A False Identity

“At this pace, I expect I’ll end up with around $800,” Jarod reported that Thursday.

The week had passed in a blur. I was caught up on Mr. Griffin’s question about what I hoped to gain from helping so much. For the past three days, I hardly participated in class and hadn’t done anything to help anyone after school. As far as I could tell, no one had noticed.

“That’s great,” Christy said.

“Is it?” Mr. Griffin asked.

“For 30 days?” Jarod asked. “Absolutely. A month ago I only did $250.”

“What does your card say?”

“It says $1000. But we all know I was only going half-assed the first couple of weeks, so $800 is pretty good.”

“Pretty good?” Mr. Griffin asked. “Is that the expectation you have for yourself?”

“Didn’t you once say that what we’re going for is growth and we don’t always hit our goals?” Jarod said.

Mr. Griffin shook his head. “If next Tuesday, after your deadline has passed, you tell me that you hit 98% of your goal, I’d tell you to celebrate your growth, and not beat yourself up over the other 2%. But there are still five days to go until your deadline. This is not the time to pat yourself on the back. It’s time to reevaluate your strategy and double your efforts.”

Jarod tensed up, and his mouth opened for some snappy reply, but then his body relaxed, and he merely said, “What more can I do?”

“You tell me.”

“I’m already booked today, tomorrow, Saturday morning, and Monday afternoon.”

“You can’t fit any more time in on the weekend?”

“I could work a few more hours on Saturday if I had enough work.”

“Can you earn $200 in a few hours?”

“No.”

“Then it’s not enough. What about Sunday?”

“I promised my girlfriend I’d spend the day with her.”

“You promised yourself you’d hit $1000 by the end of the month. Perhaps she can help you and then you’d fulfill both promises at once.”

Christy snickered at the thought.

“She wouldn’t go for that,” Jarod said.

“Then you have a problem of misalignment,” Mr. Griffin said.

“Misalignment?”

“Your goals and your girlfriend’s goals are different. She’s rightfully going to put pressure on you to fulfill your obligation to her, and it could come at the expense of fulfilling your obligation to yourself.”

“So what do I do?”

“Get your goals aligned,” Mr. Griffin said.

“How?”

“Tell me about your girlfriend. Does she genuinely care about you?”

Christy broke in, “It’s almost disgusting how much she worships him.”

Before Jarod could respond, Mr. Griffin said, “She wants you to be happy?”

“Yes.”

“She wants you to be successful?”

“Sure.”

“And you’ve talked to her about your goal for yourself this month and how important it is to you to reach it?”

Jarod fidgeted with his notebook. “It never actually came up.”

Mr. Griffin held up his index finger. “Step one of alignment is to tell her about your goals. You might be surprised at how supportive she becomes just knowing what your goals are.”

“She still won’t be happy about me canceling on her.”

Mr. Griffin held up a second finger. “Step two: what can you do to make sure she will be happier with you hitting your goal than with you taking her out on Sunday?”

“She doesn’t like being canceled on.”

“No one does. Is there anything she has her heart set on?”

“She did drop a hint about Cirque Du Soleil coming next month. She’s dying to go, but the tickets cost $100 each.”

“$100 is a small price to pay for alignment.”

“I’m not going to send her alone, so it’s not $100, it’s $200. And even if she lets me work all day Sunday, there’s no guarantee I’ll hit $1000 for the month.”

Mr. Griffin grinned. “Don’t promise her the tickets in exchange for allowing you to cancel on Sunday. Rather, tell her about your goal to hit $1000 this month, and tell her that if you hit that goal, the two of you will celebrate by going to Cirque du Soleil. If she cares enough about the tickets, she might even help you hit the goal. And she’ll do it joyfully, without giving you a hard time for canceling, because you’ll be fully aligned.”

“That might handle one problem,” Jarod said, “but even if I had all of Sunday to work, I don’t have enough jobs to make another $200. I’ve already hit up all of my normal customers.”

“Use your Mastermind Group.”

Jarod turned to the three of us. “You guys have any ideas?”

His eyes mainly fell on me. Ideas kept flickering in my head, and I knew that if I put my mind to it, I could probably help him brainstorm something that would work. Yet, as I’d done all week, I bowed out. “I’ve already given you my best ideas.”

“What if you offer half off for new customers?” Darnell said.

Jarod shook his head. “Then I’d have to mow an extra $400 worth of lawns to get the missing $200. Even if I could line up that many jobs, I wouldn’t have the time to do it.”

“Then flip the offer,” Christy said. “Buy one now, get one next month free.”

“That’s even worse, it’s giving everyone two mows at half price.”

“Yes, but this way you make all the money now and do the free work later. All of it still counts towards your goal.”

“Even if I did want to do that, how would I get that many jobs?”

“How about another flyer?” Christy said. “You could put it in mailboxes around town, stipulating that they need to have their first mow this weekend to qualify.”

“Let me get this straight,” Jarod said. “I’d pay $50 to get a new flyer printed up. I’m already working all afternoon today and tomorrow, so I’d have to pass it around at night. To get an additional $200 worth of jobs, I’d have to promise $200 of free work next month. And to top it off, I don’t get to put a dollar of that extra $200 in my pocket because I have to blow it on tickets to Cirque du Soleil. So I wind up working my butt off only to have $50 less in my pocket at the end of the day. I’m far better off doing nothing and hitting $800 for the month.”

“As your math teacher,” Mr. Griffin said, “let me say that your numbers are spot on.”

“So you agree I shouldn’t do it?”

“Absolutely not. Not all problems involving numbers are math problems.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Think, Jarod. What will you miss if you do it your way?”

“I’ll miss hitting my goal. But in this case, missing the goal will be better than hitting it.”

“I’d agree with you if your goal was to add as much money as possible to your college fund. Pull out your notecard.”

Jarod pulled out his card.

“Read it. What’s the goal?”

“I intend to mow $1000 worth of lawns between November 13 and December 13.”

“Does the card say anything about how much money you intend to add to your college fund?”

“No.” Jarod reached into his backpack and pulled out an eraser.

“What are you doing?”

“Changing the goal to add that bit about my college fund.”

“Don’t go changing it now.”

“But it will be better for me like this.”

Mr. Griffin shook his head. “No way.”

“I told you from the beginning that this is the reason I wanted to get the money to begin with.”

“You may have told me that, but you didn’t put it on your card.”

“So what? We’ve all made tons of changes to our cards.”

“Not all changes are the same. Anything can change when it supports the goal. Steps are the most flexible, they should be getting stronger as you dive into them. Dates change when they must, such as Christy moving her deadline to give Sue time to run a practice.”

“So goals can never change?”

“Even a goal can change when you decide it’s no longer something you want. In this case, the goal is earning more money, which is something you want.”

“The way I’d reword the goal, making it about money saved rather than money earned is a better reflection of what I really want.”

“Then it makes perfect sense to change the wording. On Tuesday.”

“But my 30 days end on Monday.”

“Precisely. You gave yourself a goal for this month. Hit that goal. On Tuesday, when you write a new card, you’ll take all you’ve learned this month and use it to make next month’s goals even better.”

“Why not just change it now?”

“Because every goal hit builds momentum, and every goal missed kills it.”

“So I should finish the goal I wrote, even if it’s not good for me?”

“Hitting your goal will be the best thing possible for you. It might mean working harder and having $50 less in your college fund, but think of all it will bring you. The flyer can potentially bring you a slew of new clients. True, you’ll owe them a free mowing next month, but some of them might come back again and again afterward. You’ll get to take your girlfriend to Cirque du Soleil, which aside from being a fantastic show, will be a well-deserved celebration for hitting your goal, will get the two of you in deeper alignment, and might even raise your status in her eyes.”

“Like we need that.” Christy rolled her eyes.

“But the main reason I don’t want you to change your goal is selfish. If you change your goal, it will hurt my ability to hit mine.”

“What’s your goal?”

“The same it’s been from the start. To make all of you into the successful, capable people you have the potential to be.”

“What does my goal have to do with that?”

“It’s simple. If you work your butt off to hit your $1000 goal by Monday, you’ll know that you’re capable of setting a goal and hitting it. The next time you write a card, will you word it better or worse?”

“Better, I expect.”

“Will you set it higher or lower?”

“Higher of course.”

“Right, because you’ll know you’re someone who sees goals through to the end. This is how you build momentum in life.”

Mr. Griffin bent over and looked Jarod in the eyes. “Your goal is so close. One more push and you can hit it. Give up on it now and how much confidence will you have next time you set a goal that you’ll see it through to the end?”

Jarod bit his lip. “Not much, I guess.”

“And how likely are you to skip goal setting altogether?”

“I probably wouldn’t bother.”

“Exactly. I already know what you can do. In these next five days, you’ll prove it to yourself. Work your butt off if you have to. Don’t think about the $50 less you’ll have in your college fund, think about the strength you’ll build by seeing your goal through to the end. And when you go to Cirque du Soleil, enjoy every minute of it knowing that you’ve earned it.”

Despite abstaining to volunteer my help, when Jarod called that evening, I begrudgingly agreed to help him with his new flyer.

I used the template from the previous one and switched out some of the text and an image. The entire thing only took me 20 minutes, but Jarod still acted like I’d pulled off a miracle.

Jarod’s mom was away for the weekend, so he held a party at his house. Of course, I still wasn’t invited. The funny thing is, if I needed something, I bet he’d be happy to help, just like he was happy to help bring Darnell’s treadmill in his pickup. Yet, to include me in his party, no way. There were social boundaries he wouldn’t cross.

So I sat home alone on yet another Friday night. Well, technically I was babysitting, but who was I kidding? Megan was more than capable of looking after herself, and I knew she’d sit in the den watching TV all night. Darnell had called to ask if I wanted to hang out, but I passed. At least I’d get $20 for watching Megan.

I ordered us a pizza when our folks went out and told her when it was time to go to sleep. Otherwise, I sat in my room and worked on my notecard. I’d lost count of the number of versions I’d made. I still couldn’t figure out all of the steps I’d need to go through, but I knew the goal.

I couldn’t speak to the class about it. No way. But I was sick of spending Friday nights on my own. I made my decision. I’d bring it up to Mr. Griffin on Monday.

Jarod didn’t show up for class Monday morning.

Darnell wore the number 237 on his chest. He had ten days to go but had only achieved a third of his goal. That meant he had to lose a pound a day.

An article had come out in the local paper about the girls’ swim team. Christy went on and on about the enthusiasm on the team. But the article had other impacts as well. Several girls had approached her about trying out for the team, even though it was mid-season, and their roster was set. And a man whose son had also been killed by a drunk driver committed $4000 to compensate the coaches.

I could barely pay attention. I was too focused on my impending conversation with Mr. Griffin.

When the bell finally rang, I stayed in my seat pretending to write something in my notebook. I waited until Christy and Darnell left class, then approached Mr. Griffin’s desk. “Is there a time I can come talk to you? Alone?”

Something in his eyes made me suspect he’d been waiting for the question. “I’ll wait for you here after school.”

I returned right after the final bell rang.

“You can shut the door,” he said. “I imagine you’ll want to keep this private.”

As the door clicked shut, the cross-breeze in the room died. Part of me wanted to pull the door open again and run. Instead, I faced Mr. Griffin. “How much do you know?”

“I don’t know anything.” Mr. Griffin sat back in his chair. As a businessman only teaching part-time, I feared he might be in a hurry to rush out at the end of the day. Yet, he fixed me with a sympathetic glance that told me he’d wait as long as I needed. “All I have are guesses.”

“You’ve been guessing right all along. There is something I’ve wanted.” I pulled the latest version of my dog-eared notecard from my pocket. I unfolded it, sucked in a full breath, and read:

No change registered on Mr. Griffin face, which told me he’d suspected it was something like this. “Did you write down any steps?”

“Many. I crossed them all out. I don’t believe any will work.”

“You’ve been working hard on this?”

I nodded. “I’ve done over twenty cards. It used to say Homecoming, but that came and went. Now even New Years is getting too soon. I’ve been thinking of changing it to Senior Prom.”

“This card is different from all the others.” Mr. Griffin rubbed his eyes. “Notecards are powerful tools for directing your will. But this card is about directing the will of another. It’s possible, but you must tread carefully.”

Was he going to help me or not?

“What do you think it would take for her to go out with you?”

I took another deep breath. At least we were moving forward. “I guess she’d have to see beneath my shyness. See the real me.”

“The real you? I see. Tell me about this Monica.”

“She’s beautiful. I’ve had a crush on her for years.”

“Is she popular?”

“Very.”

“What are three things the two of you have in common?”

I bit my thumbnail.

“Can you think of even one?”

I shook my head.

“Have you ever spoken to her?”

“A bit. We were in chemistry together last year. A couple of times we were assigned to be lab partners.”

“Has she ever shown the least bit of interest in you?”

My eyes burned. “No.”

“Do you find it ironic that you want her to see beneath your exterior, but all you’ve seen is hers?”

I shrugged.

Mr. Griffin got to his feet. “What if this Saturday night she and some friends got together, and they invited you to join. Would you go?”

“Of course.”

“They drive out to the lookout, and someone pulls out a bottle of whiskey. Monica pours two glasses, keeping one for herself, and extending one to you. Do you take it?”

“Probably.”

“A couple of hours later, there are three empty bottles. Someone mentions getting home before curfew, so you all pile into the car. Do you go?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Griffin.”

“That’s a scary thought, Kelvin.”

It was scary.

“Kelvin, look at me. I want to make sure you hear what I’m about to say.”

I slowly lifted my head and met his gaze. “You don’t have a vision for yourself. You have a vision for other people.”

A ball grew in my throat. Mr. Griffin was right, but I couldn’t say so.

“I was a geeky kid in school myself.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t have many friends. I could have—there were a few other geeky kids, and we probably would have had fun together.”

“Why didn’t you?” Somehow it was easier to look him in the eye now that we were speaking about him, not me.

“I wanted to fit in with the cool kids, and I knew I’d kill any chance of that if I hung out with the geeks. So I shunned them. I spent several years mostly alone, rejecting the kids who could have been my friends simply because everyone else also rejected them. Of course, they also wanted to be popular, so they didn’t want to be seen with me any more than I wanted to be seen with them.”

My mind went to Darnell. I was so upset that Jarod didn’t invite me to join him and his friends on Friday night that I gave little thought to the fact that I’d blown off the one guy who had invited me. “So all of you were alone?”

“No. I was one of the lucky ones. Two of the other geeky kids didn’t fare so well.”

“What happened to them?”

“One of them got his wish. He decided he’d do whatever it took to become popular. He started off doing drugs. Before long he was selling them.”

“And the other one?”

“Took his own life.”

My stomach clenched.

“The real shame of it was that both of them could have had entirely different futures waiting just around the corner.”

“What do you mean?”

“The guy who turned to drugs was brilliant. He easily could have gone to MIT or Cal Tech with others like him. This was right around the time when being a geek was starting to become cool, when geeks were changing the world. MIT was where I first found a circle of close friends, and it might have been the same for him.”

“Might?”

“Yes, he might have found friends there. There’s no question people would have liked him. The bigger question was, would he have allowed himself to be liked?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“There’s a reason we call middle and high school the formative years. If we’re not careful, we can cement destructive beliefs about ourselves. The stories we tell ourselves can be so powerful that even when our circumstances change, we may fail to adapt.”

“So if he believed he was unlikeable…”

“Then he might not have let others in, even when around others who wanted to be his friend.”

“What happened to him?”

“His grades plummeted. He didn’t care about learning anymore. Last I heard, he was recently out of prison and working as a janitor somewhere.”

“And the guy who killed himself?”

“He was an artist. Horribly picked on as a kid. I think he would have had an even easier time finding a community of friends in places like Greenwich Village or San Francisco.”

“What does this all mean for me?”

“There are no shortcuts, Kelvin. Everything you want is attainable, but it comes from building yourself, not swaying others. Right now, I fear you just want to become the person you think others want you to be.”

Mr. Griffin had first called me out for helping others in class. Was he saying I should stop that? “But I liked it when I was helping the others with their cards.”

“Then by all means, do it. Just make sure you’re doing it out of your love for helping, not out of some ulterior motive.”

“What do you think my motive is?”

“I think you want them to like you. I think you’re disappointed that they haven’t responded with the friendship you want. Let me guess: they appreciate your help, but don’t invite you to join them and their friends.”

“Except for Darnell. He’d like to be better friends. Of course, he’s no more popular than I am.”

“At this rate, he will be. Darnell’s decided what he wants, and he’s going for it with everything he’s got. He may be getting teased now, but he’s going to win the respect of a ton of people. I can’t say the same for you. You’re too busy looking over your shoulder to see how others react to everything you do.”

“So what do I do now?”

“It’s time you get the love of the one person who truly matters.”

“Who’s that?”

Mr. Griffin lifted his brow.

“Oh, right.” I squirmed. “But how do I do that?”

“First step, tear up that notecard. We both know you’re not going to win Miss Monica’s heart, and even if you did, you wouldn’t find the satisfaction you expect.”

I looked down at the card only to see that I’d rolled it tight like a cigarette. I crumpled it and threw it in the trash. It was strange, after all of the energy I’d put into this goal, how much relief I felt with the notecard gone.

Mr. Griffin handed me a blank card. “You’re going to write a new kind of notecard.”

“What goes on it?”

“All of the attributes you want to see in yourself.”

“With a 30-day deadline, like the others?”

“No. This card is not future-oriented. It’s not about who you intend to become in a month. This is an Identity Card. It’s about who you are now.”

I swallowed hard. “But I don’t like who I am now.”

“That’s because you’ve put other people in the driver’s seat.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“If you passed a drunk bum on the street and he called you dumb, how would you feel?”

“I wouldn’t feel much of anything. I’d ignore him.”

“You’re going to MIT, correct?”

“Yeah, I got in early.”

“Now, what if the dean of MIT called you dumb?”

My chest constricted. “That would suck.”

“Why wouldn’t you blow him off like you did the bum?”

“Cause the bum is…a bum. The dean of MIT deals with the smartest people in the world.”

“But who decides that one is worth listening to and the other isn’t?”

“Me, I guess.”

“So who is making you feel bad?”

“The dean is.”

“Not so fast now, you could have ignored the dean as you ignored the bum. Instead, you took the dean’s words and beat yourself with them.”

Something clicked. “When people teased Darnell in the past, it made him feel horrible. Now he’s using their words to motivate him to exercise and eat better.”

“You’ve got it!” Mr. Griffin pointed his pen at me. “Their words can’t hurt Darnell. Only he has the power to do that.”

“So only I have the power to like myself?”

“Exactly. Let’s say Darnell asks you to hang out. How do you feel?”

“Okay, I guess. Nothing special.”

“And who’s the most popular kid in school?”

“Derek Andrews.”

“If he invited you over, how would you feel?”

“Really good.”

“Why?”

“Cause it would mean he’s accepting me, that he thinks I’m cool.”

Mr. Griffin leaned further back. “And what would that mean about you?”

“That I’m all right.”

“And who decides that?”

“Right…I do.” I rubbed my forehead. “So it’s not the school’s opinion that counts, it’s mine?”

“Precisely. The Identity Card will help you shape your opinions of yourself and heed those opinions. It’s based on what you think is important and what you value.” Mr. Griffin pulled out a notecard. “Give me one trait you want to build in yourself.”

“Popularity,” I said, cringing.

“That’s not a trait in you, it’s in other people. What do you want to develop in yourself?”

“I dunno. I just don’t want to be a loser anymore.”

“Well, what traits do you admire in other people? Take Derek. What do you admire about him?”

“That he’s popular. And all the girls think he’s hot.”

“Those are not traits in him, they’re just the opinions of others. What quality of Derek’s do you appreciate?”

“Oh.” I pinched my lips. “Nothing really. He’s a jerk.”

“Can you think of someone who has qualities you do admire?”

“The director of my hacker camp, Jimmy.”

Mr. Griffin smiled for the first time that afternoon. “What about him?”

“He’s generous with his time. Last month, he spent an hour on the phone with me, helping me on a huge assignment for AP Computer Science. And he seemed happy to do it.”

“Beautiful. That will be the first trait on your card. Write down, “I am generous.’”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” Mr. Griffin poked his finger into my chest. “If you’re admiring the quality in another, it’s because that quality lives in you. And haven’t you been generous with your Mastermind Group?”

“A bit. But what about all of those ulterior motives you mentioned when I helped the others?”

“Don’t set the bar so high that you’ll never be able to climb over it. You don’t have to have 100% pure motives for your actions to be generous. Go ahead, write down, ‘I am generous.’ What else do you admire about Jimmy?”

“He’s caring. He checks up on me during the year, even though it’s totally not his job.”

“Great. Write down, ‘I am caring.’” Mr. Griffin tapped on the card. “And don’t be so hesitant. No one who doesn’t care about others would ever come up with that goal. Write it down. What else?”

“He’s funny.”

“Put it down. Put them all down. Anything you admire, you already have within you. And don’t stop with Jimmy. Think of anyone you respect, even if only a little. Think of what you like about them—these are qualities you’re going to learn to see in yourself.”

“What about the steps?”

“We’ll get to the steps later. Your homework for tonight is just to write the traits. Got it?”

“I think so.”

Mr. Griffin grabbed his laptop and stepped to the door. “Excellent. Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jarod was back in school on Tuesday with a bounce in his step.

“Where were you yesterday, Jarod?” Mr. Griffin asked.

“Working from sunrise till sunset.”

“From the look on your face, I can tell you hit your goal.”

“$1025. Sorry I had to miss school to finish.”

“Not at all. To paraphrase Mark Twain, ‘you should never let schooling interfere with your education.’”

“Not a chance of that,” Jarod said.

“Yes, you’ve made it quite clear in the past that you were usually happiest when doing the least amount that school requires. That brings you to a crossroad.” Mr. Griffin unlocked the drawer of his desk and pulled out a paper. “Here’s your signed contract. You’ve completed your 30-day commitment.”

Jarod took the contract and tore it down the middle. “I’m sticking with the process. I don’t need this to motivate me anymore.”

“So glad to hear it. Have you thought about what you want on your next card?”

“I’m bumping up my goal to $1500.”

“Excellent. Glad to hear you’re making progress. I do want to hear more about you hitting your goal this weekend, but there’s another piece of business we need to get to today. We have our last victim.”

“Kelvin, you finally jumping in?” Christy said.

“I am.”

“About time. So what’s your big goal?”

I hesitated, then looked at Mr. Griffin. “Go on,” he said.

I pulled out my card and read:

I stopped reading and put down my card. A confused silence filled the room.

“Don’t forget humble,” Jarod said.

“Shut up, Jarod,” Christy said. “Kelvin, what’s your goal?”

I searched Mr. Griffin’s eyes for help, but he just gestured for me to answer.

Sitting there with everyone watching me, I wasn’t sure I understood the goal either. I recalled what Mr. Griffin had told me the day before, but I still felt foolish. “To get to like myself.” I couldn’t hold back and added, “And get others to like me.”

Mr. Griffin sighed at my comment. That might not have been his goal, but it was still one of mine. Then, before he could respond, Jarod said, “All of us already like you.”

“Really?” Hot anger rose to my cheeks. “Then why didn’t you invite me to your party last Friday?”

Jarod laughed. “That’s why you’re all bent out of shape? Kelvin, the last time I sent out invitations for a party was for my tenth birthday, and you were there if you’ll recall. I just told a couple of guys that my mom was going away for the weekend, and before I knew it, there were forty people at my house on Friday night. Not one of them was invited. They all just heard something was going on and came over.”

“Oh right, so I was welcome to just come on by?”

“You were as welcome as anyone else.”

“And I suppose if I’d come, I’d have fit right in?”

“No, you probably would have squeezed yourself into a corner, milking the same beer all night, waiting for someone to come talk to you.”

His words seeped in through my anger. People did talk about parties at school all the time, and plenty went without being invited. I never thought to go—I knew I’d be as ostracized there as I was at school. But was I the one ostracizing myself?

“Kelvin has started us down the road to the next level of notecards,” Mr. Griffin said. “He’s working on an Identity Card, which focuses on who you are as a person.”

“His card doesn’t have a goal,” Christy said.

“Of course it does. The goal is to strengthen his self-perception and to further develop the qualities he admires.”

“How come there was no timeline?” Darnell asked.

“How many of you consider Kelvin generous now?”

All of my classmates raised their hands, and my neck grew hot.

“Timelines work great when there’s a clear measurable, which does not exist here. Kelvin is taking a trait he already has and is working to expand it within himself. No matter how hard he works, he’ll never exhaust the ability to grow his generosity.”

“Then why not have the language of ‘I intend to…’ that other goals have?” Christy asked.

“That’s the funny thing with traits. Just acknowledging them already makes them grow.”

“I think we’re all still pretty confused,” Jarod said.

“Let me try again. Kelvin, did you read your card this morning?”

“Yes.”

“What did you think about when you read, ‘I am generous?’”

“Well, I thought of all the things I’ve been doing to help the rest of the class.”

“How did you feel about those efforts in that moment?”

“I felt good about them, I guess.”

“Did it make you more or less interested in giving your classmates additional help?”

“More.”

“So you see, just by reading, ‘I am generous,’ Kelvin’s generosity grew stronger.”

“That’s all these cards are, just an ‘I am’ statement?” Christy asked.

“No, we have to add steps.”

“What should I put down?” I asked.

Mr. Griffin described the steps, and Jarod bust out laughing. At first, Christy sent him a scathing look, but before long, she and Darnell were laughing as well.

The only ones not laughing were Mr. Griffin, who could have been teaching trigonometry for all the emotion he was showing, and me, sitting there in stunned silence.

That night I took my notecard and phone into the bathroom. I locked the bathroom door, opened a radio app, and blasted the music from my phone so no one would overhear me.

And, honestly, so I wouldn’t have to hear myself.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, took a quick look, and dropped my eyes to the card. This wouldn’t do. I gritted my teeth, swallowed hard, and looked up again. I held my gaze for a full second before turning away.

Why was this so hard? I was just looking at myself in the mirror. I did this every day for crying out loud!

But not like this. Not really looking. Not facing myself.

I forced myself to face the mirror. After all, that stupid contract Mr. Griffin made me sign said that my math grade would plummet if I didn’t do it. I was supposed to look myself in the eye, but I kept honing in on the mountain range of zits running across my forehead, the greasy shine covering my nose, the matted flop of hair on my head. So disgusting.

My chest tightened, my mouth felt pasty. Tears welled up in my eyes—what was I, a crybaby? I spat at my reflection, bit my lip, turned the music off, and reached for the door. This is so dumb. Who am I kidding?

The door slammed behind me.

“Kelvin, what’s your problem?” Megan yelled out from her room.

“Shut up!” I slammed my bedroom door and crawled into my bed.