Chapter One. Original. I know.

Chapter one

I remember my principals' end of year speech. It contained the usual lack-lustre inspiration that seemed odd out of his mouth. Everyone knew he was a paedophile. Who lures kids into his office with candy? He does. Hi. My name is creep. In his speech he said that we as year 12's carry around labels. Jock. Geek. Slut. And that this is just the way teenagers work. Like wolves or mormons. But that once we leave school these labels would wash away and we could re-invent ourselves into whoever we choose to be. It's taken me two years to call bullshit on this. And I'm not quite sure where those two years went. Not in a bitter, resentful way. More like a hung over, pixilated memory sort of way.

I think it's funny, the simple things that amuse everyone. Universal Pleasures. I have my hand out the window, pushing the wind. That's one of them. I haven't met anyone who doesn't enjoy that. Like juicy strawberries and the smell of matches igniting. Universal. My hand barrels to the right and dive-bombs to wind up the window. I can understand the lyrics on the radio again as there isn't air being pressed into my ear drums. Nick is on my right, pretending he knows the lyrics and hitting the air with invisible drum sticks. It doesn't freak me that he never concentrates when he drives, I just worry for small animals and risk-taking pedestrians. This is Nick. Favourite bands include The Red Hot Chili Peppers, Oasis and Pearl Jam. His favourite books are mostly football statistics that I couldn't even guess the names of. I don't hold these things against him though, Nick is one of my best friends.