Chapter 3

Three months later, I could follow 70 percent of my lectures. It wasn't because I was some kind of genius. It was because I studied 16 hours a day.

I stuck to it from six in the morning to ten at night, rain or shine, and I didn't take weekends off.

Lucas had gone from "You're out of your mind" to "Wait, you're serious?" And I was dead serious.

The day midterm grades came out, the professor read the top three names in front of the class. "First place, Daniel Grant."

I was sitting in the back row, still chewing on a bagel, when all 60 people in the class turned to stare at me. I nearly choked on it.

The professor was a gray-haired Valdrian man named Conrad Miller. He stopped me after class and asked in a thick accent, "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No, sir," I said.

"Have you studied engineering mechanics before?"

"No."

"Then why does your derivation take three more steps than the method I taught, yet land on a cleaner result?"

I thought it over. "I think there's a step in the middle of your method that can be skipped."

Conrad paused. Then he smiled. "Interesting." He patted me on the shoulder and walked off.

I stayed rooted to the spot with my heart pounding. It wasn't nerves. It was a rush.

In 26 years, nobody had ever praised me for being good at school.

From grade school through high school, my grades were always middle of the pack. My SAT scores weren't good enough for a four-year college, so I coasted through three years of community college and learned nothing.

After that, I became a stand-in and got by on thick skin and good acting.

Nobody had ever looked at something I'd done and called it "interesting." Conrad was the first.

That night, I sent Richard a screenshot of my grades.

He wrote back three words: [Where's the intel?]

He had a point. I'd almost forgotten why I was there in the first place.

I pulled an all-nighter putting together a document on what the midterm covered, what kinds of questions showed up, and how Conrad liked to write his exams. Then I sent it off.

Richard forwarded it to Julia.

The next day, Julia added me on WhatsApp and sent a message: [Thank you so much. I know this is a ton of work. You've got this!] She'd tacked three smiley faces onto the end.

I replied: [Got it.] Then I went back to my homework.

On the final, I came in first in the class, and I didn't share the top spot with anyone.

Conrad told the class that in his 23 years of teaching, he'd never seen an international student get a perfect score in their first semester.

Lucas sat next to me with his mouth hanging open. After class, he dragged me out for beers, and three pints in, he finally asked, "Okay, what's your deal?"

"I'm a stand-in," I said.

"And a stand-in can come in first?"

"Why can't a stand-in come in first?" I said. "It's not like the contract says I can't."

Lucas choked on his beer.

That night, I sent Richard my final exam package. It had 10 sets of organized lecture notes, five practice exams, close readings of three of Conrad's papers, and a list of predicted exam topics.

Richard wrote back: [Not bad.] A moment later, he sent another: [You can ease up a little next year. No need to push so hard.]

I didn't reply, because I was already picking my classes for next semester. I signed up for six when most students took four, adding two electives: astrophysics and philosophy.

Those two had nothing to do with scouting for Julia, since neither one was part of her major. I took them because I wanted to learn.

Once studying got under my skin, it was hard to quit. It was worse than nicotine. A smoker still felt empty after the last cigarette, but the second I cracked a problem and felt everything click into place, I was hooked.

Lucas said I was obsessed. He was probably right, but I had no intention of stopping.