Walsh Family Universe V2

Chapter 74
Standing Out

It started in English class, three weeks into sixth grade.

Ms. Harper had assigned a personal essay—"A Moment That Changed Me"—and Ash had been careful. Had written about learning to swim, kept it simple and age-appropriate, avoided any vocabulary or sentence structure that would seem too advanced.

But apparently, he hadn't been careful enough.

"Noam, can you stay for a moment after class?" Ms. Harper asked as the bell rang.

Ash's stomach dropped. He'd been flying under the radar perfectly. Participating just enough to not seem disengaged, but not so much that he stood out. Turning in solid B+ work that wouldn't draw attention.

Apparently, he'd miscalculated.

The other students filed out. Ash approached Ms. Harper's desk, backpack slung over one shoulder.

"Am I in trouble?"

"No, not at all." Ms. Harper pulled out his essay, covered in her handwriting. "I wanted to talk to you about your writing. This is... exceptionally mature for a sixth grader."

Ash looked at the paper. She'd marked it with an A, but also covered it in notes. Questions about his word choices, his metaphors, his thematic development.

"Your analysis of the experience goes beyond simple narrative," she continued. "You're exploring complex emotional territory—fear, achievement, self-perception. That's high school level work, maybe even beyond."

"I just wrote about swimming."

"You wrote about transformation. About confronting limitations and discovering capability." Ms. Harper studied him. "Have you always been advanced in language arts?"

"I like to read," Ash said carefully. Which was true. He'd been reading at an adult level since he was three years old in this body, though he was careful about what books he checked out from the school library.

"I'm going to recommend you for the accelerated English track," Ms. Harper said. "It's a smaller class, more challenging curriculum. I think you'd thrive there."

"I'm fine in regular English."

"Noam, you're clearly not being challenged. Students with your abilities need appropriate academic stimulation." She made a note on a form. "I'll send the recommendation to your parents and the gifted program coordinator. They'll want to do some assessments."

Ash felt panic rising. Assessments. Testing. People looking too closely at his capabilities.

"I don't want to change classes."

"Let's see what the assessment shows first. But Noam—" Ms. Harper smiled at him, meant it kindly. "Don't hide your light. Being smart isn't something to be ashamed of."

In History, Mr. O'Sullivan called on him during a discussion about ancient Rome.

Ash had been trying not to participate too much. Had let other kids answer the easy questions, kept his hand down even when he knew the answer.

But Mr. O'Sullivan asked a complex question about the fall of the Roman Empire, and when no one else responded, he'd looked directly at Ash.

"Noam? Thoughts?"

Ash should have given a simple answer. Should have said something basic about barbarian invasions or political corruption.

Instead, his adult brain engaged before he could stop it.

"It wasn't just one thing. It was systemic collapse—economic instability from debasing currency, overextension of military resources, loss of civic virtue, breakdown of trade networks. And the 'barbarian invasions' were really more like migrations of people displaced by climate change and the Hunnic expansion. Rome didn't fall so much as transform into something else."

The classroom went silent.

Mr. O'Sullivan stared at him. "That's... a very sophisticated analysis. Have you studied this period before?"

"I just read a lot," Ash said, feeling his face heat.

"Clearly." Mr. O'Sullivan made a note in his gradebook. "Well done. That's exactly the kind of systemic thinking we're aiming for in this class."

After class, a kid named Brett—eighth grader, big for his age—shoulder-checked Ash in the hallway.

"Nice job, nerd. Way to make everyone else look stupid."

Ash kept walking, didn't respond. But he felt eyes on him. Other kids noticing. The invisible strategy wasn't working anymore.

Math was worse.

Pre-algebra was easy—laughably easy for someone who'd taken Algebra II in high school. Ash had been deliberately working slowly, pretending to struggle with concepts he'd mastered decades ago.

But Mr. Rodriguez handed back their first test, and Ash saw the problem immediately.

100%. Perfect score. And not just correct answers—his work was too efficient, too elegant. He'd solved problems using methods they hadn't been taught yet, shortcuts that came from understanding the underlying principles rather than following formulas.

Mr. Rodriguez kept him after class too.

"This is exceptional work," he said, holding up the test. "You're clearly working above grade level. Have you had advanced math instruction before?"

"No."

"Hmm." Mr. Rodriguez didn't look convinced. "Well, I'm recommending you for the algebra track. Possibly geometry if the placement test goes well. Pre-algebra isn't appropriate for your skill level."

"I'm fine in pre-algebra."

"You're bored in pre-algebra. And bored students get into trouble." Mr. Rodriguez pulled out a referral form. "I'll talk to your parents at conferences next month. In the meantime, I'm giving you supplementary work—more challenging problems to keep you engaged."

Great. Extra work because he'd been too competent.

At lunch, Marcus noticed something was off.

"You okay? You seem stressed."

"Teachers keep wanting to move me to advanced classes."

"That's good though, right?" Emma said. "Means you're smart."

"It means I'm going to be in different classes than you guys." Ash picked at his food. "And it's drawing attention."

"What kind of attention?" Daniel asked.

"Bad kind. Brett called me a nerd in the hallway. Couple of seventh graders were making fun of me after History."

Tyler frowned. "Brett's a jerk. Ignore him."

"Hard to ignore when he's literally in my face."

"Welcome to middle school," Marcus said. "Where being good at stuff makes you a target. It's stupid, but that's how it works."

The bullying got worse over the next week.

Brett and his friends—three eighth graders who'd apparently decided Ash was worth hassling—started a campaign of low-level harassment. Nothing dramatic enough to report, but constant enough to be exhausting.

Shoulder-checks in the hallway. "Accidentally" knocking his books out of his hands. Loud comments when he answered questions in class.

"Oh look, the genius has an opinion."

"Must be nice being so smart. Too bad it doesn't help you not be a loser."

"Bet he reads the dictionary for fun."

Ash tried ignoring it. Tried taking different routes through the hallways. Tried participating even less in class.

But the teachers kept calling on him. Kept praising his work. Kept making examples of his essays and problem-solving.

And Brett kept escalating.

On Friday, Ash was getting books from his locker when Brett appeared beside him.

"Hey, genius. Heard you're getting moved to all the advanced classes. That true?"

"I don't know yet."

"Course you don't. Too smart for regular classes, right? Too good for the rest of us?"

"That's not—"

Brett slammed Ash's locker shut. Hard. Nearly catching his fingers.

"Watch yourself, Walsh. Nobody likes a show-off."

Ash grabbed his backpack and walked away. Heard Brett and his friends laughing behind him.

In PE, Coach Mitchell was splitting them into teams for basketball. Ash had been careful in PE too—playing well enough to not seem incompetent, but not dominating like he had in elementary school.

But today they were short on players, and she needed someone who could actually play point guard.

"Walsh, you're on the blue team. Run point."

Ash tried to play casually. Really, he did.

But the ball felt natural in his hands. His body knew how to move, where to be, how to create space and find the open man. He scored twice, assisted on three more baskets, stole the ball twice.

The blue team won by fifteen points.

"Nice game, Walsh," Coach Mitchell said. "Didn't know you could play like that. We could use you on the basketball team."

Brett was on the other team. Had been guarding Ash, unsuccessfully. His face was red with anger and embarrassment.

In the locker room after, Brett cornered him.

"Think you're hot shit, Walsh?"

"No, I just—"

"Just what? Just naturally better than everyone?" Brett shoved him, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to make him stumble. "Just a genius at everything?"

Other boys were watching. Some looked uncomfortable, but nobody intervened.

"I'm not trying to show off," Ash said quietly.

"Could've fooled me. Smart kid, athletic kid, teacher's pet." Brett shoved him again. "Maybe you need to learn some humility."

Tyler appeared from around the lockers. "Leave him alone, Brett."

"Or what? You gonna fight me, Tyler?"

"No. But I'm gonna tell Coach you're harassing sixth graders half your size. See how that goes for you."

Brett glared at both of them, but backed off. "Whatever. Not worth my time."

After he left, Tyler helped Ash gather his stuff.

"Thanks."

"Brett's a dick. Always has been." Tyler lowered his voice. "But maybe... maybe tone it down a little? In class and stuff? I know you're smart, but you don't have to prove it constantly."

"I'm not trying to prove anything. Teachers keep calling on me."

"Then give wrong answers sometimes. Or just say 'I don't know.' Flying under the radar is a survival skill in middle school."

That weekend, Shannon got calls from three teachers.

Ash listened from the stairs as she talked to Ms. Harper, then Mr. Rodriguez, then someone from the gifted program office.

"Yes, we're aware he's advanced... Yes, we'd be open to assessment... No, we haven't had him tested formally... Mm-hmm... That makes sense..."

When she hung up, Patrick called from his office: "What's going on?"

"The school wants to test Noam for the gifted program. Multiple teachers have recommended him for advanced placement."

"That's wonderful!"

"Is it?" Shannon sounded uncertain. "He's already struggling to fit in. Being labeled 'gifted' isn't going to help."

"Being challenged appropriately will help. He's clearly not being stimulated in his current classes."

"Patrick, he's eleven. He should be with his peers, not pushed ahead constantly."

"His intellectual peers aren't necessarily his age peers."

Ash descended the stairs. Both parents looked at him.

"I don't want to be in gifted classes," he said.

"Honey—" Shannon started.

"I want to be in normal classes with my friends. I don't want to be singled out."

"Being gifted isn't a punishment," Patrick said. "It's recognizing your abilities and providing appropriate education."

"It's making me a target. Older kids are giving me shit—giving me a hard time because teachers keep making examples of my work. If I get moved to special classes, it'll get worse."

Patrick and Shannon exchanged looks.

"Someone's bothering you?" Shannon asked. "Who?"

"It doesn't matter. I can handle it."

"Noam, if you're being bullied—"

"I'm not being bullied. I'm just... existing, and some people don't like it." Ash sat on the bottom stair. "Can't I just be average? Can't I just blend in?"

"You're not average," Patrick said gently. "And pretending to be isn't going to help you or anyone else."

"It would help me not get shoved into lockers."

"Someone shoved you into a locker?" Shannon's voice went sharp. "Noam Francis Walsh, you tell me who—"

"Nobody shoved me into a locker. That was hypothetical." Ash stood up. "Can I just... not do the gifted testing? Can we just say no?"

"We need to talk about this," Patrick said. "But not right now. Let's all take some time to think."

Ash went upstairs, heard his parents arguing in low voices below.

In his room, he sat on his bed, frustrated with himself.

He'd been so careful. Had deliberately dumbed down his work, had tried to stay invisible, had avoided drawing attention.

But his adult mind kept leaking through. Keep showing up in his writing, his analysis, his problem-solving. He couldn't help seeing patterns and making connections that eleven-year-olds weren't supposed to see.

And now he was paying the price. Teachers wanted to fast-track him. Kids were targeting him. His invisibility strategy had failed completely.

Marcus texted: brett's a dick dont let him get to you

Tyler: seriously just tell coach if he keeps bothering u

Emma: i think its cool youre smart. dont hide it

Daniel: advanced classes might be less boring tho

Ash didn't respond. Didn't know what to say.

The truth was, he was smart. Had always been smart, even in his first life. But in his first childhood, being smart had been one more thing that made him different, made him not fit in, made him a target.

He'd thought as Noam he could avoid that. Could just be normal, blend in, have a regular middle school experience.

But apparently, his brain wouldn't cooperate. Kept being too analytical, too sophisticated, too obviously operating at a level that stood out.

"My name is Ash," he whispered to his room. "I'm thirty-three years old. I'm eleven years old. I tried to be invisible and failed. I tried to be normal and my adult brain kept showing through. Today I got recommended for gifted classes and shoved by an eighth grader and praised by teachers and mocked by classmates. Today I learned that hiding who you are is harder than I thought."

He paused.

"Today I learned that being smart is still a liability. Just like before. Some things don't change, even in a different body."

Four thousand, six hundred and sixty-three days to go.

But Monday, he'd have to face it all again. The teachers expecting brilliance. The kids resenting it. The impossible balance of being competent without standing out.

Growing up was supposed to be easier the second time.

Apparently not.

One unwanted label at a time.