This is about Alex's tenth grade year. He won't admit he's depressed, and needs some professional help. There is a little substance abuse in this. MI6 are still using him, and feel no guilt about it. I started writing this on an impulse. It's in Alex's point of view.

Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider.

LLLLL

"So you're Alex Rider, eh?"

I wince. I really hate my name.

"Yeah, if you want to think that."

The new teacher smiles. I guess he does.

"You have a very bad reputation, Alex Rider."

"Yeah. I do."

The new guy has a mole by his eye, with three black hairs growing out of it.

I've always wondered about that. What is it that makes hair grow more on moles? Is there some kind of genetic mutation or something?

Maybe the new teacher has cancer. It would help me out now if he did.

Aw, crap. That's not good for me to think. I have to play by the rules. My rules.

Rule number one: don't kill people. Rule number two: don't think about killing people.

Good rules, I know. Doesn't make life easier on me though.

.".".".

Jack took me out shopping yesterday. She thinks there's something wrong with me. I told her that was a very astute observation, and if she had any more like it she could send it in to a newspaper and become a certified genius.

She bought me a pair of black Converse and then we left.

.".".".

Aren't normal people supposed to hate starting school?

It's first period science, and all around me morning people are talking and yelling. The not-morning people are sleeping. The in-betweeners are telling as many people as they can to shut up.

.".".".

My first day of Year 10 did not start well.

I woke up this morning with a raw throat. Another nightmare that I don't want to remember.

I picked up a pair of jeans from the carpet and put on the nearest shirt I could find. It was red. To make Jack happy, I put on the Converse.

When I went downstairs, there was no one in the kitchen.

I've gotten used to that in the mornings. Jack stopped making breakfast six months ago, when I stopped eating it. She started sleeping in when I told her not to tell me good-bye before I went to school.

I picked up my backpack. It's a black Jansport that I've had since I was nine, and has only ever ripped once.

I ripped it when I was twelve. Some guys had been playing with knives and I told them to be careful. They ripped it with the knives and mocked me. I think they had been almost three years older than me.

I kicked them very hard and ran for it.

When I got home, Jack introduced me to duct tape. She had been mock-horrified to hear that I didn't know duct tape could fix anything. She duct taped my backpack back together, and we tell that story at family gatherings and laugh in our tuxedos and drink merrily from our champagne glasses.

Because I definitely have family gatherings.

On with it, I guess.

I picked up my backpack and headed out the door. My cell phone had a tiny bulge in my pocket, and my keys were around my neck. I had a little cash on me, but I don't know where it was.

I walked down the front steps slowly, as if I'd trip and fall and die if I went too fast. I unlocked my bike sleepily, my eyes drooping, because it seemed like something someone my age would do. I don't remember getting on the bike.

I do remember riding it, though.

It's an awesome feeling, riding at only-fast-on-a-bike speed. Exhilarating. The best part of my day is when I get to ride on my bike.

So it's understandable that I would get angry when a car runs into me.

It wasn't me, exactly. It was more the bike, and me using my instincts to jump onto the car right before impact.

The car had been running a red light. I'd had the right of way, and the driver still yelled at me. I yelled back, and he threatened to sue.

That made me laugh. First off, this guy didn't know who I was. Second, he ran a red light and it was my property that was damaged.

Third. They wouldn't even let him get an attorney once my name was involved.

I had to walk the rest of the way to school. Of all the cliché things that could happen, it started to rain.

So you can understand why I was a little harsh with Tom.

.".".".

"Alex, there's something wrong with you."

That was what he said.

"No, there is not," I reply, with only a little bite.

"Yes, there is," he enforces.

"Look. There is nothing wrong with me. I might be just a little different from before, but, really, would you not be?"

We both know what before means.

Tom looks down. "Alex, I think you need help."

That burns, but I don't blush. I never blush.

"Fine, then," I say. Tom looks relieved, but then he sees me gathering all my stuff. He knows what's about to happen.

"If you don't plan on getting better soon, don't talk to me," he says, and then hollers to a person across the room to sit with him.

I switch places with the kid Tom yelled at. I now sit next to It Girl. She's reading a battered copy of Twilight.

It Girl's grandfather invented something big way back when, so she's rich. She's also pretty and very flexible, which I know because she does gymnastics. I've never talked to It Girl before.

"Hi."

"Don't talk to me, druggie."

This is going to be a fun year.

LLLLL

What do you think?