I’ve always taken people literally.

When Dad told me to empty the basin, I asked where he wanted me to pour the water.

“On my head,” he snapped.

So I did.

When Mom told me to do the laundry, I asked whether I should add detergent.

She gave a cold laugh.

“Sure. Add caramel sauce.”

So I poured an entire bottle of caramel sauce into the washing machine.

Everyone said I was stupid.

But this “stupid” guy took first place in a nationwide academic competition.

I earned my school’s only direct-admission spot at one of the country’s top universities.

The day the results were announced, Lucas Hale, the school bully, ripped my application apart in front of the entire class.

“You can’t even understand sarcasm. Why should someone like you get direct admission?

“Last night, I saw you get out of a luxury SUV. Who knows what kind of deal you made with the woman inside?”

The whole classroom went quiet.

Then everyone started looking at me differently.

Lucas stood there with a self-righteous expression.

“I’m just speaking up for the rest of the class. Why should we work ourselves to death only to lose out to someone who got in through connections?”

I thought about it seriously.

Then I took out my phone and called my older sister.

“Claire, they said I got my admission spot by sleeping with someone. Is that true?”

A few seconds later, I held the phone out to Lucas, whose face had gone pale.

“My sister wants to know something.”

“What’s your name?”

“And your student ID number?”

Lucas paused for half a second after hearing that.

Then he burst out laughing.

“Lucas Hale. Senior Class A. Student number 202607.”

After giving the number, he leaned close to my ear with a mocking grin.

“Tell your rich and powerful backer to hurry up. I want to see what she thinks she can do to me.”

I repeated his name and student number into the phone.

My sister’s voice went quiet.

Then she said only one word.

“Understood.”

And hung up.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket.

Every eye in the classroom was on me.

I had endured those sneering looks for three years.

I knew they were waiting for me to make a fool of myself.

They thought I was putting on an act.

After all, everyone believed I was the boy whose brain just did not work right.

I did not understand indirect language.

I could never tell when someone was being sarcastic.

When I was little, Mom once said, “You love playing with water so much, why don’t you just live in the toilet?”

So I sat beside the toilet all night, until my legs went numb and I could not stand.

They laughed and called me stupid.

I only thought people said things in confusing ways.

Lucas loved using that against me.

Just last week, he deliberately knocked over my water bottle.

Hot water soaked through my textbooks.

He stood there with a crooked smile.

“Oops, Mason. My bad. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“You’re so smart, though. You must have memorized everything already, right?”

I looked carefully at the pages dripping onto the floor.

Then I nodded.

“Yeah. I remember it all. You don’t need to apologize.”

The entire class burst into laughter.

They laughed because I could not tell he was mocking me.

Lucas used moments like that to make himself look generous and mature.

But behind the scenes, he had everyone throw my papers into the trash and smear glue across my chair.

Now, he jabbed a finger hard into my shoulder.

Even through my uniform, it hurt.

“Mason Harrison, you can barely understand what people are saying. Why should someone like you get the direct-admission spot?”

“People like you belong in the gutter.”

I tilted my head and looked at his face, twisted with anger.

“Are you upset because you want the spot too?”

The classroom went silent for one second.

Then everyone exploded.

“Oh my God. Did Mason seriously just ask Lucas if he wants it?”

“This idiot really has no fear.

“Lucas is fighting for fairness. Who would want an admission spot that someone supposedly slept their way into to get?”

Lucas’s face turned bright red.

He slammed his palm against a desk, his voice rising sharply.

“Me? Want it?

“I’ve ranked in the top three every year. Why would I need to use some disgusting backdoor deal?”

Then he turned toward the class and raised his voice.

“You hear that? Not only did he cheat, he’s insulting everyone who actually worked for this!

“For the sake of the class, we can’t let someone like him ruin the school’s reputation.”

He pointed at me.

“Mason, do you dare admit that you bought the answers for the competition?”

The class started chanting along with him.

Someone threw a chunk of eraser at me.

Then Ms. Turner, our homeroom teacher, walked in carrying a thick stack of papers.

She saw the whole scene.

But instead of stopping it, she slammed the papers onto the teacher’s desk.

“Mason, since everyone has questions, prove yourself.

“This is a newly released state Olympiad practice exam. It’s harder than the competition you won.

“If you can solve it, I’ll stop contesting your direct-admission offer.”

Lucas folded his arms, looking pleased with himself.

Everyone knew the exam was brutal. The final questions were at national-Olympiad level.

I walked to the front of the room and took the paper.

The second I read the first question, the formulas in my head began arranging themselves automatically.

Ten minutes later, I handed in my answers.

Every step was sound.

Every answer was correct.

Ms. Turner stared at the paper.

For a long time, she could not say a word.

She compared it to the answer key again and again, sweat beginning to gather along her hairline.

I turned toward Lucas, whose face had gone dark.

I remembered he had said he was helping me.

So I thanked him sincerely.

“Thank you, Lucas.

“If you hadn’t suggested it, Ms. Turner wouldn’t have given me a chance to prove I was telling the truth.

“You’re a really helpful classmate.”

Lucas shook with rage.

His finger trembled as he pointed at me.

He wanted to argue.

But he had nothing left to say.

Ms. Turner stared at me. There was no admiration in her eyes.

Only something cold.

“Mason, even if your grades are real, your behavior still needs to be evaluated.

“To make it easier for us to keep an eye on you, you’ll be moving seats.”

They moved me to the very back of the classroom.

The desk and chair were covered in sharp-smelling black ink.

Someone had scrawled one word across the middle of the desktop.

**FREAK.**

Lucas stood nearby, covering his mouth as he laughed.

A few boys from the football team walked past me, whistling loudly.

One of them was holding my competition binder, every page filled with notes.

“Oops. Slipped.”

He gave an exaggerated gasp.

Then he tossed it neatly into the filthy mop bucket in the corner.

The classroom erupted again.

I turned around and went to the faculty office.

I told Ms. Turner exactly what had happened.

She was grading papers with her head down.

She did not even look at me.

“Why did they throw yours away and not anyone else’s?”

She slammed her red pen onto the desk.

“It takes two to start a fight, Mason. Maybe you should reflect on yourself and consider what you did to provoke them.”

I lowered my head slowly.

Then I went back to the classroom.

By the time school let out, rain was pounding against the streets.

I had not brought an umbrella.

I ran to the trash bin outside and dug through it until I found my ruined binder.

The pages were swollen from the filthy water.

Most of the words had blurred into nothing.

Then the old flip phone in my pocket began to buzz.

It was chipped and outdated, the phone I kept only so my family could reach me.

A text from Claire lit up the screen.

*'Mason, I’m out of town on business. I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning.*

*Don’t worry. Anyone who bullies you or spreads rumors about you will regret it.'*

I looked down at the dark ink running across the pavement and the foul-smelling bundle of wet paper in my hands.

Then I typed back carefully.

*'Claire, it was just a misunderstanding. They were only joking.'*

She did not reply.

I stopped breathing for a second.

I was scared she might really go after them.

Then none of my classmates would be able to come back to school.

I was still trying to figure out how to calm her down when I turned around.

Lucas was standing behind me.

Before I could react, he snatched my battered flip phone from my hand and smashed it against the concrete.

It broke apart instantly.

“Idiot,” he sneered. “Your rich backer is supposedly so generous. Why can’t she even buy you a decent phone?”

He pulled out the newest smartphone from his pocket and waved it in front of me.

The wallpaper showed him with his arm slung around a middle-aged man.

I stared at the man for two seconds.

A few days earlier, he had been kneeling in my living room, begging my sister to give him a chance to work with her.

Claire had called him Mr. Hale.

I looked up at Lucas honestly.

“The man in that picture was kneeling in my house a few days ago, asking my sister for a meeting.”

Lucas’s face twisted.

He thought I was trying to humiliate him.

“You useless freak!”

He raised his hand and slapped me hard across the face.

“You’re a nobody whose own parents didn’t even want him. Who are you to talk about my dad?”

My ears rang.

The world spun.

But I barely felt the pain in my face.

Only one thought kept circling through my mind.

He had insulted my mom.

Before she died, Mom had spent every day trying to teach her son how to understand people.

She endured the whispers and the mockery from everyone around us.

In the end, the strain had worn her down completely.

He should not have talked about my mom that way.

Guilt and panic swallowed me whole.

My hand shook as I reached for my watch.

Hidden inside was a tiny emergency transmitter.

Claire had given it to me.

I had never used it before.

Without hesitation, I pressed the red button.

Three days later, the school auditorium was packed.

Today was the official public announcement for the guaranteed-admission offer.

Lucas had replaced me as the new recipient.

He stood in the center of the auditorium, surrounded by my classmates.

He wore an expensive tailored suit, his hair perfectly styled, as though he were about to accept some major award.

A few students crowded around him, their voices dripping with flattery.

“Lucas, I heard the Harrison Group gala is tonight. Your dad got an invitation, right?”