James

Everyone laughs. I laugh too, like always. My actions always amuse my classmates, whether it’s goofing off, jumping around, of bantering with my teachers. My friends tell me that I should be a comedian. I actually want to be a surgeon, but I’m not going to tell them that. It’s not a career “Jimmy” would choose.
Sometimes, I want to stop this charade – an act I’ve been performing since before I can remember – but it wouldn’t be “Jimmy.” “Jimmy” bounces around and tells offensive jokes. I can’t suddenly sit soberly in my seat, actually paying attention. My classmates will just annoy me, expectations high, asking “Jimmy” to do something stupid. And when I don’t, they won’t understand.
It’s because I don’t do that. I like my teachers, I have a 3.8 GPA, and I hate the limelight. But “Jimmy” doesn’t. How could he? He’s the class clown, the goofball, the funny idiot. Even though I can’t, I don’t want to be “Jimmy” anymore. I’m done with “Jimmy,” ready to bury him. For once in my life, instead of “Jimmy,” I want just be James.