Chapter 5:the weight of perfection

As Derek walked through the crowded hallways, he felt every eye pass over him—not in admiration, but in expectation. Every teacher he encountered seemed to carry a silent checklist: perfect grades, impeccable behavior, constant politeness, and a bright attitude at all times. No one seemed to notice he was only human.

In first-period math, Mr. Hensley glanced at him over the rim of his glasses. “Derek, I expect your assignment to be flawless. Remember, your peers look up to you.” Derek nodded, his fingers tightening around his pencil. He had already completed every problem, double-checked, and even reworked the toughest questions for practice, but the pressure never eased.

By the time English class rolled around, Ms. Langford was standing at the front of the room, smiling warmly but with the weight of expectation in her eyes. “Derek, make sure your essay is thorough and thoughtful. Your analysis sets the standard for the class.” Derek’s stomach twisted. He loved writing, but every word felt like it could either elevate him or disappoint.

During lunch, classmates whispered, some admiring, some resentful. Derek tried to be kind to everyone, to sit with whoever needed company, to answer questions, to smile politely. Each interaction required careful calibration—too much friendliness might be seen as fake, too little as rudeness.

In science, Mr. Patel called on him again, expecting insight beyond the lesson plan. Derek explained the experiment’s principles clearly, answering questions he hadn’t even been asked yet. Murmurs of approval circulated, but he barely noticed. The exhaustion of constant performance was already building.

Even in gym class, he was expected to excel—not just participate, but lead by example, cheer on teammates, and maintain perfect composure. When he stumbled slightly during a drill, Coach Ramirez’s encouraging smile did nothing to ease the weight of everyone’s silent judgment.

By the end of the day, Derek felt like a machine, running on programmed responses and careful attention to every expectation. His notebooks were filled, his homework done, his interactions carefully measured, yet the gnawing feeling of insufficiency never left. No teacher saw the tension behind his eyes, the struggle to meet impossible standards while maintaining kindness toward everyone.

Walking home, he replayed every conversation, every glance, every small mistake. The world seemed to demand that he be flawless, and while he had learned to manage his ADHD and frustrations, the sheer weight of perfection left him hollow. He was doing everything right—yet for whom? Not for himself, certainly.

Derek’s mother noticed his fatigue at dinner. “Long day?” she asked gently. He nodded, keeping his responses short. She saw the exhaustion, the pressure weighing him down, but there was little she could do. The world had already decided Derek’s role: perfect, uncomplaining, always kind, always exemplary.

Later that night, as he lay in bed, Derek thought about the mask he wore each day. Beneath it, he was tired, human, and craving a chance to make mistakes without judgment. But he knew the routine would continue tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that—each filled with expectations so high they could crush anyone who wasn’t ready. And yet, he forced himself to breathe, to prepare, to endure, because the world had no space for imperfection.