Hello My Name Is...
Teenage Sin
Alice was sitting quietly in class in this muggy day in April. School was almost out for the summer. At one point, she'd be yakking away idly, as her Junior year came to a close, and her summer vacation would begin. But today she didn't feel like talking, or concentrating on her school work. She could only think about that day three months ago, February to be exact.
She closed her eyes, rubbing her temples, trying to push any pointless minuscule details out of her head, but she couldn't focus, not today, possibly not ever again. It didn't matter who tried to talk to her, to help her, to heal her. People would talk about her in the halls, in the bathroom, in the cafeteria. She was once a proud member of the "Elite Squad" of the school. If you were a someone, you were in this grouping. Separate from cheerleaders, separate from the plastic whores, they were the "It" crew. They could pretty much deem what was fashion appropriate, and what wasn't. They were the girls every girl wanted to be, dozens of girls trying and vying for a place amongst the ranks of immaculate make up and perfect hair. They were good in school, not dumb and clueless like others. Anyone else trying to follow in their footsteps, or create a clique unlike theirs, were considered fakes and posers.
But now, three months after the school reopened, she was ostracized by her own people. She was quickly falling out of the protection and benefits of the Elite. She didn't do her makeup anymore, she hardly bothered with her hair, she was a nervous wreck. Her school work was laughable, and her concentration bordered on ADD. She was falling apart, and others saw it. She, the epitome of perfect, was quickly slipping into an outcast. Ever since that boy....
William took two more quick drags off of his cigarette before snubbing it out on the toilet seat in the men's bathroom. He flushed the butt, picking up his one strapped backpack and sauntered out of the bathroom. His Timberland boots scuffed the polished floor of the schools main lobby. He was late for school, a common practice to him now, but he didn't care. He knew as an African American thug, he had to maintain the "Bad Boy Rebel" life. It was easy back in the day, look tough and hard, wear the right clothes, don't talk outside of your social class unless you're crackin on someone. Nowadays though, he didn't have to work at being bad, he was doing it just fine with his mindset. He gave up on that philosophy a long time ago. He didn't care anymore. He didn't care about what people thought about him, he didn't care about school, or his difficult home life. All that he cared about, was staying alive, making that dollar through hustling, and living life to the fullest. Most of his boys dropped out of school, preferring life in the hood of the projects and ghetto. Unlike most thugs, he really did come from a broken home that involved a single guardian, his Grandmother of seventy years. She had raised him since his late childhood, his father was in prison for another twenty for manslaughter, grand theft auto, and assaulting and officer. His mother was dead, she overdosed on crack, a bad fix. And unlike most thugs, he really did want to graduate, to try to start over. He just didn't want to have to work for it. He just wanted to move on past the incident three months ago. He used to make jokes about anyone and everyone, but now he was real careful about it. In fact, he stopped altogether. Ever since the few months before the tragic incident, he had changed.
Davey was what they called an "Emo" kid. He hated the title, but yet, he loved it. It set him apart from everyone else, along with his snakebite piercings, long dyed black hair, black nail polish, and tight jeans. Sure he was made fun of, negative attention and all. But all the pain he felt from the social rejection and rebuke, it made him feel much human. He knew their insults and looks didn't mean anything, and it wasn't his fault he was born with a high sensitivity, coupled with insecurity,depression, and social anxiety. It was funny, because when he was with his friends, he was accepted, generally liked, and considered a social butterfly. But as soon as he stepped out of his comfort zone, he was a China doll, pretty to look at, but dead quiet. The incident three months didn't help his situation, since he knew most of those involved, and was partially being blamed for the outcome. He hated the stigma his social caste seemed to carry, forever doomed to be the butt of every joke. He had issues, he knew that. He knew he needed some help, with his cutting and self harm. It wasn't an attention getting ploy for pity, like some of his friends did. He really needed help before he ended himself. But no one would listen or hear him out, he was always written off as an over dramatic pussy seeking attention. He thought of suicide, but never had the guts to go through with it. All he ever wanted, was to be happy, genuinely happy for once in his insignificant life! But now, with everything in disarray, suicide seemed far more satisfying than graduation. He was worse off than he was before, and retribution for another's sin seemed impossible. He was hated even more these days. He lost friends, gained unlikely new ones, but it didn't make a difference. The scars were still there, and they were there to remind him.
Seth, the cool rebel outcast with an attitude as edgy as his mouth and skating skills. He didn't want to fit into any category, but he knew he did. He'd fight anyone and everyone who crossed him and rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn't afraid of fighting because that was exactly what he'd been doing since he ever started school. If his father didn't beat him, the kids at school would. Since he couldn't stand up to his old man, he opted to take it out on other kids. Some called him a white trash bully, others called him the James Dean of the modern day drug store cowboy. He was a juvenile delinquent, shoplifting, smoking, drinking, sneaking out, doing drugs, and of course...fucking around. All of those things made him feel good, not about himself, just felt good. His friends were cool with him, but they were honestly afraid of him at times, with his spontaneous moods and thoughts. A prep once called him a "Skater Fag" and Seth got suspended for beating the kid with his skateboard on the school tennis court. He was also beaten by his father when the kids parents sued his family for the assault.
Before the Tragedy, his life had been a joke.
His mother didn't seem to care, she was an alcoholic, just like his father, so why not follow en suite? He only wanted to graduate to prove to himself that he was a somebody, that his father's bitter insults, and mother's glassy eyed murmurs were only superficial. He knew his life was shit, but if he could for just one moment in his life, be someone his parents could be proud of, that was all that mattered. He knew if he wanted that golden day to come, he'd have to graduate this year, for it was his last chance. He had failed twice, now nineteen and a senior.
He started taking more notes, paying a little more attention in class, he even moved his "D" up to a "C". His parents didn't give it any thought, but it didn't matter. Seth didn't care what it took to be the last one laughing. He held grudges, a gift learned from his father. His older brother Sean was doing time for grand theft auto, hot wiring and boosting cars for cash to keep the family running, while buying drugs and handing them back out with extra tax. Soon, the law caught up, and Seth had to take over with the family care taking and business of illegal solicitation. He wanted to graduate so he could find a better job than working at the local burger shack, flipping burgers for the preps and jocks. He wanted to get enough money to spring his brother out. But like everyone else, three months ago, one day, changed everything for everyone of every social class. He felt somewhat responsible for it, but yet, he refused to be a part of the investigation. He would do what everyone else did, move on. It was hard though, with losing those who mattered to him, who helped him through the tough times. The ones who helped him get help...and end the beatings at home....
She closed her eyes, rubbing her temples, trying to push any pointless minuscule details out of her head, but she couldn't focus, not today, possibly not ever again. It didn't matter who tried to talk to her, to help her, to heal her. People would talk about her in the halls, in the bathroom, in the cafeteria. She was once a proud member of the "Elite Squad" of the school. If you were a someone, you were in this grouping. Separate from cheerleaders, separate from the plastic whores, they were the "It" crew. They could pretty much deem what was fashion appropriate, and what wasn't. They were the girls every girl wanted to be, dozens of girls trying and vying for a place amongst the ranks of immaculate make up and perfect hair. They were good in school, not dumb and clueless like others. Anyone else trying to follow in their footsteps, or create a clique unlike theirs, were considered fakes and posers.
But now, three months after the school reopened, she was ostracized by her own people. She was quickly falling out of the protection and benefits of the Elite. She didn't do her makeup anymore, she hardly bothered with her hair, she was a nervous wreck. Her school work was laughable, and her concentration bordered on ADD. She was falling apart, and others saw it. She, the epitome of perfect, was quickly slipping into an outcast. Ever since that boy....
William took two more quick drags off of his cigarette before snubbing it out on the toilet seat in the men's bathroom. He flushed the butt, picking up his one strapped backpack and sauntered out of the bathroom. His Timberland boots scuffed the polished floor of the schools main lobby. He was late for school, a common practice to him now, but he didn't care. He knew as an African American thug, he had to maintain the "Bad Boy Rebel" life. It was easy back in the day, look tough and hard, wear the right clothes, don't talk outside of your social class unless you're crackin on someone. Nowadays though, he didn't have to work at being bad, he was doing it just fine with his mindset. He gave up on that philosophy a long time ago. He didn't care anymore. He didn't care about what people thought about him, he didn't care about school, or his difficult home life. All that he cared about, was staying alive, making that dollar through hustling, and living life to the fullest. Most of his boys dropped out of school, preferring life in the hood of the projects and ghetto. Unlike most thugs, he really did come from a broken home that involved a single guardian, his Grandmother of seventy years. She had raised him since his late childhood, his father was in prison for another twenty for manslaughter, grand theft auto, and assaulting and officer. His mother was dead, she overdosed on crack, a bad fix. And unlike most thugs, he really did want to graduate, to try to start over. He just didn't want to have to work for it. He just wanted to move on past the incident three months ago. He used to make jokes about anyone and everyone, but now he was real careful about it. In fact, he stopped altogether. Ever since the few months before the tragic incident, he had changed.
Davey was what they called an "Emo" kid. He hated the title, but yet, he loved it. It set him apart from everyone else, along with his snakebite piercings, long dyed black hair, black nail polish, and tight jeans. Sure he was made fun of, negative attention and all. But all the pain he felt from the social rejection and rebuke, it made him feel much human. He knew their insults and looks didn't mean anything, and it wasn't his fault he was born with a high sensitivity, coupled with insecurity,depression, and social anxiety. It was funny, because when he was with his friends, he was accepted, generally liked, and considered a social butterfly. But as soon as he stepped out of his comfort zone, he was a China doll, pretty to look at, but dead quiet. The incident three months didn't help his situation, since he knew most of those involved, and was partially being blamed for the outcome. He hated the stigma his social caste seemed to carry, forever doomed to be the butt of every joke. He had issues, he knew that. He knew he needed some help, with his cutting and self harm. It wasn't an attention getting ploy for pity, like some of his friends did. He really needed help before he ended himself. But no one would listen or hear him out, he was always written off as an over dramatic pussy seeking attention. He thought of suicide, but never had the guts to go through with it. All he ever wanted, was to be happy, genuinely happy for once in his insignificant life! But now, with everything in disarray, suicide seemed far more satisfying than graduation. He was worse off than he was before, and retribution for another's sin seemed impossible. He was hated even more these days. He lost friends, gained unlikely new ones, but it didn't make a difference. The scars were still there, and they were there to remind him.
Seth, the cool rebel outcast with an attitude as edgy as his mouth and skating skills. He didn't want to fit into any category, but he knew he did. He'd fight anyone and everyone who crossed him and rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn't afraid of fighting because that was exactly what he'd been doing since he ever started school. If his father didn't beat him, the kids at school would. Since he couldn't stand up to his old man, he opted to take it out on other kids. Some called him a white trash bully, others called him the James Dean of the modern day drug store cowboy. He was a juvenile delinquent, shoplifting, smoking, drinking, sneaking out, doing drugs, and of course...fucking around. All of those things made him feel good, not about himself, just felt good. His friends were cool with him, but they were honestly afraid of him at times, with his spontaneous moods and thoughts. A prep once called him a "Skater Fag" and Seth got suspended for beating the kid with his skateboard on the school tennis court. He was also beaten by his father when the kids parents sued his family for the assault.
Before the Tragedy, his life had been a joke.
His mother didn't seem to care, she was an alcoholic, just like his father, so why not follow en suite? He only wanted to graduate to prove to himself that he was a somebody, that his father's bitter insults, and mother's glassy eyed murmurs were only superficial. He knew his life was shit, but if he could for just one moment in his life, be someone his parents could be proud of, that was all that mattered. He knew if he wanted that golden day to come, he'd have to graduate this year, for it was his last chance. He had failed twice, now nineteen and a senior.
He started taking more notes, paying a little more attention in class, he even moved his "D" up to a "C". His parents didn't give it any thought, but it didn't matter. Seth didn't care what it took to be the last one laughing. He held grudges, a gift learned from his father. His older brother Sean was doing time for grand theft auto, hot wiring and boosting cars for cash to keep the family running, while buying drugs and handing them back out with extra tax. Soon, the law caught up, and Seth had to take over with the family care taking and business of illegal solicitation. He wanted to graduate so he could find a better job than working at the local burger shack, flipping burgers for the preps and jocks. He wanted to get enough money to spring his brother out. But like everyone else, three months ago, one day, changed everything for everyone of every social class. He felt somewhat responsible for it, but yet, he refused to be a part of the investigation. He would do what everyone else did, move on. It was hard though, with losing those who mattered to him, who helped him through the tough times. The ones who helped him get help...and end the beatings at home....