Max chucked the paintbrush across the classroom in an attempt to release some of his frustration. All of the other kids were doing just fine, painting their stupid little still life paintings and being all creative. Max was good at lots of stuff. He was good at memorizing things and remembering what he’d read. He did well on tests and was even teaching himself how to program. What was so important about creativity, anyway? Why did grownups care so much if he could paint? Wasn’t the whole point of art supposed to be that you couldn’t be wrong?
He tried saying all that to the teacher, but all that came out was a grunt and some tears, and he ended up getting detention anyway.