chapter twenty-five
─── maybe i should stay away from explosives
𝔐y motto for life is 'an existential life crisis a day keeps your brain in pain always'. Yes, I know that it doesn't rhyme, but that's not the point. The main reason for this is that my school is a 'progressive' school which basically means it's super chill, the teachers are cool but the kids aren't always the best or brightest of the lot.
I will say that I am not gifted at certain subject, but you know, at least I could take a hint. Most of these people couldn't.
Take Matt Sloan for example. He had yet to take a hint that I thought he was annoying, ugly, dumb, snobbish, horrific to look at and that I already had someone else.
Sloan wasn't big or strong, but he acted like he was. He had cruel eyes, and shaggy black hair, and he always dressed in expensive but sloppy clothes, like he wanted everybody to see how little he cared about his family's money. One of his front teeth was chipped from the time he'd taken his daddy's Porsche for a joyride and run into a PLEASE SLOW DOWN FOR CHILDREN sign, a story he'd boasted about at me for a while.
I'd then had to top that with how my boyfriend had an incredibly hot scar down the side of his face from getting into a fight with someone, along with scars along his chest. Apparently, he'd thought I'd said 'ex-boyfriend' and hadn't taken the hint.
Anyway, I thought (read: prayed) that he would give up, but instead he went to find my friend, Tyson, and tried to intimidate him so that I would go out with Sloan. Don't ask what logic that is, because I've got no clue either.
Tyson was the only homeless kid at Meriwether College Prep. As near as my mom and I could figure, he'd been abandoned by his parents when he was very young, probably because he was so...different.
He was six-foot-three and built like a wall, but he cried a lot and was scared of just about everything, including his own reflection. His face was kind of misshapen and brutal-looking. I couldn't tell you what colour his eyes were, because I could never make myself look higher than his jaw. His voice was deep, but he talked funny, like a much younger kid—I guess because he'd never gone to school before coming to Meriwether. He wore tattered jeans, grimy size-twenty sneakers, and a plaid flannel shirt with holes in it. He smelled like a New York City alleyway, because that's where he lived, in a cardboard refrigerator box off 72nd Street.
Meriwether Prep had adopted him as a community service project so all the students could feel good about themselves. Unfortunately, most of them couldn't stand Tyson. Once they discovered he was a big softie, despite his massive strength and his scary looks, they made themselves feel good by picking on him. I was pretty much his only friend, which meant he was my only friend in this place as well.
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Another Love ─── L. Castellan
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