In the summer of seventh grade, I was pressured into taking summer school. My father had wanted me to go to Academy of Science (AOS) or Thomas Jefferson High School for Science and Technology (TJHSST) like a stereotypical Asian kid. He wanted me to have an “advantage” over the competition, by being in a math class a year ahead of them. I figured I might as well try the class. Since I was still in middle school I could expunge the grade and re-take the class if anything happened. I did not know however that this decision cemented my low social status as a nerd with no possible upwards mobility.
The class made me feel like I was the shrubbiest of shrubs. My teacher had red-hair, and most distinctly of all, was Russian. Although in various media Russian accents sounds exquisite and beautiful, this teacher’s accent sounded like a knife scraping against a bottle. Added to this discomfort was the overwhelming amount of sophomores, and even juniors. This discomfort made me feel as if I was a flounder floundering out of water, a feeling I would only grow accustomed to. Yes, it was here I first experienced the harsh realities of the world, that innocence can be lost even before a set year or date. I was no stranger to cheating, as I had seen it so many times in middle school already, but I was more surprised by the boldness of these students. One student in particular, African-American, greatly played his stereotype. I frequently saw him in the back, mixing his Arizona Tea to create some purple-like concoction. I remember him frequently asking me for gum in case the teacher “smells” him. I didn’t really want to make much argument; I was after all a middle-school student dealing with high-school students.  His best friend however, disturbed me greatly. He made obvious advances towards me, frequently calling me “cute” and stalking me when I was waiting for my dad to pick me up. I remember him fondling my cheeks like a mother, yet instead of all the love associated with it, it was instead an expression of aggressiveness and lasciviousness. I remember how sore my butt would feel since I was holding my legs together so tightly; it felt euphoric afterwards when I would release my legs after the teacher scolded him. Unfortunately, although I passed the class with an A-, my dad wasn’t really too pleased with it. I suppose there is more than one way to smash an anus.