sonic youth.

teen age riot

"in sixth grade, you created an Instagram 'tea spill' account and had five families pull their children out of your school. seventh grade, it was you who told everyone about a secret pool party in the woods which ended up being an empty kiddie pool and twenty of your classmates went missing for thirty-six hours."

"oh, at least they found them right?"

mr. mackey sent a glare, then continued. "in the eighth grade, that's when you put posters everywhere in town, warning about the rapture coming from 'ANTIFA', which in turn caused five-million dollars in damages."

"okay, that one was funny, it was like doomsday, but for hicks."

mr. mackey cleared his throat.

"sorry."

"ninth grade, you made a fake Grindr account for kevin stoley because, quote and quote, the closet was clearly invisible."

"i was clearly helping a friend!" you innocently smiled.

"no more talking."

"got it."

"alright, tenth grade, that was what i like to call the 'chicken incident'. we all know that one so no need to discuss more. oh, and uh, last year during homecoming you had joked that North Park's football coach was a pedophile, and if that were true then God would strike him down with lightning... and then it happened, twice."

"um, pause, how was that my fault?"

"i'm not sure... you, uh, took credit for it."

you frown and sigh, damn you from a year ago! "okay, well as you can see i've grown tamer over time! besides, there's nothing on my record for this year."

"oh, there is."

"what...?"

that's when he pulls out the surprise he's been waiting for: screenshots from your twitter. you don't have many followers online so to see your tweets printed out and used against you, mind-blowing.

"as you can see here, you said: 'all these South Park freaks piss me off. go to the deepest pits of hell for me."

you stare at the printed screenshot, then laugh a little. "maybe i was having a bad day!"

"a bad day? okay, two days later: 'i think without my earbuds i would've killed myself off if i had to go to South Park High every. single. fucking. day."

"mr. mackey, haven't you ever been to school?"

"yes, i went to school to become a teacher." he proceeds to look at you like a dead fish.

"haha, well, you would know that it's fucking hell." whatever shred of politeness you had dissipated the more you stayed in his old carpet smelled office.

"yes, i know that, and it's well—" mr. mackey takes off his glasses and sets them down on his desk. "i think you're a good kid. while, you don't like this town, the people living in it, the one thing i don't want you to do is to become cynical."

now it's your turn to be surprised. what? an adult actually being sincere in giving advice?

"i see potential in you. i think a lot of people lack drive and ambition, and i see a person who stops at nothing sitting right in front of me."

for some reason, being complimented like this makes you tense up.

"and the one thing that makes you different is that! don't be like the goths who don't see meaning in anything, or don't lose sight of yourself. i see how you carry yourself with your uh- uh- aesthetics and uh- piercings, and that's great! just... what am i trying to say? give this place a chance. you might think there's nothing here, but there's always something you can learn about from your environment. just look for it!"