I woke up to loud, F-word dotted yelling coming from my parents’ room. I put on my headphones, tuned them out and did 50 sit-ups. Dennis says it will help me get serious abs. I’ve been doing this for a week. But there’s no sign of those abs. Also, I’m walking kinda funny because my thighs are sore. Ralph and his cronies punched me in the gut after taking my lunch money because I was walking like a girl.
Got home to see Mr. Wilson coming out of my parents’ room. My mom walked out behind him, blushing red like a strawberry. “Oh Petey, you’re back!”, she screeched in a high pitch. “Mr. Wilson was just taking a look at the clogged bathtub!”
“Dad could have done that.” I replied dryly.
“Erm..Do you want a sandwich, sweetheart? You must be hungry.”
She came into my room that evening and said something about ‘finding herself’ and gave me $20.
After she left, I studied my face in the mirror. More zits on my cheek. These new ones are the painful green, pus-filled type. No sign of facial hair, not even a strand. Shaving isn’t helping. This is as disappointing as that time I put pencil shavings and a few leaves of basil in an empty matchbox and chanted some gibberish to turn it into gold coins. My brother had called me a loser and laughed at me for days.
I can hear muffled yelling coming out of my parents’ room. That’s how I know Dad’s home from work. Dinner’s going to be late, again. So, I take my bike out and ride past Rose’s house on White Road. The lights are off.
Rose is my only reason to live. She sits two rows ahead in Geography. I’ve been getting straight Fs because all I do is stare at her brown, perfectly round head. Her silky brown hair cascades down her neck like a chocolate waterfall. I wrote her a poem and signed it as ‘your secret admirer’, but she crumpled it and tossed it in the garbage bin. I write her name in my notebook and kiss it. It somehow brings me closer to her.
I cannot stop thinking about her, but she doesn’t know I exist. I’m desperate, so I went to my brother for advice. He’s a moron, but he might be a tad more experienced in the girl department. He said something about how I’m only 13 and that there are lots of fish in the sea.
I thanked him for his useless advice, to which he spewed more nonsense. Something about brothers coming before a hose. I have no idea what that means. What brothers and water hoses have anything in common is beyond me. It was a colossal waste of my time. I’m clearly doing something wrong.
My best friend, Dennis and I had a long chat about my situation.
“You have to do something dramatic, dude! Get her attention.”
“Like what? I don’t have any special skills!”
“I don’t know, do something crazy and get yourself into a hospital. Everyone’s going to be talking about you in school. She will have to notice you. Girls dig guys who are hurt, bruised, you know.”
He does have a point. Every reality show I watch says “Go Big or Go Home”
I like the idea and I know just what to do. I’ve read about this online.
I just have to come home early from school tomorrow. Mom will be too busy with Mr. Wilson to notice. I’ll slip into the garage with her car keys, turn the engine on and sit tight inside the car with my headphones on until I feel dizzy. When I’m about to faint and the Pearly Gates come into view, I’ll open the door and call out to Mom. It’s simple.