Here in this Sorrow

Bill Johanson

If I don’t score with Shelly Marcone by the end of the weekend, then there is something wrong with me. That bitch has been hanging off me like she’s my girlfriend for the last two weeks. It’s probably because I’m the only person she knows with a fake ID. I hear she’s been an alcoholic since she was twelve. She’s gorgeous too: beautiful body, blonde hair, big tits–the works! I thought she was going to fuck me last night, but her parents got home. We had to get dressed in a hurry, and she made me sneak out the back door. I’m telling Ben about this when the bell rings. He gives me a high-five, and we go downstairs.

Ben is selling me weed, and he has it in his locker. He assures me that it’s good shit, which probably means it’s dirtweed. I used to think he was trying to burn me, but he actually thinks that he’s selling quality product. These damn rich kids think that they’ve got so much money, they couldn’t possibly have the lowest quality shit. I don’t want to buy anything without trying it, so I decide to skip gym, even though Mr. Holister has already seen me today.

We go to one of the bathrooms downstairs near the detention room, the one that no one ever uses. There is a smoke alarm above the entrance, but it never goes off. Rumor is that some stoner cut the wires at the beginning of the year. He rolls up a joint and we pass it between us. It’s not as bad as the schwag he usually has, but not as good as I could have gotten with a little more notice. I give him $20 for the bag and put it in the inner pocket of my backpack.

As we stumble out of the bathroom, Shannon Donahue is walking by. I used to think she was hot until she freaked out. She's got pink hair and wears spiked collars and black ripped up clothes. She is always hanging around with those fags, Christian Duke and Clark Golding. Back a couple years ago, when she looked normal, I would have given anything to fuck her. She wasn’t all that popular, so it probably would have been easy too. The other day she had on these plaid pants with zippers all over them. I start to think about how she looks like one of those Japanese cartoons, and can’t contain my giggling as she passes. Ben starts laughing too.

We both have the munchies, so we go up to the cafeteria but we both forgot that it closes at the beginning of first period. Alex Brown is there though. Alex is the biggest hippie I’ve ever met. He has these thick, blond dredlocks, and is always wearing those purple sunglasses that John Lennon used to wear. He's been wearing the same patchwork pants for a week, and they will probably rot off his body before he will change them. The guy always has something stashed away to cope with munchies: Stale chips; Pop-corn: M&M’s, you name it. Ben doesn’t like him (probably because Alex always has better weed), so I go up and sit down next to him. I ask him if he has any food, and he reaches into his Jansport backpack–he calls it his magic bag–pulls out a rolled up bag of Doritos and sends us on our way.

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