“does not play well with others”

It was the messy scrawl

that started it all,

whisper thin letters all harsh and red

against a backdrop

of success.

"They're just jealous,"

she swore,

"nothing to get bent out of shape over,"

but then every year,

the same, and more.

High temper, inappropriate response,

inability to relate,

and all framed in,

A+, 100, full marks.

She was proud,

but she was the only one.

Around him,

a cloud of unease, restlessness,

doubt.

And then he brought home his first friend.

She held this as undeniable proof,

waved his merits

like an unraveled flag.

But she only managed to deceive

herself.

And when that friend ran home in tears,

and stayed away,

and disappeared,

she still didn't relent.

"My boy is fine;

he's good;

he's brilliant."