That I Would Be Good

Chapter One

“Each new friend gives rise to the possibility of anything!” ― Stephen Richards

      Did you ever notice when someone asks, ‘are you okay?’ you automatically reply ‘yeah’. You don’t think about it. It’s habit to simply reply ‘yeah’. It’s like a boxer; they are trained to hit back no matter how hard they are hit or how bad they are hurt, it’s a natural reaction.  They could be blinded and not know what they’re swinging at, but they swing, even if the opponent is out of reach and there is no way they will hit them.

     I don’t know why people do this; I don’t know why I do it. I just do and don’t know if it is possible to stop. Maybe we answer yes because we don’t want to admit we might not be okay. Maybe it’s a test to see who really cares enough to push us to admit we aren’t. Who knows?

     “Are you okay?” is the question that started my friendship with Leo Thompson; my first friend throughout my high school career. He was the new kid, and known to be as much trouble as I was. That’s probably what sparked our friendship. The fact that we had the same personality flaw; being a natural troublemaker.

     Since freshman year I had been going through my “rebellious phase”.  It started off as a prank here and there to get a laugh. But later became something as natural as breathing.

    I grew out of the phase of pulling pranks when it hit me that I didn’t care what the herd of sheep in the school that were referred to as “students” thought of me. I preferred them to stay away from me. Realizing this, I changed from the class clown to the bad ass.

      On the day I met the soon to be infamous Leo Thompson I was knelt down behind Principal Dick’s car in the teachers’ parking lot. 

      Phillip Richard, or Mr. Dick as I have referred to him since our introduction, much to his disliking, was my nemesis at that hell hole he called Wilmer High School. Batman had Joker, Spiderman had The Green Goblin, Superman had Lux Luther, Ash had Team Rocket and I had Dick.

     He was an overweight dipshit who thought he was doing the world good by barking out a new ridiculous student code every week over the intercom. Like telling the sluts they can’t dress like a slut at school. As if this will stop from dressing like that way outside of school. That’s like telling a dog they can’t be a dog. It’s just not possible; it goes against nature.

      Between my freshman and senior years, I had been to his office exactly three-hundred-fifteen times.  That had to be a record. If it wasn’t, then it couldn’t be too far off. I was pretty impressed with myself. My parents on the other hand were not.

     Every time I was sent to the office, they were called. That’s not exactly true. The first two-hundred-five times I was sent to the office they were called. After that, Dick gave up on calling them.  Obviously it wasn’t doing anything to improve my attitude or behavior.

     My parents yelled at me, threatened me with groundings, swore they wouldn’t put up with me any long, but they knew it would do nothing. I told them I hated school and wanted to quit, but they assured me it would be worth it. I had to graduate so I could go to a “great college”, get a “great degree”, and get a “great job”. Everything would be great.  What a crock of bull.

     I didn’t see it that way. Colleges only wanted you to pay overrated tuition, for pointless classes where you learn pointless things so you can take even more pointless classes. All while raping you of every dime you ever saved or worse enslaving you with debt that will haunt you for the rest of your life.  Thanks but no thanks. That wasn’t for me.

      Crouched behind Dick’s car, wedging a potato firmly in its tailpipe, I felt oddly giddy.  Knowing a tow truck was surely to be called because Dick’s car mysteriously wouldn’t start after a long day at the office was just revenge for all the shit I had to put up with.