Instincts

5. Instincts

I don’t even know why Bobby made me sit at that lunch table with his followers. They were six teenage boys that couldn’t have a conversation without cursing or throwing something at each other’s empty heads. Figures.
Bobby just sat there, between Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumber, laughing his ass off as they rambled on about Dana Sanders’ breasts and how her leather costume would accentuate them. I grew bored of their redundant, seemingly instinctive conversations.
I stood up and went towards the vending machines. Sugar helped me survive the stupidity. The machine stood by the glass entrance of the cafeteria, and as a couple seniors bumped into me, I saw something in the halls.
Valerie was pulling onto a freshman's hair and whispering something into her ear as she cried. Any normal person would've run out and helped her. Any normal person would've told Val off. I wasn't normal.
I walked away from the glass doors. I walked away from the sugar distributor. I walked past the tables and made my way outside. And I sat in the courtyard. I smacked the brick steps with my fist, wishing it was the face of a follower.
I wasn’t surprised to find Bobby sitting next to me in only a matter of minutes. That’s what he did.
"You haven't been acting yourself lately."
I wanted to open up to him and tell him everything. But something held me back, and all I could do was wait for him to understand. That’s what he did. He healed.
"I'm just…annoyed.” He didn't even change the expression on his face. He just stared at his battered shoes.
"What's going on man?"
"Nothing. It's nothing." I hated Valerie. I hated Freddie. I hated Angie. I hated the followers. I hated it all. All of that was going on and I called it nothing? No, it was everything. I hated everything and I did nothing. I was nothing.
"I saw it all. I want to help." Bobby said with a comforting smile.
"What?" I was blatantly surprised. It was like he could read my mind.
"Listen, I saw Val beating on that freshman. I’ll tell her to keep a safe distance from Val. It’s a jungle out there. The freshmen should be careful.”
He wasn’t reading my mind.
“Right.”
"Don't worry about it man. The best thing about high school is that we're all ADD and whatever the problem, it'll blow over like that." Bobby snapped his fingers. If only my sentence at the institution was that long.
He smirked and I chuckled.
The thing about teenage boys is that they're not very good at "being there". But for some reason, Bobby was. And that’s why everybody loved him. Bobby healed...if only for a moment.
"You know what, a bunch of us are going to that pizza place around the corner after school since the mystery meat they served today was a total bust. You should come. Some nonsensical humor should take off the edge a little bit."
"What about the dance? And our costumes?"
"We can stop by your place and grab yours, then jet it to my crib."
Bobby planned it all out. He had me trapped. I hoped to God that my dad still kept Halloween gear in the basement, because my costume was far from situated.
"Sure, I guess."
If I had known what I was getting myself into, I would've stayed in my bed for the whole weekend.


After lunch was Photography, which was probably the only class that I actually thrived in. Bobby didn't take photography as his creative credit. Bobby took guitar lessons. I didn't really mind though. Bobby couldn't take pictures to save his life. He should stick to guitar.
However, even though he didn't have the skill, I wished Bobby was in that class instead of Valerie Anderson. I was really getting sick of her.
I walked into the dark room and opened the locker containing my work. It had a piece of tape stuck to it that read "Sam Peterson". I hated my name. I don't know why. Maybe it was because I was the person associated to it.
I took out my camera and picked up the project I was working on out of my portfolio. It was a collage of dozens of flowers I was going to make into one big flower. Not very unique, but it was going to look cool. I shuffled into the class room, sat in my regular seat in the corner, and played with the photographs, trying to form them all into something perfect.
I was surprised to see that Val took the seat next to me. She beamed and laid her project on the table as well. She had taken pictures of certain environments and was trying to put the photographs together and make it look like one scene. It was kind of pretty, so I smiled. I shouldn't have smiled.
"I just got back from Class Assembly," she said, grinning proudly.
Class Assembly was when our class presidents, secretaries, treasurers, and vice presidents met during Friday lunch and had a civilized talk about recent issues. I found it kind of ridiculous. It was not like we really needed a class president or a class whatever. Despite popular belief, they didn't really have any power. Not even the senior class president had anything up against the school board.
"Yeah?"
"We have the coolest decorations for the dance. I'm so excited!"
"Yeah."
She stared at me, like she was waiting for me to say more. I had no idea why this girl liked me. I was beginning to think it was beyond her wanting to be with Bobby. If she wanted Bobby, she would’ve just asked him out. After all, Bobby would never have turned down Valerie Anderson.
She probably wanted more of a dramatic reaction out of me, seeing as I hadn’t reacted with any sort of excitement to anything she’d said or done. She probably wasn’t used to that at all. I was something she had to work for. She wanted me because I didn’t want her.
She glanced at my project and gasped. Was it really that shocking?
"That is so gorgeous! You're really good!"
I stared at my creation. Somehow, I felt like it wasn't so pretty anymore. Like all the blood and sweat I put into it just disappeared and all I could see was ugly. Just because of what she said. Was it possible that she had made my project ugly?
I stared at her blankly and secretly wished she would disappear. And then my mouth moved without me knowing.
"Thanks, I think yours is better though."
She gleamed like I had just deemed her to be the love of my life or something. This was ridiculous. Nevertheless, her face soon turned into a frown when she saw who sat in front of her. Daniel Thomas: the deemed scapegoat from California. Everyone thought he was queer because of how he dressed and how he spoke. He was from Anaheim but everyone called him San Fran Dan. I know, really mature right? But Daniel Thomas’ fate wasn’t determined by geography or fashion. The one mistake he made in his social life was patting Freddie Teresio’s butt in Gym. He was supposed to stay away from Freddie’s group, and the group would stay away from him, and that's how it went. But he crossed the line of piss into private territory, and when Freddie openly hated someone, everyone openly hated them. Poor Daniel.
"San Fran Dan." scoffed Val.
Someone heard her and giggled. Daniel just ignored it and fiddled with his camera. That's when I saw his project. It was probably one of the most gorgeous things I had ever seen. He had taken pictures of different bodies of water, whether it was a lake or a puddle, and he was turning them into a pupil. My project just became uglier.
Daniel turned back to glance at the clock and then laid his eyes on me, gawking like an idiot. He turned around, looked at his project, and then looked back at me. He smiled.
"You like it?"
"Where'd you get that idea?" I whispered.
He scratched his perfectly gelled head and shrugged. "Dunno, it just popped into my head."
I wished I could do that. I wished something would pop into my head and I could make it beautiful. Val stared at me, probably wondering what the hell I was doing talking to “San Fran Dan”.
"You could do this for a living," I murmured.
Val laughed, “Yeah, right.”
Daniel gave Val a cold stare then looked at me, his eyes urging me to do something. I froze up. I couldn't even mouth an "I'm sorry". He sighed and went back to work. I hated Val for that. I hated her so much. But I did nothing. I just kept moving around the pictures on the table as Val babbled on about her costume. It felt wrong, but what could I do? I was just Sam.
When the bell rang, all I could think about was that the day was almost over, and the weekend was almost there. I left the classroom and saw Val catching up to Freddie and whispering something in his ear.
I looked for Daniel. He was at the water fountain. I looked back at Val and watched as they pointed at him and began to snicker.
They were laughing at Daniel.
"Daniel."
He lifted his head up and just glared at me. I shuffled towards him and took a deep breath.
"Don’t pay attention to what Val said." I muttered.
"Very funny,” he laughed coldly. “The whole grade knows you two are together. You know, I don’t care so much about what she said. Valerie is just a stupid, conniving bitch. But you just did nothing. What the hell was that?”
He stared at me, probably searching for a sign of sincerity. I blinked, my hand twitching a little.
“I guess you two deserve each other." He spat.
I was taken aback. Even though I knew of this information, it still didn't sound right. Me and Valerie? Together? At that point I was throwing up a little in my mouth.
"I'm just…taking her out."
I knew that there was no point to saying this. I began to wonder if hanging ones self was as quick as it seemed. Daniel started to walk away from me but I followed.
"Just watch out for…just be careful."
Daniel stopped walking.
"Why do you care?"
The bell yelled once more, signifying the beginning of Chemistry and Daniel hauled ass. I hated the God damn bell.

Zombie

4. Zombie

When I got home that afternoon, I heard my mom and dad roaring at each other again. What else was new? Ever since my father was demoted the year before, it was like the yelling and the cursing was a necessity at home. Naturally, the quarrels were about money and how my father pissed it away. At some point during each squabble, my mother would mention how hard she slaved away, how long her hours were, just to make up for his stupid mistake. Apparently, because of an accounting error he made, the branch of the automotive company he worked for lost around eighty thousand dollars. But because he’d been working there for ten years, they decided not to fire him.
This all would’ve been good news if his salary wasn’t considerably lower. It was low enough to make mom double her hours and make me baby-sit my seven year old sister instead of hiring a nanny.
Now you know what I meant when I said that family was harder to deal with.
However, before he was demoted, my dad was a reserved man, who, from just the way he stood, exuded pride and discipline. On a first impression, one would’ve presumed that he was cold or snobbish. But he’d make up for it in his endearments. His congratulatory nudge on the shoulder when I got an A on a test, or high five when I got a job freshman year at the bowling alley was more than enough to satisfy me. He used to come home every night with a pleased look on his face and peck my mom on the cheek, asking if her day wasn’t too hectic. Then he’d listen intently to my sister’s childish jokes at the dinner table or ask me if I wanted to join him on his nightly, quiet jog.
I tiptoed across the faux Persian rug that adorned the hallway and positioned myself behind the stairway. I listened to what were now my father’s nightly rounds. Shame was what clouded his face when I looked at him. He was no longer a symbol of success, but rather, a pathetic unshaven loser who slouched in front of my mother as she yelled at him. She inquired why he didn’t buy the gallon of milk that he clenched in his hands from the mini mart around the corner instead of the superstore next to his office.
“It’s two dollars cheaper”, she said, “I’ve told you time and time again that the superstore likes to rip people off. We can’t afford to double the price on all our groceries just because you’re too lazy to drive a few miles to the mini mart. If you had just gone there, like I asked, we wouldn’t have this problem. But it’s like you insist on defying me, Chris!”
He sighed and tossed the milk onto the counter. “Well, I’m sorry I’m too busy to drive all the way across town for a gallon of fucking milk, Hannah! I don’t have time for that bullshit. You’re the one with two breaks, why didn’t you get it?”
She poked her finger into his chest. “I had too much shit to do today to take any of my breaks. I asked you this morning for a reason. God damn it! I told you to go to the mini mart and you said ok!”
He slapped her finger away from him and told her he was used to just nodding and saying “ok” nowadays. Her nagging was easily ignorable, he said.
I slumped on one of the carpeted steps, bored of their incessant need to make things worse and not just comply. Why didn't they just get divorced already? I mean, I really didn't care; anything to make the yelling stop.
I grew restless and made my way up the stairs, slamming the door behind me. I sat on the floor and turned on the Xbox, hoping that stealing a virtual car and running over a pixilated pedestrian would give me some solace.
My mom came up to my room later when she realized I was home. Her face was wrinkled. Not from age, but from frustration. Her eyes looked weak and dazed. Her dirty blonde hair was tied up into a frizzy bun. I tried to ignore it all, but she was just a mess.
"There's dinner in the fridge."
"I'm not hungry."
She sighed and turned. She reached for the handle but I grabbed her arm. I wanted to yell at her, accuse her of worsening my day. Use all the typical teen angst phrases. But I couldn’t let a word out. I just held her gaze until she came back inside and closed the door behind her so as my little sister across the hall wouldn't hear. It really didn't matter if she did though. She probably already heard the screaming anyway.
"Look, hun, your father and I are just facing a rough patch."
"Yeah, whatever."
She stared at the floor. For a nurse, my mom was not very good at making me feel better.
"We'll get through it, ok?” She laid a hand on my shoulder. “It's no big deal. Don't worry about it."
And with that, she left. Her empty condolences had no effect on me, as I had grown numb of all the excuses and attempts to try and raise my spirit.
I watched my dad's Ford Taurus pull out of the garage through my bedroom window. And then, I watched my little sister, May, open my door and run into my room, and cry heavily into my shoulder.
I didn't really care for little children but May was my sister. She shared the same blood, the same long, frustrating nights at the Peterson household. If I didn’t comfort her, who would? I motioned for her to sit beside me. Her large blue eyes stared at me until they began to drown in her tears once more. I lay my hand on her sleek blonde hair, tied nicely into a braid, like always, and gave her a reassuring smile.
“It’s alright May, don’t cry.”
“Why are they so mad?” she sniffled.
“People just get angry sometimes. It’s normal.” I lied, while caressing her back.
She buried her head in my chest. "Don't worry, May."

I probably said that twenty times over the past year. And as I lay on the floor of May's bedroom that night to keep the boogie man from devouring her, I decided that I had to call Bobby.
I lifted my head from the floor and looked over May's sleeping body. I pulled her comforter closer to her chin and tucked it in between her small frame. After leaving her room my stomach growled and I realized that I had to delay that call to Bobby.
I snuck quietly beyond my mom’s room (about two months before, she decided that she and my father would have separate rooms because they couldn’t tolerate each other even when they were seemingly lifeless). I made it down the stairs and when I reached the fridge I drooled with thoughts of sandwiches and ice cream. Or an ice cream sandwich.
I stuffed my face with cold leftover pizza, and eventually picked up the phone from its base on the counter. My fingers numbly ran over some numbers on the phone as I wondered about what homework I didn't do that night that I could've done. I wondered if Mom cried herself to sleep. I wondered if Val actually liked me. I wondered if there was a boogie man. I wondered what Bobby was doing.
Suddenly, there was a crackling on the other end of the line. He picked up.
"Hey."
"Hey Sam, what's up?"
"Nothing, just bored out of my mind."
"Well you're coming over tomorrow, right? That should cure you."
"Yeah, what time do you want me over to decorate?"
"Ummm...five would be good. I figure it would take about an hour to set up and then we can get ready for the dance, pick up the girls, and head off. And then, at 10:30, the real party starts…at my place!"
"Cool."
"So what are you gonna be for the dance tomorrow?"
I paused and searched my head for something, anything that would prove I put some thought into the costume. But, of course, there was nothing. I didn’t have any idea of what I wanted to be.
“I knew you didn’t have a costume” he laughed.
“What do you think I should be?”
“I don’t know. Do something easy. Be an animal or something.”
I didn’t want to laugh manically, so I said nothing.
“Ok, no to the animal then.” he snickered.
I stared at my reflection in the stainless refrigerator. What else could I be?
“I think… I think I’ll be a zombie.”

Bobby laughed again. “A zombie. Perfect.”

The Game

3. The Game

Once I got passed the swarm of people flooding into the hallways, I met Bobby at my locker. I always met Bobby after a class.
He clapped.
"I just heard about the good show you put on in English. Finally, something to do in there besides listening to McBitchy droan on and on about something I don't care about."
I wasn’t even mildly shocked that Bobby had already heard of the squabble that ensued during Ms. McCarthy’s 3rd period AP English class. Gossip at Westwood High spread like wildfire.
I simply huffed and nudged past him in order to open my locker and toss Shakespeare’s masterpiece in with other books that weren’t worthy of it’s presence.
"And guess what we have next? GYM! Oh boy!" Bobby was very sarcastic.
"Yeah, well, at least gym is closer to lunch." I groaned simultaneously with my stomach.
"Last one to the gym buys lunch." I hated racing Bobby, even though I was much better in real life than in video game format. He always won. Most of the time, it was because I let him.
Once we reached the gymnasium and Bobby listed what I had to purchase at lunch, we scrambled into the locker rooms to do what people do in locker rooms.
Bobby shook some hands with some followers and I went towards my locker. Some of them were decent human beings by comparison to the extreme, I guess. But there was one person in particular who caused most of my high school anxiety: Freddie Teresio. Not the nicest fellow in the world, and definitely not the brightest crayon in the box.
He was a senior captain of the track team who was friends with Bobby in order to fend off any remaining threats of unpopularity. He was also a tyrant. It was practically his job to oppress the lower classmen. It was understood that everyone feared the pompous tormenter more than they hated him. So nothing was said. Guys who detested his egotism gave him high fives. Girls who loathed his ignorance dated him. And that was how it went. Freddie Teresio lived a lie.

So it was pretty unfortunate that he possessed the locker next to mine and extremely unfortunate that Angie was his sister.
"How you doin', Sam?" I knew from the moment the conversation started that it would lead to uncomfortable threatening.
"Hi, Freddie."
He walked closer to me and stared at me hard in the face, but I kept my eyes from falling on his brooding expression.
"You didn't answer my question. I said, How are you doing, Sam?" He gave me a slight shove. I should've ignored him and looked away. I should've never answered.
"Good. I'm doing good."
My eyes darted, trying to find a witness, but everyone was either in the stalls putting on their uniform or making their way into the gymnasium.
"Look, I heard what happened in McCarthy's class. You better watch what you say. That's my sister you're talking to."
“Ok,” I muttered.
"You stay away from her, understand?" I nodded.
With a crack of his knuckles, Freddie left the locker room. And I eventually followed.

Everyone has a certain goal to achieve in high school. To achieve this goal they have to ask each other the same question: "How can I have the best experience and still get the result I wish for?"
But let's face the facts, teenagers are stupid. That's why there are so many laws against their own personal decisions; because they tend to make stupid choices. So usually, the answer to everyone's question is: "I have to be well-liked, everyone has to like me or I’ll be miserable and unworthy."
That was Freddie's answer. And no matter what, he was determined to get what he wanted, which was, apparently, also what his sister wanted.
That was definitely the wrong answer. Anyone who heard of Death of a Salesman would know that. That was the pink rabbit and the purple frog.
So what was my answer? I don’t think I ever even asked myself the question. I never really saw a consequence to my life at Westwood High, if I had one. I never really had a goal at the institution. I would wait until it was all over, and then I’d wait until I attended the next institution, and then I’d wait until I received a job at another institution, and then I’d wait until I was placed in an institution, and then I’d wait until I was dust. There was no need for any sort of experience. I wasn’t like Bobby.

In gym, we did some group "trust" exercises. If someone catches you when you're falling, does that mean you should trust them? Or, does it just mean they don't want you to fall? My gym teachers didn't know this, but there's a big difference.
I trusted Bobby. I didn't trust Valerie Anderson, my gym partner.
Silence loomed between us for the first twenty minutes of the class, but she interrupted when we had to participate in this jump rope game.
"You're going to Bobby's party, right?" I didn't answer right away, I was getting used to the silence.
"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm going." She smiled faintly and ran her fingers through her wavy blonde hair.
"What are you dressing up as?"
Crap. Somehow, my mind totally forgot that Halloween was associated with wearing costumes. I didn't have a costume. I didn't even have an idea for a costume. Crap.
"I dunno, probably something cliché." She giggled for a while. Was I really that funny?
"I'm going as a candy striper. Surprise, surprise." Surprise, surprise indeed. I nodded to acknowledge her mere existence.
"I heard you weren't going with anyone." See, I knew there was a catch.
“Really? Who did you hear that from?" She blushed and I realized how “mean” I was being. Val was a bitch to everyone else. She stole the fat girl’s granny panties at camp. She shaved the president of Manga Club’s eyebrows off at a sleepover party. She took a picture of a sophomore drooling through her retainer during the lowerclassmen lock-in. You could say that the moral of the stories was to never sleep with Valerie Anderson.
So, she liked to put people that she considered unworthy through mortifying situations. That didn't give me the right to totally disregard her when she was actually never mean to me, did it? She was probably only nice to me because she wanted to be with Bobby. Everyone wanted to be with Bobby.
"No one in particular...just...people."
I smiled, trying to hide the scowl I yearned to reveal. "Well, they're right." I was so quaint with her. She probably thought I was the type to open doors, or rip shirts and throw them over mud puddles, or even end every sentence with “ma’lady” or “ma’am”. The unfortunate part of this Georgia Peach fantasy of me was that if I was asked to do all those things, I probably would’ve done it, for fear of revealing myself. I told you. I was pathetic.
She dropped the jump rope that she was supposed to use to jump with me. Did I mention that our gym teachers were totally incapable of understanding the fact that we were sixteen, not six?
Next thing I knew, her face was about an inch away from mine.
"I'm not going with anyone either."
She wanted me to do the math. Little did she know, I hated math.
"Oh, really?"
How far was she going to go with this? With all my stalling, was she going to have to end up spelling it out for me?
"Yes.” She smiled and started to twist her fingers into her hair. “So…how about you and I go together?"
Well, that took shorter then I thought it would. She giggled and put her hands on my chest. I flinched. I really didn't want to go with her. I guess I didn't answer for a while because she continued to talk.
"I mean, if you want to...and maybe we can go to the dance together too..." By not saying anything I just dug my hole deeper.
In that very minute I had the most random of thoughts. What would Val have done if I just started screaming at her, telling her no, grabbing the jump rope and hissing at her? What was the point of all these games? Why couldn’t I just do what I wanted to? Why couldn’t it be easy? Why?
"Why?" Yes, that's all I could say. Why.
"Why what?"
"What? Oh...just...sure...let's go together, it'll be fun...ok." I could feel my head pounding as I stammered with great petulance. “Did I just say yes to Valerie Anderson?” was the thought to which my head thrummed to.
Her face twisted into a puzzled look that soon turned into a smile. And then she gave me a hug. All I could do was keep my arms to my side and look away from her. Smooth.
Bobby saw us from across the gym and gave me two thumbs up with a stupid grin on his face. I could already see this Valerie thing escalating into something I didn’t want to begin with. But I just let her hug me, and waited for her to let go.
For the rest of the class all Val could do was flirt. It was like by saying yes to taking her to the party and some stupid dance, I was officially her boyfriend. And every time we had to touch each other for each activity, she'd make some comment about how I looked or what I felt like. And I'd get that same feeling in the pit of my stomach as I did when Freddie used to ask me how far I went with his sister. I wished I could just erase that 40 minutes of my life.
The bell rang and gym was finally over. Thank God.
I managed to slip away from Valerie’s sight without saying goodbye and made it all the way to the locker room. When I got there, Bobby was waiting for me.
"I knew it! You want on Val! Oh my God, what happened to the world! Sam Peterson actually got a girl!" he sang.
I knew he was only kidding but I just wanted to punch him. I didn't even know why. None of it was really his fault.
I walked to my locker without saying a word. But Bobby was stubborn. He just followed.
"So, what happened? Did you ask her out? Are you going to the dance?"
"Yeah, and your party."
"Awesome! Dude, I can't believe it. Did you ask her or did she ask you?"
"She asked me."
By the end of the day, everyone in Westwood High knew about me and Valerie. I sat on the bus ride home wondering why I even bothered getting out of bed that morning.

Welcome to Westwood High

2. Welcome to Westwood High

After Bobby left I sat on my bed for what seemed like hours, watching shows about animal instincts on the Discovery channel. Lions pissing on trees to mark their territory. Female praying mantises biting their mate’s head off after fucking with it. It was all very primitive, yet understandable. It was in their nature.
This was their life, and it was normal. Monkeys were throwing their shit around to protect their females and I was going to a Westwood High Halloween dance. I bet it was just more definitive, pissing everywhere, saying what’s what. I couldn’t imagine myself doing that. I couldn’t imagine myself walking into the gymnasium and throwing shit at people, screaming at them, protecting what was mine. Not because it was completely uncivilized, but because I didn’t have anything to protect.
If it was Bobby, he’d probably be pissing all over the place. Although, he would be decapitated.
I laughed to myself.
It was natural, to read through layers and layers of personality disorders to pick and choose who belonged where. To realize who you were and where everyone else that was like you stood. To piss a perimeter around you and your circle. It was survival.
I turned off the T.V. and slipped under the covers. So I’d close my eyes and just wait for tomorrow, then. Wait for Val, for Angie, for Lauren, for Jill, for Bobby’s followers…for Bobby. Wait for eight hours and then sit in an institution for seven hours until the day was over.
All I could do was wait, while all around me the shit hit the fan.

Days at Westwood High were like sitting through an excruciatingly boring movie with your entire family. Everyone showed up, but no one really wanted to be there. The characters were monotonous. The plot was going nowhere. There was no twist. No humor. And by the end of it, you wanted your money back. Go Wildcats!
As soon as I sauntered through the double doors I saw familiar crowds. I nodded accordingly to those who I passed by, making sure they knew I was there and I was not going to threaten the pride. Hello Valerie and fellow wenches, nod. Hello Jill and new mate making out in the corner, nod…and maybe flinch. Hello muscled predator stuffing his prey into a locker, walk faster. Hello...goodbye Angie Teresio.
And then I’d see Bobby, waiting by my locker and we’d talk to his followers. He’d offer them rides after school or some lunch money if they forgot their own for the day. They would almost chant “What a martyr, what a guy!”. And I would wait until class started. And then I’d wait until the next class started. And then I’d sit with the followers at lunch, and Bobby would share stories, and his lunch, and he’d give a wink here and there. What a martyr, what a guy! And then I’d wait for the end of the day. And then I would go home to my own family. And then I couldn’t wait to see Bobby again because family was harder to deal with than his followers.
But let’s not get into that yet.
So, you could understand why, by Wednesday, I was already yearning for the weekend to arrive. But then I remembered Bobby’s party and the fact that I’d have to endure it in order to immerse in the following days of freedom. The party was in two days, and I didn't know how to get out of it.
I weighed the two hells in my head during AP English while Ms. McCarthy read a passage from Hamlet.
“How stand I then,/That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd,/Excitements of my reason and my blood,/And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see/The imminent death of twenty thousand men,/That, for a fantasy and trick of fame,/Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot/Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,/Which is not tomb enough and continent /To hide the slain?—O, from this time forth,/My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!” She sighed.
I felt bad for Ms. McCarthy. Reading poetry written by a dead Englishman was her only peace. You could tell by how passionately she spoke that 3rd period was the only time of the day she could let everything go and just enjoy stories that she lived vicariously through. I didn’t mind though. I loved Shakespeare. He was kind of twisted.
“So, you can see that Hamlet thought himself a….wuss, as you guys would say.” She joked. No one laughed. After an awkward pause, she continued.
“Um, can anyone tell me why he says um… ‘my thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth’?” She looked down at the book, than hopelessly stared at us. I rolled my eyes and raised my hand. If my class was throwing eggs at my teacher’s passion, then I just dove in front of her solace to save it from dissolving away. I couldn’t let the woman loose enjoyment in the one thing that kept her from going mad.
“Yes, Sam.” She pointed at me in satisfying assertion. I hesitated at first. "Go on, what do you think? There is no wrong answer.”
Not exactly. There is always a wrong answer. "Because the rabbit was pink and the frog was purple" is a wrong answer.
“Hamlet says this because he thinks he needs to man up and take charge of what’s going on in his life. He has to stand up for what is right and chastise his uncle for killing his father. So, he has to be violent or nothing will happen in his favor.”
Ms. McCarthy smiled for longer than necessary, then said well done. She proceeded to read passages as my entire class rotted in their seats.
And then, all of the sudden, Angie Teresio's voice piped up from the back of the room, and those ill-fated eggs flew at me instead of McCarthy’s reason for existence.
“I don’t get it. Why does it have to be so violent?” She said, in her “innocent” tone. I hated Angie’s hippie front. I never really understood why she had to go against everything I said either. She always wanted to seem like the peace loving victim. Like nothing was ever her fault. And I was always wrong. I was evil.
“Why is he so obsessed with killing his uncle? Why doesn’t he go after Ophelia and love her? I mean I think it’s kind of silly that he’s sitting there thinking about how to kill his uncle and then after Ophelia dies, he admits that he loves her.”
I could almost feel Ms. McCarthy rolling her eyes at Angie. After all, she did disgrace everything Hamlet represented. I couldn’t hold in my shot at her idiotic vulnerability.
“What? Ophelia is not even a major character in the play! Who cares about her? And of course Hamlet wants to kill his uncle, the bastard killed his father…and then married his mother! I’d be a little pissed too.” I turned, glared at her, and watched her icy eyes stare blankly back at me.
“W-well…that’s just like you! To look past people’s feelings a-and just get all angry! What about m…Ophelia? What about her love?” she stuttered.
Ms. McCarthy’s eyes were wide with the shock of people actually taking interest in her love of the play.
I could feel my forehead burn hot with rage. Love? Really? Love is what she stood for? And then I thought about that house party Bobby, Angie, and I went to on the last day of Sophomore year. The party that made her Mary Magdalene.

The noise of people having small talk, the exceptionally loud music, the continuous goading to chug bottles of beer at a time; all of these noises echoed in my ears. I remembered wandering through corridors, tripping along the way due to how intoxicated I was. With the overbearing smell of alcohol, piss, and cigarette smoke following me, I tiptoed around two passed out freshmen, and went up the discolored stairs. I passed about six people making out and screamed for the absent Bobby, asking him if he knew where my sunglasses were.
And then, while gripping the edge of my desk, all I saw was hazy flashes. Angie was moving towards Bobby slowly and putting her hand on his chest. He was leaning on the wall in the far corner beside a lamp. His eyes were half shut. She draped her arms around his neck and whispered something in his ear. His head dropped and he slurred some words. She lifted his chin. She kissed him. She let her right hand drift towards his belt buckle. And he jolted. He pushed her off of him.
Angie stared at him with flooded eyes. I stood in silence until then. “What the hell are you doing?” I garbled. Angie gazed at me, shocked. “Sam. It’s not what you think it-” she began, until Bobby interrupted her. “Let’s go” was all he said. He clutched my arm and we passed the people making out. We tiptoed around the passed out freshmen, who had rolled onto their stomachs since I'd last seen them.
Bobby then stopped abruptly and held my shoulders. Looking straight into my glazed eyes he told me never to talk to Angie again because she was a liar. All I did was nod. We found someone to take us to my house. I never found my sunglasses.

I glowered at Angie as she squirmed in her seat. I felt my stomach churn thinking about the three months of my life that I wasted with her. Part of me really wanted to say "How do you know what love is?" but instead:
“You have totally disregarded the entire purpose of this play. Ophelia was a crazy, unimportant burden. Hamlet had better things to do. Like fulfill his destiny! He had to stand up for what he thought was right! He had to kill his rotten uncle and forget about Ophelia, who drowned herself in a lake for Christ’s sakes! At the end of the play, he had to stop focusing on her and he had to get on with his life. He had to be more like Prince Fortinbras and get the job done!”
From the look on Ms. McCarthy’s face, she wasn’t sure if we were actually interested in 17th century tragedies, or, just jaded, angry teenagers.
Angie scoffed, but I could see her lower lip starting to tremble in her dejection. Looking back at it now, I think she knew the whole time that she wasn't going to win that argument. I was Bobby’s best friend. She should’ve known better.
Ms. McCarthy was about to say something when suddenly the bell gave a shrill yell and a herd of students stampeded out of the classroom.

Genisis

1. Genesis

The outside view of Bobby? It was semi-sacrilegious. He was like Jesus. A savior. A martyr with boyish charm. But really, he was just a teenage boy I became friends with during Jimmy Fraiser’s eighth birthday party when he kicked my ass at Nintendo. By the time we were seventeen and the new millennium had commenced, we were walking headfirst into bigger things than Jimmy Fraiser and cooties. However, he still kicked my ass at video games.

"Watch it Peterson, I'm about to rub your nose in all my glory!” said Bobby Geiger on a typical Saturday afternoon we wasted away playing a cheap racing game on Xbox and practically eating everything in my house that contained trans fats.
He was a fairly tall boy with an average build; but to say he was average in any other sense was a severe understatement. He had a glinting, million-dollar smile and an invigorating laugh that seemed to lure people to him. He had a renowned pierced lip and black hair which fell over his piercing emerald green eyes. All the girls in my grade had a thing for Bobby’s eyes. Who am I kidding, all the girls in my school adored Bobby as a whole. Bobby knew everything about everything. If someone ever tried to prove him wrong, he would never admit it. I guess people found his careless and stubborn manner attractive. They practically drooled puddles in worship and awe of his iconic presence whenever he strolled down the halls.
I wasn’t really on that bandwagon.
He punched me playfully in the arm, "I beat you once again!" I watched my once vibrantly blue race car burn in shambles on the side of the pixilated race track while Bobby’s car, with dazzling flames on the sides, sped victoriously past the finish line.
"I'll get you next time, Geiger!" I exclaimed in defeat. Though I knew it was hopeless, since I only beat him twice at the game, and I think he was drunk on one instance.
"So, Sam, who are you taking to the Halloween dance?" he inquired out of nowhere. Bobby was notorious for asking personal questions that I didn't want to answer. And my two cents on Halloween? It’s not everyday you experience an atmosphere filled with people acting as something that they’re not, holding up masks that shield the outside world from knowing who they really are. Or is it?
"I don’t know if I'm going to that...."
Bobby furrowed his brows and got up from the marvelously comfortable bean bag chair. He turned off the Xbox.
"Why not? It's gonna be fuckin awesome!" Bobby liked to curse. I didn't.
"That kind of thing is your scene, Bobby. I'd rather gag myself with a spoon then go to another one of our stupid dances."
He looked in the mirror beside my TV and winked at himself while he tried to slick back his hair, but failed as the tips met his eyes. It was obvious that he knew he was the ideal.
I guess I was considered somewhat admired too, but only because Bobby was my best friend. Not because I was an acceptable photographer, or and inarguably awesome ping-pong champion. No, in fact I don't think I was astounding at all. It was not because of how I looked. I looked a lot like Bobby. My chestnut brown hair swept over my face. I wore clothing that you bought ripped. I had a nose piercing. But I didn't really have the attitude. I wasn't stubborn and outgoing. I was awkward and withdrawn.
Bobby knew what he wanted and he would always try and get it. I just let life happen to me. I was weak. I was a push over. I was just Sam. It was very likely that whenever someone saw Sam Peterson, they only thought of Bobby Geiger.
"Come on Sam. You're a lady's man too. In fact, someone told me that Valerie Anderson asked you out."
Let me introduce you to my lyrical wit: Valerie Anderson was class president. Valerie Anderson was rich. Valerie Anderson was a first class swimmer. Valerie Anderson was a fake bitch. Amen.
"I said no."
Bobby gave me a surprised look. Though, I didn't know why. He knew how much I hated dating. Eating a gnome sized dinner with a bubbly girl, trying to figure out what to say, when to say it, and how to say it while simultaneously trying to fill an awkward silence, wasn’t my forte. Not that I ever wanted it to be.
"You said what?! Why would you ever do that? Have you seen her in a swimsuit?! Have you gone off the deep end?! No pun intended…” Bobby wasn't much of a romantic.
"Why don't you go with her?"
"Can't, I'm taking Lauren McCann"
Lauren McCann was captain of the girl's soccer team. Lauren McCann had long shiny red hair and big....you know what's. Lauren McCann threw the best parties. Lauren McCann was an alcoholic. That one didn’t have very good rhythm, but hey, isn’t that what the true tearjerkers are? They are the ones that aren’t ideal, right? This is the misunderstood haiku, not Every Rose Has Its Thorn. But what do I know…
"Right. I almost forgot." I totally forgot.
"Why are you so anti-social, Sammy boy?" I hated when he called me that.
"I'm not anti-social. I just don't like dances."
Actually, I was both. I didn't particularly like the people at my school, nor did I ever like associating with them. They all just liked playing mind games with each other to amuse themselves because beneath it all they lead dull, unfulfilling lives. Perhaps I wasn’t so different from them, but at least I knew that I was pathetic. I was a waste of oxygen and organic material.
The only person I thought was true was Bobby even though Bobby actually hung out with these people. It's not his fault though. Bobby just liked to talk and be noticed. He glorified attention.
"Is this about Angie?” Angie Teresio was my ex-girlfriend. Angie Teresio was Bobby's ex-friend. Angie Teresio used people. I think you can see where this is going. Her full name was Angelica, and many people used to see her as the core of her name suggested. But after what happened between her and Bobby it became obvious that she was Mary Magdalene, the slut, not Mary the virgin.
It wasn't about Angie, but I had to say something to get Bobby off my back. "It's just going to be awkward with her there."
He sighed and changed the subject. Now, if only Angie went to all those other parties that Bobby dragged me to; I would have an everlasting excuse.
"Are you still coming to my Halloween party?" I didn't want to go, but it was Bobby’s. I had to go.
"Yeah." Bobby grinned and patted me hard on the back. I smiled.
"Good. My party would be nothing without Sam the Man there."
I hated when he called me that too, but the smile didn't leave my face. Bobby made me feel like something. To other people I was nothing more than Bobby's best friend. But to Bobby, I was Sam Peterson. I was my own person.
"You think people won’t come because it's on Halloween?" He said ominously.
"Bobby, it's your party. Everyone's coming." He slouched on the bean bag chair beside me.
He snickered and tried to blow his hair out of his face. "I'm gonna keep it fresh. Everyone will be talking about it until Christmas.”
I had to warn him because his party was going to be a crucifixion. I knew it would be, even before I experienced it.
"Sorry to break it to you, but Halloween parties have been around forever."
A smile carved its way across Bobby's face, "Oh yes, but I haven't." Bobby had a way of saying a lot when saying so little.
"What about your parents?"
Bobby didn't have the most functional family. They sounded normal enough though. His sister was Jillian. She was a senior, and a model one at that. If there was an award at our school, Jillian probably attained it. Bobby's frail mother, Regina, owned a coffee house. It was a very smooth running business, but ironically, the coffee was the only thing there that tasted like crap. Bobby's father, Hank, was a very large police officer with a buzz cut and biceps busting out of his sleeves. On the surface, the Geiger family was your typical small town family.
But once you break down the façade of lies brick by brick, like I had done over the years, you begin to realize that the Geiger family put on a play for the world to see. And backstage, the seemingly flawless Jillian liked to fool around with my fellow juniors at Westwood High. They practically passed her around like she was one of their own stupid basketballs. She was also known for running high stakes poker games every Thursday night at the local park. Her perfectly polished nails didn’t give themselves a manicure you know.
Jillian didn’t pay Bobby much attention, as she had more important things on her agenda. Like the spring play, and the next chicken party. I remember when Bobby used to be protective of Jill. When he used to wipe the powder from her nose and call her clean. But Jill was not something you can sweep under the rug. She was like acid.
I remember when Bobby gave up on her: When she fucked a guy that was ten years older than her, Bobby’s SAT tutor, really fucking Bobby up in the process. One more pun before you move on? Bobby wasn’t the only one who scored low in that situation. Jill got crabs. Bobby got impatient. Who would’ve thought that standardized testing could be so sadistic?
Bobby’s dangerously thin mother was a different sort of problem. She was always on some sort of medication; but she wasn't sick, if you know what I mean. Whenever I came over to Bobby’s house or stopped by the coffee house, she was always popping in a different pill than the day before. And whenever she handed me a muffin, or a piece of apple pie, or a white chocolate mocha, I always felt her hands shaking from the other end. I guess Bobby sort of felt it too, but he did nothing about it. How was he supposed to stop doing something that was excusable? She was despondent and reserved and that was no surprise considering who she was married to.
Hank was a brute, and fixed all off his problems by exploiting his physicality at home. He towered over Regina like a tidal wave and struck hard whenever meat was overcooked or socks weren’t clean. I remember sleeping over at Bobby’s house when I was ten and waking up to Regina’s crying as Hank threw plates onto the kitchen floor because they were piling up and Bobby hadn’t touched them yet. I heard him call Bobby worthless and disgraceful. But I never heard a word from Mrs. Geiger’s mouth. After that, Bobby always slept over at my house.
Bobby didn't like to talk about it, but I knew the ramifications of his every action. Although he was a maverick, I knew Bobby wasn't stupid enough to have a party with his dad home.
"They're going to Connecticut to visit my aunt. An empty house is just begging for a party, isn't it?"
"What about Jill?"
"What about Jill? It's not like she'll tell on me. She'll just join the party." Bobby made me anxious. I didn't really know what to say, though. He was right.
"You are coming, right?"
"Of course…absolutely.” I said. He patted my back.
“Good. Now, shall we proceed with me kicking your ass at Xbox…again?”

Prologue

Friendly Fire

(Sam Peterson's Tale):

Prologue

The truth is a funny thing. It is something that always resides inside you; but you never quite know the power it can withhold if you set it free. This power can be a good thing sometimes. The liberated truth can be a loosening of a grip that you’ve always felt at the pit of your stomach. It can make you feel like you’ve just had a rib crushing boulder lifted off of you. But sometimes it can also be the ultimate cause of the casting of silence between you and your loved ones. Sometimes, when you least expect it, you realize that a rib was left broken, and has stabbed your insides, causing you to bleed internally and end everything that you once held dear.
That is why the truth is a funny thing. That is why I lived my life as a marionette in the grueling hands of inaction and caution. I never dared to risk the truth escaping me. I never dared to take a chance and lift that boulder off of me, for fear of puncturing my already injured insides and losing everything I cherished.
I never dared to because of Bobby Geiger.
But then I finally acknowledged that obstinate voice in my head that told me to let go. And when I realized I couldn’t live on as a fearful, heedful coward, I relinquished the adamant truth reserved inside me. I let go.
And it was because of Bobby Geiger that I did so.

Who is Sam Peterson?

I've always had a hole in my head. Not a physical hole, but a part of me that seems to struggle against the rest of my self. It sometimes feeds on my thoughts and desires. I decided to name this hole Sam Peterson. He is not evidence of multiple personality disorder. He is a character. I invite you to get to know him. This way you will get to know me, and maybe even yourself.
--Reem Seliem

PS. Sam Peterson is copyrighted even though he is simply a malformation of everyone's ideals. Is that paradoxical or what?