Three years crawled by slowly like a snail on hot asphalt. Thomas was now in the third grade.
No miracles happened. The sky above Thomas's head remained gray. At school, he had successfully perfected his ability to be transparent. He wasn't stupid, but he didn't stand out either. Out of 35 students in his class, Thomas consistently ranked 20th. A safe middle ground for most children, but a disastrous verdict for Thomas once he arrived home.
However, there was one major achievement Thomas had guarded with his life for these past three years: Secrecy.
In that class, not a single soul knew that Thomas was Eben's brother, so Thomas never became the center of attention. No one knew that at home, he had a brother with an intellectual disability who scavenged for scraps. Thomas buried that fact deep. To him, Eben was a disgrace that had to be left at the front gate. At school, he was just an ordinary Thomas. Present, yet almost non-existent.
Meanwhile, at home, the atmosphere had turned into a prison with invisible bars.
Father's attitude actually hadn't changed much, only grown more stubborn. If before he was enthusiastic because he believed his son was smart, now he was demanding because he refused to accept any excuses.
Father didn't care about the concept of "talent" or "natural brilliance." To him, those were just excuses made up by losers. Father refused to admit that Budi, the neighborhood chief's son, might simply be naturally smarter. No. In Father's eyes, all children were born equal. If Budi could make the top three, then Thomas should be able to as well. If Thomas failed, it wasn't because his brain was incapable, but purely because Thomas was lazy and didn't try hard enough. Achievement was an obligation, and inability was not an accepted excuse in this house.
That night, after the report cards were distributed, the living room felt heavy.
Father placed the red-covered report book on the table. He didn't throw it roughly, but placed it with a slow movement that implied deep disappointment.
The number 20 was printed there. Rank 20.
"Twenty," Dad mumbled while letting out a long sigh, then leaning back in his chair. "You didn't even make the top half of the class."
Father stared at Thomas, then shifted his gaze to Eben who sat quietly beside him.
"I just talked to the neighborhood chief," Dad said flatly as he lit a cigarette. "Budi made the top three again. Even though his father said he eats rice just like us, and goes to the same school."
Father looked into Thomas's eyes sharply, as if searching for an answer there.
"Why can he do it, while you two cannot?"
Thomas remained silent. That question didn't require an answer; it was an accusation.
"Don't look for excuses about brains or talent. Those are just excuses for lazy people," Dad continued coldly. "If Budi can get into the top ten, it means children your age can do it. If you don't reach that point, it means you are the ones at fault. You aren't trying hard enough."
"But listen," Dad leaned his body forward.
"Dad doesn't accept defeat as an excuse. Precisely because you are behind Budi, you have no right to relax. Do you understand Dad's logic?"
Father tapped the report card cover slowly with his index finger. Tap. Tap.
"Budi is allowed to play because he has proven he can do it. But you two? With barely passing ranks, you want to play too? What do you want to become?"
"Thomas, Eben. Starting tonight, your study hours are increased. Not because Dad is mean. But because you have to catch up to Budi. That is your fate. So just accept it."
"Don't come out of your room before Dad says you're done. Read your books over and over until it gets into your brain. Dad doesn't care if you're sleepy or dizzy. Dad doesn't want to be embarrassed by having useless children just because they are lazy to try."
"Yes, Dad," squeaked Thomas. His voice was hoarse. He felt he was no longer a human, but a broken machine forced to spin beyond its capacity.
In the midst of that suffocating tension, Mom appeared from the kitchen carrying a bowl of vegetable soup. Her face was flat, as if no storm was brewing in the living room.
"Dad, Eben, Thomas, eat first," said Mom casually as she set down the bowl. "Earlier at Mrs. Tejo's stall, they said the price of rice is going up again, Dad. Mom is dizzy managing it. Luckily, I got quite a bit of loose change back earlier."
Father stared at his wife with a sharp gaze. He spilled the frustration about his children onto the only other available target.
"You!" Dad snapped suddenly, making Mom stop wiping the table. "Can you stop talking about loose change while your children are being educated?!"
Mom fell silent, yet her face remained straight. "Well, if it's not managed, what will we eat tomorrow, Dad?"
"This is all because you are too soft!" Father pointed at Mom's face. "Look at the result of your upbringing! The kids became spoiled, dull-brained, with no fight in them! You as a mother are never firm. If Thomas is lazy, hit him! If Eben daydreams, snap at him! Don't just stay silent like a kitchen statue!"
Mom only sighed deeply, not arguing, but also not absorbing her husband's anger. "Alright, Mom will tell them later. Now eat first, or the vegetables will get cold."
Mom returned to the kitchen, completely blind to the mental destruction happening right under her nose. For Mom, her duty was done when stomachs were full. She never asked how her children felt. She never hugged them when Father compared them to others.
That night, Thomas was dragged back to his reality. He sat at his study desk, staring at the letters in the textbook that seemed to dance mockingly at him. He read, but nothing entered his brain. He studied not to be smart. He studied out of fear.
Dad is right, thought Thomas bitterly. I am not smart. And because I am not smart, I must be whipped harder to keep walking.
I am not a superior seed, he mused. I am just a donkey that must work to death so Dad can be proud.
***
Several weeks passed with a torturous routine. At home, he was an unacknowledged dwarf; at school, he was a nameless ghost. Until one morning, fate gave him an unexpected stage.
The morning sun shone on the school field. Birds sang in the angsana tree, contrasting with the hustle and bustle of the third-grade students lining up for Physical Education class.
"Now raise both hands in the air and stand on your tiptoes!" shouted the PE teacher with a whistle hanging around his neck.
"Yes, Sir!!!"
Thomas stood in the middle row, performing the movements mechanically. After warming up, they were asked to run around the field three times. Thomas ran with ragged breath, his mind drifting to Dad's yelling last night about his math grades that never seemed satisfactory.
Right on the second lap, while turning at the corner of the field, Thomas's foot got tangled. Unintentionally, his foot tripped the leg of the kid in front of him.
It was Dimas. His classmate who was chubby, slow, and often a target of teasing because of his clumsy nature.
THUD!!
Dimas fell face-first. His face hit the dusty ground of the field. The sound of the fall was so loud it made the whole class stop running.
Silence for one second.
Thomas's face paled. His heart seemed to stop. I'm dead, he thought in panic. I'm definitely going to be scolded. I was careless again, just like Dad said.
However, when Dimas lifted his face, which was now smeared with brown dust and snot running due to shock, the sound of laughter exploded.
"HAHAHAHAHA!"
Not just one person, but almost all the boys laughed.
"Whoa, look at his face! Like a sugar donut!"
A friend behind Thomas slapped his back hard. Not an angry hit, but a friendly one. "Crazy you, Thom! That tackle was awesome! Hahahaha!"
"Wow, the quiet Thomas is actually good at joking too, huh! Hahahaha!"
"Do it again, Thom! Knock him down again!"
Thomas was transfixed. His body, previously ready to shrink from fear of scolding, was suddenly flooded with a strange, intoxicating sensation.
Thomas's chest buzzed with warmth. They are laughing... with me? thought Thomas in amazement. They are patting my back. They see me.
For three years, the gaze of others upon him only contained two things: cold indifference (like Mom) or sharp disappointment (like Dad). But today, in this second, their gaze contained admiration. There was a glint of recognition in his friends' eyes. Thomas felt like someone who had just found a spring after years of being lost in a desert. He drank that validation greedily.
Dimas grimaced in pain, his eyes glassy looking at Thomas, begging for help or at least an apology.
Thomas looked at Dimas. Then he looked at his friends who were still laughing, waiting for his reaction.
Thomas's brain spun fast. If he apologized and helped Dimas, he would return to being the boring Thomas. Thomas rank 20. Transparent Thomas. Failed Thomas.
But if he joined in laughing... then he was one of them.
Thomas's lips slowly curled into a smile. Stiff at first, then widening. The smile turned into a laugh. A forced laugh, but it sounded loud.
"Hahaha! Yeah, the field is slippery, huh? That's why use your eyes when you run!" shouted Thomas loudly. That sentence wasn't his; it was his Dad's sentence that he recycled.
His friends' laughter broke out even more. The validation hit Thomas repeatedly. I exist. I am seen. I have power.
At home, he was an object of suffering. So here, he would become a subject holding control. This feeling of being paid attention to felt far more delicious than the feeling of being right. Thomas realized, to look shining, he needed someone else's darkness as his background. And Dimas was the perfect background.
Since that day, the quiet Thomas died. A new Thomas was born. The classroom became his theater stage, and Dimas was his main prop. Dimas never fought back, exactly like Thomas who could never fight back against his Dad at home.
The escalation happened so fast. Thomas became addicted to that pseudo-respect.
A week later, during break, Dimas's pen jammed. With a fake innocent face—the 'innocent' face he often used in front of his Mom—Thomas approached Dimas's desk. All the boys' eyes in the class immediately focused on him, awaiting the show.
"I know how to fix your pen, Dim," said Thomas loudly, ensuring his audience heard.
"Ho-how?" asked Dimas hesitantly.
"Take out the ink tube. Then suck from the tip with all your might. It's just a bit clogged."
The classmates started holding back laughter, knowing what would happen.
With innocence and desperation, Dimas obeyed. He brought the ink tube to his mouth.
Slurp.
In seconds, the pitch-black ink squirted, filling Dimas's mouth, teeth, and tongue.
"Pueehhh! Bitter! Bitteerrr!" Dimas screamed in panic, spitting repeatedly. His face was terrifying yet ridiculous, with teeth jet black.
"BWAHAHAHAHA!"
The class exploded. Thunderous applause was heard. Thomas stood there, smiling satisfied like a conductor who had just finished a grand symphony. He felt great. He felt like a "boss," as Eben had once innocently said.
Thomas's wickedness became worse. One day, he hid Dimas's left shoe on top of the class cupboard, making the poor kid walk home barefoot on one side while crying. Another time, during break, Thomas secretly stuck a paper on Dimas's back.
The paper read: I AM A CRAZY PERSON.
Dimas walked around the school unaware, while everyone passing him laughed covering their mouths. Thomas watched from afar, laughing the loudest.
However, behind his laughter, there was a sick relief. The writing on the paper was his biggest fear. Thomas stuck that label on Dimas, as if by doing so, the label "crazy person's brother" attached to him could shift.
As long as they laugh at Dimas, they won't laugh at Eben, thought Thomas. As long as Dimas is the clown, I am safe.
***
That afternoon, Thomas went home with light steps.
In the living room, Dad was sitting reading the newspaper. Thomas passed him with his head bowed as usual, returning to being the obedient and small child.
"Finished studying?" asked Dad without turning.
"Yes, Dad," answered Thomas softly.
Thomas went into his room. He looked at the wardrobe mirror. There, his reflection looked the same as yesterday. But Thomas knew something had changed. He touched his chest. The tightness from being ignored by Dad and Mom was still there, but now he had the antidote.
Thomas smiled thinly at the mirror. A smile that didn't belong to a third-grade elementary student.
He had found a way to survive in this cruel world. If he couldn't be "Budi the Smart Kid" whom Dad was proud of, then he would be something else. Something stronger.
Being evil turned out to be much easier than being smart. And most importantly: His Dad never knew, and his friends never knew who he really was. Thomas realized that he started enjoying being a monster, because monsters are never trampled on. It is the monster who tramples.