I know what they think when they look at me.

They see a dumb jock with the inability to understand a single intelligence word. An idiotic bully, who gets what he wants using brute force and prettyboy looks.

They see someone who only knows how to play basketball, and football. Someone who sits at the cool table at lunch, and picks on the less popular students because it gives him a thrill. The boy who went allstate last year in track, but can't even form an coherent sentence in class.

I'm Bright Abbot. The boy who's best friend is in a coma, who's family is the most prestigious in town. Who cares for no one but himself.

They see that, because that's what I let them see.

Because If I truly showed them who I was, I'd be at the loser table at lunch, sitting with the geeks who gush over chemistry and Shakespeare. I'd be the dork in the front row in history, telling the class who F. Fitzgerald was, and I'd be the one getting snickered at from the jocks in the back.

The one who got pounded behind the gym in the eighth grade because his eyes lingered a little too long on the other boys in the shower.

Amy thinks I hate Ephram.

But there's a reason I treat him the way I do.

I'm afraid if I slow down, if I look for too long.

I'm afraid that he'll see me.