Western is the site of the sixth annual Special Olympics School Games, a collaboration between Special Olympics Nevada and the Clark County School District, where Jacobs and 26 other Green Valley students will compete in track events against 350 of their special-needs peers.

Jacobs' events are the 50- and 100-meter dashes and the long jump.

"I'm psyched," Scott says. "This is something I'm good at and I can't wait."

Scott speaks without taking his eyes off "Advance Wars," his Nintendo game.

"I've always wanted to join the military," Scott says. "It's a lifelong dream. What I really want to do is learn how to drive one of those M1 Abrams tanks."

Scott suffers from both Tourette's syndrome and a form of autism called Asperger syndrome. But it's impossible to tell -- at least right now.

"I have little tics," Jacobs says. "I kind of pick my face and I twitch a lot."

Scott's cheeks bear the sores to validate his first remark. But the only obvious thing separating him from the average 18-year-old is how articulate and emotionally grounded he seems.

"It doesn't bug me to be called special because I know I am," Scott says. "But I'm just like everyone else. I want to lead a normal life.

"I want to actually be somebody."

Scott's words are interrupted by Jonathan Schiano, a student with Down syndrome who sits nearby, loudly rapping a tune by Soulja Boy.

"This is gonna be my last Special Olympics with these kids, and I'm gonna miss it," says Scott, who has attended four others. "It's one of those days where I feel like I'm actually part of the crowd.

"I don't feel different than the others."

Before Green Valley -- where higher-functioning special-ed students take general education classes monitored by special-ed teachers -- Scott attended Basic High School in Henderson for less than two months.

"People didn't like me there," Scott says. "Sometimes, I was physically abused."

At his new high school, Scott not only attends classes, he teaches them. Jason Rowland regularly lets Scott lecture on U.S. history in his general education class. Yesterday's lesson was on the Battle of Stalingrad.

"Not only does he know more about World War II than me," Rowland says, "he probably knows more than Eisenhower did!"

The Western High School sign fills the front window as Scott and his buddies step off the bus and begin the long process of registering, then lining up for their events. After 45 minutes of waiting, Scott walks off by himself, pacing around a fenced-in corner of the field.

"I can't really stand still for too long," he explains.

His symptoms are starting to present themselves. Earlier, five of Green Valley's 15 nondisabled student volunteers decided to kill time by forming a human pyramid. Scott ended up at the bottom. After it toppled and the others dusted off and uprighted themselves, Scott tried to piggyback on the backs of three of them. Special-ed teacher Sheri Cohen had to step in and correct his behavior.

"I actually honestly never know when it interferes, to be honest," Scott said earlier. "When I get out of hand, I think that's part of the autism. I just kind of get all crazy. I can't tell."

Scott was diagnosed with Tourette's at age 6, Asperger's eight years later.

"They think he had autism even way back then because the symptoms were masked by the Tourette's," says his mother, Judy Jacobs, who drove to Western to watch Scott compete.

Scott's obsessive-compulsive behavior was the giveaway to his teachers at Brown Junior High School in Henderson.

"It's part of the autism," Judy says. "He always has to wear green somewhere on his body. And if you ask him to sit somewhere, he'll go down seven rows."

To control his symptoms, Jacobs takes Catapres-TTS (for Tourette's), Orap (for obsessive-compulsive disorder), Conserta (for hyperactivity) and the anti-depressant Luvox.

"Without them, he can't function," Judy says. "His head jerks, he's extremely compulsive and he has a need to touch things, which is sometimes inappropriate."

Emily Wandell, the nondisabled "buddy" assigned to Scott, assists as runners line up for the 50-meter dash.

"Are you all stretched out?" Wandell asks Scott as he performs squats, then touches his green laces.

This is the moment he has trained for every Thursday since January.

"Let's just hope I do my best," Scott says.

Special Olympics volunteer Joe Shifflett fires his .32-caliber starting gun and Scott darts off to an early lead. The grandstand's Green Valley section explodes with screams.

Scott's military dream is probably unrealistic, according to his mom.

"He won't be accepted," she says. "They would need him to be off his meds. And he can't even stand at attention when he's on them."

Judy thinks her son will be able to attend college, however, and that -- if all else fails -- the state will be able to help find him a job.

"Hopefully, he'll be self-sufficient," she says. "We're working toward that."

For a year, Scott has already worked as a courtesy clerk at Smith's and has had his driver's permit -- although his mom says that his employers sometimes have to send him home, and that he is reluctant to drive on busy streets.

"We let him be as independent as he can be, but we still have to monitor him," Judy says. "He'll always have to be monitored. I don't know that he'll ever be completely relinquished into society because of the extent of his disability."

About 20 yards down the track, Scott is overtaken by Sam Rotella. As hard as Scott pumps, his fellow Green Valley student refuses to relinquish his lead.

Scott places second, and he and Rotella wait for another Green Valley student, Matt Cutler, to cross the finish line before high-fiving each other.

"I think I did great," Scott says. "That's all you can ever do in life is your best."

Contact reporter Corey Levitan at clevitan@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0456.