CHARACTER
Ungiftedby Gordon Korman

Donovan Curtis

Donovan Curtis

Quick Facts

  • Role: Protagonist; a “normal” kid thrown into a school for prodigies
  • First appearance: Smacks the Atlas statue so the bronze globe barrels into the gym doors, leading to his accidental placement at the Academy for Scholastic Distinction by Dr. Schultz
  • Look: Tall, sandy-haired, “careless, windblown” vibe; pale blue, dark-fringed eyes (as first noticed by Chloe Garfinkle)
  • Affiliations: Robotics team driver (“Tin Man”)
  • Key relationships: Noah Youkilis, Abigail Lee, Katie Patterson, Mr. Osborne, and the Daniels (his old friends)

Who He Is

Bold, chaotic, and disarmingly human, Donovan Curtis is the novel’s argument that intelligence is bigger than test scores. He doesn’t elevate the Academy by becoming “gifted” in the traditional sense; instead, he reveals a different kind of genius—social acuity, improvisation, and moral courage—that the school didn’t know it needed. He’s a cultural translator between insulated prodigies and the wider world, the pebble in the Academy’s shoe that ultimately corrects its gait.

Donovan’s presence reframes the book’s exploration of the nature of giftedness and intelligence. He also embodies the search for Identity and Belonging, proving that a kid who doesn’t “fit” on paper can become essential once community and purpose enter the picture.

Personality & Traits

Under the pranks and poor impulse control is a kid with a strong protective streak and a knack for making people feel less alone. Donovan doesn’t outthink the gifted kids; he out-connects them. His “unacademic” instincts—curiosity, guts, and empathy—create results the Academy’s rule-following can’t.

  • Impulsive, sometimes spectacularly: The Atlas incident defines his “I don’t think; I do” code—an instinctive act that triggers the entire plot.
  • Mischievously creative: Past pranks use ridiculous ingenuity (“a helium balloon, a fishhook, and Uncle Mark’s toupee”), foreshadowing the lateral thinking that later helps the robotics team.
  • Loyal and protective: At the Valentine’s Dance, he shields Chloe and Abigail from the Daniels, choosing his new community over his past.
  • Socially adept: He reads rooms the prodigies can’t, befriending isolated Noah and turning him on to YouTube—the first step in Noah’s social awakening.
  • Unacademic but resourceful: He flounders in advanced classes, even faking competence at times, yet repurposes his video-game reflexes into elite joystick control of Tin Man.
  • Accountable (eventually): By the end, he accepts responsibility for the Atlas stunt despite the cost, showing he’s learned to measure choices by their ripple effects—on himself and on others.

Character Journey

Donovan starts by running—from consequences, from Dr. Schultz, from the version of himself that seems set in stone. At the Academy, he realizes he can contribute in ways no test predicts: he becomes the team’s driver, the glue in group projects, and the student who makes the lab feel like a life, not just a syllabus. His arc shifts from self-preservation to stewardship—protecting his friends, leveraging his sister’s pregnancy to spare classmates from summer school, and risking his standing to defend the robotics team. Through this, he learns Actions and Consequences not as punishment alone but as responsibility to a community. By embracing messy, real-world problem-solving, he models Teamwork and Collaboration that broadens what success looks like at the Academy. Leaving hurts precisely because he found what he didn’t know he was missing: belonging earned not by scores but by showing up for people.

Key Relationships

  • The Daniels: Donovan’s old partners in mischief embody his past—funny, daring, and careless about collateral damage. Their ridicule of the Academy kids forces Donovan to pick a side; the dance confrontation marks his irreversible shift away from their influence.

  • Chloe Garfinkle: Chloe’s first impression of Donovan (“tall,” “careless,” “kind of cute”) softens into recognition: he is the normalcy she craves in a pressure-cooker environment. Her early trust amplifies his confidence and helps the group accept the idea that value can come from outside the gifted mold.

  • Noah Youkilis: Donovan expands Noah’s world beyond pure intellect, introducing humor, unpredictability, and online culture. In return, Noah’s fascination with Donovan’s spontaneity reframes impulsiveness as a form of curiosity—and pushes Noah toward social risk-taking.

  • Abigail Lee: Abigail initially sees Donovan as contamination—a threat to standards. Yet her secret help on his retest admits what pride won’t: the team needs the spark he brings, and excellence isn’t jeopardized by humanity; it’s completed by it.

  • Katie Patterson: Donovan’s teasing gives way to care as he spotlights Katie’s pregnancy for a class project, transforming a private anxiety into shared purpose. Through Katie, he learns to align his mischief with compassion and to use chaos to build community, not just entertain it.

  • Mr. Osborne: Perplexed at first, Mr. Osborne becomes the first adult to articulate Donovan’s strengths—especially his joystick finesse and team chemistry. His validation authorizes Donovan’s place on the team and legitimizes nontraditional talent within an achievement-obsessed space.

  • Dr. Schultz: The accidental gatekeeper who sends Donovan to the Academy also becomes the reluctant witness to his growth. Even when disciplining him, Schultz recognizes that Donovan’s “wrong” kind of intelligence solved problems his “right” students couldn’t.

Defining Moments

Donovan’s milestones trace a shift from chaos without purpose to chaos in service of people he cares about.

  • The Atlas Statue Incident: A single swing unleashes comic disaster and the entire plot. Why it matters: It externalizes Donovan’s flaw and gift—dangerous impulse—then asks whether it can be redirected rather than erased.
  • First Time Driving Tin Man: Years of video games translate into real-world skill. Why it matters: Validates “unacademic” expertise and gives him a role that the prodigies respect.
  • The Valentine’s Dance: He confronts the Daniels to protect Chloe and Abigail, sparking a brawl over Tin Man. Why it matters: A line-in-the-sand loyalty test—he chooses the Academy, even at social cost.
  • The Robotics Meet Return: After expulsion, he jumps in when Cold Spring Harbor cheats, leading to disqualification. Why it matters: Reckless, yes, but fiercely loyal; his instinct now serves a group, not just a thrill.
  • Accepting Punishment and Leaving the Academy: He owns the Atlas fallout and mourns his exit. Why it matters: Responsibility replaces avoidance; belonging has taught him what his choices mean to others.

Essential Quotes

"Reckless,” my mother called me. “Poor impulse control.” That’s the school psychologist. “You’re going to break your idiot neck one day, or someone’s going to break it for you.” My dad.
He was probably right. They were all right. But when the thing is right there in front of me... it’s like I’m a puppet on a string, powerless to resist. I don’t think; I do.

This self-diagnosis captures Donovan’s core conflict: the same impulse that causes disasters also propels brave, decisive action. The novel becomes a laboratory for channeling that reflex into responsibility.

Gifted? Me? I was the guy who skateboarded down waterslides and shot a Super Soaker at an electric fence. When people heard my name, they thought, Don’t try this at home! not gifted.

He defines himself against the Academy’s labels, which sets up the book’s critique of narrow metrics. The irony is that his “Don’t try this at home” energy ends up being exactly what the Academy needs.

If I was at the Academy, he wouldn’t be able to find me. It was the realm of brainiacs and goody-goodies, the last place you’d look for a kid who put a bronze globe through a glass door.

His initial motive is pure evasion; the Academy is a hideout, not a dream. The transformation of this space—from refuge to community—tracks Donovan’s growth from avoidance to engagement.

I’d been faking it for so long at the Academy that it was startling to suddenly know actual answers. I even raised my hand a few times in math, until Sanderson bounced a spitball off my skull and hissed, “Dude—this isn’t the Academy!”
And I couldn’t help thinking, No, it sure isn’t.

This moment flips his identities: at his old school, effort feels strange because the Academy has started to change him. The spitball underscores the cost of growth—once you belong somewhere, old spaces stop fitting.

Hey, I had that answer. It was the same wild impulse that could make a guy whack a statue in the butt, setting off a chain of events that reshaped the world—or at least my little corner of it. It was the part of me that ancestry.com couldn’t explain.

Donovan reframes his impulsivity as a throughline rather than a defect. The question isn’t whether to erase it, but how to harness it—turning raw impulse into purposeful initiative.