The teachers loved and felt sorry for poor Timothy. He was a super geek and one of the smarter kids at the school. "Class who was the fifth president of the United States?" Mr. Homer, the history teacher inquired of his class that sat dumbstruck and silent. He knew Timothy could answer, but he wanted someone else to answer for a change.
Looking at his feet and running his hand through his dirty hair, Timothy hoped Mr. Homer wouldn't ask him again. He hated being the smart kid. Why couldn't be one of the cool kids? Why couldn't he have friends? Why did they hate him so much? His mom said they were jealous. He wished he had been born good looking instead of smart. His brains were his curse.
"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.