As I grabbed my backpack and gym bag in the entryway, I overheard her telling Honey that I had behavioral issues at times.
“He’s so hung up on his dad and puts his father on a pedestal. He’s never even met his father. Brandon has one of those weird minds.” She laughed, angering me further. “He’s got one of those minds where he can memorize things verbatim after he glances at it.” I couldn’t make out what Honey said to her. His tone was low enough. “I don’t know what he wants sometimes. I try to give him everything, but it’s never enough.”
I stormed to the garage and tossed my bags onto the backseat of my jet-black BMW. I was irate, and my pulse was pounding rapidly by the time I got to school. I walked onto the campus of Beverly Hills High School and kept my head down as I made my way to my locker.
“Hey, Brandon,” a girl called out. I lifted my head and smiled at her. I had no idea who she was.
“Bran, loved the pizza slice pool pic, man,” a guy in my chemistry class called.
“Brandon! Oh my God, I had no idea your abs looked like that! I l.o.v.e.d,” this girl spelled out the word love for me, “the pool pic.”
“Awesome socks, Bran. I saw the pic this morning and hearted it,” a girl that blended in a group shouted as I walked by.
“Anchor, Bran!” I exchanged fist bumps and a high-five with two of the guys from the track team as I passed them.
“Bran, can I get a pic with you while I’m holding my poster?” Jessica asked me as she raised and lowered her blue sign that said, “Vote 4 Jessica 4 Prom Queen” in silver glitter.
“Yeah, of course. You’re definitely going to win,” I said. I put my arm around her and held up one side of the sign and gave a lopsided grin.
“Thank you, Brandon! You’re a sweetheart! I’ll use the Brandon Cooper hashtag,” she called out as I continued my journey to my locker.
Sounds great, I said to myself. By the time I reached my locker, I was still feeling panicked. By the end of second period Geometry, I didn’t feel any better. My mind could only concentrate on what my mom had told the guy in the kitchen about me being weird. I muddled through the day feeling like I was half in control and the other half of me felt like I was about to have a heart attack.
I kept to myself most of the day, but I made sure I kept up the appearances that all my “friends” expected from me. During my sixth period English Lit class, I discovered that I had earned a B minus on the test from last Friday. While I hadn’t read much of the assignment that the test was over, a B minus wasn’t terrible. But still, I sighed and bit the inside of my cheek in anger and frustration at the test score.
“Brandon, please see me after class,” Mrs. Shields said to me minutes before the bell rang.
“I have practice after school,” I said.
“It’ll only take a moment of your time,” she replied, clearly not caring.
I focused on breathing and gripping the desk until the bell rang. At the sound of the bell, the room began to empty, and I pulled my backpack out from under my desk, setting it on the desktop. I unzipped my bag and tossed my textbook in it while I focused on the teacher.
“Brandon, you’re very close to earning a B in the class, which is what you need in order to stay on the track team.” I nodded. I knew this. “There are some study groups that you might benefit from,” she offered.
“I’m not dumb. I have straight A’s in all my other subjects.”
“Brandon, I didn’t call you dumb. I know the track team is important to you.”
“I tried, but I obviously need to dedicate more time to the material. I just end up with so much to do, and the assigned book didn’t capture my attention at all.”
“Do you have anyone at home who can help you with studying and keep you on track?”
“My mom is really busy with her work,” I said as I pictured her planning another party.
“Do you have any older siblings?”
“No. Just me.”
“If you don’t want to go to one of the offered study groups, maybe one of your friends can help. I often see you hanging around with the juniors and seniors. Each of them would have had to read the same material.”
I nodded and told her that I’d ask around. Finally, she let me go, and I hurried to the locker room and changed into my workout clothes for track. I had the workout that my body had been craving. Desperately, I needed some physical exertion. Things were great until we went back to the locker room.
I had just gotten back to my locker after coming from the showers, and there were three older kids standing around stroking themselves to an open magazine on the bench between the lockers.
“Bran, come join us,” one of the seniors invited.
One of the other boys punched him in the upper arm, though, and mumbled something. When I got closer, I could see the magazine that they were entertained with was one of my mom’s recent jobs. It was a trifold special feature.
