69Disclaimer: I do not own "Animorphs". This is a fan-written story that uses its likeness without permission. I make no profit by posting this story online.
My name is Tom.
Or at least, it was Tom. I mean . . . no, it still is. But introducing myself now is a little more complicated than "just Tom" . . . But I used to be just Tom.
I remember what it was like being just ordinary Tom. I was a totally normal kid. The good things in my life were things that could have happened to anyone. My problems were problems that anyone could have. It was all such a cliché of normal that I can almost laugh about it now. It feels like a lifetime ago, but it really wasn't that far back at all.
I had just turned sixteen. After my birthday I immediately got my driver's license. Back then, operating an ordinary car was enough to excite me. I started borrowing my mom's car to drive myself to school. Not every day. My mom does most of her work from home, but I can't leave her without a car all day every day.
But a few days a week, instead of relying on the bus or my parents, I enjoyed the newfound freedom of being able to take myself where I wanted - and mostly, I used it to go to high school. The irony was not lost on me.
On those days, I drove with my little brother Jake riding shotgun and I dropped him off at his middle school. I didn't need to. His school was close enough that he could walk home - which was good because I had basketball practice after school, so Jake would always go home without me.
Jake was never one of those annoying little brothers who acted like a total brat. He was actually really mature for his age. Or at least, he tried to act mature. It's hard to know the difference. But I think that's why we used to be so close in spite of the three-year age difference. Sometimes I felt like we could be twins, if you ignored how he was significantly smaller than me.
But we haven't been as close since I started high school. We don't hang out or even talk as much. I don't think there's a real reason we drifted apart - I hope there isn't - it was probably just the natural part of getting older.
And I had less free time after starting high school. The high school basketball team didn't take much more time than the middle school team. But the school work was a lot harder, and I spent more time studying.
I studied more. And yet . . .
I stared at the test paper in my hand. A red "D+" was written at the top. I had the irrational feeling that the "plus" was put there to mock me.
To be clear, I was not a "D" student. This was not a typical grade for me . . . But it wasn't my first "D" either.
I don't remember being a bad student in middle school. But then, I do remember the work being easier. My grades were all over the board, but slowly, gradually, they were dipping lower and lower. Math, history, english. Even science, which used to be the only subject I actually liked. I remembered getting a few "A's" in middle school science. These days, a "B-" was considered lucky.
I showed my "D+" to my basketball coach. I was worried about my spot on the team. The school's official rule was that athletes couldn't let their grades drop. But all my coach had to say was:
"Don't worry about it. That policy is just a guideline. No one's gonna care about one or two D's."
"But . . ."
"If it still bothers you, just work that frustration out on the court."
I actually would have felt better if he got mad at me. This way, I felt like I was getting away with doing something wrong.
I didn't want to be one of those dumb jock stereotypes - the kind of guy who could get away with anything because the school needed him to score points. It's arrogant to say, but I was sort of the star player. Even more so on my middle school team, but their standards were lower. Back then I was the only one on the team who took winning seriously.
Now that I was in high school, I was still pretty good at basketball. But was I actually talented at the sport? Or was it just because I was taller than my teammates? I am pretty tall. And not just tall "for my age", like I was in middle school. I was like a full size adult and bigger than half my teachers. I'm not bragging, just saying. It's not really something I can brag about or take credit for.
I didn't talk to my parents much about my grades. They didn't ask very often, and I never volunteered a lot of details. They never got mad about my report cards. Whenever they did hear about a test or essay that was less-than-excellent, their response was usually something like, "All we ask is that you do your best." For some reason, their chill attitude didn't make me feel better.
My dad's a doctor. And my mom writes scripts for television. They're not super geniuses or anything, but they both seem really smart. Sometimes I think the reason they don't ask about my grades is because they've already accepted that I won't grow up to be as smart as them.
I'm not dyslexic (though I did have to look that word up in the dictionary). And I'm pretty sure I don't have ADHD. I didn't know what the problem was. I was probably just . . . not very smart.
My coach said I didn't have to worry about being kicked off the team over my grades. But I didn't want to be accused of not taking my grades seriously. So after class I asked one of my teachers if there was something I could do for extra credit.
"Well, let me think . . . Have you heard of The Sharing?"
I hadn't.
"Another teacher mentioned it to me. I don't know all the details - I'm not a member - but it's some kind of community outreach program. I know it's for people of all ages, not just teens like you. They have college students and adult teachers. They could probably set you up with some kind of tutor. And even if it doesn't improve your grades, they do a lot of volunteer work, so it would look great on a college application."
It wasn't much info about what this club actually was or did, but it sounded good.
"He keeps saying they need more members. I wasn't interested, but you might want to check it out."
That simple conversation about improving my grades was what sent me to my first meeting of The Sharing.