[2] Perseverance makes all things considered wise, foolish. Growth is put together by the body but sustained by the mind. Endurance is a mental exercise and the greatest foe of defeat. The top has many enemies and so is the truth. Worst is a pawn. Best is the king. Stay Better.
Getting a loyal friend as a misfit was a long walk in the park; getting a loyal friend as a misfit who wasn't a misfit was a mission for Tom Cruise. Basically, everyone who enjoyed the gifts accompanying common sense never wanted to be around when the occasional pranks, threats and ridicules alike were served to the Misfit.
Being a Misfit was considered a contagious viral disease deadlier than aids—I mean that in every sense. Hanging out with a Misfit was more of a get in - find what you want - and get out before anyone notices. The consequences of being seen was a slow death to your unwritten ranking in the school social status/hierarchy.
As much as I told myself that it was a new school year, the truth remained that it was the same school, same a-holes, and the same expectation of me. So I decided not to be a pawn for someone's victory or an insignificant character—you know, the unnamed knight that dies by the blade of a hero's conquest. I wanted to have my story and be the protagonist. The never-say-never hero.
To succeed at that, I needed a friend from either the Rule-breakers or Trendsetters. I was a nerd with budding chances for greatness. Sports was one that didn't come easily to me without a few jests or pitiful glances accompanied—more from the teachers than students. So like a vile serpent, I did my best to keep off—I wasn't going to be the guy that walks past an unseen yellow warning sign into an unexpected-unending horror.
To achieve that, I had to find a good hiding spot for games on Tuesdays until I have mastered the act of disappearing into shadows—another skill of great importance that successfully eluded me.
The school never forgets is a lesson I learned the hard way. As jeers of my past failures and memories of my stupidity were played again by the mouth of my likely targets.
The ones that I could connect with were new students, which was bad for my plan—a new student that knew nothing of my Junior High could prove equally devastating as an unintentional leg-split. It makes you susceptible to betrayal, especially if the new Kid is equally selfish in pursuit of a social status—that was nine of every ten.
After an hour of trying with the roll-call bell signifying my failure, I settled for plan B for getting friends—instrumental to my success. Getting a Rule-breaker or Trendsetter was way harder than a blind man learning to back-flip. Getting a Misfit minion was never plan A, but it delivered similar results—only subtler.
By the end of Roll Call, I had two talking to me; Sam Ada, a potential Trendsetter and Musa Abdul-Hakim, a Nerd and a potential Jock. They were still both misfits and nestled the idea of a being at the precipice of school dominance. They were shorter and less built than I was—and I was skinny. They were cute in their own way, funny and had other talents that could come handy. There shared most things together than with me, but I was fine with that. I was looking for an army, not a friend that completes my every sentence.
In all, they were the best misfits and friends a guy like me could have hoped for. Don't ask me, how I managed that. The words I said had been long lost in history, leaving just a reminder—nothing beats the determination of a fat woman trying out yoga on her first day.
The two had friends in Junior High, but obviously my adventures were rare, true, brave, and sweetened by the tongue of a desperate kid. A story incomparable; highlighting me as the perfect hero. A story of a man drinking from a mug and wresting cheetahs running at intervals, while skateboarding in a jungle had nothing on my story. From the smiles evident on their faces, they were obviously swooned by my exploits.
I ended by assuring them of many adventures ahead with Aaron's words. "We are going to rock Senior High." Damn, even those words were cool.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" Sam asked unexpectedly.
Having a girlfriend in high school was a rite passage. It was an acknowledgment of your transition from a little boy to a man—a man worthy of the long-sleeved shirt. A few had gone through with the ritual in Junior High. Bright-eyed boys and girls that had tasted the sullied fruit of fornication. Not even a chaplet hung on the neck could hide their tainted soul mirrored on their faces.
I was not among the lot.
For a brief moment, I could hear a thin sheet of glass crack in my ear—one that held my ego. The face once beaming with smiles faded into the horror of losing the adoration of my cohorts. I had to say something fast.
"Still searching for the perfect one, you know," I spoke unsurely; still searching for better answers while predicting the next possible question. My brain working faster than that of a kid a word away from winning the spelling bee. "One that doesn't have a body odor," I added to the amusement of my patriots. We all shared hearty laughter at those words.
But as we walked to the Chemistry lab, I knew Sam's question was unavoidable and my answer, rather short-lived. I needed a girlfriend to continue on my journey to school dominance. One that wasn't necessary the Girl of every guy dreams, but loyal and beautiful. It was a task I deemed beneath me.
Nothing escapes Andrew Shilling's well-thought plan.
YOU ARE READING
THE DIARY OF A MISFIT
Humor"Doesn't it bother you?" I inquired as we walked on the pavements that led to the school gate. "Treated like this." "It does sometimes. But, what can I do about it?" **** There are no big dreams, only small minds. Andrew Shilling, a social Pariah...
