"Hi there, my name is Franklin, and I would like to tell you a story. At the end of the story, I would like you to answer a question. Was I right or wrong?"

  ***

  I sat at the back of the class as I usually would, staring at the empty seat. John was never a friend of mine; we only ever spoke once. But why did I have this strange feeling at the pit of my stomach? I remembered our conversation quite vividly. "Why won't you fight back?" "It won't change anything." He retorted. "But have you at least tried?" I asked. He scowled at me in disbelief. "There are 5 of them." He said. I looked away in frustration and scurried home. Perhaps he was right. What was I thinking?

  "Franklin". "But it wasn't my fault, nonetheless," I muttered to myself. "Franklin". "Or maybe…". "FRANKLIN". There he went again, making a fool of himself, Mr. Jaminson. I slowly lifted my head to meet his gaze. "Care to join us?" He asked cheekily. I remained silent as he erupted and yelled. "CARE TO JOIN US?!!". "54" I retorted. His face contorted as he now expressed disbelief. The whole class was now quiet. They thought I wouldn't know the answer. But it was basic algebra; I had solved more complex equations.

  The bell rang, and everyone dispersed. Mr. Jaminson stood still, staring at me and I at him. He was certain I wasn't listening. And he was right. I never listened in his class. It took a mere 5 seconds to run the calculations in my head. I broke his gaze to lift my bag. "Franklin." he called out as I stood at the doorway. I turned to him, and he gestured for me to come closer. "You weren't listening, were you?". "I don't need to look you in the eye to listen, do I?". He snapped his head to look at me, visibly angered. "How come your grades are low?" He asked. "I don't bother myself with simple questions." That was what I should have said. But instead I said, "I don't know, I guess I need to try harder." I could tell he was confused as he gestured for me to go.

  I stepped into the hallway to a common sight. Francis was at it again. Now that John was gone, he had found himself a new target. He had a type. Scrawny-looking kids. I was not too far from that description myself. My label had kept me off his radar. Weirdo. I never thought much of it. It was in fact him that had begun calling me that. I remembered that day. We were about to write a test, and he approached me like he had weights under his pits, trying his best to look intimidating.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  "I need paper," he said.

  I stared at him, confused. "I need …". "Papers come from books, you know that, yes?" I interjected. His eyes widened as he snapped his eyes left and right to observe the commotion. The whole class was shocked. He slammed his hand on my desk and demanded I give him paper. "No". "Settle down, class." The teacher waltzed in, interrupting our exchange.

  Francis walked back to his seat. I observed him and surprisingly he had been relieved of the weights in his pits. He sat and turned to look at me, using his thumb to rub his neck from one end to the next. "What are you doing?" I thought with a confused look.

  For me, the test was over before it even began. It was History. Anything but maths was pointless to me, so I never studied them. I went with the knowledge I had acquired during the classes. "Pens up". The students in the front row stood to collect the papers. I handed mine over and stood to adjust my shirt. Francis stood at the doorway staring at me as he tapped his foot impatiently. I looked down to lift my bag and walked up to the doorway. He stood there facing me. We were the same height, so our eyes were aligned. I stared into his eyes without blinking. He stared into mine, visibly jittery as he kept shifting his weight between both feet. "WEIRD-DOOOO!" He exclaimed, almost singing it. I watched him walk away, confused. And so did some of my classmates, after which they snapped to look at me. They were visibly surprised. Apparently, no one had ever stood up to him before.

  I stepped out of the school entrance and heard my sister's voice from behind me. "Franklin, Frankin, Frank-kl-lin," she screamed. She sounded exhausted. I turned to look and saw her running to catch up to me. "Make any new friends today, my sweet brother?" "Sure," I retorted. She locked her arms around mine as we walked past the school gate. "See you at home," I said. "But mum will be here in a few minutes," she yelled. I ignored her and kept walking. This way, I could avoid the small talk that came with the ride.

  ***

  "I'm home," I said as I opened the door. I walked past the kitchen, noticing my mother with her back turned. I entered my room, excited to see my bed once again. I lay for about five minutes before I heard footsteps. "Cindy". "Cindy". I heard a gentle knock on the door. "Come in," I said. "Where is Cindy?" Mother asked.

  "What do you mean?". "She said she wanted to wait for you,"

  "I didn't see her at school," she continued.

  "Have you tried calling?" I asked.

  "Of course." She responded. "But it kept going straight to voicemail."

  "Oh God, where could she be?" She started wailing. She left my doorway to call the police was what I assumed. But I wanted to try calling again for myself. She picked. I heard muffled screams and then. "Weirdo".