Outcast

1.0

BEFORE I START THIS STORY, I have to tell you something. It's really not that big of a deal but getting to the point, I was never considered popular, or even socially accepted. I'm usually the outcast, or the person who just listens to conversations but never really engages in them because nobody will listen anyway. I'm also that person who never raises their hand at class, and sits at a lunch table with people I don't really talk to but I just sit there so I don't look like a total loner. I'm a person with a lot of problems that most people are lucky enough not to understand, I'm just an average teenager. A victim of this messed up world we call home. And yes I'm very sure that this is a problem most teens undergo and struggle with, but this is my experience of the actual reality of highschool and let me just tell you, don't believe what you see in the movies and TV shows because realistically speaking, it's fucking terrifying. The summer of 1992 proved that to me.

***

May 31, 1992 4:32 pm

"I hate this." I groan as I angrily slam my trigonometry textbook shut and carelessly toss my pencil box on the ground, which ends up spilling it's contents onto Kyle's gray rug.
"It's simple!" He says, sliding off his bed, to come help me load my pens, pencils, highlighters, charcoal pencils, and oil pastels, back into my pencil box. I guess you could call me an art person.
"Easy for you to say Mr. 4.2 GPA." I taunt as I shut my pencil box.
"Okay look it's a simple formula all you have to do is graph the ordered pairs and-"
"How about instead I go get a snack and we can watch a film and gossip about people we hate?" I suggest, completely ignoring my pile of homework. Mostly I wanted to ignore my homework but Kyle was one of the very few people in the neighborhood who had a tv in his room and I absolutely adored his raging VCR collection.
"Briiiiiii," Kyle groans.
"As much as I would love to do that, you have tons of homework you need to catch up on. Not to mention a quiz tomorrow on this topic."
"Remind me, when did I say that I cared about any of the things you just listed?" I say sarcastically as I push myself off the ground and walk towards the door.
"You might not care but I do. We can do whatever you want as long as you promise me you'll finish your work." He pleads.
"Jesus Christ Kyle, you act like you're my mom. Just because I don't have one doesn't mean I need one." I say with an annoyed tone. I turn away and start to walk down the hall and descend down the stairs and into the kitchen. Kyle's house would be a fine synonym for home because the house I live in does not feel like a home should, in any shape or form, so I resort to this one.
"I'm just looking out for you Bri." I hear Kyle's voice echo down the hall.
"Mhm" I say while opening the pantry filled with all assortments of food. Any snack that comes to mind and he has it. My gaze lands on a bag of cookies and I grab it, empty them into a ceramic bowl, and pop open two sodas.
"That should do for now." I whisper to myself as I pick up the bowl in one hand, and the carbonated refreshments in the other.
When I reach Kyle's room, the screen of his TV is already flashing images of our one and only favorite movie, Dirty Dancing. A smile tugs at my lips as I set down the snack on the rug where Sammy is positioned cross legged, and staring at the screen looking almost hypnotized. I walk to the corner of his room and drag a black, faux leather beanbag into the center of the room and plop down on it.
"Oh I'm sorry is the floor too low class for you?" Kyle says.
"Of course peasant." I respond jokingly while grabbing a handful of chips.

We continue this for an hour and a half, until we hear footsteps on the first floor, indicating that Kyle's mom has arrived home from work.
"And that's my cue." I sigh, standing up and picking up the empty aluminum cans and bowl that formerly held various kinds of cookies, and make my way downstairs to clean up. I greet his mother and start to put on my torn leather boots, that are a size smaller than my feet.
"You know you can sleep over if you want." I hear Kyle call out from upstairs.
"No I'm fine. Maybe another night."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. See you tomorrow." I say.
"See you." Kyle says. After a few moments of silence pass, and I hear his door to his bedroom click shut, I exit the house and reach behind the bushes on his porch, where my I hide my skateboard. I stare at it for a few seconds. A chipped, scraped, plain hand me down skateboard from my brother that is my only form of transportation. I ride down the road, feeling the wind pick up and playfully tug at my hair and tickle my face. My lips curl into a satisfied smile as I watch the sun slowly sink beneath the horizon, painting the sky different shades of red, pink, orange and blue, with each ray of light. Although simple and what most would consider boring, or plain, today was a good day. I don't get 'good' often. Not even anything remotely close to good. So yes, so would say boring is good.