"Timothy, would you please answer the question?"
He didn't want to. He knew it would make the cool kids even madder at him. "James Monroe." Timothy said like he was born knowing the name of all the presidents.
A similar scenario played out in math class. The dumb cool kids cool kids couldn't answer the teacher's questions and Tim had to do it. He didn't want to do it. The cool kids were pissed. They vowed retribution.
The cool kids waited for Timothy after school. Big football players, gang bangers, and tough chicks with tattoos waited for him behind the gymnasium. They'd show this geek not to be so smart.
Not suspecting a thing of course, why would he. Timothy never held hate in his heart and would never have expected anyone would actually want to hurt him. Walking along the back side of the gym as he did everyday, he sang a geeky song, swinging his arms like a chimp, kicking a pebble down the walkway.
Waiting like a group of stalking animals, the cool kids hid inside the gym door ready at the right moment to strike their injurious blow. Football jocks, gang bangers, and tough girls with tattoos set upon poor Timothy, beating him with fists, clubs and purses. They left Timothy unconscious on the sidewalk, blood covered his face, his glasses broken, stomped into pieces.
"What in God's name happened to you?" His mom was heard to exclaim. She took him to the hospital, they patched him up, the police were called. Timothy never said what had happened, or who had did the deed, but held it inside. Their day would come. Those cool kids. Their day would come.
Timothy was never the same after that day. He started spending time in the garage, working with his dad's tools. He started to wear black. Black pants, shoes, and high laced black combat boots. And dark black glasses, they hid his even darker mood.