Lessons could protect me from the jeering mockery that the other kids sent my way. With teachers present, I felt safe.

Lessons were the one thing I enjoyed about school life. I guess that most of the other kids would think I'm crazy for saying that, and maybe it's because of my love for academia that they pick on me so much.

My mum says it's just because they're jealous that I'm better at some subjects than them, but I know it's just her way of trying to make me feel better. Granted, I do get the occasional 'teacher's pet' or 'boffin' remark, but that's not the key focus of their hatred towards me. It's my size. Kids pick on things that they find different, and I'm as different as they come. I have no real friends, and that makes me vulnerable and an outcast. So they pick me as an easy target.

Don't let it get to you. I hear her advice every time I'm bothered my anybody. But it's hard. Because for three years now, it's been the same, day in, day out. You can always talk to somebody. A teacher, or me or your father. But what good would that do? I have already told my mum several times, when the bullying really got to me, but she only gave me advice. Keep your head down. Don't give them a reason to pick on you. But of course that doesn't work.

Most of the teachers don't even notice what happens outside the classroom. When they're in a lesson, nobody will bother me, because nobody wants to get caught. And if they do torment me during a class, the teacher just pretends they didn't notice.

Mr Baker, the PE teacher, is the biggest culprit of this. When I'm running or swimming or doing press-ups, he'll leer at me, look down on me, and ridicule me if I find something difficult. And this of course only encourages and spurs the real bullies on.

During breaktime, I looked forward to lessons, and during lessons, I looked forward to home.

The End

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