You Won't Believe Me

You won’t believe me, but I actually like my school very much.

It has lots of places to run and play. And when it’s too hot outside, it has a big library, where I go and hide.

But most times, my school doesn’t like me very much.

You won’t believe me, but my school has a big pond with lots of fish in it. When my friends are not talking to me and the others are tired of hurting me, I like to stand next to it and count the fish.

I’m so bad at things, I keep forgetting how many fish are in it.

But you know what, I know them all: The tiny blue ones, they keep together. The orange ones with black spots spend all their time nibbling at the stones. The goldfish can be terribly moody. The silver ones are always in a rush. But there’s just one red fish with white fins… who I feel is the loneliest of them all.

You won’t believe me, but I feel she is also the most special. She moves like a shadow. Only I know where she lives in the pond and when she likes to come out. Sometimes I wait hours for her and I end up missing class.

The thing is, I am not good at anything. My eyes are weak, my nose is always runny and when I speak, it sounds like a squeak. My teachers are always shouting at me, and no one wants to sit next to me. In fact, I’m so bad at things, sometimes I can’t even cry.

You won’t believe me, but all this is 100 per cent true. When no one is looking, they punch and kick me. They make little pebbles out of spit and sand to throw at me.

And when I shut my eyes to cry, my scream gets trapped inside me, and I can’t even breathe.

I’m so bad at things that I’m not even good at breathing it seems. And the words, they just don’t come out of me right. In fact, what I think is often not what I want to say. And whatever I do or say, they all just laugh at me.

You won’t believe me, but I too have many friends. They’re always around me, telling me stories of distant lands to which I can escape with them.

They just aren’t real, I know. I’ve made them up from the books I’ve read.

The boys say I’m like a girl and the girls say I’m not strong and brave enough to be like them. And maybe they’re right. I can’t even tell where it hurts when I fall on the ground and gasp for air.

The teachers, even the nice ones, feel sad when they look at me. They say I’m a good boy and I can be smart, too, but I don’t try hard enough. And when I do try, I forget things. Even the happy stuff.

You won’t believe me, but I like making people laugh. I do funny things in class when the teacher is not looking at me. Like sticking pencils in my ears, or trying to touch my nose with my tongue. And sometimes, just sometimes, someone will notice and smile back at me — and I’ll feel happy.

But the thing is, I am not really good at anything. In fact, I’m so hotchpotch at things that I can’t even think straight. When I stare at the blackboard, it looks like the sea does in the dark, and the chalk scribbles look like waves. And when I open my books to study, I see ants crawling about. My eyes, they hurt a lot.

I’m so bad that whenever I see someone angry I think it’s because of me. You won’t believe me, but something terrible happened the other day.

I was by the pond, trying to count the fish all over again, when I saw them pushing a boy into the water. He was just like me.

When the principal called us, it was just him and me. The thing is I’m not good at anything, and I was afraid. When she asked who pushed him, while she glowered at me, he didn’t say a word. I felt bad for him, I really did. Even I would have said it was me. And then he pointed his finger at me. I closed my eyes, I couldn’t breathe…

You won’t believe me, even the principal didn’t, when he softly said that it wasn’t me. “The thing is,” he said slowly, “I am not good at anything..the boys and girls, they pick on me. And the teachers, they’re always shouting at me…”

I looked at him and realized: it wasn’t just me.