Chapter 1: Something's Wrong, But What?

George Durand was twenty-two years old, tall, well-built, and by anyone’s measure, handsome. He had gray eyes, black hair, and a darkish complexion, courtesy of his Mexican mother. His eyes and face were from his father, your typical northern European ancestry.

Barely passing high school, George was wretched in all academic subjects. The only bright spot was math, but that ability flared out after algebra got crazy hard. He was competent at first, because solving for x was like a treasure hunt. And he had mastered addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division.

But reading was extra-difficult, and his academic troubles all stemmed from that.

He was healthy and strong, and the football coach thought at first George could be a star on the field. But he couldn’t “get” the playbook or memorize the contents. So George’s football career was stillborn. Other sports passed him by as well.

Socially, at first, girls were all over him. He actually actually escorted one pretty girl to the sophomore dance, but she lost interest when she noticed him counting his steps while dancing, with a mask of concentration on his sweating face. They left early and she never saw him socially again.

Generally, he only had first dates. Although he was polite, he couldn’t carry a conversation well, and he couldn’t follow the social cues girls would show him. He was just ... oblivious, no matter how girls tried to entice him or draw him out. So he had no love life. He did have some more first dates, but word started getting around. By senior year he was a social zero, shunned by all.

He had worked so hard for his diploma, but refused to attend commencement, expecting an embarrassing silence, or worse, as he crossed the stage.

But during high school he somehow managed to pass his driver’s license tests. Soon afterwards, his parents presented him with a used pickup truck. George was grateful, but confused. “What is this for?” he asked. His mother said, “It’s so you can go out on dates.” He didn’t wish to argue with her, so he simply thanked them and went off to bed.

The truck didn’t get much social use, but George was able to pick up some yard work to keep busy.