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“This is getting ridiculous, Bruce,” Tony complained, leaning back against the tall table, arms brushing up against the black, rubber top.
The shorter teen shrugged, stuffing the newly returned test into his backpack.
“I mean, seriously. You’re tutoring three people in the subject and a C is the best you’ve scored on a test this semester.”
“I guess I’m just a bad test-taker,” Bruce lied, zipping his bag shut.
“You can’t explain away a D with bad test-taking when it’s multiple choice,” Tony protested, pulling his bag onto his shoulders and trailing his friend out of the classroom.
“You can when you don’t bubble in a third of the answers,” Bruce mumbled under the clamoring of his classmates.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
Tony groaned, hopping ahead of Bruce in the stream of people leaving the school. “It’s completely unfair that our comparative genius isn’t equally flaunted.”
“I’m okay with not standing out, Tones.”
Tony pulled them into an empty classroom in frustration. They’d had this conversation before. “Well, I’m not.”
“Trust me, you stand out just fine,” Bruce assured, glancing around the room.
Tony sputtered. “You know what I mean.”
“And what if I don’t want to?” the curly-haired teen challenged, stepping closer to his friend, an often hidden anger showing.
“You want to be as dumb as the mouthbreathers in our school?” Tony pressed, motioning sharply to the door where still more students spilled past.
Bruce backed down, shoulders dropping. He shuffled away from Tony, his eyes on the floor. “Sometimes? Yeah. It’d be a lot safer.”
Tony was silent, hoping Bruce would fill in the blank. They’d never gotten this far before.
“You know… how my dad can be.”
The taller boy nodded, biting his lip.
“He’s just.” Bruce fiddled with the straps on his backpack. “He feels threatened- challenged, whatever- when someone is smarter than him. Especially…” he glanced at the window as if expecting his father to be there, staring down in menacing disappointment at his son.
“When it’s someone younger than him?” Tony guessed.
Bruce shrugged. He walked toward the window and leaned against the ledge, his back to Tony. “This one Christmas, when I was really young, only three or four.” His voice trembled. “I went downstairs before either of my parents woke up. It was the first time we’d had a tree, before that…” He shook his head. “And I remember thinking how wonderful it was. To have a real tree that had real presents under it. And how Santa hadn’t forgotten me that year.” Tony forced himself not to say anything. “So I thought that Santa wouldn’t mind if I opened just one.”
He glanced back at Tony. “It was an erector set—one of those old Ferris Wheels. My mom got it for me at a garage sale, but I was too young to know that. It was back when she was still allow- still had a job.” He swallowed, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. Autumn in Dayton was quickly becoming winter. “I put it all together in maybe ten minutes, this huge, intricate structure. I was playing with it, watching it spin. And then my dad came downstairs. He took one look at it before throwing it against the wall. Called me a freak for being able to put it together. He thought-” Bruce closed his eyes. “My dad works in radiation. He thinks that some of it mutated his semen. Me. Even though-”
Bruce sucked in a harsh breath. “Every failing grade I get is proof to him that I’m not as fucked up as he thinks I am. That I’m not a freak or a monster or whatever. So I flunk on purpose Tony.” He turned back to his friend. “I flunk on purpose and, every Christmas, I think: maybe this year I won’t fuck up. And every year I get it wrong.
“So forgive me for not flaunting, Tones. It’s the only thing I’ve got.”