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Chapter 134: Millennium Prize Problems
🕑 Added 2025-06-17 14:05:42 +0000 UTCThe episode continued, and the room stayed quiet for a few minutes—one of those rare moments where everyone was too engaged to talk.
"That was really good," said Cher. "I'm happy for Laura."
Everyone else chimed in with their praise, nodding in agreement.
"Let's send a message to her," added Regina, already pulling out her phone.
I stood up without saying a word and left the room. I had already congratulated Laura and exchanged a few messages with her during the show—she was torn between texting me and telling me to focus on watching.
A minute later, I returned carrying a medium-sized box. Everyone turned their heads as I placed it on the coffee table.
"What's that?" asked Carly.
I didn’t answer right away. I simply opened the lid, revealing the contents inside while the group leaned in curiously.
I opened the box and showed it to them.
"iPod?" asked Freddie, reading the label on the box.
"Yes. It’s Apple’s new product," I said, handing one to each of them. "It’s like an MP3 player, but it can hold up to a thousand songs."
Apple wanted a Marshmello song to use in their ads. Pepper made a counteroffer, asking for a special edition of the iPod—Marshmello version. Same price, but with a Marshmello face engraved on the back and all 25 songs released so far preloaded, including the ones from the upcoming album.
They agreed to pay us $25 for each iPod sold. It would come from their profit margin, since the retail price would remain the same.
Jobs wasn’t happy about it, but somehow the board managed to convince him. God knows how.
"It will only be announced next week, on the 23rd," I continued. "And sales start on November 10th."
This iPod is still big. But it's probably the best MP3 player on the market.
As I looked around, I saw everyone had already opened their boxes and were holding the little bricks in their hands.
"Here, let me show you how it works," I said, taking one unit and turning it slightly. "You can scroll by rotating this wheel."
Yeah, first generation wasn't touch-sensitive—the round part had to be physically turned. Retro tech at its finest.
"It has the Marshmello face on it, and all his songs... nice!" Paige said, turning it around.
We all looked at her.
"Oh, yeah, Paige. I'm Marshmello," I said to her casually.
She snapped at me. "What???"
"I said I am Marshmello," I repeated.
"I hear that," she said a little angrily. "What do you mean you are Marshmello?" Paige asked.
"That. I. Am. Him?!" I said, pausing between the words.
Before we could continue the back-and-forth, Sam said, unfazed, "It's him. Jake is not making a prank."
Paige looked at me, incredulously. "How could you be him?"
"Now I'm the one who's incredulous and outraged. How did you just accept it because Sam said so?"
Sam put her arm around Paige's shoulders. "We bond together."
Paige gave a wide smile.
"Oh, no. I have a bad feeling about this," murmured Freddie, with Carly nodding in agreement.
They had seen Paige's personality over the past two weeks—rebellious and mischievous.
"Let’s come back to Marshmello," said Paige. "You are the most popular singer in the world??!" Still not believing.
"Yes, we all went numb about it..." murmured Regina with an unfocused glare.
"Jake sang the best two songs. We are all in his clips," Cher began.
"But I thought it was because of Regina's dad." Said Paige
"Nah, he wouldn't do that," Regina affirmed. "He wants me to make it on my own. He only helped Marshmello—with Rupert—because he thought Pepper had great potential. Maybe also because Marshmello gave me a chance to be in the video clip."
"There’s the best part," Cher continued, "we met J.Lo, Christina Aguilera, and Britney. And Jake is going to keep singing with even more celebrities."
"What??" screamed Paige.
---
A few days passed. I was texting with Laura—she texted first, saying she was happy that after airing the first two episodes, which averaged 7.8 million viewers, the WB had placed an order for a full season of 21 episodes.
I stayed in Malibu over the weekend, and Paige stayed in the dorm on Monday and Tuesday. I decided to go to her room and knocked on the door. Nothing. I knocked again and rang the doorbell (we had installed doorbells in every room—Mom complained I never heard her knocking).
After a moment, Paige opened the door and said, "Come in."
I walked in and froze. "What the hell..." I murmured, staring at the chaos around me. Flip charts filled with equations were scattered everywhere. The whiteboard she had installed on the wall was also covered in dense math. Then I looked up—and my jaw dropped.
"How the hell did you get those giant equations on the ceiling?" I muttered.
She shrugged and replied with a grin, "Optimizing vertical space is essential when dealing with non-linear dynamical systems in constrained environments. Plus, I had sticky pads and a ladder."
I took a few steps back and closed the door.
Paige tried to open it and shouted, "What are you doing?"
"You’re going to destroy the country, and I don’t want to be part of it," I replied dramatically from outside.
After a few more sarcastic comments, I opened the door again and stepped inside. "Okay... what is all this?"
She rolled her eyes at my childish behavior but said, "I'm competing with Sheldon to see who can solve one of the Millennium Prize Problems."
"Huh, P versus NP, Navier–Stokes, Poincaré Conjecture, Riemann, Hodge Conjecture ..." I said, reading some of the problems scribbled across the top of her ceiling equations.
I twitched my eyes. "Are you trying to solve all seven at once?"
"No, I just looked to see which one I had more chances with," she said.
Then I looked at her, keeping my glare. "What?" she asked weirdly.
"This isn’t about Sheldon," I said. "Or at least, not only about him. Say it."
Paige was about to dodge the question, but ended up saying, "You’re already the best singer in the world. I want to be on top too."
I patted her head. "It’s good to get motivated, but don’t get burned by it. Don’t push yourself too hard."
"Don’t worry," Paige replied, resting her head on my shoulder. "Now I have someone I can lean on if anything happens."
I embraced her for a moment and said, "Okay, let’s kick that C-3PO ass. Which ones do you think you’re closest to?"
She pointed at P versus NP, Navier–Stokes, and Poincaré Conjecture.
"Poincaré... this is the one," I said, remembering it was the only one that had been solved. Something with Ricci flow surgery and about spheres or something.
Paige replied, still with her head on my shoulder, "I was trying to solve it with Ricci flow..."
"How about surgery?" I asked.
She looked at me weirdly, then suddenly a light sparked in her eyes. "You are a genius!" she exclaimed.
"Of course I am," I said, placing my hands on my hips.
Now she was looking suspicious. "Do you even know what Ricci flow surgery is?"
"No idea. Not so ever. I read it somewhere, but I have no clue," I replied.
Now she was looking at me with deadfish eyes, like I was the dumbest person in the world.
