He wasn't one for school. He was always bored. Students milled around him – talking, but never to him. He was avoided like the plague but one needed only to observe closer to see a gaggling group of girls at the back of the classroom whispering behind their hands about him. All he could see were fake nails and useless amounts of makeup, hiding the ugly insecurities which each of them carried under their skimpy clothing. He wasn't interested.
Rumours once flooded the school. The papers printed that he was gay.
He never bothered to correct them. He let them figure is asexuality for themselves. He left the kissing behind the hedges business to the likes of his older brother. He was utterly bored. There was nothing for the school to teach him. He had read ahead in every subject. He knew every useless fact. He was familiar with every idea. He had his own ideas as well. Too bad that they were never permitted.
So he stopped. He stopped attending. He stopped thinking. He stopped feeling the despair at every rejection. He was happy to spend his days wasting away and sleeping in the old abandoned greenhouse. He was alone. It was a fact. He never expected to have company. He never expected to be wrong but as these stories go, he was.