Social Suicide

My day only got progressively worse after that. Mr. Hoffman kept me so long after the bell talking about how my “attitude and desperation for attention” was not going to be tolerated, that I had to sprint to my next class and endure similar torture for not taking notes.
Teachers waver between hating me and loving me. On the one hand, I’m not a horrible student, I do well on tests, despite hardly ever turning in homework (hey, it’s only 10% of the final grade, why bother?), and I’m quiet. On the other hand…teachers hear rumors too. And even though they are older, they aren’t wise enough to not believe them.
Dad didn’t want me to go to college anyways; he wanted me to help him with his ever growing business. I was aiming for a soccer scholarship as a ticket to get away from the east coast.
By third period, my patience was growing thin. I had gone to the bathroom during Chemistry and a junior named Jenny Matthews “accidently” spilled her Diet Coke down my shirt, staining it. When I returned to class, some asshole junior named Alex Grieco tripped me and I snapped.
“What the fuck is your deal?” I snarled at him and then shoved him, hard, so that he fell off the stool he was sitting on.
“Cooper!” The teacher, Mrs. Rossi, barked at me. “Come here, now.”
I stood there for a moment, fighting the urge to give everyone the finger, storm out and never come back. Grieco stood back up, looking at me, rubbing his arm, his eyes wide. “Waverly Cooper, NOW!”
I snatched my bag up onto my shoulder and stormed to the front of the room, where my chemistry teacher held out a pink detention slip. “What has gotten into you?” she demanded to me. “Shoving students in my class will not be tolerated!”
I grabbed the slip out of her hand and glared at her. “He tripped me.”
She shook her head. “Out of my class, don’t even bother coming in here tomorrow if you plan on keeping up with that attitude of yours.”
“Ooh,” I sneered at her, my anger bubbling over again. “How original.”
“Miss Cooper…”
“Don’t bother,” I said cutting her off. “I’m leaving.” I walked to the door, passing by Alex Grieco who shot me an evil little grin. “Bite me, Grieco,” I snapped at him, and slammed the door behind me. So much for keeping my temper under control.

I opened the door and slouched into the room. “Well, it must be a new year.”
I glanced at the woman sitting at the desk in front of me. Redish colored curls, nerdy glasses, beginning of wrinkles, romance novel in hand with sweaty man on the cover. Mrs. Clay. Probably the closest thing I had to a friend in this school, and she didn’t like me too much either.
“Hey, Mrs. Clay,” I said, popping my gum and handing her the pink detention slip.
“Getting off to a good start I see,” she said, reading the paper.
“Yup.”
“Have a seat.”
“Sure thing,” I took my usual seat and pulled out my book from my bag. With all the time I spent in detention and the fact that Mrs. Clay hated iPods, I had long since learned it was a good idea to always have a book. I got more reading done and learned more in detention then I ever did in English class. I almost even liked Detention better then normal class. I was left alone and could do what I wanted without the rumors and lies whispered behind hands, and the giggles behind my back. Clay and I sat in silence, reading our collective books, with me occasionally glancing at the clock.
At five minutes to lunch, the door swung open.
“Mr. Gaskarth as well,” Mrs. Clay said. “Must be my lucky day.”
“Nope, its mine.” I tried not to roll my eyes and failed. Alex “I’m a Douchebag” Gaskarth. Not as bad as Rams, but close enough. He didn’t walk, he sauntered. He didn’t chat, he charmed. He didn’t date girls, he fucked them. He didn’t play sports, but he and his jackass friends threw parties, which, as much as I hated to admit, were awesome.
Not that I had been invited to any for close to two years.
“How are you Mrs. Clay?” Alex said, and I could hear the sickening smirk in his voice.
Luckily, Mrs. Clay was impervious to his charm. “Fine. Have a seat and don’t make noise.”
Alex sighed and slammed his book bag down on the desk two away from mine. I felt his eyes on my face, which I ignored, calmly turning the page, and then heard him pick up his bag again and sit down next to me. “Hey…hey, Wavy.”
“Fuck off.”
He ignored me. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
“Good for you.”
“I have a favor to ask you,” he continued, like I hadn’t said anything.
I laughed dryly, “Yeah, you’re barking up the wrong fucking tree.”
“Can you not be a bitch for like, 5 minutes and just listen to me?” He snapped, and when I didn’t respond, he went on. “Look, I’m in a band, and we really need some clubs to play, I was just thinking maybe you could ask your Dad…”
I cut him off. “No.”
“Why not?” He demanded.
I finally looked up at him. He was looking annoyed. “Should I make you a list?” I said.
He glared at me for a long moment, and then sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Come on, Wavy, we used to be friends…”
“No, not really,” I said mildly turning back to my book.
“Can you just think about it? Please?”
“I did. And the answer is no. Your shitty band should find somewhere else to play. Mrs. Clay, it’s 12:30, can I go already?”
“Yes, whatever,” she said, waving me away with the sweep of her hand.
I stood up. “Coop, come on,” Alex started.
I spun around to face him, slamming my hands on his desk and giving him the worst glare I could summon. It must have been pretty scary because Alex jumped, and leaned away from me. “What the fuck gives you the right to ask me for favors?” He didn’t say anything. “Fuck you, and fuck your band.” I spat and then left the room.

It used to bother me, eating alone, but now I kind of enjoyed it. I didn’t have to keep up with conversations, didn’t have to be social, I could sit and eat and for once, enjoy some damn peace and quiet. Having been out of practice, I wondered how I used to do it before: the constant socialization, the keeping up on rumors and breakups and everyone’s lives around me. It had never seemed like work when I was in that crowd, but now it seemed exhausting.
I sat at my cafeteria table, looking at the girl’s soccer team. They were all sitting together, laughing, talking, Lindsey Kelly and Liz Smith were showing each other their bruises. I remember being part of that. I remember what it was like to have a bunch of girls that had your back. To have people come up to you in the hallway telling you good job in the game last Friday. To go to someones house and eat pizza with the team while you all decorated shirts for the day before playoffs. To go to practice after school and workout with your friends and talk about how much of a bitch your social studies teacher is. To have your boyfriend wait outside the locker room for you after practice.
That life seemed so long ago. It was shocking how fast they all turned on me. All it took was one girl accusing me of smoking pot, for the entire team to stop passing me the ball, for Lindsey Kelly tripping me and spraining my ankle and I was kicked out. They lost the first game in playoffs without me. At the time, it made me happy, that they had gotten what they deserved but now it made me sad, that they hated me so much for who they thought I was that they’d rather lose something we had all worked so hard for than have me around.
I was jolted back to reality as Rams walked by, swiping my food tray onto the ground. He laughed loudly at me, as I tried to muster up some sort of glare at him, but I actually didn’t really care. I wasn’t hungry now anyway. Sometimes I can’t believe I ever dated that jerk. I wish I could lie and say he wasn’t always like this, but the truth is he’s always been a jerk, he just used to not be a jerk to me. He used to be infatuated with me. He asked me out during my second week of school here, I turned him down then, saying I was still getting oriented. He asked again three weeks later and I said yes. But Rams had a mean streak to him. He was always picking on people who weren’t as “cool” as him. It’s actually my biggest regret out of anything I’ve ever done. He once reduced Madeline Hoyt to tears in front of me, and I didn’t tell him to stop. I never told him to stop bullying people even though I knew it was wrong. So when the popular crowd kicked me out, no one, especially people like Madeline Hoyt, wanted to be my friend.
I wished I could blame it on my Asperger’s but Asperger’s didn’t work that way, you didn’t know how to handle social situations, but you still knew right from wrong. I knew Ram’s was wrong. I had been diagnosed when I was 4. I had a hard time making friends to begin with, and I avoided eye contact when I was little as much as possible. I had no concept or sarcasm, most of the time I couldn’t tell if someone was joking or not. I got better as I got older: soccer helped me become better with hand-eye coordination, moving schools constantly helped me learn how to become part of the social crowd, how to act like one of the popular kids, no matter how it exhausted me. In some ways, my fall down the social ladder helped ease a lot of my anxiety. At least now I didn’t have to guess how to properly respond to some people.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone standing across from me. “Leave me alone,” I said, not bothering to look up and see what asshole wanted to mess with me today.
“Um, excuse me? You’re Wavy Cooper, right?”
I glanced up. It was the petite brunette from this morning. “Yeah.”
“I was just wondering if I could sit with you?” She asked, looking slightly nervous.
I studied her for a moment. “You’re new, right?”
“Yeah, I just moved her from Conn…”
I held up my hand to stop her. “Look, you seem really nice and everything, so I’m just going to go ahead and warn you that sitting at this table is pretty much social suicide, hell, even standing here chatting with me is social suicide, and I really would hate to ruin your chance to be ‘popular’ here, so I would recommend that you sit with, oh, I don’t know, them?” I pointed to the table of cheerleaders.
“You mean the people who stood around and laughed while I was getting picked on by two jerks? Thanks, but no thanks.” She said. I was surprised. Maybe she was tougher then she seemed.
I shrugged. “Up to you. It’s your social life.”
I could sense her wavering, and just when I thought she was going to walk away, she slammed her tray down across from me and took a seat. “I’m Jen. Jen Smith.” She stuck out her hand. I raised an eyebrow and then took it. “I just moved here from Connecticut, my dad’s a doctor, and he moved down here to work at Johns Hopkins Hospital? It’s weird, but I kind of like it here. What are you reading? Is it good?”
I blinked at her. I think it was the most anyone had said to me in one go in years. I held up my book so she could see the cover. “Uh, I just started, I don’t know if it’s good or not yet.”
“Oh. Well let me know.” She said, taking a large bite of mashed potatoes and looking around. “So,” she said after she swallowed. “Why do you sit all the way over here by yourself and why is everyone in the school scared of you?”
I smled. “They aren’t scared of me.”
Jen snorted. “Uh, yeah, they are.”
I shrugged and shook my head. “I got myself kicked out of the popular crowd, and what they say goes, so now I’m an ‘excluded freak.’” Jen’s eyes grew wide. “Their words, not mine.”
Jen looked aghast. “What did you do?”
“I cheated on the most popular guy in school.” I said simply, and then looked down at my lap. Jen cocked her head at me, and I couldn’t resist the little bitter after thought to slip out. “Not like he hadn’t cheated on me too.”
“Which one?” Jen asked.
“The delightful one that tried hitting on you this morning.”
“He’s an asshole.” She declared.
I smiled slightly. “Yes, he is. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t rule the school.”
"I saw him swipe your food on the floor," she said, and then hesitating, she glanced at her tray and then handed me her apple. "Here."
"Thank you."
It turned out Jen was a chatterbox. By the end of lunch, I felt like I knew her entire life story. I knew all about her older brother, he past ex-boyfriends, her old home and classmates, her favorite color, her favorite animal…fuck I probably even knew her social security number.
I didn’t mind her talkativeness. I didn’t like talking, so she filled up all the awkward gaps. And I figured she was the new kid, and she was probably scared and so she was grasping for any sort of friendship she could find.
I was temporary.
I was okay with that.

My Dad was a very successful man. He owned many nightclubs all up and down the eastern coast. When my Mom was around, we had moved quite a bit; whatever city my Dad laid his eyes on, we moved to.
When my Mom decided to get a divorce and take up with a young bartender instead, when I was 12, Dad decided it was time for him and I to settle down so I could have a more “stable environment”. He chose Baltimore County, Maryland because his first and favorite club was located in the city.
I think it was the fact that we were rich that first got me into the popular crowd. I was kind of admired at first, I had nice things, the latest fashions, I don’t know, how fashionable can you really be at 13? There was also the fact that Dad was gone. A lot. He owned nearly 30 successful clubs, and he was constantly trying to expand, and this required him to be traveling. Dad never minded if I threw parties, so I did. Dad never minded if I spent the night elsewhere, so I did. He never minded leaving his credit cards so I could go shopping, so I did.
After everything, I ended up being lonely most of the time. With no one ever at home, no sports teams to fill my time, no friends to invite over, I started being lame and never leaving my house.
The one thing I missed the most was soccer. I couldn’t join the team back at school, and playing by yourself is just pathetic and sad. I was lucky to find that the UMBC Men’s soccer team practiced at a park about 20 minutes away from my house and played the occasional scrimmage there during their off season. I had met the coach once or twice, and he had been more than willing to help me out and allow me to practice with the team, having seen my talent while I was on my school team. He was a great guy, and he was working hard to make sure that I had a shot to play in college by inviting scouts to some scrimmages to see me play. I’d already gotten a couple offers from coaches.
Whether we had practice or not, I always went to the park after school to run. Most people found running horrible but it was something I always enjoyed. Nothing could beat the feeling of running, it cleared your mind and I always loved being outside. Nothing could erase the stress of a long day at school like a soccer practice.
After school, I had gone home to change and grab my gear and drove to the park. I was running late, getting out of the student lot at school was a nightmare, so most of the guys were already there, stretching and fooling around.
“Wavy!” Alejo, my favorite person on the team, bellowed. “My girl is here!” Alejo was a tiny Hispanic kid, who was the fastest runner I’d ever seen. He also possibly suffered from one or more of the following diseases: OCD, ADD, ADHD, short term memory loss, and just plain craziness.
It was weird that the only place I was accepted really was with a bunch of guys who were all older than me. Not just accepted, but respected even. I was good at soccer. I’m not bragging, it’s simply true. The freshman on the team were always hesitant at first, letting me play, thinking it was weird, and then I would soundly score three goals and they would understand.
Alejo tackled me to the ground, surprising for someone so tiny. “Mi amore!” He screeched. “How are you chica?”
“Fantastic,” I told him, moving my head to free my mouth from his elbow. “Can I get up now?”
“Get off her Alejo!” Brian, our goalie yelled. “Don’t break her leg, we have a scrimmage next week!”
He sighed and rolled off of me, then helped me up. I waved to the rest of the guys there, while Alejo and I started stretching, Alejo chatting away about his roommate and something about Dora the Explorer. It wasn’t necessary to really follow Alejo’s conversations, in fact, if you tried, you’d probably end up hurting your brain because he tended to just babble everything that popped into his head.
Charlie jogged over to us. If I was ever considering dating one of my team mates based purely on looks, it would be Charlie. Tall, with brown hair, one of the bodies girls swoon over, dark blue eyes. He was beautiful, but he was also slightly a man-whore, so I had long ago filed him under “Friends Only”. Even still, Charlie was still really fun to be around. He was my running partner, both of us could run a 6 minute mile pace, so we often found time to talk. “How was school today, darling?” He asked, sitting down next to Alejo and I. “Oh wonderful, you know.” I told him sarcastically.
“Making friends?”
“Always.” I said, giving him a wry smile, that he returned.
“Detention?”
“Only once.”
Charlie laughed. “You’re such a badass, Waves.”
“I know, I know, I try.” I said. I was about to ask him about his day when our Coach blew his whistle meaning it was time to start practice, thus bringing our conversation to a close.

“Drive safe, Waves!”
I nodded and waved good bye to the remaining guys in the parking lot and slipped inside my car. I was hot and sore, the end of summer was hanging on with a vengeance and even at 8 at night, it was still a sticky 75. I started the car and whipped off my t-shirt, deciding to drive home in just my sports bra and shorts, and then tsk-ed my tongue at the grass burn I had gotten on my elbow, now a disgusting mix of blood, sweat and dirt.
The house was empty and dark when I got home. Dad was in Florida for the remainder of the week, so I was on my own. I took a quick shower and then made some Ramen noodles for dinner, parking myself in front of the TV while I ate.
At around 10, Dad called. “How was school sweetie?”
“Fine,” I said. “My classes seem interesting.” It was a lie I always told him. He knew a lot about my life at school, and he always defended me if push came to shove (like the time someone put weed in my locker), but other then that, we kept up a façade that everything was fine.
We didn’t talk much longer, Dad was about to head out to survey his club and make sure it was running as expected during the night life, and I was tired and ready for bed.
After we hung up, I trudged upstairs and looked at my backpack, forgotten on the floor, and briefly considered pulling out my chemistry homework and completing it. And then I laughed at myself and went to sleep.