High School… Jeez. Where do I start? I guess I’ll start with middle school, and how I felt at the end. I was scared of high school. Really scared. I didn’t know exactly how much fun it could be. I also didn’t know how miserable, at times, it could be. I don’t really think I had a grasp on what the hell life was like beyond my little neighborhood that, to me, felt like an entire continent. Life can be hard, but it can also be incredibly breathtaking. Well, at the end of eighth grade, I felt like the wind was getting knocked out of me. I could barely utter the words of our graduation song without crying. I was a real tough kid. Okay, enough fooling about. Let’s get started. 

I was so afraid because I had this colossal crush on this girl in our grade, and for some reason I thought I’d never see her again. Because the halls of our High school were, in my imagination, an endless maze that I could not comprehend. To be frank, on my first day, it really did feel like a maze. A hall, B hall, I’m lost already. Fuck. Back to my crush. For a while I don’t think she even knew I existed beyond the new kid that people made fun of for having a ponytail. Yeah, brilliant idea moving to a new town and looking the part of someone who absolutely did not fit in whatsoever. In sixth grade I cut my hair to a semi-normal length, so I was just a normal kid, didn’t really stand out I don’t think. Who knows, not me. So, when I moved to this new school I was a bit overwhelmed with all the girls. I mean, I came from a school with a class of thirteen. There were like thirty girls in my entire school. At this new school it seemed like everywhere I turned there were a dozen beautiful girls, prettier than anyone I’d ever seen. It would have been that much more amazing if I wasn’t the butt of all the jokes that year. 

After the inundation of all the new stimuli, I decided I had a crush on someone in my homeroom, Melissa. For the whole first year she was mostly what I thought about. My grades definitely reflected this too. I mean, I wasn’t like a pervert… My fantasies mostly consisted of some kind of crazy situation where I would swing in and come to the rescue of my damsel in distress. I did have a pretty crazy imagination my whole life. Think Walter Mitty, but like, nowhere near as cool, with situations that were even more bizarre. One time the school dance turned into a shootout where some of us kids overthrow the teachers and we all escape on bikes running from the police to the tune of “For Those About to Rock” by ACDC. Melissa, riding on my back pegs with gunfire whistling past us in the chilly evening air. It’s actually just as fresh today as it was sixteen years ago if I think about it. By the way, school shootings were not a thing yet, so nobody died in these fantasies. Anyway, the point is I really liked her. And I’m incredibly weird.

Later on though, still in middle school, still with the crush on Melissa, I went to buy a snack at the snack bar during lunch. Right as I was about to pay, I heard someone giggle beside me. I turned to acknowledge the laughter as it felt aimed at me, and I was taken aback. There stood a girl I hadn’t really ever noticed, and she proclaimed through her laughter: “They’re only five cents.”. She was talking about the pretzel stick that was in her hand. It was funny because it only cost five cents. I thought that was funny too. I wanted to laugh. I also wanted to respond in some way that a normal human would. Instead, I froze for a couple seconds, and pulled a full McLovin. I said nothing, turned around swiftly, and walked away at an awkwardly fast pace. The walk back to my lunch table felt like an eternity. Who the fuck was that? In the blink of an eye, my mind was thrown a major curve ball, and it was like Melissa did not even exist. It took a while, but eventually I ran in the same circles as her. Wasn’t too difficult. All I had to do was change all my friends, join a sport I had no business joining, and enter the virtual world of social media that I was so adamant on not becoming a part of. Enter MySpace and all of it’s forms of digital expression.

The summer going into eighth grade was definitely a memorable time for me. That summer I traveled to Israel to have my Bar Mitzvah. This was supposed to be the right of passage that turned me into a man. I don’t know about all that because I still felt the same afterwards. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t easy. I studied an ancient language for years just to be able to read from a scroll, and I did it in the promised land. Really I just wanted to return home to see my friends. Back home I was hanging out with Matt when I got a text from one of the popular girls in my grade. She said I should come to her house to pick up my invitation to her pool party. I told her I was with Matt. She said to bring him too. We biked over and retrieved the envelopes. Matt’s invitation was clearly meant for someone else because the first name was crossed out and his name was written instead. We thought that was pretty funny. Honestly I was just really glad to be invited to something with all the cool kids. The party was fun. Good music, nice weather. I felt included. At one point I made a transition from the pool to the hot tub. After I did so, I looked to my left and froze. My crush was sitting right next to me. Stay calm. Act cool. Okay I should probably stop staring at her because she’s right fucking next to me. Think of something to say idiot. Come on. Ask her how she’s doing. No, that’s weird. Ten minutes of this mental ping pong went by before she got up and left. Smooth. Back home I layed in bed recounting the events of the evening. I did have a good time. The next day was my friend Sam’s Bar Mitzvah party. It dawned on me that my crush might attend. This excited me and I could barely sleep that night. She did, in fact, attend the party. Not only did she attend, but she sat at my dinner table because the seats were assigned. We all had little gift bags with random assortments in them. Mine came with a water gun. Instead of attempting to converse with my crush, I decided to shoot her with my water gun. Listen, I was thirteen with the romantic abilities of an eight year old. This would be the beginning of my professional career of absolutely frustrating the crap out of my crush. Whenever we were all out I would succeed in making everyone we were with laugh except for her. I was really over the top most of the time. During lunch I would occasionally flick peas at her with my spoon. Yeah, brilliant. 

The one time we actually hung out with a smaller group of people I actually managed to make conversation and not act like a complete idiot. That is, until it was time to go home. Upon leaving, she and her friend were saying goodnight to me. At this point she knew that I had a crush on her. She extended her arms slightly to meet me halfway for a hug. I completely froze and stood there like an idiot. I wish I could tell you that after she left I ran after her and said, “Hey wait, I’m sorry, I froze up because I’m really nervous, because I really like you.”. That’s not what happened though. I had no experience ever telling a girl that I liked her except when I gave Victoria Simons flowers in pre-school. Well, I did also tell a classmate in my old school that she was really pretty and that I had a crush on her. That was in second grade. My experience being bullied in fifth grade in this new town really fucked with my confidence. I kind of brought it on myself though. 

I asked her out eventually, but she said no. Well, actually she kind of just ran away. I really should have done it in a better way. First, I tried to ask her when she was at her locker. Sneak attack. No dice. I pretty much knew she wouldn’t want to go out with me after that. On the way back from a field trip one day, my friend Gina said that she had talked to my crush and that she wanted me to ask her out. That didn’t make sense, but I trusted Gina. Why would she lie about that? I got excited and she talked me into doing it straight away, while we were all walking back to school. I went up to my crush and asked her if I could ask her a question. She said no. Fuck. I was really embarrassed, and I felt like a total loser, but it didn’t even come close to the misery of being bullied for my long hair for an entire year. I shook it off. I wasn’t mad at her like everyone thought I should be. She barely even knew me, why on earth would she agree to go out with a total stranger? A stranger that flicks peas at her and acts stupid and immature to get people to laugh. I remember once at a track meet, right after the rejection, her “friends” told me I should spit in her sweatshirt while she was racing. Like, are you fucking kidding me? I was so pissed that they even suggested that, and then acted all nice to her when she was done running. Kids are assholes. I had a much better time cheering her on during that race. I didn’t care if she knew I was cheering. I really admired her dedication to the sport that I hated. Fuck running. 

I didn’t get a chance to really get to know her in middle school. I thought she would just fade away in high school, and that’s why I was so afraid. That was kind of a dark time for me. My parents had divorced a couple years prior, and my father was busy starting a whole new family in another state. I didn’t really understand why at the time, but now I can relate to how lonely he must have been when my mother and I had left. With his alcoholism, it’s kind of a miracle he even survived that period. So, high school. Yeah kind of got side tracked there. That’s how my mind works. It is very hard for me to stay on target unless I take the proper drugs to focus. Drugs are like a miracle for me, they help me do everything. I don’t use drugs anymore though, so yeah. Fuck. Bear with me. The summer going into high school was awesome. I hung out with a group of friends that were like my core buddies. The seven of us were just a bunch of young angsty teens that were headed for freshman year. Going from the top straight to the bottom. 

It was true though. As soon as we hit that new school, all the girls in our grade wanted to hang out with the older guys and we spent most of that year hanging out at Matt’s house. Similarly to why I joined the track team, I picked two courses that I thought, on a whim, my crush would also be in. It was a toss up though, there were two blocks that you could end up with. 50/50. With my luck I thought I would get the wrong class and then I’d just switch to the regular class. There was no way I could weather honors A english and history. At this point in my life I had no idea what the fuck teachers were talking about when they said I have to analyze the material and not summerize it. I, for the life of me, could not figure out what the fuck they were talking about. No matter, like I said, I would just downgrade to honors B. In that class they let you write whatever the fuck you want and slap a B+ on every essay. A week before school I spent the night at Vic’s house completing our summer work that we didn’t do during the two months we had to finish it. It was actually pretty fun. We would read for an hour, then take a break and play floor hockey and drink a glass of his mom’s famous iced tea. Then we’d fill out the packet a bit and repeat this cycle all night. In the early hours of the morning I was really feeling myself, probably from all the iced tea and lack of sleep. I texted my crush and asked what her schedule looked like for freshman year. This was a pretty common thing to do. She replied. We had the same english and history class. No fucking way. I was exuberant. Fuck yeah I will gladly fail freshman english and history. 

This changed everything in my worrisome mind. Now at least I get to see her in class. Class. I had no fucking business being in this class. Seriously, I felt legitimately retarded all year in that damn class. The only time I didn’t was when we would read aloud during class. I can read! But for real. I got a D on pretty much every exam and essay in that class all year. When we would check the paper on the wall for our grades I didn’t even have to look for my I.D. code. It was always the same.. 12016: D+. I think I pulled off a C once. That was pretty cool. I did enjoy one of the books we had to read. Great Expectations. I related a lot to it actually. Besides that, the class was there so that the very minimal connection to my crush wouldn’t dwindle away like it was probably supposed to. My weekly texts asking her what the homework was probably royally frustrated her. Like, why can’t this fucking kid write down the God damn homework? And why on earth does he always ask me? There’s like thirty fucking kids in our class. That was my routine. Ask for the homework, get the homework assignment, and then not do it. Cash money. 

There was also the entire other side of my life that year. Like the things I actually did, the friends I actually made, the people I actually held conversations with. Reality. There was a group of people that I blended well with. There was this girl Alison in one of my classes. She was regarded as a pretty popular person. She was really cool and she was very pretty. She had asked me to walk her to lunch everyday because she would get lost. We would also eat lunch together. Oh yeah she would also text me a lot after school. There’s no way she liked me though, not me. Yeah I was actually that stupid. She had a crush on me. I know this because she told me years later. I also know this because I’m not that idiotic now. Sort of. I’m still an idiot, but I’m way more confident in myself today. She even brought up the homecoming dance to me. Guess what I did? I told her I had a crush on, yep, my crush. You have to understand, when I like someone, you could throw a supermodel at me, and I’d Drake meme that shit. Even if Alison had told me straight up that she liked me and wanted to go to the dance with me, I probably would have said no sorry. And I really would be sorry. 

Alison was from the next town over, and I was introduced to a lot of people from that area. They were cool. They were, like, skater people. We all rode BMX bikes and hung out around town until it was past curfew. A couple times the police even chased us home. I liked that shit. I was no stranger to evading the police. We had been doing it for years because for some reason the police in our area like to chase 14 year old kids for being outside past 10p.m. It did bring a cool feel to the scene once it was ten p.m. though. We felt like outlaws. A lot of the guys in our group were raiding their parents medicine cabinets during this time and drinking too. I never partook. I don’t think I really understood what drugs did at that point, so I wasn’t interested. This went on for most of the year. We’d meet up, chill until it was late, then go home and repeat the next day. I got pretty arrogant during this time. I had more money than most people in the group and fell into my first addiction. Shopping. I spent thousands of my mother’s hard earned dollars at the local mall because I was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to wear the same shirt twice. At least if you did you had to space it out about two months. I don’t know why I thought this. I was terrified though, for some reason, of people thinking I was poor. To this day I have no idea where that fear came from. Never once did anyone insinuate that I lacked money. I remember going to New York City one weekend with my family to go shopping. During that time we saw Wicked on Broadway. Holy fucking shit. I loved that weekend. The play was astounding. Really amazed me. I was so impressed by the quality of the theater acting. I had been taking film acting classes at the time, and was just so blown away by their performance. I felt I could never act like that. And I didn’t want to. Film is A-1, but that.. Fuck that. What if you made a mistake? Jeez. I couldn’t tell anyone this though because that would make me gay. 2008 was a different time. I came back with several bags of clothes and once I wore all of them I came to a horrible conclusion. I have to stop buying clothes. Seriously, like, I had nowhere to put them at this point. I started re-wearing some of my shirts. The first time was tough. I had really bad anxiety that day. To my amazement, no one asked if I had worn that shirt already. Obviously. I proclaimed to my friends that I didn’t know why I got so obsessed with buying shit. It wasn’t just clothes, I would just buy random shit all the fucking time. I had a sleepover one night and bought the entire guitar hero band addition with all the instruments so we could play that night. We played all night. Never touched it again. It was like lighting $270 on fire. It felt good, but it had to stop. 

My buddies expressed that they were happy I came to this conclusion and that I shouldn’t worry about what other people think of me. It’s hard though, I got bullied pretty bad for that one whole year and it really fucked me up. I came from a land where I was told to express myself freely and explore my imagination. I was a kid who literally came to school dressed as Link from Zelda for like all of third grade. When I was made fun of, it was a foreign experience, and it hurt really bad. I felt like I lived in a different dimension from everyone else, and it was starting to bleed through my personality in odd ways. I also dumped a couple thousand dollars into airsoft guns. By the time I got to high school I was like a young teenaged arms dealer. A lot of people had airsoft guns, and most of those people came to me to buy them. At the local stores you could only buy cheap plastic spring loaded guns. On websites that I would frequent, you could buy the cream of the fucking crop. Similar to the Lord of War, my best seller was the Kalashnikov AK-47 fully automatic assault rifle. Only difference was that mine were not real. I probably sold about thirty of them. And I owned a full arsenal myself. Oh yeah, again, school shootings were not a thing during this era, today I would have been a walking red flag. My bedroom looked very odd. It was full of clothes, guitars, and numerous guns. I could barely play guitar, but I really liked buying them. The Gibson Les Paul is a work of art. There was also a very real reason for my compulsive shopping. Trying to fill the hole that existed in me from my other life. 

On the weekends I had to go visit my father in Pennsylvania. I did not live in Pennsylvania. I fucking hated Pennsylvania. It was a reminder of the kid I used to be. The kid that got bullied. The kid that I hated because he was a weird loser. The resentment started when I was still in middle school. I was a developing teenager in a new town. I was trying to build a new life and make new friends. Every weekend I was pulled away from places I would get invited to because I had to go visit my Dad. I can’t describe the frustration in words. One time I was going to go hangout with some friends, and my crush, and I had to leave to go to Pennsylvania. I broke down. Alone in my bathroom. It was horrible. It felt like there was nothing I could do about it. An hour later I would be on the highway, leaving New Jersey and all my friends to go spend a weekend with my Dad while he drinks all day. I started to resent him for this, which was not fair to him at all. It was unfair for everyone. Life is fucking unfair. I didn’t know that though. In this house my Father had a new wife and a new kid. I felt stupid, like I dind’t belong in the house that grew up in. I would isolate in my room playing call of duty and periodically watching TV in fucking Spanish because he didn’t have any English channels anymore. Not even joking. That’s what I did for 48 hours until it was time to go home. I came out of my room for dinner, and ate breakfast and lunch in isolation. This is when I started talking to my new friend Will. He wasn’t really allowed to do anything on the weekends past a certain time. I would wait for around 7 p.m. and, like clockwork, Skull Razor is now online. We were fucking beasts at Call of Duty. Like no joke we won every game and always came in first and second on our team. Of course, the occasional outlier would do better than us, but for the most part we dominated. Eventually, sometime in the spring of that freshman year, I began to revolt. I would tell my mom early in the week that I was invited to go somewhere, even though I wasn’t, and that I wanted to stay home for the weekend. During one of those weekends I was invited to do something totally foreing to me that I was most curious about. 

I was the poster child for the D.A.R.E. program up until about 14. I even told my best friend Josh in 8th grade that I couldn’t hang out with him anymore because he tried smoking weed. One night, right after dinner, I was playing some video games with my friends. P.J. said he was signing off. Signing off? The fuck? It’s only seven O’clock. I asked why and he said that he was sleeping at Joey’s house and they were going to smoke weed. I was jealous. I wanted to try it, but I dare not ask. Right before he logged off, there was a pause. “Wanna blaze with us?”, he asked quickly. Without hesitation I said I wanted to. We met up at the middle school that we used to attend, Joey was finishing up intramural basketball. We walked to his house and got the weed from his older sister. I was so curious, excited, and afraid all at once. We had seen Pineapple Express in theaters just a few months prior. We laughed through the entire movie. At around eleven, we snuck out. The plan was simple. Go to the field, smoke weed, walk to Wawa, get snacks, go home. We really should have gone to Wawa first. We sat down in the field and Joey and P.J. each took hits from the bowl. Now it was my turn. It felt so wrong, but I liked the feeling of rebelling. I inhaled and coughed into the bowl blowing all the weed on the ground. They playfully yelled at me. To be honest, it was pretty damn funny. I tried again and hit the bowl most properly this time. I did, after all, research how to smoke weed extensively on my computer for the entire week leading up to this, even though there was no plan to carry out the deed. We started walking to Wawa. Upon leaving the park we had to jump over a really tall fence. Joey went first. It was my turn now and I realized I wouldn’t be able to hop the fence because I had a Smith & Wesson m5906 airsoft pistol in my waistband. I always carried a gun. I had good reason to. The neighborhood assholes used to shoot at me while I would ride my bike around town. That started happening less after one particular attack. They shot me and I fell off my bike. On the ground I pulled out a gas operated mac 10 and emptied the magazine on three of the kids who shot at me. I really do not think they saw it coming and it felt really good. I could not fight well, but I had a lot of airsoft guns and I was pretty good with them. Anyway. I passed my pistol to Joey on the other side of the fence and climbed over. When I got to the top, I stopped. 

Holy shit. I’m high. Like high on drugs not high on the fence. Shit, I am high on the fence too. Am I stuck? I don’t know who I am. Shit. What’s that sound? Joey is yelling at me to come down and P.J. is rolling around on the grass laughing. I jumped down and Joey handed me my gun and the bag of weed. I do not want this bag of weed. Now Joey is running away laughing. I cannot find P.J. I have a gun in my right hand and drugs in my left. What the actual fuck is going on. I can’t remember why I’m here. Fuck. I dug a hole and buried the gun and the weed. Now I can relax. I caught up with them and we casually walked into the convenient store. Casual went right out the fucking window about two seconds into the store. It was now close to midnight and the store was empty and we all started rummaging through the aisles of the store. When we met back up we each had armfuls of snacks. We all burst into a roaring laughter. Paying was a task and a half. Trying to hold our composure was exponentially harder than when a teacher is telling you to stop laughing. I had never experienced laughter like this, it was wondrous. We left the store and started home. Back to basecamp we kept saying. On the way Joey asked me for the weed. I told him I buried it. He was very angry. I erupted with laughter realizing how insane this must have sounded. We walked to my burial site and I excavated the gun and the bag of weed. We entered the house and ran to the basement laughing uncontrollably. P.J.’s mom came to the top of the stairs and asked him if we wanted any snacks. He stared blankly at her not saying a word. I fell over laughing and Joey saved us by replying and pulling P.J. to safety. The rest of the night is a blur, but I know we spent most of it laughing at nothing and eating literally every crumb of the close to one hundred dollar snack purchase from Wawa. I texted my crush that night and asked for the homework. 

I only smoked three times that year, all with Joey and P.J., and it was always an adventure. The last time we did it I remember we were playing basketball on Jason’s court across the street from P.J.’s house at like three in the morning. Jason was one of my best friends, but we fought all the time. At this point we were “in a fight”. He came outside and yelled at us, and we all just laughed uncontrollably. This made him more angry and he said he was going to get his dad. At that moment Joey threw the basketball he was holding behind his back, across the front yard, and into the net. It was a seriously amazing miracle shot. I can not explain the type of laughter that ensued as we awkwardly retreated, across the street, and into P.J.’s house. We must have looked like a bunch of serious jagaloons. I’ll never forget that shot and how it felt to watch something truly amazing while incredibly high on cannabis. Read chapter 7 and analyze Pip and Stella’s relationship and how his new lifestyle is taking a toll on his personality. Thanks.

That freshman year was a rollercoaster. Two lives. So many new people. So many new experiences. I felt so out of sorts. I was having fun though. After getting my compulsive shopping in order, and having a solid group of friends, I felt a little bit more safe. I tried drinking that year too. One night we were at our friend Jake’s house and he offered everyone two shots of vodka. I took them. Everyone took them. I didn’t feel much, but I definitely felt a little bit more confident. We went to hang out with a group of girls that I barely knew. I had fun. I felt like I was finally becoming a normal person. I was pretty curious about that vodka. I knew that we had a whole cabinet full of alcohol. It wasn’t locked up. Yet. I was very trusted by my parents. My step sister was getting into trouble a lot. I was an angel in my Mother’s eyes. I decided one day to try some vodka while I had the house to myself. Last time I had two shots and didn’t feel much. I took a bottle of Popov and poured a glass. It was about the size of a normal glass of water. I’m guessing roughly ten fluid ounces. Yeah, I really didn’t know what I was doing. I drank it all in one gulp and had some orange juice to chase it. Then I decided I wanted to strip and clean one of my guns. I hadn’t touched my HK G3 in a while and wanted to run through the cleaning protocol. It was located upstairs in my garage, so that’s where I went. I grabbed it and as I turned around to go back to the house, I was smacked in the face with a feeling I’ve never had. I fell over. The entire garage was spinning. Fuck. I can’t move. Why? Why am I in the garage? Oh shit, that’s right. I drank vodka. This must be what drunk is. Wait, why am I in the garage? This thought process went on for an undisclosed amount of time until the garage door started to open. My step dad is home. Fuck. Don’t move. Oh yeah, that’s right. I can’t move. Literally. I laid there upstairs in the garage looking at the ceiling spinning out of control. I wasn’t nauseous though. I knew what I had to do. I texted my step dad and said I was playing football at P.J.’s house. This is step one. Step two is simple, just lay there. Don’t make a sound. I know that everyday around five the dog has to be walked. That’s my opportunity. A twenty minute window where I have to go back in the house and straight to the shower. It’s odd if when my step dad comes home I am hiding in my room. Showering after football though, that’s cash money. Laying there trying to fight off falling asleep I have to listen for the smack of the screen door indicating the beginning of operation dog walk. I’m clutching that damn G3 like I’m on the frontline. The thought of being in imaginative combat is the only thing that’s keeping me alert. “Smack”, there goes the screen door. I count to sixty. Step four: run like hell. I enter the house and dart straight for the upstairs bathroom. I layed there in the shower for what felt like an hour. “Hello?”. I answer and say I’m in the shower. Step five and six are complete. I’m almost home free. I leave the bathroom and head for my bedroom. Final step is on the horizon. Falling asleep was not difficult. I’m never drinking like that again. An unsent message sits on my phone. Thank fucking God. 

Alcohol was not yet a social lubricant for me, it was just a weird liquid that I didn't quite understand. The other times that I experimented included drinking beer at Matt’s house where the seven of us would sleep over. Beer, darts, and billiards until we grew bored and retreated to the living room where we would stay up and talk about girls. One particular night of beer drinking sticks out to me. We stayed up all night tracking an offshore storm that was right over us by morning. Just before sunrise we started waxing our surfboards. I was fucking scared. I had surfed before, but never in a storm. I didn’t feel so bad though, because Vic was coming with us. Vic did not have a surfboard. He had a boogie board. Vic also lacked a wetsuit, and it was mid spring. If you have never surfed the Atlantic in the spring, it’s fucking cold. Jason ensured Vic that all he needed was a rash guard. So we put our boards in the car and piled in. 

We get to the break we surf and it’s raining like hell. The sea was angry that day my friends. Like an old man trying to send back soup at a deli. I was afraid. Then I would look at Vic. Now I’m relaxed. We paddled out. It took a long time just to get out to the break. I turned around after my battle to get out there, Vic was nowhere in sight. I started to get a little worried, but I really didn’t have much time to keep my thoughts on Vic as they were quickly turned to not drowning. We surfed for about an hour. When we finally paddled in, the current had taken us almost ten streets over. It took nearly fifteen minutes just to return to our beach. When we finally returned we were greeted with a most funny sight. There was Vic, huddled down beneath the bulkhead, holding his boogie board like a shield against the windy rain. It was not cool. I have to admit though, there are only a handful of times where I laughed so intensely. Laughter like the night of the basketball shot, only this time Jason was laughing too. I felt so bad. Vic was really angry. We went home after that. 

I started getting a bit frustrated with myself around this time. One day later that week I asked my crush if she was going to a party that was happening over the weekend. I had been to three of the maybe six freshman parties that would happen during that year and I never saw my crush out. She replied and we exchanged about three texts. I probably wasn’t much of a conversation holder with her. I used to get really angry with myself because I would go out and talk to other girls like it was no problem, but when it came to her I was tongue tied. About an hour after those texts she texted me. I forget what she said, but it was a normal conversation. Then, out of left field, I got a text from her saying, “So.. Do you still like me?”. What the fuck? That’s not like her. I was shook. I waited maybe five minutes and then took a leap of faith replying yes. She then wrote back, “good”, followed by “cause I like you too.” My fucking world turned upside fucking down. Couldn’t explain the feeling other than every little worry I ever had vanished in seconds. Then I got another text saying, “Sorry my friends took my phone, what did they say?”. Now I was back in fifth grade. The butt of everyone’s jokes. Embarrassed and stupid. I wrote back that someone had my phone as well and I don’t know what they said. I said that because I am fucking stupid. What would I say now? Uhh how about “Oh they asked if I still liked you, and I said that I do”. Fifteen year old me did not have that much confidence though. I just spazzed out and basically had a seizure. I can only imagine what she must have thought. Like what the actual fuck? That’s not even a probable situation. Even a “damn lol nothing really”, would have sufficed. Cowardly, but better than what I came up with. Back to the drawing board. Back to the homework. 

That first year feels like an acid trip when I think back on it. It felt so long and so important. I mean at that point a year was one fifteenth of my entire life. That’s actually kind of a lot. Now years are only one twenty-sixth of my life. Years just don’t hold the same weight that they used to. Anyway, this year, or school year, was coming to a close. I started getting nervous again. It was time to go around school and get everyone’s signature in my yearbook. This made me extremely anxious. What if everyone just writes their name? Because everyone hates me. I had a core group of friends, but to most people I was just in their class. In middle school I found comfortable ground making people laugh during class. I stopped doing this in high school because, well honestly, because it seemed childish. Now though, what are these people going to remember me for? WhAt’S tHe hOmEwOrk? I seriously don’t think I ever wrote anything down that year. I don’t think I actually learned anything in school until I took my first psychology class. That shit was interesting, mostly because I just hoped I would figure out what the fuck was wrong with me in one of those dense chapters between self actualization and conformity. I was getting reassurance from what people were writing in my book. Apparently I did leave somewhat of an impression on my peers. The day was almost over when, bam there’s my crush. I ask for her to sign my book. She agrees, and as she’s writing in my book I can see what the two of us look like standing together in the hall. I like the way it looks, even though in reality it means absolutely nothing. She’s just humoring my random request to sign my yearbook. She leaves, and I already miss her. The day is over and so is the school year. We don’t have any more homework and now I’m never going to see her again. I was a really dramatic teenager. I wanted to sign her book, but she didn’t have it yet. So she said. Probably just a nice way of saying please exit my vicinity. I texted her later and proclaimed how I was upset because I didn’t sign her book. She replied something to the tune of, “Aw shucks”. I then got bold and asked if we were going to hang out during the summer. Like I said, bold. It took a while, but she actually replied and said yes. Sweet. Fuck homework. 

Summertime. I had been waiting for summer like you can’t believe. That winter was kind of rough on me. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out who the fuck high school me was going to be. It was exhausting. About a month in, I started really missing english class. I got to see my crush everyday and now I don’t ever see her. We have some mutual friends and I thought it would be nice to blend my group of guy friends and these girls that were friendly to my crush. I tried a few times and we all hung out, except for my crush. She usually said she was busy, or couldn’t join. I was actually kind of glad because my guy friends were kind of rude and mean to the girls. I started noticing that I got along much better with the girls than I did with my “best friends''. I would get really frustrated because we’d all hang out, and then when we’d leave, my dude’s would start talking mad shit on the girls. It made me feel really uncomfortable. What made me even more uncomfortable was that sometimes I would join in and then later on feel weird and distorted because I would say things I didn’t mean and laugh at jokes that I didn't think were funny at all. I started just hanging out with the girls and leaving the others out. I hung out at Lacy’s house a lot, we got along like peas and carrots. I felt like I could talk about anything with her and she’d never make fun of me like my other friends would. Then, one day when I was at her house, my crush came to join us. Instead of being tongue tied, everything felt natural. I mean, I was still afraid, but I could actually speak english. We hung out all evening. I can’t describe how unbelievably happy I was. I felt high. You have to understand, I had a crush on this girl for so long and now we were actually hanging out. It was exhilarating. My friends who normally poke fun at me for liking her were nowhere in sight. We hung out a couple more times over the next week or two. Homework? Not this summer. 

During this time I had to go to pre season soccer practice. I hated this. I love soccer, like I really love soccer, but I was so self conscious it got in the way of my performance. I sucked, basically. I rode the bench a lot. I didn’t know how to tell my parents that their son sits on the bench of the JV team. I was seriously embarrassed. I’ll never forget the time during my freshman year of college where my friends and I went to play soccer and I absolutely fucking dominated the game. I had this aha moment of “wow I sucked at soccer because I was not confident at all”. That hurt, but at the same time I started realizing that I was not an athletic loser, quite the opposite actually. This was then though, so back to that. 

We had a tournament in the middle of the summer about two hours away from home. I went and didn’t play for one second of that game. Now it was time to go home. I was getting my fabricated story of how I played together when I was offered a ride home by Scull Razor. Yeah, the kid who I would play video games with when I was stuck in Pennsylvania. He was a really nice kid, and we always laughed our asses off when we would talk about anything. I accepted, and got in the car. Half way through the drive Lacy texted me asking if I wanted to go to the boardwalk. Hell yeah I wanted to go to the boardwalk with my new group of friends. It was usually all the girls and me. That’s when it hit me. Dude, invite this kid to the boardwalk. I had no idea what that would snowball into. First of all, I didn’t know his dad was fucking super cop.  For the next thirty minutes I sat through a full on interrogation about whose parents were driving, what time we were getting picked up, who the people we were hanging out with were. Oh yeah, and he constantly asked if I was telling the truth. Thought he was about to whip out a fucking mobile polygraph. I was totally thrown off, but I thought it was fucking hilarious because I could see my friends face in the side mirror and he was silently dying laughter. When we got picked up at my house with Skull Razor the girls took a picture of him. They showed me the picture and my crush exclaimed that the picture was for her friend on the soccer team who had a major crush on him. I didn’t know it yet, but this would be the spark that would ignite a very interesting friendship to say the least. We went to the boardwalk and had a great time. My crush said that she wanted to bring her friend next time Scull Razor and I hung out. Next time? Fuck yeah next time. 

We decided on bowling. Hey, we were fifteen. Actually, wait, bowling is fun for all ages. It was a great night. There was so much chemistry between all of us. Like friendship chemistry. Friendship sparks were flying. We bowled, and laughed, and took so many pictures. This was the era of cameras around the wrist during outings. Yes, our phones had cameras, but you were better off drawing a picture of the moment you wanted to capture. The Pictures were later added to Facebook and then we would comment on them until we fell asleep. It was a simpler time. What really excited me was that we kept talking about how the next night we were going to go to the boardwalk again. This time with my new best friend, my crush, her friend, and the other girls. Dude, it was so much fun. At this point in my life, these were by far the best days I’d ever had. We continued to hang out nearly everyday for the next few weeks. Everything was great, my world felt safe. I felt complete, and unafraid. 

Somewhere while all this was taking place my old friends hit me up and said we should chill because it’s been a minute. I agreed, we were having a sleepover at Matt’s house. Just like old times. Why the fuck would I want to go back to old times though? I went. The sesh was normal, we ate junk food and played video games until about midnight. Then, as always, we retreated to Matt’s room to lay on the floor and talk about girls. This is when I started second guessing myself. The conversation was not fucking normal. Everyone kept expressing how I’m on fire, and that I have my crush in the bag. That she’s “eating out of the palm of my hands”. This was news to me. I just thought we were having fun and hanging out. I thought that because that’s what we were fucking doing. Just having fun, and that was completely fine with me. Up until that night. They gassed me up all night and I left feeling so confused. Excited, but like, it didn’t feel right. Were they right? I don’t think she likes me like that. What do I do? Shit, do other people think this too? I have to make a move. No. I don’t want to risk our friendship, we’re having so much fun. They said I’m going to get “friendzoned”. I don’t want to be friendzoned do I? Why the fuck not, six months ago all I had was asking her what the fucking homework is. Friendzone was fucking fine with me. I just liked hanging out with her. That’s gay though. I fucking hate the way guys talk when we’re all in a group. That’s why I left in the first place. Now a seed was planted in my head though, and it would scramble my thoughts constantly. I wish things lasted the way they were forever. I wish I couldn’t tell the rest of the story. I hate who I became throughout the rest of that fucking year. I sank deep. Anyway, onward. 

We continued to hang out nearly everyday, only now I was different. I started to get jealous and scared. Of what? I have no idea, but now I know people are watching. I felt afraid all the time again. Afraid of becoming the butt of everyone’s jokes. Afraid of people thinking I’m poor. Afraid of being a loser. I hadn’t felt like that all summer. Now I’m back in school. All these fears are right in the front of my brain. Fuck. How did I cope with this before? Overcompensate. Yes. Buy a shit load of clothes. Put other people down. Lift myself up. I retreated into being a selfish asshole. A selfish asshole to the likes I’ve never experienced before. When I became arrogant freshman year, it was unpleasant. This was something else. I don’t know who the fuck I am. I’m being an asshole to my crush. What the actual fuck. One day we were hanging out at my house. I hid her money on one of my chandeliers. I don’t know why. She became really irritated, rightfully so. She got on her bike. Before she could pedal away I took the money and threw it at her. “You two have issues”, her friend said. I mean, wait. Her friend? Wasn’t this our friend? Also the two of us didn’t have issues. I did. I had major issues. We kept hanging out. I don’t know how she could stand being around me. I give her a lot of credit for putting up with me. I lost myself. One night we were at Hannah’s house. We decided to make up improvisational love stories.

This was the perfect opportunity I thought. Not only could I make up a fantastic love story, which I did all the time. This is my chance to come clean. This is my chance to explain how I’m so afraid. Afraid of my friends thinking I’m a loser. Afraid that they are embarrassed to hang out with me. How I’m so afraid to tell my crush that I love her. That I’m totally fine with just being friends. My chance to tell her I just want her in my life. I wanted to tell them how sorry I was for acting like such an asshole. How I became lost in my fear and jealousy. None of that came out. Instead I said I can’t make up a love story. My crush proceeded to try and punch me in the face through a bed sheet that she and my friends were sitting under. She missed. I felt it though. I almost started crying. I was lost. Winter came. Everything began to feel cold. I felt cold all the time. I was angry a lot. In my fear and discombobulated state of mind I told someone at lunch that my crush and I were “talking”. We most certainly were not. I can only imagine how that made her feel. I said that to someone I didn’t even regard as a friend. Why? I wanted to sound cool. I was desperately grasping at the strands of my life as it fell apart by the seems.

We still hung out. Only now it was almost too uncomfortable. There was tension in the air so thick you could have cut it with a knife. At least New Years is coming up. On new years I fantasized about tapping a spoon to a glass of champagne and professing to my closest friends my regret in how I have been acting lately. Confessing how I was miserable. How I was afraid all the time. I wish I could tell you that’s what happened. I wish I had some fucking homework to do.

The day before New Years my friend Jason and I were planning the party that would take place at his house. I was in charge of the guest list and getting the alcohol. He really didn’t want to have a party, but I pushed for it to happen. It really should not have happened. The day of the party I spent most of the time yelling into my phone. Everything was forced. I had to make this fucking toast though. I wasn’t even in New Jersey, I was in Pennsylvania with my Dad who I hadn’t seen in months. I spent the whole time on the phone. In between phone calls, at a Walmart where I was buying chasers for the party, I told my dad that Puerto Ricans were the same as Mexicans. This is something that you just do not fucking say to a Mexican. I knew that too. I wanted to hurt his feelings. I was so angry. All the frustration from the years of missing out on the kicks I’d never know came out that day. I really let him have it. On the way home I was listening to a new song I really liked. Gangsta Love by Snoop Dogg. Man That fucking song will never clap like it did that day. It was the only thing holding me together. Now it’s a constant reminder of the worst night of my life.

I picked up my friends and my crush. My best friend wasn’t there. His father found out there wasn’t going to be any parents at the party. My friend lied to his father, something he probably would have never done if I didn’t exist. His father called Jason’s girlfriend's parents and now she couldn’t go either. Jason was angry. I was angry. Jason and I have a long history of being angry with each other, yet we would still hang out. Anyway, we got to his house and things started up kind of okay. The mood wasn’t cut throat. I started greasing my nerves so that I could make my toast. Along the way we began playing a drinking game. I was the butt of everyone’s jokes. I did it to myself. I should have shrugged it off. Instead I became angry. Probably because I was afraid. I never made my toast. I sat alone drinking until the ball dropped. Sometime after that I felt something hit my head. People were now throwing stuff at me. I would have thrown stuff at me too. Fast forward a couple minutes and now I’m boxing my friend who I have no business boxing. I had only boxed twice in my life and I lost both times. Third time's the charm for me to learn that I shouldn’t let my mouth write a check that my ass couldn’t cash. 

He kicked my ass. It was funny. Then I started whaling about how my life sucks. Here comes my “toast”. I started blabbing about how my life sucks and everyone should feel bad for me. Whoa is me. After I was laughed at I targeted my crush and said some of the worst hateful things I’ve ever uttered to this day. I have no idea where it even came from. Before I realized what I was saying she was walking away crying. I want to vomit just thinking about how I made her feel. I don’t remember what happened next. My memory cuts to me in the kitchen with my crush. I filled a glass of water and threw it in her face. A scene from a misogynistic drama made in the 1950’s. I had lost. Cut to her slapping me, hard, across the face while I sat on the couch. I got up to chase her and someone grabbed me. My mind was drowning. Our friend then threw up into a cup and didn’t spill a drop on the floor. Comedic relief. It was insanely impressive. She then retired to the bathroom and began hugging the porcelain. “Don’t look at me!”, she exclaimed loudly. This was a funny moment. I’d like to say I wouldn’t laugh at my friend's misfortune now. However. It was pretty fucking funny. Jason was trying to explain to me that I had to leave. I had caused too much trouble. The threshold had been crossed. I put on my coat and was ready to go. Straight under the porch to die alone like an old dog. It was freezing out. I’m not kidding when I say that’s what my plan was. 

Enough time had passed. The things I had said were becoming real. I wanted to die. Really. Jason, however, did not want me to freeze under his porch. He would get in a lot of trouble for that. They took me upstairs and we talked until we fell asleep. It was like one of the old sleepovers. They weren’t making fun of me. Everyone started to realize how horrible of an event just took place. Yes, what I said was terrible. It wasn’t that the words were terrible. It was who I said them to. We were a group of friends that used to lay on the floor in the dark and talk about girls all night. We did this for years. I always talked about the same girl. And I just cut her down for no good reason. To them, she was the girl I had a crush on. A running joke. To me, she was a dear friend. She never did anything to deserve what I said to her. It was a horribly sad night. In that moment, the guys realized she wasn’t just some girl I had a crush on. 

This was all my fault, but I could sense that my friends felt kind of shitty. Shitty for the way that they treated me. Shitty for constantly making fun of me about my crush. This didn’t last. Neither did my regret. I stayed an asshole. I was comfortable there. When that school year ended, I had no friends at all. I was alone. It was completely my doing, and I knew that. I had no one to blame except myself. My friend Vic told me one day that I was a good friend in school, but he didn’t want to hang out with me after the last bell rang. That hurt. Jason stuck by me. We had been through so many fights. I probably could have shot him and he would still hang out with me. We even went on vacation together. Wait. That’s right. We went to fucking Hawaii. 

It was still cold. Two months had passed since New Year's. School was uncomfortable. I usually just stayed home every night and played Zynga Facebook poker until I fell asleep. My grades were slipping. I was seriously depressed. Oh yeah, my grandmother, who had basically helped raise me, was also dying of cancer. She was staying at our house. She was very ill. It was heartbreaking. My heart was already broken though. I was watching season four of Lost the second time through. Six of the characters had made it off the island. They had to keep a secret. That secret was eating at them internally. That’s where I was at. My family didn’t know about the events of New Year’s. Jack, the main character, was eating pain killers like candy. Hmm. I wonder. I walked to my kitchen. I popped open the medicine cabinet. Four bottles of hydrocodone. That’s what Jack is eating. My grandmother didn’t like the way the painkillers made her feel, so she didn’t take them. I ate three. Within thirty minutes I was lifted out of my funk. Wow. These make me feel great. Each pill had become a match in a limited book. They were flickers of light in a dark cave. A dark cave where I was dwelling. I used them sparingly. 

I took three pills to school with me the next day. I ate them during english class. Thirty minutes later I was chopping it up with Robby Fitzpatrick. What a cool guy. Would have never talked to him without those pills. I also finished my research paper. I got an A too. The first A I had ever received in english class. These things are fucking magic. I knew they were addictive, so I was careful to never take them two days in a row. This led to me being happy one day, then sad the next. I even started making Amelia laugh in class. After New Year’s she fucking hated me. She was an unfortunate bystander during my horrible rhetoric that night. She was always a good friend to me. I hated that I mistreated her. She sat behind me in psychology. The days that I took the pills I would turn around and bother her. I was on a roll. Not really. I was being an ass, but not really an asshole. I would mostly make fun of myself. Trying to rebuild the broken friendship. It didn’t work. I thoroughly enjoyed talking to her though. She is just a totally kick ass person. One of those nights I was on the pills again. My mother told me we were going to Hawaii for spring break. My sister and I looked at each other. In unicen we asked: “Can we bring friends?”. The answer was no, but I was feeling myself and took my parents to court. By the end of the hearing you would have thought bringing friends was their idea. I messaged Jason and asked if he wanted to go to Hawaii. No hesitation. No asking parents. He said yes. That’s it then. We’re going to fucking Hawaii. 

We needed clothes. We went to our friend’s house who sold marked down Hurley gear. We each bought a plethora of new shit. I could always count on Jason to join in on fun that had no price limit. On the flight we played black jack. Before we landed I was down a hundred dollars. At the hotel the four of us pondered how to crowdsource some alcohol. We were only sixteen. We walked around for a while. We found a liquor store that suited us. We waited outside to ask an adult to buy us liquor. We had cold feet for the first half hour. Then I went in for the kill. “Excuse me, can you do us a favor?” I asked a random Hawaiin man. “No.” he returned, a confused look on his face. We erupted with laughter. It was just such an appropriate response. We weren’t even disappointed. After that, two guys in an alley flagged us over. My sister and her friend told me not to go over. It was sketchy at best. I walked over. The men offered us two bottles of Patron for the cool price of $40. What a steal. My sister begged me to walk away. Then Jason asked what the catch was. Wait. He’s right. One bottle costs $40. Why are we getting two for the price of one? He began spilling the beans. That they had robbed a liquor store in California. They then travelled here by boat to sell all the stolen booze. This is what they told us. To everyone else that was a big, fat, red fucking flag. I loved that fucking story though. I’ve never handed someone cash so fast. He forked over the two bottles, as promised, and we went back to the hotel. It was a fucking process getting Jason to drink that damn tequila. Apparently tequila is the one alcohol this motherfucker won’t drink. Alas, he eventually partook, and we headed for the beach. We jammered on about stupid shit in the beautiful Hawaiin air. Our mood was dampened by a homeless man though. He approached us awkwardly. Then he pulled out a dead rat and threw it at my sister’s friend. I nearly threw up laughing. My sister was really upset. We ran away. 

The next day my parents found the other bottle of liquor. They told us if we drank again we’d all be going home. Bullshit. This hotel is paid in full for all five nights. We procured a bottle of vodka the next night. Vodka because Jason’s bitch ass can’t drink tequila. We all got really drunk. Jason and my sister ran off somewhere together. I went bar hopping alone on the strip. I was on the lookout. On the lookout for a barkeep who wouldn’t card me. I stayed out until late in the night. Hours later I found myself stumbling through the city alone. When I realised just how alone I really was I decided to head back. As I was doing this a bright light nearly blinded me. What the fuck? Oh shit. That’s the police. “Come over here”, said a voice over the intercom. I looked to my left. I looked to my right. To my right there was a long alley. 

“Come here”, the voice became more insistent. I chose to go right. I started sprinting into the alley. I heard the siren and saw the red and blue lights glare around me. Why am I running from the police in Hawaii? I’m a fucking idiot, that’s why. I hit a dead end. Ahead of me a wall that was nearly fifteen feet tall. I am Peter Parker. I jumped on a trash can. Then to a dumpster. Parkour. I then leaped to the top of that fucking wall. Not really like spider man. More like Gumby. I flopped over the wall. On the other side I realized where I was. We went shopping here the day before. I snuck back to the hotel. What should have been a five minute walk took an hour. I was safe. 

The next morning breakfast was unusually hard to keep down. We were all very hungover. We laughed as we exchanged stories. We all agreed we weren’t going to drink anymore on this trip. We went on an island tour. We passed the area where 50 First Dates was filmed. We passed by where they were currently shooting the final season of Lost. Imagine that. Later, back at the lobby, we rented some paddle boards. Jason and I really wanted to catch a wave. The ocean was calm. Barely any waves. About an hour later Jason finally caught a wave. No obstacles for miles. Fucker hit me at full speed. Figures. It was funny though. We both fell into the water laughing. After that we returned the boards and went into town to shop. We stumbled into a huge mall. This mall had stores with items well beyond our price range. We saw a bottle of whiskey going for ten thousand dollars. After admiring all of the unattainable products, we found ourselves in the food court. 

Once there, a local Hawaiin man motioned for us to come over to him. We did. He offered us an eighth of weed for sixty dollars. Well, we said we weren’t going to drink. We bought it. We returned to the hotel and excitedly told my sister and her friend what we had found. My sister was well versed in the arts of weed smoking. We showed her the stuff. Her expression sank into a deep disgust. “That’s not weed, you guys are retarded.”. What did we spend sixty dollars on? Pesto and other miscellaneous herbs. Fuck. My sister took a wad of cash out of her pocket and shoved it my way. “Go buy some real weed.”. I can’t describe how small that gesture made me feel. She was such a badass. A real cool hand Luke. Lucy? She was cool. 

Jason and I left the lobby. Tail between our legs we started heading into town. Where the fuck are we going to find weed? We didn’t find it last time. It found us. Well, pesto found us. Whatever. We decided to go into a different part of town. A part of town we were told not to go near. We had no business being over there. Only now we did. We were on a mission to regain our dignity. We found an odd sort of outdoor market. All sorts of crazy characters lurked here. The items for sale here were very unique. Ninja stars. Pineapples. Tiki torches. Full sets of katana swords. Stolen electronics. Tires. This place had it all. I looked to my left. On the ground was a dark skinny man. He was rolling up what looked like hundreds of joints. In his lap a pile of weed. A big pile. That’s a bingo. We asked if we could buy some. He stared at us. Uncomfortable silence ensued. I pulled twenty dollars from my pocket and handed it to him. He then took ten joints, put them in a bag, and handed me the bag. Nice. Felt right. We left. No one said a word.