In my eyes, he’s not allowed to fail. My pencil is broken in half because of him, chewed up on my desk. He’s scribbling down something onto his paper. Probably a great opening paragraph with a plan already formed on his A+ ending. I can’t write essays. Or do math. The moment teachers began adding letters in equations, I checked out. I don’t get science. It amazes me when someone like him does. Every class, his hand is moving, expressing his pure genius onto the paper, making my parents proud. So, he’s not allowed to fail.

Numbers, words, laws, all of it confuses me. They’re just man-made concepts we’re forced to memorize and Brandon can memorize it all best. Just because when it comes to those things I have short attention span and can’t retain it, I’m stupid? I can’t keep up with that stuff, but I’ve heard him sing. His voice cracks and people laugh, but forgive him because he got a 98 on a test that most of the class failed. He’ll never get a B. He can’t, I wouldn’t allow it.

My parents say I should stop playing guitar in the garage because the Nguyen family might hear me. They bought me a laptop so that I could study quietly in my room.
“Catch up to Brandon Reyes,” my mother says.
My father replies to her in Korean I can only half understand. I watch video of Jimi Hendrix and wonder if Brandon can speak to his grandparents fluently. I’ve never heard him have an accent, but I bet he can.

He can write music better than me. It’s more organized. It was windy when I read the paper he dropped and my eyes watered. A drip fell on the page as he asked for it back. I think the water messed up a bit of the ink. I smiled and handed the paper to him.
“It’s good,” I say.
“Thank you. You write?” he asks.
“I try,” I laugh. “I can sing a bit.”
“Oh.”
I don’t think he really cared.

He got an 89 on his last math quiz. It wasn’t worth many points, but still his mom came to the school and complained to the teacher. Rumor has it that Brandon was crying in the boy’s bathroom that day. I’m not his friend. So I don’t know. His parents would never see me. I’m not someone other parents notice. There’s no catching up with Jacob Kim. If I got an 89 on my math quiz, then maybe someone would think that. Maybe it’d be okay for the Nguyen’s to hear me play guitar. If I did something like get an 89 on my math quiz.

The other day this girl was talking to Brandon, laughing at his jokes. She was in my group for history and I made her laugh more. Now she’s texting me saying she likes me. I like her too because even though I keep my drawer filled with broken pencils, she likes me. She likes me even though I got a 72 on the math quiz and even though I haven’t started my goal of learning to play a Pink Floyd song. I like her because she likes me even though I’m not Brandon.

When he comes nearby, I put my arm around her. One time we talked on the phone about what it’ll be like after high school.
“It’ll just be college next,” I tell her.
But she got a little mad and said, “It can get boring talking to you when you’re like that.”
“What college do you think everyone’s going to go to?”
“I want to go out of state.”
“Don’t you think Brandon Reyes will go to like Yale or some big shot university like that?” I said it with a laugh, but my voice cracked a bit.
“Who cares about him?” she snapped. “Why do you talk about him all the time?”

I find myself falling in love with her. We always end talking about her friends or music. She thinks I should join a band, so I told her that maybe Brandon could write our songs. She got annoyed and ignored the comment.
“You could even be solo with your voice.”
“Thanks,” I said and things got quiet. We weren’t talking so she sighed and left.

She’s leaving me, saying that I need to get my head straight. I’m pretty sure this is his fault. They had a project together the other day and got an A, of course. My parents never knew about her because I was afraid of what they would say since she’s white. I bet Brandon will date another Asian girl. And marry her. And that their children will excel even further than their father.

I would kill him if he ever failed. My parents love him too much for that. I hope if my girlfriend left me for any reason, it’s because she likes Brandon. I really do. I hope he gets in the best college and one day goes on to make more money than I can dream. If he doesn’t, how cruel would that be? I can only understand schoolwork as well as I can understand the disappointed Korean my grandparents scoff at me. If I wanted, I could get a B. I could go to an alright school. If I studied, I could be number 2. But I will never be number 1. Never. I’ve entrusted Brandon Reyes to make that impossible for me.

He must always be more perfect than I can ever wish to be, so I can sit here chewing my pencil in half until the test is over.