There are all types of nerds in the world. There are nerds who play wizard card games and nerds who play chess and nerds who read comic books and nerds who know way too much about Star Wars. I was a math and science nerd. When I started high school in 2004, I tested high enough on my entrance exams to skip freshman-level honors algebra and jump right into sophomore-level honors geometry, which would be impressive if this wasn’t the public school system in suburban Chicago, where a literal monkey could have broken the curve. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a public school, especially one in Chicago, but it’s basically prison, but with paler food and more bathroom sex. Seriously. One day, we found a loose DVD of heterosexual pornography on the cafeteria floor. Straight porn! Where we ate! Disgusting.

Anyway. I happened to be one of two thirteen-year-olds who outsmarted the system, and I started my first day of high school a virtual prodigy.

Now, it’s not easy being a boy genius. Everybody assumes it’s all fun and games and strippers and cocaine. “You’ll be so popular,” they say. “All the ladies will love you! You’ll grow up and Russell Crowe will play you in the movies!” But let’s be real. Being a boy genius is hard work. You have to get new glasses every two months because your eyes are so terrible. You have to bring candies to the teachers so they know you’re a suck-up. And legally, you’re required to fail gym class.

But something in my brain responded to being called smart. It made me feel good that I was the smart kid. It had its negative connotations, but at least I knew who I was. So I leaned into it.

I carried around heavy books because it made me feel smarter. My backpack weighed over a hundred pounds and stuck out at least ten inches from my back, and I’m sure it led to long-term spinal degeneration, but it was worth it for the extra time I got to spend studying. I studied aggressively for tests because I needed to get not just an A, but the highest score in class. There weren’t enough periods in the day for the number of AP and honors classes I wanted to fit into my schedule. Literally. I had to petition the administration to let me skip my lunch period to add on AP Biology. I was literally begging the school to let me sacrifice the one good thing in the world.