Despite what Mum, my teachers, except Mr. Howard, of course, the man at the chippy, Auntie Pat and Uncle Ian, Keith and Sue, Jenny, Chris, Anna, the angry lollypop lady, that weird guy with half a pair of glasses on who keeps shouting at people in town outside Wimpy, although he does do that to everyone, Andrew, Pete, Will and Jonnie and that Car Crash lady, I am not mental. I hear them whisper it under their breath before I leave a room or something, saying it quietly so they don’t get caught but loud enough so I hear. I just don’t get it. I just don’t understand how I could be called mental. I just don’t get it?

I think I’m a normal decent guy. I don’t get involved with bad kids who nick things and start random fights with people and I’m not one of those goodie goodie’s, who just sit in all day reading the bible and sing along to Kumbyah. I’m normal. I look normal, I act normal and I talk normal. I am normal. But people don’t talk to me normally; they don’t even look at me normally. And I guess that’s why I’ve ended up here. She doesn’t like me being different to the other kids. She said the reason I don’t have any friends because they say they can’t trust me, but that is just silly because they can trust me. I am probably the most trustworthy boy anyone will ever meet. But they call me Mental too. Well, actually they call me Mental Mallet, but that’s the same thing.

I think it’s an awful word, mental. I looked it up in the dictionary I got for Christmas. It means; crazy, stupid, having a psychiatric disorder and that’s not true! So why the bloody hell they calling me that? Sorry for swearing, although I don’t even know if that’s a swear word nowadays. Now, I am not crazy or stupid because I am in top set in Maths and Science. And! I do not have a psychiatric disorder because I asked Dr Evans when I saw him and he said, ’�My good god, no! Anything but.’� See? Anything but! And he is a doctor! A good one who got an award once. It was in the paper and everything!

I know the reason why people don’t wanna be my friend, but I can’t help it. It isn’t because I am mental, it’s because I won’t lie. Ever. About anything!! Now it’s not because I hurt people or set fires or steal, it’s because I tell the god’s honest truth, every single time about everything. I won’t, don’t and can’t lie. Now, I know what you’re thinking, he’s mental and you’re wrong. I’m not. Honest.

I, like everyone else ever, have been brought up, knowing that lying is bad, but somehow since I’ve got older, this has become less and less true. Lying is supposed to be bad, isn’t it? If you lie, you are a bad person. But if I tell the truth, I’m the bad person. I’m one who either gets shouted at, clipped around the ear or called mental. I don’t understand it! Mum doesn’t like the fact I want to tell the truth about everything. Some people might think Wow! Lucky Guy, he is being encouraged to tell porkies!! Go on, Lie away son, lie away! But I don’t want to. You don’t get people saying, Wow! Lucky Guy, he is being encouraged to hurt people, Go on, punch away son, puch away! But don’t worry’�I don’t want to punch anyone.

To be honest, I don’t mind when other people call me mental or weirdo or dickhead because they don’t matter. It happens all the time and I just ignore them, just like the saying ’�Water off a ducks back’. That’s how I feel, cos these people mean nothing in my life; but when the people who are suppose to love me start shouting things that aren’t true, that hurts. That’s the only reason why I get so upset and angry all the time because of that. They say, ’�Jack, you never stop and think, do you? You stupid boy. That is untrue. I always think. I think alot. Too much sometime. But when I said ’�Yes Auntie Pat, sorry but your new hairstyle does look like Rod Stewart on a bad hair day’� That was true also, she looked awful, but guess who got the sore earhole.
So I guess that’s why I’m here. I guess you decide what the truth is. I don’t wanna be here but I guess I have no choice and if I get to prove everyone wrong, I guess it will be worth it all.

2

This won’t do myself any favours right now but when no-one wants to talk to me at school, I have to talk to someone otherwise I’d explode and because I don’t want to give them anymore ammo to throw insults at me, I talk to myself. In my mind. Anyway, everyone does it! Talk to themselves; that is, but no one dare admit it. I guess, it’s not something that you bring it up into conversation. I can see dinner parties ruined by someone saying ’�Oh I’m sorry Ian; I was just talking to myself in my head. What were you saying about teabags??’�

Now, without running the risk sounding like even more of a fruit cake, I quite like talking to myself in my head. I’m much funnier in my head than when I’m talking out loud, which is a shame, coz all the funny kids at school are really popular. I’m always coming up with funny lines in my head when someone says something. I just need the confidence to say it at loud now and I’ll be fine. But one thing I do hate about talking to yourself inside your head is when I have a really nasty argument with myself. Sorry. That was just a joke. I don’t argue with myself. Do I? Yes you do’�No I don’t’�.Yes you do. Sorry, just joking again.

I know it doesn’t seem like it but I like school. It’s a good time to be a school kid nowadays, with computers and the internet being as advanced as it is. As all other normal school children I like some lessons and hate others. I like Maths and Science and I dislike English and P.E. Don’t worry, I have good reasons why.

I like Maths because there is always a right answer. 6 + 6 = 12. One question with one right answer. What do you think about Shakespeare’s themes in Othello? = ? One question but lots of right answers. That’s why I dislike English. People can lie the way through those exams. If they don’t know the answer they could still get a good mark because you can have a good guess at the answer. ’�Oh I think that he was quite’�blah blah blah’�. ’�He was quite near with that answer’�4 points.’� With Maths, you cant. You have to get the answer. 900 x 901 is 810900, we all know that. But if in an exam you put’�’�Oh I think it was 810899.’� You are wrong. Very close but wrong. That’s why I hate English and love Maths.

I dislike PE for a few reasons. One, I’m crap at it. Two, I don’t like being either cold, wet, tired or dirty, let alone cold, wet , tired AND dirty at the same time. Three, there are lot of liars and cheats in sport. It’s against the rule to cheat, but people will try as hard as they can to get away with and if they know they can get away with it they will do it even more. It happens in all sport. Football there is diving. Athletics, there is enhancement drugs, horse racing, there is bung taking and the shocking things rugby players do to each other in scrums is enough to make your eyes water. It seems that if you lie in sport, you get ten times the press coverage you would do if you did something truthfully amazing. Maradonna scored two goals against England in the 1986 World Cup. He punched his first goal it in the net, the second he dribbled around seven players and scored the best goal of his life but what was the game known for? The hand of God. See what I mean? I bet you are thinking. He sure knows a lot for a kid who supposedly doesn’t like sport. You’re right, I do. Only because my family live and breathe sport. I have never, since I have been born, watched anything on Television on a Saturday afternoon. Ever. The front room is our families’ church. The theme to Grandstand is our hymn. The presenters are our Gods. (Des Lyunm was my mum’s favourite God until he moved channels and broke her heart.) I don’t mind them watching sport all day Saturday though. I’m used to it. Oh yeah I also like Science because you can set fire to things. In school! Without getting told off. Great fun.

I guess another reason I love Maths is to do with my teacher, Mr. Howard. He is great. He is so down to earth with the pupils in the top set maths, he treats us like adults. He respects us because we work hard. He told us all this during lesson once. Some boys in the lower Math sets don’t like him though. They call him a wanker and a slap head because he shouts at them and he is balding. When I heard them talking about Mr Howard and when he shouts how I couldn’t believe it because I thought Mr Howard never shouts. But I was wrong! I was going to the toilet one day during English lesson, anything to get out of it, and I heard Mr Howard bellowing at one of the kids who calls me Mental Mallet. I was astonished at how loud his shouting could be. I’ve never heard him shout before. I liked him even more after he shouted at him. I stood there with a little smile of my face, talking to myself ’�Go on Sir, give him one from me’�. I think he must have heard me.

Also, Mr Howard is like an adult version of me. He doesn’t lie. Ever. He has a saying, a little catchphrase, if you will. ’�If it’s bad, do it again. If it’s good, do more of it.’� I like that saying. I like him saying that saying to me. He makes me want to work extra hard, just to please him. That makes him a great teacher in my book. When he tells me, my work is rubbish I don’t mind because I know he is telling me the truth, I respect that and he knows it. I like his honesty. I thrive from it. He is also a very good Mathematician, he can spot mistakes a mile off. I love watching him in motion. He is my favourite Teacher but he’s isn’t Andrea Topping’s.

Once, during a Thursday morning lesson, we were all working quietly and Mr Howard was doing his usual pacing up and down, looking over the shoulders to look at our work and he stopped over Andrea’s work and he called her sloppy for forgetting the remainder in this long division she was working on and then suddenly, she burst into tears! We didn’t know what to do, including Mr Howard. And When Martin Battersea asked her if she was on her period, she ran out and made the big door slam. I was horrified but Mr Howard just pulled a funny face, shrugged and carried on marking our work from over our shoulders. The next day, well, Angela’s Dad stormed in with this bloody big stick and threatened Mr Howard with it during lunchtime break. I didn’t see it happen but I did see Mr Howard shouting at Tim who was on prefect duty at the time for letting a total stranger wander through the corridors with a offensive weapon. But as Tim told me afterwards, ’�how the hell was I suppose to stop a six foot man carrying a giant piece of wood. Ask him for a note from his mum?’� I do see both sides of the argument.

I can go and see Mr Howard when ever I want to. He said he doesn’t mind. And you know I said I didn’t have any friends? Well Mr Howard is the closest I’ve got to one. He encourages me all the time with my work. He was the one who made me join the internet club. He is the one who makes me feel good for telling the truth. He is also the only one who makes me forget about the silly things in my life.
But on the other hand, I guess, he is also the one who got me in all this mess in the first place.