." I whisper lightly into the window, as I faced towards an open door, craning my neck a little to see the glimpses of a pool table.

"Not even close" My dad's voice rang out as he emerged from a room to my right. "Just for your knowledge, it's twelve." He finished as sat down on a sofa chair to my adjacent, examining the brochure I had placed down on the glass table in the middle of the seating arrangement.

"That's… a lot" I honestly had no idea what to say to that.

"Hmm." He hummed contently, acknowledging he heard me, as he continued reading the brochure.

"USC huh? Gotta say, not bad."

"Not bad? Not BAD?!? It's arguably the best!" I exclaimed.

"Oh, I don't deny that." He chuckled, "After all, I have made sizeable donations to the course. If you go for this, well, you will definitely have an edge over your peers."

"I suppose." I replied, my tone laced with hints of disinterest.

My dad noticed it seems, "You don't seem to care all that much." He gazed intently.

"No, it's… it's not that I don't care, it's just that, well, that's not really a factor in my decision." I expressed earnestly.

"Hmm, care to elaborate?" He sat back, folding his legs as he observed, with rapt attention.

"Well, you probably don't know this, but I have a special… talent you might say. You see when most people read a textbook, they apply their rote memorization skills to cram information, only to retain it during tests. My mind doesn't function that way." I broached the subject carefully, ensuring I didn't expose too much.

"I can not only remember what I read at first glance, but also automatically comprehend it to an extent, where I can retain and reproduce said information in its entirety in any given relevant situation." I calmly studied his expression, noting the fact that his eyebrows went up by an inch.

"Okay, I can tell, you have got no idea what I'm talking about. So, let me make use of an… example. Now, just stay with me here, cause it's not a perfect analogy." At this point, I'm seated upright, relinquishing my back support, as I make use of my hands as visual aids.

"Imagine, me reading about a new type of baseball pitching technique. The forkball for example. I read an instruction manual, a step by step procedure on how to perform it, and saw people doing it in parks and stuff.

Now, others will just compartmentalize the information as trivia, now whether they talk about it with others, or just forget about it all together, it doesn't matter. Me, on the other hand, as long as the physical requirements, like finger grip, wrist strength, etc. are met, I can pitch a successful forkball on my first attempt. Of course, it won't be perfect, out of ten pitches, at least 5-6 won't be any good. But I won't JUST improve with practice, like other people. The more I read about it, the more I see it in action and analyze it, the better I get at it."

"Subconsciously of course." I add with a light shrug, as the room slowly transitions into a deafening silence.

I swear to god, I could hear the air conditioner in the background. It was a testament, to how much shock I had caused my dear old dad.

His mouth hung open, as he looked at me with sheer incredulity, etched onto his face. Worst part about it, I could tell not a single shred of it was being faked.

I began, "Dad I-"

"tut-tut" He silenced me with a raised finger, before taking a deep breath. And then letting it out from his mouth.

All the while I sat there, not knowing what to think.

Give me a break ya'll. Just cause I'm the gamer doesn't mean I'm fucking omniscient.

A few seconds later, he finally broke the silence. "Ricky-" he began with the fakest, most exaggerated smile I had ever seen, "I miss your mom, I truly do. But I'm glad she's not here right now. I-I just have this feeling that she won't approve of what I have to say next."

Oh, fucking hell. I don't wanna deal with a goddamn freak out! I suppose it's kinda justified if I look at things from his perspective. I mean, what would you do, if your 13-year-old son came up to you one fine day and told you, that you had no idea how truly prodigious he was. You knew he was smart, but you couldn't have possibly imagined to what extent.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

Anyways, where were we? Oh yes…

"WHAT IN THE ABSOLUTE FUCK?!? Seriously-" Oh, he toned down his voice, "WHY IN THE BLOODY RECESSES OF HELL, DID YOU NOT THINK TO MENTION THIS TO ME?"

Nope, he did not tone down his voice.

…

…

"You calmed down yet?" I ask, as I hand over a bottle of water to him.

"Yeah. Sorry I jus-, I had to get that out of my system." He sighed, still huffing and puffing from his little temper tantrum.

Frankly, I could care less. Every relationship has its pitfalls, and ours, well we just never truly opened up on our thoughts. In fact, the first time I saw him shed tears since mom died, was a few days ago when we watched City Lights.

I guess when you close a tap for years and then open it up, the accumulated sludge has got to flow out first. And that, makes way for the water.

"Ok, so I'm gonna get back to my reasons. That okay with you?" I asked, as I sat back down on the sofa, my legs too short to reach the fucking ground.

I'm not upset about it.

Shut up.

"Yes, yes, you continue. But make it quick will you? I've got some stuff I need to work through." He complied, as his focus went back to me.

The tantrum, took a solid 12 minutes, 25 seconds. But hey, who's counting?

"So, in accordance with my… let's say unique ability," I pause to see him nod sarcastically, "I need a place with a massive library. Books will essentially be my best friends for the next 4-5 years. Not literally." I hastily add as I see him open his mouth, "I'll make real friends this time, I promise."

"You better. And make sure they're students. I don't care what you think, but the high school guidance counselor is not an ideal talking partner." He finished resolutely. In his defense, he did have a point.

"Yeah, I get it okay? Now... I looked into the top institutes, and 4 names stood out from the rest. They are of course, the 'American Film Institute', 'University of Southern California' the front-runner, 'University of California, Los Angeles', and finally, 'New York University'."

"Now, NYU is out. There's no way in hell I'm shifting all the way from West Coast to East Coast for college. No, the other options are far more viable, considering their campuses are in Los Angeles. Hell, every single one of them is driving distance from here. Now, I looked into UCLA, and I was not happy with their cinematic courses. They are far too new and are still finding their footing, I think. You get me?"

"Yes, NYU and UCLA are out." He nodded along. "What about AFI though? They are prestigious enough. The courses are comprehensive I believe. And their alumni are making waves in Hollywood right now. Hell, one of them took home two Emmys last year."

"Yes, AFI is pretty good. But their classes are too small. Hardly 14 students in their conservatory. College is a time to make connections. USC is one of the biggest colleges out there. I'll be rubbing shoulders with the snot nosed brats of the richest snobs of America. I can't miss that opportunity. One of the key aspects of thriving in Hollywood is developing the art of networking. USC is the best place to start. Plus, their library is fucking massive. It is quite literally the biggest one out of the other options."

"Well, I can't fault your logic, networking is important. You gotta be drinking buddies with the best of the best to succeed out there. WELL, not you literally, I'm talking about in general you understand?" He fumbled a little, as he tried to assert himself back into the convo.

Not gonna lie, it is funny as fuck.

"Young man, hear me… hear me now, if I get a sniff of you drinking before you're 18, or caught smoking behind the bleachers, I'm gonna have you back here before you say 'please don't'. Got that in your head?" He pointed his finger at me, in what he assumed was a threatening posture.

He looked downright goofy.

"Of course, daddy dearest." I deadpanned heavily.

"Anyways, here's what we're gonna do now. USC arts has an acceptance rate of less than 3%. Now going by your grades, and a little… 'greasing the wheels', I don't see how they could possibly reject you. But we still have to talk with the dean. Now predictably, she'll have some misgivings regarding your age. I mean, you turned 13 last October. People usually start college at 18." He said in a slightly resigned tone.

"Well, the fall semester starts next month, so we've got plenty of time, right?"

"No, YOU have got plenty of time. I'm busy as a bee. Ricky, the summer blockbuster season just got over. I have television broadcast rights to negotiate with a bunch of different channels. SO, here's what you're gonna do. I'll set up a meeting with the dean, who I know personally by the way, and Benjamin will drop you off to campus. Now, academics, they love a kid who takes initiative, so you're gonna present your case and talk with her yourself."

"Hold on-" I interrupted his little tirade, "you want me meeting by myself? I mean, nothing wrong with that, but it'll be so much easier with you coming along as well." I make sure to stress how important he would be, just to ensure he doesn't leave me out to dry.

He nodded along in what I then believed was sincerity, "Hmm, it will be much easier won't it?"

I was wrong.

He chuckled, "Welcome to the real-world kiddo, where you are gonna have to do things by yourself. Have fun." He said with a shit-eating grin, before he got up and left.

Just like that.

He fucking left.

Don't get me wrong, I love him, I truly do... but good god can he be a prick sometimes.