SMARTS

Chapter One

Here I am, lying atop a pile of garbage, while I stare up at the bright, blue sky. This dumpster is positioned away from all the screaming kids, leaving the calm, quiet sound of the wind. Still - as you would guess - the smell of the garbage is almost unbearable. At this point, you may wonder why exactly I am lying in a dumpster. Every day after school, the same three kids pick me up and throw me into the dumpster behind the building. In case you hadn't guessed it, I am not the most popular kid at school. Quite the opposite actually. This has become my normal routine, and oddly, I start to find it relaxing. This is the only time in my day where I am not worried, or working, or worrying about work.



My name is Sheldon White and in brief, I am the definition of a nerd. All the stereotypes are true with me: the thick rimmed glasses, the sweater vests, and of course, the over-analyzing brain. I don't have a single friend at this school, but I have my books, which unfortunately, isn't fulfilling enough.



My school is not exactly known for our excellent curriculum or over-achieving students, which leaves most of the students classified as careless trouble makers. Don't get me wrong, of course many students have the potential to learn, yet they're stuck in a crummy school in a crummy neighborhood. I may be the only student here who goes out of their way to stay ahead in the curriculum. In fact, I may quite possibly be the most brilliant student here (you may have realized modesty is not one of my defining qualities.) Still, where does that get me? Stuck in a dumpster.



As an eighth grader, I have come to my last year in this school. So far, the first half of September has passed, and I have already fallen into the routine of being thrown into the trash every day. I had always assumed I'd be grateful since this would be my last year, yet I can't help wanting to make my final impression at this school a great one. For years, I've been known to these monkeys as the uptight geek, Sheldon; however, this year I want to be more than that. I want to be seen as interesting and inviting. Someone not afraid to let loose and have fun, unlike the Sheldon of the past eight years. I want to be a normal eighth grader. I have goals for this year, how to make it my best yet. My first goal is to make at least one friend this year. Not just someone who will let me sit next to them without turning the other way. Someone I can share my opinions with, who can hopefully carry a conversation with me as well. Second, I want to do terribly in at least one course. As absurd as this sounds, maybe it will help me let loose and relax so I can reduce the huge amounts of pressure I put on myself each year. Finally, I want someone to tell me how cool I am. Cool is simply a matter of perspective, by merely finding me interesting, someone may call me cool. Anyway, as dorky as each of these goals are, they mean the world to me. They can help me prove to myself that I'm not useless; that I can actually play a part in society without my intellect.



With my mind set on these goals, I enthusiastically climb out of the dumpster and run straight home. I feel my legs burn as I sprint home, but my excitement overpowers the pain. My house is only about half a kilometer away from the school, so I reach my doorstep a few minutes later. I rush past my mother in the kitchen and run straight up to my room. I grab my laptop and quickly begin typing up my goals for future reference. As I do so, I add little square boxes beside each one, so I can check them off as I go. I then instantly get up to print it and pin it up to the space on my wall above my desk. Now whenever I do my homework - which hopefully will not be as often this year - I will be motivated by my checklist. As I think about this, I hear my mother calling me for dinner so I hurry downstairs, following the smell of freshly baked potatoes.



"How was your day at school, Sheldon?" my mom asks. The same question everyday and as always I carefully avoid the topic of my being thrown in the dumpster. I can't have my own mother thinking less of me, now can I?

"It was fine." I reply. "We started algebra today, which was nice, but since I studied it all throughout the past summer, it wasn't the slightest bit challenging for me." I say, even though she already knows I spent my summer preparing for the grade eight curriculum.

"Oh Sheldon, you should really spend more time having fun. Enjoy your life, don't waste it all studying!" she replies.

I am startled that she thinks the same of me as my classmates. Thank goodness I have my list of goals, I'll show her, as well as the rest of my school, just how fun Sheldon White can be. I spend the next few minutes quietly eating my corn, before I race back up the stairs.