Pride of the 90's

Chapter 1

You know the rush you get when you do something you're not supposed to? When you know if someone finds out, you're going to get in trouble for it, but you can't stop because it's the best feeling in the world to you? Your heart rate skyrockets, your pulse goes insane, you get short of breath, and even better, you get that rush of adrenaline that tells you how awesome it feels. How amazing it is to do it, even though you know you shouldn't. Even though if anyone else found out, you would be in so much trouble. Shunned, even. But I'm not talking about stealing your parent's car in the middle of the night or lying to them about something huge. It's not murder, though I know it sounds like that.

It's passion.

It's love.

It's you.

I normally don't mind living in a small town. I don't really do much as it is, so it was always sort of whatever. Well, when I say, 'small town', I mean a part of the city that's not technically part of the city, but you tell everyone it is anyway. I mean, we have a mall, so I wouldn't exactly say it sucks. The thing I never liked was how fast word travels. You can't even jerk off without every old woman knowing about it.

The upside, though, is that unless you give them gossip, they couldn't care less about you. Everyone is dead unless they say so.

I was riding down the street on my skateboard, through an almost empty neighborhood, the wind flowing through my semi-short, dark brown hair and swirling around my square frame glasses. I love this feeling. I'm so fast, I can't even think. So fast, every thought just pours out onto the road, ready to get hit by the nearest car. My name is Daniel Josephine Price. But nobody calls me Daniel. Because I hate it. I'm sixteen-years-old, I'm good with my hands, I'm very open about myself.

Mostly.

As I got closer to school, I slowed down, stepping off and picking up the skateboard, carrying it under my arm up the stone stairs. The nerds were sitting at the round tables playing on their Gameboys with those stupid flashlights attached that make everyone look like an asshole. The stoner's were in the corner, marveling at the wonders that are Tomagatchi. The cheerleaders practiced, which was more like them sitting around and gossiping. The goth kids all sitting in a circle, yet somehow still alone and the grungey kids are all smoking across the street, since it's not part of the shcool

With headphones on and that one song that everyone knows but hates now (you know the one) playing from my Walkman, it almost feels whimsical. It would be more whimsical if I didn't have to be here, but whatever. Enslave them while they're young, I guess.

Making my way to the top, I took off my headphones and found my best friend Haley, talking with my girlfriend Madison.

"I'm sorry, I just don't see the appeal of Johnathan Taylor Thomas," Haley said.
"He's cute. Besides, it's better than a Power Ranger with a ponytail," Madison responded.
"His name is Tommy and if you see him with his hair down, he's a lot cuter. Besides, at least mine isn't gay."
"JTT is not gay."

Haley doesn't like her. She thinks she's a little stuck up and gossipy. Haley doesn't care much for most people though. She really has it out for her specifically, which I don't get. I mean, Maddy doesn't have any bad feelings toward Haley, so I don't really get it. Maybe it's a girl thing, I don't know.

She's been my best friend since second grade. You wouldn't think it by looking at her, the straight blonde hair, big brown, always in a color that makes her look like a pre-schooler, but she's actually insane. Well, not insane, just weird. Not a day goes by where I'm entirely aware of what she's saying or where it even came from. She's a weirdo, but she's my weirdo.

Maddy, in the other hand, is the exact opposite. She's the kind of girl that always has something to say about something, whether it be about herself or others. She's also the girl everyone envys. Hourglass body, cherry red hair, make-up always made to look like she was at an event. Everyday had to be a different type of impression.