A Fool's College Admission

I’ve always taken people literally.

When Dad told me to empty the basin, I asked where he wanted me to pour the water.

“On my head,” he snapped.

So I did.

When Mom told me to do the laundry, I asked whether I should add detergent.

She gave a cold laugh.

“Sure. Add caramel sauce.”

So I poured an entire bottle of caramel sauce into the washing machine.

Everyone said I was stupid.

But this “stupid” guy took first place in a nationwide academic competition.

I earned my school’s only direct-admission spot at one of the country’s top universities.

The day the results were announced, Lucas Hale, the school bully, ripped my application apart in front of the entire class.

“You can’t even understand sarcasm. Why should someone like you get direct admission?

“Last night, I saw you get out of a luxury SUV. Who knows what kind of deal you made with the woman inside?”

The whole classroom went quiet.

Then everyone started looking at me differently.

Lucas stood there with a self-righteous expression.

“I’m just speaking up for the rest of the class. Why should we work ourselves to death only to lose out to someone who got in through connections?”

I thought about it seriously.

Then I took out my phone and called my older sister.

“Claire, they said I got my admission spot by sleeping with someone. Is that true?”

A few seconds later, I held the phone out to Lucas, whose face had gone pale.

“My sister wants to know something.”

“What’s your name?”

“And your student ID number?”

Lucas paused for half a second after hearing that.

Then he burst out laughing.

“Lucas Hale. Senior Class A. Student number 202607.”

After giving the number, he leaned close to my ear with a mocking grin.

“Tell your rich and powerful backer to hurry up. I want to see what she thinks she can do to me.”

I repeated his name and student number into the phone.

My sister’s voice went quiet.

Then she said only one word.

“Understood.”

And hung up.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket.

Every eye in the classroom was on me.

I had endured those sneering looks for three years.

I knew they were waiting for me to make a fool of myself.

They thought I was putting on an act.

After all, everyone believed I was the boy whose brain just did not work right.

I did not understand indirect language.

I could never tell when someone was being sarcastic.

When I was little, Mom once said, “You love playing with water so much, why don’t you just live in the toilet?”

So I sat beside the toilet all night, until my legs went numb and I could not stand.

They laughed and called me stupid.

I only thought people said things in confusing ways.

Lucas loved using that against me.

Just last week, he deliberately knocked over my water bottle.

Hot water soaked through my textbooks.

He stood there with a crooked smile.

“Oops, Mason. My bad. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“You’re so smart, though. You must have memorized everything already, right?”

I looked carefully at the pages dripping onto the floor.

Then I nodded.

“Yeah. I remember it all. You don’t need to apologize.”

The entire class burst into laughter.

They laughed because I could not tell he was mocking me.

Lucas used moments like that to make himself look generous and mature.

But behind the scenes, he had everyone throw my papers into the trash and smear glue across my chair.

Now, he jabbed a finger hard into my shoulder.

Even through my uniform, it hurt.

“Mason Harrison, you can barely understand what people are saying. Why should someone like you get the direct-admission spot?”

“People like you belong in the gutter.”