The Perks of Being a Loser

Dear Friend.

Dear Friend,

I am writing to you because she said you listen, and understand.

And didn't sleep with that person at that party even though you could've.

Please, don't try to figure out who I am. I don't want you to do that.

I just need to know that people like you exist.

Like, if you met me you wouldn't think I was the weird kid with the stutter who spent time in the hospital. And I wouldn't make you nervous.

I hope it's okay for me to think that.

You see, I haven't really talked to anyone outside of my parents all summer, and even they don't seem to take much of an interest in what I have to say.

But tomorrow is my first day of high school ever, and I need to turn things around. So I have a plan.

As I enter the school for the first time I will visualize what it will be like on the last day of my senior year.

Unfortunately, I counted and that's 1385 days from now.

Just 1385 days.

In the meantime, I'd hoped that my friend Ben would have let me eat lunch with his Book Club.

"Sorry Bill, seniors only."

When Ben said "No," I thought maybe my old friend Bradley from speech therapy would wanna have lunch with me. In middle school, Bradley was mildly fun to be around, but now he doesn't like to say "Hi" to me anymore.

And then there's Henry Bowers. Before my younger brother died, he used to come over and help me take care of him during the weekends, so I thought maybe he'd say "Hi" to me.

But, Henry's a senior, and I'm me. So, who am I kidding?

On the bright side, one senior decided to make fun of the teacher instead of the freshmen. He even drew on Mr. Callahan's legendary goatee with a grease pencil.

The senior finished drawing Mr. Callahan's goatee on himself, and carelessly chucked the grease pencil away. The freshmen laughed at the iconic facial hair, but oh boy, he wasn't done yet.

"The prick punch is not a toy." He said, taking on a full personification of his teacher using one of his Voices. "I learned that back in 'Nam in '68."

"Callahan, sergeant said," He switched over to one of his deeper, louder Voices. "you put down that prick punch, you go kill some gooks." The freshmen stopped laughing immediately once Mr. Callahan himself walked into the classroom, and yet, Richie, who had his back towards the door, didn't see him and kept talking.

"And you know what happened? That prick punch killed my best friend in a Saigon whorehouse."

The teacher sighed, and Richie closed his eyes, dreading the punishment that'll come next.

"I heard you were gonna be in my class." Richie shook his head, taking a sharp breath through his clenched mouth, making a small hiss. "Are you proud to be a senior having to take freshman shop, Trashmouth?"

"Look, my name is Richie." He said, his tone normal, almost respectful now. "Either you call me Richie or you call me nothing." Almost.

Mr. Callahan took this as a challenge.

"Okay," He pointed at the boy's chest. "Nothing." He motioned for the boy to take his seat. Richie complied, with a small smile that showed defeat.