St. John's Elementary School, like the vast majority of American schools, adopted a small-class teaching system. Each class had only a dozen or so students. Ryan sat in the very back corner, pen in hand, scribbling away. As for what the teacher at the front was saying, well, sorry—it had little to do with him.
"Ryan!" Mr. Bartok seemed to have asked a question, only to find that after calling on him, the guy remained completely motionless. "Ryan Jenkins!"
"Ah~" Ryan finally heard someone calling his name. He scratched his head and very bluntly said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Bartok. I was daydreaming."
"Alright then." This kind of situation had already happened many times. Mr. Bartok simply repeated his question, "Which four presidents are carved into Mount Rushmore?"
Mount Rushmore? Capitol Hill? Ryan thought for a moment and figured they must not be the same place. Since statues could be erected there, they must be of very famous U.S. presidents. "George Washington, Abraham Lincoln..."
Seeing Mr. Bartok nod slightly, Ryan felt more confident in his answer. The presidents he could remember were either assassinated or extremely famous, so probably not the short-term ones. "Franklin Roosevelt."
Mr. Bartok's eyebrows furrowed.
"Ah, I remember now—John Kennedy and George Bush."
When he said the last name, some students in the classroom had already started giggling. The corner of Ryan's mouth twitched. In a moment of panic, the name of the old cowboy slipped out.
Fortunately, the bell rang, ending Ryan's embarrassment. Strangely, Mr. Bartok didn't say anything. He just packed up his teaching materials and left the classroom.
It was already April. The Los Angeles sun shone bright, the sky clear. The second period in the afternoon was P.E. There were no group calisthenics, no simplified Tai Chi here—just some introductory and fun games, as well as baseball and basketball.
Of course, the most popular sport was still football, but because of their age, the school imposed certain restrictions.
"Ryan, don't you find this boring? Want to play baseball with us?" The speaker was the tallest kid in the class besides Ryan himself. His name was Jerry, the same as that famous mouse.
It wasn't the first time he'd invited Ryan. Like all transfer students, Ryan faced a few challenges at the new school. But after he knocked out a sixth-grade bully with a single punch, everyone's view of him changed. Some cliques among the kids his age even tried to recruit him.
"Sure, why not." Ryan nodded. Jerry and the kids around him were a bit immature, but overall, decent people.
After a quick warm-up, Ryan took the kid-sized bat and, mimicking what he'd seen professional athletes do on TV, assumed a textbook batting stance.
"Wow, Ryan, you look like a pro," said Peter, the catcher behind Ryan, trying to distract him.
Jerry casually tossed the baseball up and caught it, looking confident. As Peter's voice rang out, he used a fake move, then pitched the ball.
Clang~
The seemingly fast baseball looked incredibly slow to Ryan. He swung the bat and struck the ball hard.
Whoosh!
The ball soared through the air, flying dozens of feet before finally hitting the ground.
"Wow! Ryan, awesome!" Spectators on the sidelines cheered, more excited than Ryan himself. "Home run!"
Jerry blinked in disbelief and after a moment finally said, "Ryan, you should join our baseball team!"
"Forget it, Jerry. You know how busy I am." Ryan rejected him without thinking.
"Yeah, we all know you're busy. But nobody knows what you're busy with. Ryan, what are you always writing?" Jerry asked, just as someone shouted from afar, "Hey, help us throw the basketball back!"
The voices came from the outdoor basketball court separated by a wire fence. God knows how those guys had managed to toss the ball all the way over.
Ryan stepped forward, stopped the bouncing ball with his foot, then gently flicked it up. As the ball rose, he instinctively performed over ten fancy juggles. Even though he hadn't played much in this life, the skills from his past life seemed etched into his soul.
"Hey Ryan, hurry up and give the ball back!"
The other kids were getting impatient. Ryan shrugged, flicked the ball upward again, and as it came down, used the outside of his tightened right foot to give it a solid kick.
He'd meant only to kick the ball over the fence and return it. But to everyone's astonishment—including his own—the basketball traced a perfect arc, hit the backboard with a bang, and dropped straight into the hoop.
Everyone stared in stunned silence. What had just happened?
Amid gasps of disbelief, the boy scratched his head. Even if David Beckham himself had tried, he might not have kicked it that precisely. Fine, Ryan admitted it—that shot was pure luck. Even if he tried a hundred or a thousand more times, he probably wouldn't hit it that perfectly again.
"Hey Ryan, wait up!"
Ryan was walking toward the school gate with his backpack on when Jerry and the others ran up behind him. "You heading home? Wanna hang out?"
"Sorry, Jerry." Ryan pointed at an Audi parked by the roadside. "Someone's picking me up. Maybe next time."
Watching Ryan get into the car with a tall woman, Peter asked, "Is that Ryan's mom? She's really pretty."
"No, I heard someone say she's his sister," Jerry replied, deep in thought. "Honestly, she's more beautiful than those TV stars."
Back at the apartment, Nicole checked the time. It was getting late—they had to hurry. She went into the walk-in closet and took out the suit she'd prepared for Ryan.
"Ryan, hurry up. Can you manage on your own?" Nicole asked.
"No problem. Piece of cake." Ryan took the outfit and went into his room.
A white shirt, a dark green formal suit, and a matching bow tie. Though a bit tricky to put on, it wasn't difficult for Ryan, who'd received a year of British etiquette training.
Compared to when he filmed The Sixth Sense, he'd grown taller, and his once frail body had begun to show some muscle. His persistent exercise was finally paying off.
"Ryan, the phone's ringing—can you get it?"
Dressing up was no simple task for a woman. Ryan quickly straightened his clothes and ran to the living room.
"Hello, this is Ryan Jenkins and Nicole Kidman!"
"Ryan, you awful guy—you lied to me!" The voice on the other end was a familiar girl's voice.
"Nat?" Ryan asked tentatively.
"Yes, it's me. Ryan, is that little boy on The Sixth Sense poster you?"
"Yes…"
"Then why did you lie and say you were just a small extra with no lines?"
Ryan blinked. This… this was completely turning the tables. "Hey, Nat, I remember clearly—you were the one who said that!"
"Really?" Natalie seemed to think back. After a pause, she still insisted, "But you didn't deny it!"
"But I didn't admit it either!" As usual, the two of them couldn't go more than a few lines before bickering.
"Also, is that Ryan Jenkins in the writing credits you too?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me? And you call yourself my friend. You lied to me, Ryan!"
"Hey, Nat, you never asked, okay? What was I supposed to do—jump in front of you and say, 'Dear Nat, I wrote a screenplay and also starred in a lead role'?"
"Then why did you discuss so many movie topics in your letters without ever mentioning this?"
"Because I was afraid of hurting your delicate, fragile little heart." Since they were arguing anyway, Ryan decided to go full rascal.
"You think something so small would upset me?" Natalie's angry voice came through the receiver. "Ryan, just wait. Next time we meet, I'll make you pay!"
"I'll be waiting," Ryan replied.
After the usual round of bickering, their tones softened. After catching up a bit, Ryan asked, "Will you go see the movie, Nat?"
"Yes. I've already asked Mom to buy tickets."
"Alright then." Seeing Nicole appear in the living room, Ryan knew it was time to hang up. "Say hi to Mr. Hefner and Mrs. Sherriff for me."
It was the first weekend of April. The Sixth Sense, long finished with post-production and backed by a strong promotional campaign, was finally set to premiere. Twenty million dollars was already a major investment for Miramax at this stage. Since they'd already spent that much, holding a premiere was absolutely necessary.
As the film's screenwriter and one of its lead actors, Ryan had received notice from Harvey Weinstein early on. Of course, given his age, he could've found an excuse to decline. But he had already set his path firmly within this industry, and as his body of work grew, attending premieres would become inevitable.
Besides, every circle had its own set of rules. People who broke the rules were never welcomed anywhere. Moreover, he and Harvey Weinstein had already agreed on certain publicity arrangements.
From Ryan's point of view, if he had to face the music anyway, why not use this opportunity to maximize the benefits he could gain?