CHAPTER 1

 

When there was a new student the first day of my junior year at Buckton High everyone knew who he was. With less than 100 classmates in my grade, an outsider was easy to spot. I never expected an exotic student from California would reach out to me.

Two weeks into the 1998-1999 school year, I was looking for my calculus book in my locker when there was a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and the new kid extended his hand. “Hi, my name is Quinton.”

 

“What do you want?” I said.

 

“I want to be your friend.”

 

He was well groomed, tall, and good-looking. His clothes fit him perfectly, setting him apart from everyone else at Buckton where the trend was to wear clothes three sizes too big. Although I knew nothing about fashion I could sense that my pleated pants, plain grayish blue button up Kmart shirt, and shoes that probably cost a tenth of what his did, made me look like a bumpkin in contrast to him. None of that is what made me feel inferior though. It was the aura Quinton had about him. The opposite of me, he was disaffected, comfortable, and cool, exuding confidence.

 

Quinton was the rare individual who was smooth without being sleazy. I was suspicious that someone with such sophistication would approach me. It had to be a joke, or a prank.

 

“Get away from me,” I said.

 

Quinton looked hurt by my words. I regretted speaking them and muttered I was sorry. Feeling as though I should explain myself, I told him how I was not popular and as a new kid with his social resources, he should be looking elsewhere for friendship.

 

“I don’t care about popularity,” Quinton said, “especially in a place like this.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“This place is nothing,” said Quinton. “Being popular around here means you are an unimaginative bore. There is something different about you though. By watching you the last few days, I have come to see something in you. Why don’t you come over to my place this weekend? I have the entire basement to myself. You look like you could use a friend.”

 

I thought the day I would finally make a friend would never come, and I never thought that if it did happen it would be with the person who would bring a worldly vibe to our rural, West Virginia high school.

 

Quinton said where he lived. I explained to him that I did not have a car. He asked me where I lived. I told him I lived close by the high school, also in the town of Buckton, the county seat of sparsely populated Buckton County. Even though Buckton High was the only high school in the county, the student population was less than 400.

 

Quinton slapped me on the back, offered to pick me up, and said, “See you Friday night.” From the second he offered me his friendship I was scared he would realize what a loser I was and change his mind.

 

I turned to Quinton and said, “I’m Craig. Can I ask you a question?”

 

“Sure,” said Quinton.

 

“What do you see in me?”

 

Quinton grinned. “I see the future.”

 

I stood in front of my family’s house waiting for Quinton to materialize. A flashy, red Audi A8 pulled into the driveway looking out of place in front of the cheap, dirty, green vinyl siding that coated my ugly Buckton house. I gulped and slipped into the leather passenger seat. Quinton backed out of the driveway and started a rap track on his high-end sound system. The track, almost polished enough to be a club favorite, still fell into gangster territory.

 

This was what I had always dreamed of doing. No, I lied. I did not even allow myself to dream of events like this because I was so sure they would never happen. But if I had been a more imaginative person I would have dreamed of doing this.

 

The strange thing was even though this is what I would have always wanted, had I taken the time to want things, I had the opposite reaction that I expected I would have had. Instead of being proud of riding through the shabby community of Buckton to a swagger-drenched soundtrack in a German car, I was ashamed. I secretly hoped none of my classmates would see me. As much as I wanted this to be me, this was not me, and everyone knew it. I was an impostor. I did not have the bravado that the context insinuated.

 

We stopped in front of a large, newly built, white mansion on a hill just outside of town. I had never heard of it or seen it before. I was awestruck by what was undoubtedly the largest and most opulent residence in Buckton County. Large pillars supported the high roof to the front porch. I walked through the heavy oak doors into a large atrium, sunlight flooding through the tall windows.

 

I wanted to see more of the house but Quinton ushered me down a stairwell near the entrance and into the basement. There was a microwave, refrigerator, and bathroom in the basement.

 

The material wealth I witnessed astonished me. I marveled at Quinton’s massive CD and DVD collection. My exposure to music was limited to my parent’s old LPs. I rented the occasional film from the local video rental place but always on VHS since my family did not own a DVD player.

 

“You could live down here. Is all this yours?” I said, looking at the latest gaming consoles, a computer in a fancy case, and an expensive stereo system.

 

“Yes,” said Quinton.

 

“You are spoiled,” I said.

 

“I have everything I want, but I am alienated,” said Quinton.

 

I almost laughed. “You have no idea what it is like to be alienated. Try going through your first two years of high school without a single friend.”

 

“We are more alike than you realize,” said Quinton.

 

“What do you mean?” I said.

 

“We are both unusual,” he said.

 

“You are unusual in ways that make you more alluring. I am unusual in ways that makes one unappealing,” I said.

 

“You are smart. That is a positive way to be unusual,” said Quinton.

 

“Not here. Maybe it’s cool to get good grades but not to be intellectual,” I said.

 

“You’re right. This place is backwards,” said Quinton.

 

“I don’t care though,” I said. “When I get out of here and go to college things will change. I already know more than most college students do. I will score high on my SATs and go to a good school where people are open to new ideas. This place is a shithole and I will show everyone up as soon as I get out of here and away from these simple minded people.”

 

“We both know that the popular, athletic kids will always win,” said Quinton. “They will go to college and join fraternities and sororities to maintain their exclusive social networks. These networks will help them get the best jobs once they graduate. Even if you do make it out and move to an urban area where intellectuals can have their own circles of success will you really be better off? I can see you now at some dinner party proud that you can pronounce the names of continental philosophers correctly, but is that really any different than saying ‘Go Steelers’?”

 

“Is that what you want, to be a prep? Are you really convinced that they have all the fun?” I said.

 

“What is a prep?” said Quinton.

 

“You don’t know what a prep is?” I said.

 

“Do you mean the noun associated with well-connected, old money, preparatory school students?” said Quinton.

 

“In Buckton a prep is a pejorative term, used to deride the in crowd by those who do not have the skills, resources, or drive to fit in,” I said. “Preps play sports, wear Tommy Hilfiger, earn good grades, and have a future. Everyone else is a nerd, a stoner, or hopeless and poor, living in the shacks in the town of Buckton or in trailers hidden in the hollows between the steep hills.”

 

Quinton looked sad. “If you don’t want to be a prep then what do you want to be? What do you want out of life?”

 

“I want something else. But, come to think of it, I can’t have what I want without being a prep,” I said.

 

I had Quinton’s attention. “What is it that you really want?”

 

“I want April,” I said.

 

“The beautiful blonde girl?”

 

“Yes,” I said expecting Quinton to laugh at me. What happened next was the last thing I expected.

 

“Is she single?” said Quinton.

 

“Yes,” I said.

 

“Then ask her out,” said Quinton.

 

“That’s terrible advice,” I said.

 

“What harm can it do?”

 

“I will be rejected and humiliated.”

 

“You need to learn to shed your fears. Forget everything you know about people. There is no template. People are always capable of surprising others. You can’t generalize. Start over,” said Quinton.

 

“It’s no use. Girls like that go after guys who will boost their popularity in high school, boost their social status in college, and boost their bank accounts after college. I don’t fit into the picture. At least not now and probably never,” I said.

 

“Ask her out. I believe in you. You need to abandon this defeatist mentality. The worst that can happen is that she is flattered but says no.”

 

The next day at school, before the bell rang to begin classes, I saw April standing by her friends in a cluster. “Do it,” hissed Quinton.

 

“Not now, she is with her friends,” I said.

 

“There will never be a perfect time. Take charge of your destiny. You can live your life waiting or you can live your life doing,” said Quinton.

 

I walked up to April, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears. “Hey,” I said. She continued talking to her friends. I cleared my throat and said “hey,” louder. She looked past me and said something about Steve, the senior football captain, to her friend Jen. “I just wanted to ask you out,” I said. She continued to talk so I tapped her shoulder. She faced me. “I just wanted to ask if you were doing anything this weekend,” I said.

 

“I heard you the first time. Go away,” said April. Her friends laughed.

 

I walked in what felt like slow motion back to Quinton. I thought I might cry. Quinton put his arm around me. “She said no,” I said.

 

“I know,” said Quinton.

 

“How could you hear? You were too far away.”

 

“I knew she wouldn’t say yes,” Quinton said.

 

I wanted to punch Quinton. “What happened to all that bullshit about shedding my fears? She wasn’t flattered; she was annoyed and insulted that I asked her out.”

 

“You had to fail. This had to happen,” said Quinton.

 

“I’m getting sick of your vague platitudes,” I said.

 

“What did she say?”

 

“To go away,” I said.

 

“Ouch.”

 

“I can’t wait until she is some overweight housewife stuck in a bland suburb while her confident jock husband cheats on her with his young secretary. She may be arrogant now, but her beauty will not last forever.” I said.

 

Quinton said, “Or maybe she will move out of this dump and become a celebrity. She is hot and smart enough that it could happen. I used to live around some famous people and if anyone from Buckton could strike it big, it would be her. I could see her becoming a model or an actor. Don’t take it personally. She just had to maintain her image in front of her cool friends.”

 

“She doesn’t want anything to do with me. How could I not take that personally?” I said.

 

“Lighten up. You take things too seriously,” said Quinton.

 

“She didn’t even appreciate that I made an effort. Why do girls hate to get hit on?” I said.

 

“They don’t. They like it trust me. They want guys to notice them, even guys they don’t like. That is why they spend so much time on their appearance, dressing nice, and putting make up on their faces. April didn’t show it, but she was flattered,” said Quinton.

 

The next day at school Quinton and I ate lunch together. It was just the two of us everyday. Quinton and I were talking when I noticed Quinton started looking past me instead of at me. “What are you looking at?” I said.

 

“I need to get laid,” said Quinton.

 

I turned around and saw that Quinton was looking at April and her friends. I felt a pang in my chest.

 

“Are you going to go after April?” I said with a wavering voice.

 

“No way,” said Quinton.

 

I felt relieved but part of me did not believe him. I had to feel more certain so I tested the waters.

 

“Why not? She is beautiful. You could get her. You should go for it.”

 

“She is not beautiful, she is boring. There is something packaged about her,” said Quinton.

 

“Packaged?” I said.

 

“She is too conventional, with her blonde hair, white teeth, and perfect breasts. She is a caricature of beauty. It’s like looking at something fake, like a plastic Barbie doll. To fall in love with April would be too predictable, too cliché. I was thinking more along the lines of Tonya.”

 

I let out a sigh. Quinton grinned. “Don’t worry, I won’t touch April.”

 

I knew that Quinton would have Tonya if he wanted her. He would also get April if he set his mind to it. Quinton was one of those guys who got what he wanted, and we both knew this.

 

I walked to the school bus after school. I heard squealing tires. Steve, the football captain, was gunning the engine to his mid sized pickup truck, flying out of the senior parking lot. He had no fear decals on his rear window and was blasting rap music. As he drove by, I saw a stream of brown, smokeless tobacco saturated saliva fly out of his mouth into an empty, convenience store, plastic Pepsi bottle. Satellites beaming down the monoculture of MTV onto dishes in this remote region produced an absurd cultural amalgamation.

Quinton came up behind me. Pointing at Steve, he said, “Would he be considered a prep at Buckton?”

 

“Yeah,” I said.

 

“It’s strange that that term was hijacked by rural Appalachian high school students,” said Quinton. “I found a place. Come with me.” I obeyed.

 

Quinton drove his Audi on a gravel road that wound up one of the many mountainous hills that Buckton was jammed between. Quinton parked his car and we walked through the woods. We came to an opening and saw Buckton spread out beneath us. Quinton sat down in the grass and I copied him. “This place,” said Quinton looking over the dilapidated shacks and dirty storefronts of Buckton.

 

“What about this place?” I said.

 

“This place lies where America’s too shittiest regions overlap, where rust belt meets Appalachia,” he said.

 

Quinton and I argued for hours about who was the better 19th century Russian author: Tolstoy or Dostoevsky. The sun began to set. Quinton handed me a flask. “No thanks, I don’t drink,” I said.

 

“Just have some,” said Quinton. “Live a little.”

 

The liquid burned my throat on the way down but soon I began to feel soft. The moon came out. Quinton said, “Look at that small cluster of lights in the valley. Pathetic. Buckton is so fucking desolate.”

 

Quinton stood up and I followed him into the woods. He asked me what my favorite Leonard Cohen song was. My parents had some records by the singer songwriter. I was relieved that Quinton picked an artist I had exposure to. I said “Hallelujah” but Quinton made a strong case for “The Future.” We came to a fallen tree. Quinton tried to walk on it but kept falling off in his inebriated state.

 

Quinton said, “Do you think Cohen is upset about the violation of the western code in “The Future,” or do you think he is taking on a persona of some hysterical moralist to mock those who think everything is going to hell in a hand basket?”

 

I said, “I always took Cohen at face value. There is no reason to think he himself doesn’t believe what he sings.”

 

Quinton said, “There is something ironic about the tone of his voice in the song, like he is singing something he doesn’t believe.”

 

I saw Quinton rock back and forth on the tree looking pale in the moonlight. There was a silence until I said, “What was California like?”

 

“California?” said Quinton. I noticed he looked distracted.

 

“You know, where you moved from to here,” I said.

 

Quinton seemed agitated. “I have a confession to make,” he said.

 

“What is it?” I said.

 

“I want to die,” said Quinton.

CHAPTER 2

 

Quinton sat next to me in calculus. He was leering at Tonya. She sat at her desk in her mini skirt with her legs crossed and smiled at him. He whispered to me, “I am going to make a move at lunch. You are on your own today.”

 

“Are you scared she will say no?” I said.

 

“No,” he said.

 

I ate alone. When I emptied my tray, I saw Quinton standing in a corner talking to Tonya. He blocked her exit with his arm. He had her trapped, and she seemed to love it. Then he reached out with his other hand and touched her cheek. She giggled.

 

That night I was finished studying. I tried to watch TV but was bored. All I wanted to do was talk to another human being. I had spent too much time in my own head. Quinton had not invited me over that night but I was so lonely that I called him.

 

He picked it up on the fourth ring. “What do you want?” he said.

 

“I was wondering if I could come over,” I said.

 

“And do what?” he said. I could tell he was walking somewhere.

 

“Hang out like we the other night,” I said.

 

Quinton said in a hushed tone, “Not right now. Tonya is over.”

 

“Oh,” I said realizing he could wing it with Tonya, or probably any girl, and win.

 

I should have known this would happen so I do not know why I was surprised. It should not have bothered me but it did. I knew I should not be jealous, both of Tonya for taking Quinton’s focus from me and of Quinton for getting a girl so easily.

 

I could hear Tonya asking who it was in the background. I hung up and went to sleep.

 

I stepped from the school bus and entered the antiquated, sturdy three-story building that was Buckton High. Buckton High was built in the 1930s and stood on top of a hill on the southern edge of Buckton. There was a separate gym on one side of the building and a separate annex building on the other side, built later as additions. In the winter, students kept their coats with them since they had to walk outside from building to building.

 

The town of Buckton was the county seat of Buckton County. Buckton County had no traffic lights or chain restaurants.

 

Quinton was standing outside the door. “Why do you even hang out with me?” I said as I approached him.

 

“You have to stop this. Listen. I like you. I am going to be your friend. Stop worrying that I will abandon you. I just need some nights to myself to blow off steam. Tonya means nothing to me. She was just a cheap thrill,” he said.

 

“You could be the most popular kid in Buckton. Why do you give that up?” I said.

 

“I would never fit in with the popular crowd here. The most adventurous thing they have done is keg stands while their parents are away for their anniversary. I could never sit down, listen to the Cure’s Disintegration and talk about Nietzsche with these clowns. They are going nowhere. They are the future of Buckton but Buckton is a pretty sad place.”

 

“Then what about them, the stoners,” I said pointing to a group of longhaired guys wearing nirvana and rage against the machine t shirts standing by the side entrance.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me? I would rather spend the rest of my high school life alone. There is nothing intellectual about those guys. They listen to a lot of classic rock and read Tolkien but aside from the occasional dabbling with beat literature, that is the extent of their cultural horizons. Look how they are dressed. They look like they are from the 1970s, as if they just walked off the set of Dazed and Confused, as if they just stepped out of a Led Zeppelin concert. My idea of a good time on a Saturday night does not involve watching The Dark Side of the Rainbow strung out on weed,” said Quinton.

 

In my mind, I began to understand. Quinton did not want to limit himself, but he still craved real male friendship. At Buckton I was his best bet.

 

Quinton said, “We don’t fit in here and that is a good thing. This isn’t the real world.”

 

I said, “What about what you said the other day, that life after high school will not be any different?”

 

“I just meant that as long as you are afraid of life, things are not going to magically change for you when you leave Buckton,” said Quinton, “The world out there will only be worse, not better. If you can overcome your fears, though, someone with a sharp and open mind like you will thrive much more than just about anyone else in Buckton. It all depends on you. Can you change?”

 

I felt anger well up inside me. Quinton was insulting me when he lectured me about fear in his condescending tone. Deep down inside, though, I knew I was hurt because what he said hit close to home.

 

At lunch, I expected Quinton to sit with Tonya. I saw him pass her with a smile and nod, but then sit down across from me. “Aren’t you going to sit with Tonya?” I said.

 

“Nah,” said Quinton.

 

“But didn’t you sleep with her last night?” I said.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Don’t you owe her at least a little conversation then?” I said.

 

“No. It was a cheap thrill for both of us. Women don’t want you hanging around in a situation like that. It’s best to play it off lightly,” said Quinton.

 

I could not wrap my head around what was happening and this made me angry. I could not understand how a guy like me who cared about a girl could get nowhere but someone like Quinton could swoop down, take whatever he wanted, and then flee the scene with a free pass.

 

“Ahh Taco day,” said Quinton. “Do you like Tacos?”

 

I did not respond.

 

“Hey, I asked you a question,” said Quinton, waving his hand in front of my face.

 

“Yes I like Tacos. Tacos are fucking awesome. Now leave me alone,” I said.

 

Quinton gave me a hard look. “You’re angry with me aren’t you? You’re mad that I slept with Tonya.”

 

“No I’m not,” I lied.

 

“We need to get you laid. Maybe that will take care of this jealousy,” said Quinton.

 

“I don’t want to be like you, sleeping with just any girl. I want to save myself for someone special,” I said. “I don’t want a cheap fling. I want April.”

 

“You can’t have that approach,” said Quinton. “You need to have a more open mind or you will get nowhere. April will probably never like you. Limit yourself too much and you will miss out.”

 

“But I care about and like April more than any other guys do and I have character. Someday she will see that,” I said.

 

“That’s not the way it works,” said Quinton. “First off, look at it this way. If an ugly girl had character and liked you more than a mean but pretty girl like April, who would you want to date? You would still want to be with April, and girls are no different. They go for what excites them. Attraction is not some logical calculation for men or for women. Caring too much is actually a big turn off for girls. Don’t get me wrong, you will have to woo a girl some.”

 

“You didn’t woo Tonya,” I said.

 

Quinton said, “I don’t have to because I have experience but you will have to make an effort until it comes naturally. The worst thing you can do, however, is care too much. It’s bad for you and it scares girls away.”

 

“That seems so backwards. Shouldn’t a girl like who likes them the most,” I said.

 

“It may be backwards, but it’s the way it is. Many attractive girls who get hit on a lot actually like guys more when they ignore them,” said Quinton.

 

“It’s hopeless,” I said.

 

“We need to come up with a plan,” said Quinton.

 

“What plan?” I said.

 

“First off we need to overhaul your wardrobe,” said Quinton. “Even though you are better dressed than most people at Buckton, there is still room for improvement.”

 

“Do you really think I am better dressed than the average Buckton student?” I said.

 

“Yes, I do,” said Quinton. “You wear cheap, plain, generic clothing but at least it’s not hideous. Look at those guys wearing excessively baggy JNCO jeans. They think it is cool now, but they will look back at it in 15 years and cringe. They have no clue how silly they look when taken out of the context of Buckton circa 1998.”

 

“Where did you get your jeans?” I asked. I knew little about fashion but could tell his slim fitting jeans were expensive.

 

“I ordered them from Europe,” said Quinton.

 

“I don’t have the money for that,” I said.

 

Quinton waved his arm as if I was annoying him. “First of all it does not take a fortune to look nice. You don’t have to go as far as I do. You just have to be smart and buy clothes that fit well. Also, I will help you out.”

 

“I don’t want to take things from you,” I said.

 

Quinton said, “You have to be willing to accept help. Swallow your pride. This makeover will be a good thing for you.”

 

I scrunched my face. “Makeover? You make me sound like a girl.”

 

Quinton ignored me and continued talking. “You also need to start working out some, to do pushups and weightlifting daily.”

 

“So that is the plan. Do some cosmetic adjustments and my life will magically change?” I said.

 

“These changes will not only make you more appealing to women but also make you feel better about yourself. In addition, we need to get you a good haircut. But these cosmetic changes are just part of a broader plan. We need to find you a girl,” said Quinton scanning the cafeteria.

 

“How about her?” said Quinton pointing to Sarah, a tall skinny girl with long dark hair and small breasts.

 

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not that attracted to her.”

 

“Why not?” said Quinton.

 

“She is awkward,” I said.

 

Quinton burst out laughing. “And you’re not? She is the perfect match for you then.”

 

“I thought the whole point of this was to make me less nerdy,” I said.

 

Quinton said, “You have to start somewhere. Right now, you don’t have a lot of capital and no experience. Your chances with a hot girl are nil. You have a shot with Sarah though. You don’t have to marry her, but getting involved with her will build your confidence and you can move forward.”

 

“I’m not like you. You’re using girls for sex. I will not use somebody like that,” I said.

 

“You need to stop idolizing girls like they are somehow better than men. At the end of the day they just want to have a good time too,” said Quinton.

 

“You say I shouldn’t generalize about people, well you shouldn’t either. Sarah is not like the girls you run with. She seems fragile,” I said.

 

“Like you,” said Quinton.

 

“Whatever,” I said.

 

“You can’t be so delicate with life. Sometimes people are going to get hurt. Girls hurt guys everyday and vice versa. You have to get moving,” said Quinton.

 

“You’re rationalizing bad behavior. I don’t need to sleep with a lot of girls to boost my self esteem,” I said.

 

“I think you are afraid,” said Quinton.

 

“Of what?” I said.

 

“Of a lot of things but right now I am specifically referring to sex,” he said.

 

“How many women have you been with?” I said.

 

“Over a hundred different women,” said Quinton.

 

“Maybe I am not emotionally disturbed enough that I have to sleep with that many women to prove my worth,” I said.

 

For the first time in our conversation Quinton, not me, looked offended.

 

“The reason you haven’t slept with women is not because you’re morally superior to me. You haven’t slept with women because you can’t. If you were able to be like me, you would. Stop being self righteous,” said Quinton.

 

I knew I had been insulted. Trying to swallow my anger I said, “You’re right. I can’t have any girl I want, like you, but deep down inside I still don’t want what you have. I want to find true love.”

 

Quinton sighed, “You have a lot to learn about life,” he said. “You have a long, hard road ahead of you.”

 

“Stop preaching to me in that condescending tone,” I said.

 

“You are the one being condescending,” said Quinton. “Do you want my help or not?”

 

I took a deep breath. “Yes.”

 

That Saturday Quinton and I drove to the nearest mall, nearly an hour away. The mall was in Collinsville, a paltry town of twenty thousand that seemed like a metropolis next to Buckton’s one thousand. If you wanted to go clothes shopping, watch cinema, or go out to eat, you had to drive to Collinsville. Buckton was isolated and Collinsville was the closest town of any significance.

 

We shifted through clothing and shoe stores while Quinton gave me tips on how to look sharp. I found the whole process of trying on pants tedious. I paid for the first few items. Then we went to a shoe store and Quinton suggested a pair of shoes. I balked, saying I could not afford it. We looked for a cheaper pair. Finally, Quinton said, “screw it,” and picked up the expensive pair, went to the counter, and paid for them. I did not know what to say. I was grateful but also embarrassed.

 

After my haircut, we ate lunch at the food court. Then we went into a store and bought my final shirt. When I was in the stall changing Quinton insisted that I put on all new clothes. I came out and looked at myself in the mirror. Quinton was right; I did feel better, more confident. “You are in a hurry to make me look good,” I said.

 

Quinton said, “We are going to run into April and her friends outside in the parking lot. If you won’t spring for Sarah we will have to start higher up, maybe with one of April’s friends. It will be a challenge, but we have to get you some success with women.”

 

“How do you know we are going to run into April and her friends?” I said.

 

“I just know,” said Quinton.

 

My heart beat faster even though I doubted we would run into April. There was no way Quinton could know something like that. We walked outside into the sun and headed toward Quinton’s car. My heart skipped a beat. April and five of her friends were headed in our direction toward the entrance of the mall. “Please don’t stop and talk, please don’t stop and talk,” I kept thinking to myself. I was ashamed that April had rejected me and nervous to be standing there not knowing what to do while Quinton flirted.

 

Tonya was the first to speak. “Hi Quinton,” she said cheerfully.

 

“Hello,” Quinton shot back. Before I knew it, my prophecy came true. I stood there silent while Quinton cracked a joke and the whole throng of girls burst out laughing. I wished I could make girls laugh like that, with me and not at me. I observed carefully as Quinton shifted his attention from girl to girl. Then he got to April. He said something witty but April looked bored. Sensing he had hit a wall with her he smoothly deflected his attention back to a girl named Rachel. I knew it was wrong but it made me feel good that April was impervious to his charms. She was the one girl above it all.

 

I could sense Rachel eyeing me, not in a romantic, but in a suspicious way. “Wow Craig you look different,” she said. She was talking to me.

 

Buckton was a small enough school that everyone knew each other’s name. Most of us had been in class together since kindergarten. Still it was jarring to hear her not only speak to me but also address me by name.

 

There was an awkward silence as I struggled to find some words to say. Quinton must have sensed my distress because he swooped in to the rescue. I should have been glad but was mad, especially at myself, for blowing an opportunity to practice talking to girls.

 

Quinton said, “Yeah he looks sharp doesn’t he.”

 

Rachel said, “He does, especially for a nerd.”

 

“I prefer to refer to it as intellectual,” said Quinton. “Are you doing anything tonight?”

 

Rachel tossed her hair back behind her shoulder. “I am meeting Dustin in an hour. We are going to the movies.” Rachel seemed to be fighting a smile at the corners of her mouth. It was obvious she enjoyed getting hit on by Quinton.

 

“Cool, have fun,” said Quinton, unfazed that Rachel already had plans with the Buckton High star linebacker.

 

The girls walked into the mall and we sat down in Quinton’s plush Audi. I was relieved Quinton had not said I was getting a makeover to the girls. I could hear them in my head laughing at the cheap shot.

 

“It’s hopeless,” I said.

 

“What is?” said Quinton.

 

“This,” I said waving my hands across my newly attired body. “I will always be a nerd. Trying to dress me up as someone cool is like putting lipstick on a pig. No matter how I look, I will remain a socially awkward loser. Rachel calling me a nerd is a reminder of that.”

 

Quinton smiled. “You are right in a sense. This isn’t going to be enough, but it is a first step. You need to build confidence. Don’t worry, you

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 30.01.2015
ISBN: 978-3-7368-7443-5

Alle Rechte vorbehalten