Author Notes - The events of this chapter are based partially on the 'No Homers Club' scene from 'Homer the Great', and the implications behind the (quite funny) moment. Also partially inspired by my own experiences, which when reading this chapter may make you worry about me...

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - NO HOMERS CLUB

1962… Sometimes, a parent fears 'putting a label' on their child, in fear it'll get them bullied. They simply don't realise that other kids can already tell when someone isn't 'normal'.

Mona had managed to work out a 'system' of sorts: she would only go out on her activism when it was time for Homer to go to school, so she wouldn't have to worry about him going without her. So, five days a week, Abe took their young son to school for her. This year, some time after Homer's problematic first day of preschool - which fortunately went far more smoothly thanks to Mrs Miller and her daughter Edna - it was time for Homer to properly begin elementary school in first grade.

And it was… not going especially well.

Homer sat down at his desk, squirming in his seat. The wooden chairs weren't nearly as comfortable or welcoming as the soft ones back at home, and certainly nothing compared to the living room couch. The thick smell of chalk in the stuffy air didn't help, and he found himself staring at the blackboard in the hopes that it would suddenly transform into a TV or something. On his paper, he ended up drawing very rough doodles of the one thing he wanted most - donuts.

*SMACK*

'PAY ATTENTION, HOMER!'

The young boy flinched with a yelp. Apparently, his attention had waned just a little too long, and the teacher slammed her ruler onto his desk with all the might she could possibly manage. She had missed his hands by mere centimetres, smacking the donut drawing like she was trying to reduce it into mashed dough.

The teacher rolled her eyes. 'Can you pay attention for more than five seconds?' She 'asked' with a stern tone.

Homer fluttered his fingers around. 'I… I don't think the stuff you're talking about is very interesting.'

He must've said the wrong thing, for the teacher slammed her ruler into his desk once again and made him jump. She was even closer to his hands this time, which was enough to make Homer's heart beat like crazy.

'Why do I still deal with you…?' The teacher muttered, loudly enough for everyone to hear. 'You're hopeless!'

The students erupted into a crowd of snickering, which the teacher did nothing to stop as she returned to the blackboard. Homer lowered his head, since it was the closest thing he could get to putting his head away like a turtle. It was something that never made any sense to him - if he laughed even once, the teacher slammed her ruler down and got closer to hitting his hands every time, but when the others laughed at him, the teacher didn't seem to care.

Come to think of it, a lot of things didn't make sense to him. The greatest mystery to him was how he didn't understand these things, but everyone else seemed to.

With an exasperated sigh, the teacher returned to her work. 'At least there are some students in the class who'll listen. Today, we'll continue working with simple addition. It should be easy for… most of you. I want you to write down these equations and try to answer them.'

Everyone else in the class, almost at once, opened up their books to the next blank page. Homer watched them, and went to copy them. He wasn't quite certain where his next blank page was, so he just kept flicking through his book as fast as possible before he found a page free to be written on. Once he decided on a good page and picked up his pencil, he looked back at the blackboard and found to his horror that the teacher had already written multiple questions in her questionable handwriting.

'Wha…?' He asked. 'W-Where did all those questions come from?'

The teacher glared at him. 'Homer! Stop talking and get to work. I'll be erasing these questions soon, and if you don't write them down in time, it's not my fault.'

He yelped, which prompted more laughs from his classmates. Almost dropping his pencils about five times, he got to writing as quickly as he could. Every time he looked down to write, however, he had already forgotten what he saw on the board, so he had to look up and get a good look at the numbers each time for every single character. He glanced over to the girl at the seat next to him - somehow, she had already blitzed past him and was waiting for more.

As he looked down, he realised that he had only put down one full equation: one plus one equals what? He scribbled in the 'two' next to it, so roughly that it could easily be mistaken for an 'f' or a 'z'. With one down, he looked back up to the board, and…

'Alright, that should be plenty of time.' The teacher said, erasing the blackboard. 'And if you can't keep up… well, you probably weren't going to get them right anyway.'

And already, she was writing down the next batch. For a moment, Homer didn't even bother writing, seeing how far behind he already was. But then he realised that the more questions he managed, the better. So he got straight to writing down the first one he saw. 6… plus… 6… equals… Once he looked up again, the entire blackboard was already covered with at least six equations. Gripping the pencil so tight it was a miracle that it didn't break, he wrote the third as quickly as he could manage. 8… plus...

His breathing turned harsh, and he breathed in and out much faster than could possibly be healthy. He glanced up at the board again, for he had forgotten if that final number was a seven or a four.

The teacher was already erasing the board.

'Just one more batch.' She said, without a care in the world.

Homer gripped onto his desk, and tried his hardest not to lose it. It was hardly possible, with his sweaty palms and racing heart keeping him down. He tried to think about this situation, only to find himself totally unable to think at all.

'And then I'll get you students to-'

'AAAHHHH!'

Homer threw up his arms and buried his head in his legs, still screaming to himself in anger and frustration. His desk fell over, and the papers and pencils scattered all over the floor. The poor heart inside his chest finally calmed down, but it couldn't quite return to its normal patterns, and it didn't help his lungs trying to inhale as much air as quickly as possible.

'HOMER!'

The teacher grabbed him by his wrist and pulled him out of this little world made to calm him down. He didn't dare look up at her, but he knew she was glaring down upon him.

'Stop throwing these temper tantrums!' She yelled. 'You're disrupting and possibly disturbing the rest of the class!'

Homer wanted to say something in his defence, but all he managed was stammering that hardly resembled speech at all. The rest of the class laughed at him again, and once again the teacher didn't seem to care.

The girl from before put her pencil down and grinned. 'Already finished, Miss!'

The teacher smiled. 'Fantastic job as always, Eleanor.' She tugged on Homer's wrist. 'I think some people in this class could learn a little from you.'

Eleanor laughed. 'No one could teach him.'

And, like clockwork, the class erupted into laughter. Only a few kids weren't laughing, and one of them was the big brown-haired boy who Homer recognised as 'Barney'. That kid was even more of an achiever than Eleanor, so he surprised Homer a little by refusing to participate in the laughter.

'Aw, come on guys!' He said. 'That's just mean.'

Another boy snickered. 'Oh, he's too dumb to realise what we're saying! It's fine.'

Homer wanted to tell that kid that he could easily understand what these people were saying about him, but he didn't dare speak up with the teacher around. At the very least, he had a little satisfaction knowing that this kid - Kearney, one of the only names he had memorised - was without a doubt the student who tried the least and thus had terrible grades. He managed a little smile at the thought of this kid having to repeat elementary school so much that he would be stuck there as an adult.

'Stop laughing, Homer!' The teacher shouted, making him lose his smile. 'I can't believe it. You've disrupted the entire class and made a mess of things, and you're laughing?!'

'Well, I-'

'No excuses! I'm getting so sick of this behaviour. Either get yourself together or keep it to yourself. If you don't…'

*SMACK*

She slammed her ruler into her desk, hard enough to make the pencil holder fall over and spill.

'Do I make myself clear?'

Homer could hardly look up at her. She was like some horrific combination of that terrifying fairy from Sleeping Beauty and that insane dog-skinning lady from 101 Dalmatians, and her glare felt so much like the one given by that mean stepmother from Cinderella. With such a combination looking down at him, all he could do was gulp and nod.

'Good.' She said. 'Now clean up your mess.'

The young boy attempted to 'clean up his mess' the best he could, but without instructions he didn't know where to start. All the while, he worked to the sound of laughter.

'Mrs Simpson, we really need to talk about your son's behaviour.'

Mona Simpson did not want to be here. At all. Her band of 'hippy friends' - as Abe was calling them now - had arranged to save a few endangered animals from being turned into a coat by none other than that Burns character, until the school demanded her presence. Abe, already busy with work, would've refused to go regardless.

She sat on the opposite side of the principal's desk, with her son sitting waiting just outside the room. The man behind the desk (who Mona had nicknamed Mr Time-Waster) gave her a glare that he poorly attempted to hide. He had his hands together, tapping on the desk just a little. Since the rest of the school was mostly empty, the tapping appeared to be quite loud.

'Alright.' Mona said. 'I'll listen.'

Mr Time-Waster sighed. 'Today, your son not only refused to do the work assigned to him, but knocked his desk over and spilled his belongings everywhere. Such behaviour disrupted the class, and he needed much prompting to clean up his own mess.'

Without losing a moment, Mona gave him the most incredulous expression he had ever seen.

'I'm getting sick of this.' She said, sounding more annoyed than anything. 'I really am. I'll admit, Homer is not the best behavioured kid in the world, and I am trying to work on that, but… flipping his desk over for no reason? Does it never occur to you people that maybe, just maybe, there's a reason behind his so-called acting up?'

'His teachers see no reason he could possibly act like this.' Mr Time-Waster replied. 'He is assigned the same work as the other students, and none of them act in such a disruptive and destructive way.'

Mona leaned forward. 'I'm sorry, destructive? Are you sure we're not talking about some other kid?'

'Mrs Simpson, I don't want to have an argument. If Homer really isn't this destructive and is just struggling with the work, then that isn't any better. He's still venting his frustrations incorrectly, and - quite frankly - the work isn't even that hard. Everyone else can do it. Why can't he?'

The fact that Mona didn't snap and strangle Mr Time-Waster at that very moment was a miracle. How badly she wanted to punch him for speaking such words. All she did, however, was stand up and walk out of the room.

'Mrs Simpson, you can't-'

'Stop talking or I'll shove a cactus up where the sun doesn't shine.'

Mr Time-Waster had responded to her statement - and quite loudly too - but she paid him no attention. No one who thought such horrible things about her child were worth listening to. She shut the door behind her, and glanced down at her son. He rested his head in his hands, and remained quiet. She could only hope that he hadn't overheard the discussion.

'I'm back, sweetie.' She said.

'Why can't I do it?' He asked.

She flinched, feeling a pain in her heart. Even she underestimated his ability to understand sometimes. It left her speechless; did she dare tell him what she thought? No longer could she deny that something was up with him, though she still wasn't certain what and it would never make her love him any less. That 'something' had to have been why he struggled with the work, but she couldn't bear to say it. He'd ask questions, and she wouldn't be able to answer then.

So, she gave him a soft smile as she helped him off the floor. The warmth of his mother's hand helped him to smile too.

'Because the teachers don't understand you.' She replied, as they walked down the hallway together. 'It isn't you. It's them. You're just as capable as everyone else is. You just need… a little more help, that's all.'

'But why?' He asked.

'Well, some people are just like that. They need a bit more time to learn things, but they're no less smart. It just takes them a little longer to get there.'

'Oh.' He remained silent for a bit. 'Can we have donuts for dinner?'

She giggled. It never failed to make her laugh when her son seemingly blurted something out like that for no good reason. Now, from his point of view, it made sense. Whenever he had a difficult day, Mona would reward him with more donuts than usual. If the day was especially bad, they would have donuts for dinner - something that even Abe couldn't complain about. So, seeing as he had a bad day today, why wouldn't he get donuts?

'Well, maybe not for dinner,' Mona replied. 'But I'll work out something. I'll just… need to have a talk to someone first.'

With his scrumptious dessert (almost as good as dinner) of a whole pack of donuts, Homer got to school the next day in higher spirits. How could he be unhappy after a meal of donuts? The work was no easier, but he could've sworn that the teacher gave him just a little more time to write the questions down today.

'T-Take your time, Homer!' She said, her eye twitching a little. 'I-I wouldn't want to make you or your M-Mother angry, would I?'

Still, actually answering them was still a bit of a struggle. One plus one was easy as pie… oh, that expression always made him salivate. Gah, concentrate, Homer! That answer was 'two'. Two plus three was five, he was certain. Then he got to eight plus six. It was more than ten, he knew that, but the double-digit territory was dim and misty in his mind. For some reason, his brain simply couldn't comprehend it. Yes, he could remember being taught how to deal with double-digits, but the lessons were a blur to him.

He could've sworn he heard someone - probably that Kearney kid - snickering behind him. Afraid to look like a complete fool again, he wrote down something random and moved onto the next question. That was how it went for all the double-digits, and he could only hope he got at least one of them right.

'Homer!' The teacher said. 'What's eight plus six?'

He almost yelped - so deep into concentration that he didn't notice that the teacher was asking students at random for the answers. His silent response prompted some of the students to laugh.

'C-Can you ask that question again?' He asked.

The teacher rolled her eyes. 'What's eight plus six? I assume you've already answered that question.'

He glanced down at his answer, and gulped. Seeing as he was seated near the back, he could easily see more than half the class looking down at him and chuckling to themselves. With no other option, he took a deep breath and gave his answer.

'F-Fourteen?' He guessed.

The teacher sighed. 'Correct. Now, Barney…'

Homer sighed in relief, thanking the holy donuts that he managed to get out of that one alive. Still, he could still hear laughter from most of the other students.

'I bet he just guessed.' Eleanor muttered.

'Pulling a Homer, as always.' Kearney added.

For some reason, Homer had become an in-joke in the class. Whenever he guessed and got it right - which happened quite often - he was apparently 'pulling a Homer'. He had no idea what that meant, but liked having a class in-joke named after him. If only he could get it.

A few more questions came and went, and then it was time for lunch. For Homer, that was code for 'try super hard to find Lenny'. With all the other students flooding out of the classroom and into the hallways, it was never an easy task, and - of course - Homer wasn't Lenny's only friend. Even when one didn't account for Carl, who was oddly absent from the school at all times. In fact, all the kids from Carl's side of the neighbourhood, like Murphy and his brother Julius, were never found anywhere on school grounds.

The crowded hallways made it near impossible to find anyone, as Homer weaved his way through the mass of people. Strangely, it seemed as though the other students could find their friends with ease, as they were already walking side-by-side and doing that synchronised-step thing that annoyed Homer to no end. Still, it wasn't too confusing for the young boy to find his way to the backyard of the school, where all the fun play equipment was.

All the fun equipment that was already occupied. As always. Oh well. He just took his lunch and found a vacant seat underneath a tree. The seats around this tree were always vacant, and that was because the students used it as a dumping ground for trash. It didn't smell the best, but Homer liked this spot anyway. Donuts were always best when eaten alone. He watched all the other kids playing in groups. It was tempting to go forward and ask to join in, but he chose to stay in his lonely spot.

He had learnt his lesson a long time ago.

There was one more meeting before the weekend, and Mona couldn't be any more frustrated to be face-to-face with Mr Time-Waster once again. Surprisingly, it wasn't about the serious talk that she had had with Homer's teacher the day before, but something else.

'Your son really needs to get out there and make more friends.' Mr Time-Waster said, with all seriousness.

Mona groaned. 'This is what you called me for? Homer does have a friend: a lovely young boy named Lenny. And they get along just fine. Why does he need more?'

'Every other kid in the school has multiple friends, and it isn't healthy to only have one friend who only gets to hang out with you half the time anyway. It simply isn't right.'

'By whose measure?'

Mr Time-Waster sighed. 'This explains why your son's development seems so lacking.'

'I'll just pretend you didn't say that. If he must have multiple friends, I suppose I could take him with me when I go visit a friend of mine tomorrow. Her kid's got a lot of friends who like to hang out in their treehouse. Does that work for you?'

'Fine with me, as long as it works.'

'Oh no… who invited him?'

'Don't worry. We can deal with that!'

Homer did not recognise this woman at all, even though she was supposedly a friend of her mother's, and she was certainly not forgettable. How could one forget hair so long it passed her butt and clothing so bright it made you dizzy? But she wasn't the one who he needed to converse with, and thank goodness for that.

'It looks like so many kids from your school are in the backyard!' Mona said, as she was stirring her tea in the living room. 'Maybe you should go out and see them!'

He ran outside to the backyard, expecting to find a whole bunch of kids swarming the place only to find the yard mostly empty. It didn't take him long to track down the source of a whole group of kids playing, however, and his attention immediately went to the treehouse. It appeared to be kinda crowded, and he could hear a couple of familiar voices coming from it.

'I'm coming!' He said, climbing up the ladder as quickly as he could.

He reached the top in no time flat, but before he could invite himself inside, another boy stuck his head out of the 'door'. Homer couldn't recognise him, but that might have been because he looked a little 'generic' compared to some of his other classmates. Another kid, who appeared to be Kearney, hung a crudely-painted sign outside of the 'window'. It had 'Homers' written on it in black marker, with a big red-circle-with-a-slash covering the name. After the boy was done hanging up the sign, the other kids laughed and snickered away.

'Sorry, Homer.' The generic boy said. 'But we can't let you in.'

'Why not?' Homer asked, whining just a little.

'Read the sign. No Homers!'

Homer looked at the sign again, and frowned. Then, another boy stuck his head out of the window. Now, Homer could recognise him, for one reason and one reason only: they had the same first name. Our Homer looked at the sign again, and then at this other Homer, who was now smirking at him.

'B-But his name is Homer!' He said. 'Why is he allowed?'

'Read the sign again.' The generic boy replied. 'No Homers. With an 'S'. We can have more than one.'

Homer - our Homer - furrowed his brow. 'Can't you just kick him out so I can come in?'

Every kid in the treehouse gasped, like he had sworn against God himself or something equally blasphemous. The other Homer glared at him and stepped away from the window, only to be replaced by Eleanor.

'But he's the best Homer in school!' She said. 'Why would we get rid of him in favour of you?'

And then… laughter. Nothing but laughter. All of those kids jeered and chuckled at this 'loser' on the treehouse ladder, all laughing with the belief that they could easily get away with being so cruel. After all, someone as thick as him could never understand what was going on. If the victim couldn't possibly comprehend that they were a victim, then it was alright.

'Look at his stupid face!'

'He really thought we would let him in!'

'There's only room for one Homer here, and it isn't you!'

If only they were right.

Every single laugh, every single point, every single insult… it all got through. It was like he was on a stage, or a poor victim in a freakshow at the circus. It seemed like the other kids were only a few seconds away from lobbing rotten produce at him.

And he could feel every single one.

With a dejected look obvious on his face, he climbed back down the ladder and sat under the base of the tree. He thought about going back to his mother, but she was the one who told him to talk to these kids in the first place. Someone as smart as Momma must've known how the kids would've reacted, and so this must've been what was supposed to happen.

If only he understood why...

He glanced back at the kids up above him, wondering if he just missed something, only to be meant with a splat of spit directly to the face. Wiping it off with his sleeve, he saw the perpetrator - Kearney, who had a very punchable grin on his face.

'Oh wait, you're not a bucket!' Kearney said in a mock surprised tone. 'You could've fooled me, seeing as you have as many brains as one!'

Homer stared at the back door of the building, and clenched his fists. Unable to contain his frustrations, he punched the grassy ground hard enough to hurt his hand. This wasn't right, he knew that. He wasn't certain why his Momma thought any of this was a good idea, but he knew it wasn't.

And he was getting sick of it.

Another day of school… Homer was beginning to hate that very word. Why did Momma keep bringing him to this awful place? She must've had a reason, but he couldn't understand why.

'Homer, focus on the questions!'

More of that. He wrote down those questions on the blackboard as quickly as he could, and jutted down his guesses so fast that his hand hurt. When he looked back at the answers again, he couldn't understand them for they were nothing more than a massive cloud of lead and graphite. The pencil slipped out of his hand due to his sweat, and it fell to the floor.

'AH!' He yelped.

Feeling the teacher glaring down on him, he stretched his arm for the pencil as far as he could push it. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite far enough.

'Homer!' The teacher yelled. 'Stop goofing around and do your work!'

'I… I… I…!' He stammered.

'Either speak coherently or get back to work.'

He nudged over to the very edge of his seat, and only then could he pick up the pencil. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he went to answer the next question. 9 plus 9… another double-digit?! The -teen numbers were a blur to him, and he couldn't begin to comprehend how to deal with them. He jutted down a guess, but only got half-way through before the lead of the pencil broke.

Laughter. The other kids must've finished, because now they were laughing once again. The horrible memories of the day before came back to him.

'But he's the best Homer in school! Why would we get rid of him in favour of you?'

'Oh wait, you're not a bucket! You could've fooled me, seeing as you have as many brains as one!'

He clenched his fists so tight they turned white. Why were they laughing? Why were they so much better than him? His mother told him that he was smart, but the rest of the world told him otherwise.

He was different. No matter what Momma tried to tell him, he knew he didn't fit in. Why did they all know how to function in the world, while he felt like he was years behind them? Everyone else spent lunch playing with a whole group of friends, and he was lucky if he got to play with one. Every time he tried to make friends, they made excuses to say 'no'. Any joke he'd make would receive nothing but weird looks, unless he himself was the joke. Insults… jeers… shoves...

And now, he was struggling with work that everyone else got. While the other kids his age got everything done right on time, he could hardly get past the first question.

Why was he different? Why was he so stupid? Why couldn't he fit in no matter how hard he tried?

'Hey look!' Kearney said. 'HE'S CRYING!'

Homer slammed his fists into the desk.

Why does everyone hate me? What did I do? … WHY CAN'T I FIT IN?

'Alright class, you're dismissed. Except for Homer; he'll need to stay until he finishes his work. Or at least starts it.'

Why can't I do this? Why is everything so hard?! I don't wanna be here anymore…

Teachers treated him like he was a toddler…

The other kids never let him join in…

The bullies wouldn't stop telling him just how 'different' he was…

Momma…

His breathing got intense, so much so that he grew lightheaded. He hardly noticed, for his mind had shut off.

He couldn't handle it anymore…

'You better get used to this desk…' Kearney said, directly in his ear. 'Cos you'll be sitting in it for the rest of your life, you little…'

This writer dare not repeat the word uttered, but it was one of the most awful things one could possibly call a poor child who was viewed by the rest of the world as a useless idiot.

And he had had enough.

'WHY YOU LITTLE-!'

Without thinking about his actions for a moment, he leapt from his chair and clamped his hands around Kearney's neck as tight as he could. Both boys toppled over to the floor, missing the desks on the way down. The other students gasped and screamed, before running out the room as fast as they could. None of them wanted to be near this violent kid for a single moment.

'HOMER!' The teacher shouted, loud enough for the whole school to hear.

It was something of a miracle that Homer's hands were not that big or strong, for Kearney could barely breathe as it was. But Homer didn't care. He didn't care or think about anything at that moment except for one thing:

I AM DONE.

He could only strangle Kearney for a very brief moment, for the stronger boy kicked him off immediately.

'HOMER, GET BACK HERE!'

Homer didn't get a single glimpse at Kearney after being kicked away, because he had run out of the room as fast as his legs could carry him. With tears streaming down his face, he ran into the hallway. People… people everywhere, all looking at him like he was a crazed gunman.

'What is wrong with you?!'

'Are you insane or something?'

'Get away from me, you creep!'

He couldn't bear to be stared at any longer. All he wanted was to feel the warmth of another Momma hug, but his mother was nowhere to be seen. In desperation, he ducked into a nearby broom closet and slammed the door shut behind him.

And there he sat, burying his face in his knees and crying his eyes out.

LEAVE ME ALONE…

The teachers had no idea where he was, and the students didn't dare get anywhere near him lest the 'violent kid' lash out and hurt them too. After a few minutes, he managed the tiniest of smiles.

Strangling Kearney after all this torment felt so good…

It seemed so typical that none of the students who made fun of Homer ever got punished for their actions, but the one time Homer did something, he was sent directly to the principal's office. And there he was, with his knees up his chest, sitting on a chair in front of the man his mother nicknamed Mr Time-Waster. Speaking of, his mother was there too.

'My son is not violent!' Mona yelled, rising from her seat.

Mr Time-Waster just rolled his eyes. 'Mrs Simpson, you are in denial. Your son strangled someone. You can't be trying to tell me that it didn't happen, right?'

'I'm not saying that it didn't happen. I won't deny that my Homie did in fact strangle someone, nor will I deny that it was an awful action. But my son is not violent. He had never done something so horrific before in his life. Do you think for a moment that maybe, just maybe, there was a reason for it? After dealing with some of your teachers a few days ago, I think there's something more going on here.'

'Mrs Simpson, there is no justification for strangling another child!'

Mona slammed her palms on his desk. 'I'm not saying there is! I know there isn't! But there's a damn good explanation that I think you're missing. Think, sir, really think. Why on earth would a kid so mild-mannered suddenly snap and try to do such an awful thing to someone else?'

Homer remained silent, but that didn't mean he wasn't listening or reacting to the words bouncing all around him. He wanted to answer the question himself, but he couldn't. He knew he felt anger, but he wasn't sure why. It had… happened, and he wasn't thinking about the situation until after it had ended. Why couldn't he answer? Surely the other kids could...

'Mrs Simpson, that is not important.' Mr Time-Waster said. 'Your son has demonstrated violent behaviour, and this must not be repeated. You may have to keep him at home for a few weeks to make sure you discipline the behaviour out of him.'

'OR, even better, we could address what the hell caused him to act up.' Mona replied. 'Ever think that maybe, just maybe, that the problem isn't with Homer but the world around him? I try my hardest to keep him happy, but clearly I must've screwed up somewhere else down the line if he felt the need to retaliate like he did. Or maybe, it's the fault of this school.'

Mr Time-Waster rubbed his temples. 'Mrs Simpson, I do not think that the school is the problem. If it was, you'd think we would have more students lashing out and trying to hurt people. But Homer is one of the only kids in the school who has ever done something this extreme.'

Mona gritted her teeth, but said nothing. She may have accepted the fact that Homer clearly had something going on, but she refused to admit that to anyone. She could not imagine what Mr Time-Waster would say if she brought up her son's 'oddities', and his difficulty with learning both academically and socially. The last thing Homer needed right now was to be stigmatised for being different.

Regardless, Mr Time-Waster continued. 'We assign the same work to every student, giving them the same amount of time to complete it. If Homer cannot cope with the kind of work that all the other students his age can deal with, I think there's something wrong with him.'

That did it for her. She slammed her fists into his desk hard enough to make him flinch. 'EXCUSE ME?!'

'C-Can it even be denied anymore? If your son cannot do the work given to him without freaking out and strangling someone, he cannot be right in the head. If he cannot learn to be more like the other students, then I doubt that he'll function well in society.'

Mona could feel her blood boiling. She focused on not hitting the man in front of her so much that she didn't have enough processing power to think about what she was saying.

'What is wrong with you?!' She yelled. 'People like you are why my son is struggling so much! I'll finally admit; my son isn't completely 'normal'. Heavy quotation marks on that, seeing as 'normal' doesn't exist. My son is always late on his milestones and never quite seems to be all there. But he is still an amazing child who can do some amazing things if you give him the chance! And if you can't see the potential in him, that's your fault. Not my son's!'

Without giving Mr Time-Waster a second to respond, she grabbed her son by his wrist and dragged him out of the room with her. She didn't dare look back at the man who said such horrible things about her son, lest she get mad and lose control of herself. As she walked down the hallway with her son close behind her, she muttered several insults and expletives to herself.

So what if her son was different? He didn't make him any less amazing, or wonderful, or extraordinary. Since she knew no other kid quite like him, that must've made him unique. And that made him great. She grimaced a little as she thought about it. That was the problem with being so unique - if your mind operated so differently from everyone else's, how was he supposed to deal with the outside world? Just thinking about it made her curse under her breath even more.

'Is there something wrong with me?' Homer asked.

Mona gasped. In the middle of all her thoughts, she had almost forgotten that her son had heard every single word spoken about him. It only made her angrier; how could Mr Time-Waster say such awful things about Homer, while he was right there? As if he couldn't understand what he was saying?

'Homer, you…' She sighed, stopped walking, and looked him right in the eye. 'Listen Homie, I think we need to sit down and talk about this at home.'

'Why?' He asked.

'Because it's, erm, a little complicated. All you need to know is that everything that man said is wrong. You are capable of much more than people think you are. And never forget that.'

It didn't make Homer feel any better. He couldn't help but to think about what 'Mr Time-Waster' said.

'… Homer is one of the only kids in the school who has ever done something this extreme…'

'… If Homer cannot cope with the kind of work that all the other students his age can deal with, I think there's something wrong with him…'

'… He cannot be right in the head…'

'… I doubt that he'll function well in society…'

He usually put his mother's word above everyone else's, but he couldn't deny it. The other kids were capable of doing work he couldn't. If he would attack someone without knowing why, he must've been 'wrong in the head' (whatever that meant, exactly). And if Mr Time-Waster was right about all of that…

He grumbled to himself. Whatever it meant to 'function in society', he was gonna do it. Just to prove him and those stupid kids wrong.

'I'm not sure what it is about you, my little Homie, but…'

Mona had brought Homer to his bedroom, and had them both sitting comfortably on his small bed. Now with another donut in his hand, his mood had picked up considerably. So, it was then that she decided to talk to him about his, erm, difference.

'But what?' He asked, sounding a little oblivious.

Mona sighed. 'See, I've met a lot of children in my life. I've seen some of your classmates, as a matter of fact, and your Lenny friend is quite a nice kid. And, I have to say… you're not quite like them.'

He looked at her in silence for a few moments. '... What do you mean?'

'I… I don't know, being honest. But you're not quite like the other kids. It took a while for you to walk or talk, for instance. You learnt eventually, obviously, but you were quite behind everyone else. You could never handle bad situations well without getting angry or upset either. And, well, there's everything that just went down between us and Mr Time-Waster. I'd hate to say it, but if you were more like the other kids… that entire mess may have been avoided.'

He took another bite of his donut, and gulped it down with a big smile on his face. For a moment, Mona wondered if he was even listening, but he soon made it clear that he was.

'Why am I not like the other kids?' He asked.

'I have no idea.' She replied. 'You just don't seem like you're on the same wavelength as them. Sometimes, it feels like you're on a different wavelength to me. But there's nothing wrong with that. You're still my amazing little Homie, and nothing will ever change that. But there is something going on with you, and I'd hate to admit that I don't know what. I wish I knew, because then I might be able to help you.'

'Is this why school is hard?'

'It very well might be. School isn't hard because you're stupid, because I can assure you that you are not. Your grades just a year ago were astounding! And it's not because of that 'Simpsons Gene' either, since it's just a stupid excuse passed on in the family. It's just because…' She paused to think. 'It isn't built for you.'

'Why not?'

'Because… because you're not the same as everyone else. Which is fine! But the world sometimes doesn't think it's so fine, so that's what happens.'

Mona kept looking into her son's eyes, to make sure that he was paying attention. She had no idea how much of this he could've possibly been retaining, but she was talking in the simplest way she could. Just like before, it became clear that he must've understood at least some of it when he, after several moments of silence, finally asked another question.

'Why are you telling me this now?' He asked. 'Didn't you know before?'

Mona's heart skipped a beat. It almost sickened her as she realised that even she herself had underestimated her son's abilities, for she had just assumed he wouldn't notice. She held her son's hands in her own, and - finally - spoke the truth to not just him, but herself.

'I've known for a while that something was… different about you.' She said. 'But I didn't want to admit it to myself. I don't know why. Maybe it was because I could never think there was something wrong, or maybe a part of me didn't want a kid who was 'different'. But recently, I've learnt that there is something different about you. I can't keep denying that anymore. The sooner I accept it, the better it will be for you.'

'Oh…' Homer said, barely understanding it all. 'I guess that makes sense. … Hey, uh, while we're talking about this… will I be able to 'funk-shun in so-shy-ity', or was Mr Time Waster right?'

Mona sighed once again. The truth made her feel sick to her stomach, but she didn't dare tell him what she really thought. It was a part of her mind that she ignored and shoved away, refusing to admit to even herself that it was a thought going on in her mind. So, she simply told Homer what she wanted to tell him.

'Of course you will, Homer.' She said. 'No matter what anyone says about you.'

'And we'll call it… the No Homer Club! HA, it's genius!'

'Uh… there's a bit of a problem with that.'

'Oh, what now?'

'I know another guy named Homer, and he's pretty cool! We can't get rid of him too, can we?'

'Ah, no. That wouldn't be good.'

'WAIT! I think I have the solution…'

Author Notes - Can you say, 'recontextualization'? Hopefully you can, since that's what, like, 80% of this story is.

My actual experiences in the real world weren't nearly this bad, but I was still treated like crap by many of the students and teachers since I was quite clearly 'different' from everyone else. In hindsight, it's shocking it took so long to realise what was up. Homer strangling Kearney (which was originally going to be a punch until I decided to reference a famous running gag) is based on when I ended up kicking another girl because she ignored me. Said girl was usually quite nice. This moment from my childhood has stuck with me, and I can only assume I simply had enough and snapped.