All throughout middle school, I had hated the name Adam Watson. It was a name the school bullies had become all too familiar with, and it became a name I figured was cursed, and I too for having it. They always liked to give me increasingly bizarre reasons for their bullying – "Adam can't talk to girls, he must like men," "Adam still wears tighty-whities," "Adam doesn't like looking at porn," crap like that. I knew their true reason for picking on me – I was just another geeky, socially awkward kid who had a tendency to talk in a way considered too 'proper' for middle school, and an inability to talk to girls. The 'proper' talk was how my parents raised me. The inability to talk to girls, well, that was just a gift from God.

The bullying got so bad that eventually I stopped going outside for recess, I stopped talking to people during my classes, and eventually I stopped talking to people. As far as middle school went, it was an easy solution that was basically foolproof. But by the time I had gotten to high school, I found out that my luck had drained away.

After I pleaded and pleaded with my parents, I was transferred to a high school far away from my old middle school. There were none of my old bullies in sight, but as I had learned in the first few weeks of grade nine, socialization was a bit more key. I was talking to people, but shyly, quietly and I'm sure what could be seen as begrudgingly. However, that all changed quickly.

It was a cool-ish October morning when I was woken by my mother's bellowing voice.

"Adam! Get up! You're going to miss the bus!"

Shit. Had I slept through my alarm? A lazy opening of one eye and a peek at my digital clock answered that question with a jolt of panic. I bolted upwards, jumped out of my bed and pulled on the closest shirt I could see. As I found and put on a pair of pants, I inspected myself in the mirror.

Nothing special, to be expected. A lanky, almost gangly teen stared back at me, his longish dirty blond hair flopped over his head, just enough that you couldn't see his piercing green eyes, something I was told once was my best feature. Mind you, my grandma told me that, so I wasn't exactly going to call that the popular vote quite yet. I grimaced slightly at the state of my hair and what I saw as a skinny, unattractive body. The baggy shirt I had randomly picked helped a bit, I reasoned to myself. I shook my head, pushed my hair out of my face and raced downstairs.

The first thing I saw when I headed into the kitchen downstairs was my dad looking at his watch. "Just missed it…" he commented bitterly. "It's a shame you don't have a Delorean on you."

Ignoring his dated movie joke, I sputtered out, "I missed the bus?" My heart sank. The high school was, as I mentioned, far away, and I didn't have any other way to get there.

He raised his eyebrows. "Nope," he replied without a trace of a smile. "I'm just kidding. Now get your stuff together, you don't have long."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Two things about my dad that created a sometimes unnerving mix was that he was an absolute joker who never took anything seriously, and that he never ever smiled. He wasn't heartless, he just liked to show his holiness and happiness in other ways. Unless he was playing a prank on me, I never really minded it. Though, today was definitely an exception.

As I gathered my stuff together, my mother started to stammer. She was an absolute worrier, and was a little hesitant by nature, as if anything she could say would drive me to depression. I turned to her expectantly, still packing away my textbooks and lunch.

She noticed my stare and cleared her throat. "Sweetie, before you go, I want to have a quick word with you."

"Sure, but make it quick please." I replied flatly. "Doc Brown over there says I don't have long."

"

Oh good, you got the reference." Dad replied dryly as he sipped his coffee. "Hey Marcia, maybe I'm not as old as I thought." He called out to my mother.

Mom nodded at dad with a patient smile on her face, then turned her attention back to me. "Sweetie, we've been talking to your teachers, and frankly, I'm just a little worried."

What a surprise, I thought. "Worried? Why? Are my grades bad? It's only been a month, I'm not that dumb."

"You're not dumb, Adam!" My mother said sharply. "It's not your grades. Your teachers are just worried because you're unusually quiet in class. I thought it would help once we got you to a school where you could have a fresh start, but it doesn't seem to be helping, and frankly, it would make things a lot easier on me to get you bussing to a closer school…"

I caught on to what she was saying immediately. "Mom, I can't go to that school. Everyone there will know me. They were happy with bullying me before. It'll make my life a living hell."

It's true, mom had a hell of a time convincing the board to get me bussing from a whole town over without being in a special education program, but I was just starting to get used to a life where I wasn't the center of attention, and I would fight like hell before I had to give that up.

Mom bit her lip in thought. "I don't know, sweetie." She finally said. "It just seems like the school isn't helping you. If you were a bit more social, it would make it all worth it." She paused for effect. "And it would mean the world to me."

I exhaled sharply. I wanted to tell her that being social was the opposite of what I craved, but while my eyes scanned the room looking for an explanation, they found the clock. Oh, shit.

"I-I'll think about it, mom." I said quickly as I scooped up my backpack. "I'll try, okay?"

She gave me a weak smile as I headed out the door. Poor mom. I was a bit too hard on her, knowing all of the things she did for me, but I couldn't help who I was.

Or could I? The thought crept into my mind as I sat on the bus, staring out the window. Maybe, even if I considered it a living hell, I should do it for my mom, not me. I should prove myself to be a social success. Even just a little. That could keep me at this school, then once I had one or two friends, I could stop talking again, and we would all win.

I started to smile. Maybe I should just be spontaneous. Be that guy who did crazy things and met the craziest of friends. Maybe it might even make me happier. As I thought about it more, my smile turned into a grin. Okay. I'll do it.

***

My homeroom, science class, was honestly the most fun I had all day. I had one reason for that, and the reason was Mr. Carrozza. This professor was just the right amount of friendly, and the right amount of crazy to make me both smile and be glad I wasn't him.

"Brilliant to see you all here again today, class." He began after the morning announcements died down. "Now, today we'll be looking at the basic properties of light in relation to matter. Now, some of my comrades would say that this is 'senior physics' or something like that, but we can take it, can't we, hmm?"

He turned to us, his bug-eyes magnified by his overly large glasses. His white hair contrasted with his weirdly-tanned face. His face quickly turned into a smile when he heard a couple of groans.

"Just a joke, class. Pardon my academic sense of humor. We're just going to be looking at concave and convex lenses. If you ask me, the lesson is really watered down, almost as if the principal is insulting our very intelligence… Oh, wait!"

Derailed from his weekly speech about how we learn too little, he hobbled over to his desk and retrieved a paper.

"I do believe the announcements were supposed to cover this, but it seems they haven't, so pardon the brief interruption." He said, then pursed his lips as he squinted and read the paper. He made an audible 'ah' sound and turned his attention to the class.

"It's that time again, class." He said simply. "Student council is hiring grade 9 students to join them in governing the school."

Student council. Only the most popular kids get into that class. And only the best. All four teachers a student had needed to vouch for a candidate if they wanted to join, and only one student from grade 9 could join. Mr. Carrozza went over the duties of student council before pressing on.

"I don't suppose any of you brilliant young minds would like to give the old stick a whack across the tree, would you?"

Silence poured through the room. "What does that even mean?" a muscle-clad hoodie-wearer called from across the room.

Mr. Carrozza sighed. "Would any of you be interested in trying out for the Student Council?" He asked. His eyes scanned the room, his tongue running over his lips in concentration as he squinted at all of us in succession. When his eyes passed over me, his eyes lit up and he donned a shocked expression.

"Why Mr. Watson, this is certainly an unexpected surprise!"

What? I looked confusedly at him, then at all of the eyes peering at me. Finally, I saw my arm. My own arm, reaching into the air as if I were painted on the Sistine Chapel. Oh, no. Oh God no. When did my arm go up like that? I willed it down. The Student Council was not for me. It was not for… Actually…