In 2nd grade, everyone in the class disliked me. They ostracized me because the funny guy in the class decided to mock me until everyone turned against me, because he resented my quiet smarts. He was always getting into trouble. Many times a day. Whenever the teacher got mean to him, which seemed like every time they addressed each other, I felt bad for him. She seemed to be missing something. She was being a bitch. Not too badly, the way you might expect from a teacher getting interrupted. But the thing is I understood the moment he started his mockery campaign against me: this was his life. He wasn't just beeing cheeky and should shut up. This was his everyday. This was a world in which the teacher was generally a bitch to him, and probably many other adults were similar. Sure, he was laughing out of turn, and making jokes the students found funny and the teacher didn't. That's an incredible life skill right there. He just needed to hone it. And when was he going to do that? Not under her watch. So he rebelled.

I wouldn't have used those words, but in the moments of embarrassment as I wondered if and why he had something against me, this is what I understood. And I knew that I was better at this sympathy business than he was, most likely. And that was a thing and also not exactly his fault.

But yeah, from that moment he got everyone in the class to dislike me for the rest of the year, give or take two girls who half-heartedly defended me or wanted to be my friend, respectively.