Sad, I know. But don’t worry, for better or worse, I became popular in high school. I also was no longer bullied. (Growing to over six feet and having my acne clear up helped.)
Because I was a walking Encyclopedia Britannica, I was placed in advanced courses, and in second grade it was recommended that I transfer to an honors school, though I decided not to leave my school, because I was nervous. My logic was that the bullies you know are better than the ones you don’t, and I had been bullied long enough to know who was who.
I realized while typing this that if you were born after 2000, you probably have no idea what the Encyclopedia Britannica is. Basically, before there was Google, there was software on discs that had information about specific subjects, such as dinosaurs. And rumor has it that before this information was on discs, it was in actual books—though that might just be an urban legend.
Whether you accessed the encyclopedias in book form or on discs, the point was that the information available didn’t change. At least, not until the next edition, which sometimes could take YEARS. Don’t worry, one day you’ll be explaining what text messages are when people are talking over holograms.
While my school wasn’t an honors school, it did have some very intelligent students. But based on the honor roll posted in the hallway every quarter (this must have been hell for some kids), no one could deny that I was one of the school’s brightest.
I say “one of” because during that time I had a rival named Fatimah Martinez, who typically had the same exact grades as me. While I wouldn’t say this when I was younger, I’m a big enough person now to begrudgingly admit that she was just about as smart as me.
During those years, I wasn’t one of the first kids picked for sports, asked to attend birthday parties, or sought out at lunch tables. But while socializing with other kids was hard, everything else about school couldn’t have been easier.
Because of my interest in academics, many teachers were very kind to me. I think they also saw I didn’t have many friends, so some would let me hang out during lunch and recess so I wouldn’t have to be with other kids. (Yeah, it was that bad.)
At times I’d even get a chance to help them grade papers or prepare lessons. I was what some might call a teacher’s pet, but I’d consider myself a survivor.
One of those teachers was Ms. Meyers, who always seemed to be my biggest supporter. Which is why I was disappointed when our class found out she was having a baby and we’d have a substitute for the rest of the year.
When the new teacher started, I was nervous, but I figured I had nothing to worry about as long as I kept excelling. As the good grades poured in, so would the love. It was simple.
On the substitute’s first day, she took attendance and asked everyone to say “something interesting” about themselves.
You’ll find out soon why I won’t even dignify her with a fictional name. To help you visualize her, the substitute was an older white woman who looked like she dyed her hair to look younger, but the wrinkles told no lies.
When she got to my name, I took a second to respond because I was nervous one of the kids would say something “interesting” about me that would hurt my feelings. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
Before I could find the courage to respond, she looked at a group of my white classmates and said, “I’m sure one of you is Frederick. Speak up.”
So I said, “Sorry, I’m Frederick.”
She turned to me and said, “Stop joking, please.” Then she scanned her list and said, “Let me guess, you’re Jamal.”
I stared at her blankly and told her my name again. “I’m not joking, I’m Frederick Joseph.”
I’m hoping that the last chapter made it clear why the sub’s assumption about my name was racist as hell. If I had a time machine, I’d go back to the past and put a tack on her seat.
The actual Jamal was absent that day, but this one white kid (I’m not giving him a name, either) who hated me spoke up at that point, and though he reaffirmed that my name was, in fact, Frederick, he also let her and the rest of the class know that I was a “dork.”
The substitute didn’t apologize for the name mistake, nor did she apologize for letting the wolves publicly eat me alive. Little did I know, getting an apology from her would soon be the least of my concerns.
Over the next few days, I quickly learned that my life with the substitute was going to be completely different from my life with Ms. Meyers. No longer was I being called on to answer questions when I raised my hand or asked to help grade papers. But it wasn’t just me; other kids of color were being treated differently now as well, including my rival, Fatimah. The substitute was paying much more attention to the white kids in class and making sure they participated.
But I knew that if there was anything that could win over the substitute, it was going to be my great test scores, and lucky for me we had a test coming up.
Unlike most students, test days were my favorite days. It was kind of like going into the NBA playoffs, but with a team that I knew was just better than all of the other teams. I also knew that ultimately I would end up competing only with Fatimah for best grade on the exam.
Because we typically both got the same grade (a perfect score, of course), we began competing in other ways on test days. We silently decided to start seeing who would finish their test first, because it wasn’t enough just to be smart; you had to also be fast.
For our first test with the substitute I was going to bring my A game. She was going to learn just how good I was, and everything would be back to normal. The day of the test I was fully prepared (as always) and had even spent extra time reviewing my homework notes the night before.
As the substitute handed out the test, Fatimah looked at me menacingly, almost as if to let me know that she, too, would be bringing it, and I was excited. This was the Magic versus Bird of elementary school rivalries.
I just realized that many of you likely don’t know who Magic Johnson and Larry Bird are, and that hurts me more than I can explain. They were two basketball players in the ’80s and ’90s and part of the reason Celtics and Lakers fans hate each other. (Let’s go, Lakers.) Google.
Once we started the test, I was locked in. I only put my head up a few times to see how Fatimah was doing, and I caught glimpses of her doing the same to me. After about fifteen minutes or so, both Fatimah and I finished and darted to the substitute’s desk to hand our tests in at basically the same time. (I won.)
Fatimah and I sat at our desks for the rest of the time and watched as our classmates finished their exams. Per usual on test day, we both had big smiles on our faces as we were leaving the class.
Before we walked out the door, the substitute stopped both of us and said she wanted to speak with us.
Once all of the other students were off to lunch, the substitute closed the door, then looked at us and said, “I know you two cheated.”
I didn’t know what to say, and by Fatimah’s silence, I’m guessing she didn’t, either. Eventually I spoke up and simply said, “No, we didn’t.”
The substitute responded by saying, “I saw you two looking at each other and cheating.”
To which Fatimah responded, “We weren’t cheating. We were just seeing if the other person was done. We were racing.”