Some people collected stamps. Others collected action figures, coins, or cards. Jack? Jack Burnett collected history books. A schoolmate of his happened to notice this fact when he came over to Jack's place one day to copy notes.

While most wouldn't have pegged Jack as the studious sort, carefree as he liked to make himself out to be, he secretly took his schooling very seriously. It was while he was fooling around after class one day that he overheard someone offering to do another student's chores if they let him copy down the notes he had missed from a previous session. The student being asked hesitated, giving Jack the perfect opportunity to swoop in and offer his notes up instead. The kid wanting the notes seemed unsure about borrowing them from a known class clown, but once Jack gave him a glimpse of his neat, detailed writing, his peer readily agreed.

Now, normally Jack wasn't the sort to allow others to benefit from his work, but this was an exception because of the service he received in exchange. He didn’t make a habit of exposing his more serious nature to others; in fact, he made an enormous effort to cultivate his reputation as a carefree, confident, occasional trouble-maker. Once in a while, though, if the reward outweighed the risk, he was okay with allowing another a necessary glimpse of his true self, such as revealing the fact that he took very detailed notes in class. He doubted most people who he revealed these little hints to would even understand the significance they had to his character as a whole, anyway.

The kid who had asked to borrow notes, however, was sharper than Jack gave him credit for and Jack was reminded once again not to get so overconfident that he ended up underestimating other people.

"Are these history books all on the same time period? Why do you have so many books about the same thing?" the boy asked.

Jack whipped around from the table he'd been clearing to give them a place to sit at. "What?" It wasn't that he hadn't heard what his peer had said, but making this inquiry served two simple purposes: 1) Make him seem more clueless than he actually was, essentially allowing him to play a certain degree of dumb in the hopes the inquiry would be dismissed, and 2) Stall for time while he thought of a better answer in the case the other boy did, in fact, choose to repeat the question in pursuit of the answer.

"Why do you have so many textbooks about the same time in history? They all have the same facts in them, so why bother having so many copies? There's gotta be at least four editions of this one…and six of this one!"

Jack fixed his scrutinizing gaze on his classmate, his expression more serious than he usually allowed others to see it. Then he reached out to press a button on an old CD-player boom box in his room. His schoolmate raised a brow at Jack as a song from the musical, Wicked, began to play. Maybe Jack wasn't that serious after all.

"Facts, are they?" Jack asked, placing his hands on his hips as the music played in the background. Someone was singing, but he ignored them as he continued to speak. "Look, suppose you and I had a fight. A war so epic that it went down in history. Let's say I stole your prize pencil- " He plucked the pencil out of his astonished schoolmate's hand.

"Hey!" protested the other boy. "That's my lucky pencil!" He was unaware, of course, that Jack already surmised how much the pencil meant to its owner by the way he carried it everywhere with him.

"-and you wanted it back," Jack continued, ignoring him as he tossed the pencil up in the air and caught it again. "If we had a war over this pencil and I won, naturally, I'd keep it, right?"

His companion nodded slowly, though he gave Jack a very suspicious look, as if doubtful his pencil was only being taken for demonstrative purposes.

Jack balanced the borrowed object on his index finger. He had no intention of keeping the thing, but it was a good way to keep his peer's focus and have him understand as he explained. "Now since I'm the one who was victorious in the war, all the history book writers would come flocking to me asking me to retell the tale of what happened so they could record it for future generations to read about. And you know what I'd tell them?"

At this point, his schoolmate just gave Jack an annoyed look.

Jack grinned. He had him just where he wanted him. He studied the pencil in his hand as he twirled it expertly between his fingers. "I'd tell them that you stole it from me in the first place and I valiantly won it back after declaring war."

"What?! But that's not history, that's just something you made up!" the kid shot back, snatching for his pencil and missing. "No one would believe that."

"Nope," Jack answered matter-of-factly. "No one would believe you. You're the loser, so why would anyone wanna hear what you have to say? As far as anyone knows, the only truth is the one I told them. But the more versions of the same story that you have, the more of an idea you can get of the bigger picture. Knowledge is power, after all."

He smirked as he thought he saw realization begin to dawn on the other boy's face. "Catch," he said, tossing the pencil up into the air so that it arched over his head and landed in the other boy's hands. Suddenly, Jack began to sing along with the Wicked song that had been playing the whole time in the background.

"Where I come from, we believe all sorts of things that aren't true. We call it history," he spoke along with the broadway actor playing Oz. Then came the singing part.

Jack began to pace the room, making flourishing gestures and flamboyant movements as though in a musical himself. It was clear he'd listened to this particular track many, many times. "A man's called a traitor…or liberator. A rich man's a thief…or philanthropist. Is one a crusader, or ruthless invader? It's all in which label is able to persist."

He stuck his index finger in the air and slowly began to twirl it. "There are precious few at ease with moral ambiguities…so we act as though they don't exist~!"

"Jack…you're insane," the boy told his schoolmate.

Jack grinned sheepishly and pressed the stop button on his CD player with the index finger he'd been twirling. "You think?"

"I'm sorry I asked about your stupid books. C'mon, let's just get these notes done with already. The test is tomorrow and I gotta be home in an hour."

Jack shrugged and spread his arms. "Whatever you say." He sat down at the cleared table and passed over the notes the boy needed. It was peculiar how he found himself simultaneously both grateful and disappointed that his schoolmate hadn't seemed to comprehend that part of him Jack had allowed him to witness. He told himself he should be glad because it was easier to keep up the mask and reputation he wanted others to perceive of him…that he was just that good at deceiving the world. but at the same time he couldn't help feeling let down that there was no one intelligent or profound or even just curious enough to want to read between the lines of the book that was Jack Burnett.