At least in college, he was good at some things. He had friends; his grades were always fine, and in classes that were mostly reading and writing, they were better than fine. After graduation, he wouldn’t even have that. He’d have to hide who he was in order to please people who would never be pleased by him. By the end of the fall semester, he was only leaving his room to go to class and to practice with his team. By Easter, he was starting to fantasize about getting hit by a bus or coming down with various debilitating illnesses, and that couldn’t possibly be a good sign.
