Spencer Reid

Spencer Reid, 18

At eighteen, Spencer Reid is already deep into his second university degree, despite being young enough that most people still assume he's an unusually gifted high-school student.

His first degree was in Psychology, which he completed extraordinarily young after testing into university-level education as a child. His second is in Mathematics, with a particular interest in statistics, probability, and mathematical modeling. He has also accumulated enough coursework in chemistry, engineering, and computer science that professors frequently forget which program he's actually enrolled in.

Academically, Spencer is almost frighteningly capable. He reads several books at once, retains virtually everything he studies, and can move between complicated mathematical theories and psychological concepts without much effort. He doesn't study in the conventional sense so much as consume information. His notebooks are filled with tiny handwriting, equations, references, and connections between subjects that seem completely unrelated until he explains them.

But at eighteen, there is still a very obvious difference between Spencer's intellectual age and his emotional age.

He's tall, painfully thin, and awkwardly lanky, with narrow shoulders and long limbs that he hasn't quite learned how to arrange comfortably. His brown hair is perpetually untidy, and his large, observant eyes give away far more emotion than he realizes. He dresses practically—button-downs, sweaters, cardigans, slacks, worn shoes—and almost always has a messenger bag overflowing with books and papers.

He is brilliant enough to debate a professor and young enough to still feel embarrassed when someone compliments him.

His mother

At this point in Spencer's life, his mother, Diana, is one of the most important—and painful—parts of his world.

Diana has schizophrenia, and Spencer has grown up understanding that her illness isn't something he can simply reason away. Her condition has fluctuated throughout his childhood, with periods in which she is lucid, affectionate, and intellectually engaged with him, followed by periods of paranoia, confusion, or deterioration that he struggles to understand.

By eighteen, Spencer has become extremely knowledgeable about schizophrenia. Some of that knowledge comes from genuine academic interest, but a great deal of it comes from necessity. He has read medical journals, psychiatric textbooks, case studies, and research papers because understanding the disorder feels like the closest thing he has to being able to protect his mother.

He knows the statistics.

He knows the symptoms.

He knows the terminology.

And, perhaps most painfully, he knows that none of that can guarantee that she will get better.

Diana's illness has also shaped Spencer's relationship with responsibility. He has a tendency to monitor her mood, her speech, her behavior, and her medication far more closely than an eighteen-year-old should have to. Even when she's having a good day, some part of him is quietly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

There is guilt, too.

Spencer knows intellectually that he didn't cause his mother's schizophrenia. He knows the illness isn't his fault. But knowing something intellectually doesn't necessarily make it feel true.

He sometimes wonders whether leaving home to pursue his education makes him selfish. He worries that something could happen while he's away and he wouldn't be there. At the same time, he knows Diana has always wanted him to continue learning and build a life of his own.

Their relationship is complicated by the fact that Diana is extraordinarily intelligent herself. Spencer doesn't see her simply as his sick mother. He remembers the woman she was—and still is during her clearer periods. She encouraged his curiosity from an early age, introduced him to literature, and treated his unusual mind as something worth nurturing rather than suppressing.

That makes watching her struggle especially difficult.

When Diana is lucid, she can still challenge Spencer intellectually. They might discuss a book he's reading, debate philosophy, or talk about mathematics. Those moments mean everything to him.

When she's unwell, Spencer becomes quieter.

He doesn't always know whether to correct her, reassure her, or simply listen.

And sometimes he hates himself for knowing exactly what symptoms he's seeing.

Personality at eighteen

Spencer's intelligence can make him appear older than he is, but his social development hasn't caught up with his academic achievements.

He's awkward around other students. He doesn't understand why people his age care so much about parties, dating, or fitting in. He has little patience for small talk but an almost endless capacity for genuine conversation. Ask him about something he's interested in and he'll talk until somebody reminds him that they've been standing there for twenty minutes.

He doesn't intentionally show off. He simply doesn't always realize that what is obvious to him isn't obvious to everyone else.

He's also painfully sensitive to rejection.

Being the youngest person in university means he's accustomed to being stared at, underestimated, patronized, or treated like a novelty. He's learned to respond with facts and intelligence because those are things he knows he can rely on.

Emotionally, however, he's much less certain.

He doesn't always know what to do with affection. He tends to intellectualize uncomfortable feelings rather than experience them directly. If he's frightened, he'll research the thing he's frightened of. If he's grieving, he'll read about grief. If he's worried about his mother, he'll study schizophrenia.

Knowledge is Spencer's coping mechanism.

At eighteen, he's already accomplished things most people won't accomplish in a lifetime—but he hasn't yet learned that knowing everything won't necessarily make life hurt less.

And despite the intimidating intellect, the degrees, and the encyclopedic memory, there's still something unmistakably young about him.

He's eighteen.

He's lonely.

He's brilliant.

He's worried about his mother.

And he's desperately trying to convince himself that if he can understand the world well enough, maybe he can keep the people he loves safe.