My name is John and I am 16 years old. Before getting into further details, let me inform you that I am
the hero of this story… and well, why not?
I was never a very popular character at school, primarily because I am not Jessie, Herbert, or Rose; but
you will learn how things change by the end of the story.
Now, you don’t have to look at me like that; everyone has a little claim on life! You do not have to be a
nerd or sports person to qualify as the hero for you own story—as the matter of fact, I personally find
nerds and sports people utterly boring. I do not have anything against them, but appreciating Jessie and Herbert takes a life changing experience.
Jessie is the—celebrated—genius (nerd) with a photogenic memory; he is the best student of the class
and he always carries a terrible itch to show off his herculean skills: a dirty need to be correct all the times. I do not like him; partly because I do not have a good memory, and largely because it is out-right boring to be correct, all the times. Mr. Oscar Wilde quite aptly said that “consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative”.
Jessie might be a good student; he would probably go on studying in Harvard, getting a good job, and a secure life, but let me assure you that he would never have the pleasure of being ‘imaginative’.
Sometimes I feel life is just not fair; especially when I compare myself to someone like Jessie-the-genius: he just has to glance at a book and he can memorize everything: facts, figures, page numbers, head notes, foot notes, Author’s date of birth, and what not …
‘Good genes!’ he’d often brag “You know my father studied business at Harvard, and my mother studied law at Yale. I am supposed to be smart”.
And I … well, I can’t remember much! No matter how hard I try, things keep slipping away from my mind. Most of them are insignificant things, really: I mean, why do we need to learn the chemical formula of the soda bottle? Why be so curious about the number of proteins in a cheese burger? Why learn about the distance between earth and moon? Why reckon Michael’s age, when he is 3 years older than 2 times Jennifer’s age?
Such things do not concern me—even if I were Michael, taking Jennifer on an inter-galactic date, with half a dozen soda water bottles and an unlimited supply of cheese-burgers.