I threw my backpack down on the twin-size bed, which was covered with plain green bedsheets. I stared at the four biege walls, singular window, desk, bed, and nightstand.

While Richard and Nancy were busy cooking and watching the news on TV, and listening to classical music, or whatever the hell they did in their free time, I laid down on the bed, straight as a ruler, and thought about going to school there, about people, about what the hell my life was going to be like. The thought of it drove me insane.

I sat up as a loud knock hit the door. Nancy opened it, her rosy cheeks pulled into a dimpled, pearly-toothed smile. “Supper’s ready.”

“Oh, cool.” I hopped up unenthusiastically, only to sit on a creaky chair and eat chunky mashed potatoes, while the two of them asked if I was excited to start going to school. I told them, “No, not at all. I hate school.”

Truthfully, I’d only done about four years of school, and mostly I was scared I’d fail. I mean, I was starting middle school, in March, after not having gone to school for nearly three years.

Sure, I had hell of a time finding classes and getting my locker combitation right, but people didn’t talk to me and I didn’t talk to them, and it was fine. Until about two in the afternoon, I mean.

Since I was starting so late in the year, I needed a tutor: a bland, smiling girl who got straight A’s, to tell me that I’m stupid, to tell me that I’m bad at everything, and to tell me how to do algebra. Her name was Pam.

Pam and I, let’s just say, didn’t get along too well. She didn’t appreciate my sense of humour very much, especially when I called her “Plain Pam.” Well, she was a good tutor, at least, and caught me up on a lot of missed work. I asked her if there were any punk rockers in middle school, and she replied, “What, are you into that? No, not that I know of, anyway.” Then, I asked her if there was anyone interesting in middle school, and she replied, “Yes, but they aren’t losers.”

It was around four in the afternoon when Plain Pam was done with me, and I did as Nancy had told me: head home with the spare key, and hang around until she’d get back from work around seven or seven-thirty.

Their apartment looked blander and sadder than ever without them in it.

There wasn’t a lot to do, so I called Danny’s house, but nobody answered- I guess nobody was home.