It is a recurring dream of Jack’s, a memory from his childhood.

He is thirteen.

In the principal’s office.

His nose is bloody. He has a black eye and a cut lip. The left sleeve of his shirt is torn off. He is covered in dirt.

He’s just had the shit kicked out of him.

The principal shakes his head. ‘Jack, what in heaven’s name were you thinking, getting into a fight like that?’

‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘Don’t give me that. You’re a smart kid. You do know. Those boys are three years older than you. Tenth graders. Practically men. You’re lucky the teachers came by when they did.’

Jack says nothing, stares at the floor.

‘I’ve called your parents. They’re on their way here right now. Take you home. Or maybe to the hospital.’

My parents, Jack thinks. He already knows what his father’s reaction will be.

Jack’s parents collect him from school.

During the car ride home, he sits in the back seat, silent.

His mother turns around. ‘Come on, Cub, talk to us. What happened?’

‘Those older boys were going to beat up my friend.’

‘Which friend?’ his mother says.

‘Sumil. Sumil Gupta.’

‘The skinny little nerd from India?’ his father snorts. ‘The one with the gigantic glasses?’

‘Yes. Sumil.’

‘Fucking little weirdo. Why can’t you have normal friends like your sister—’

‘And you defended him?’ his mother interrupts.

‘Sumil’s really smart,’ Jack says. ‘I mean really smart. Much smarter than me. But he’s small and not strong at all. I’ve seen those tenth graders. They’re cruel and mean. They would have hurt Sumil bad. Like, put-him-in-hospital bad.’

‘So you thought you’d step in and take on a group of sixteen-year-old thugs?’ his father says incredulously. ‘And take the beating for him?’

‘Yes.’

Jack says it tonelessly, expressionlessly.

‘Say that again, son?’ his father says.

‘I said yes. That’s exactly what I did. I took the beating for him. I knew I couldn’t win. But I also knew I could take their hits while Sumil couldn’t. I just had to keep fighting long enough until he got away or a teacher came by.’

‘Fuck me,’ his father says. ‘I can’t believe you’re my son.’ He resumes driving, shaking his head.

But Jack’s mother turns around in her seat again, smiling, her eyes shining with admiration.

‘I’m so proud of you, Cubby. Want to get some ice cream?’

A year after that incident, Sumil Gupta was accelerated a couple of years and left Jack’s regular high school to attend a selective school.

He would go on to study complex mathematics and computer science at Stanford University and ultimately found a software company. He was a billionaire many times over.