You will find you in the Bully Book. Maybe you were a bully, a victim, or simply a tagger-alonger who didn’t have the balls to speak out. But hey, I don’t blame you. I would have done the same thing.
I hope I don’t sound bitter, because this is a happy memoir, with a happy ending and a hot woman. Actually, my social studies teacher probably doesn’t count, but there was nice girl who actually liked me, after a while.
Oh, and there was a guy with olive skin and jet black hair, cut like one of those natives from the Amazon. He had a dangerous secret, but he didn’t know that I knew. It was so dangerous that it was a calculated risk being his friend.
But to have no friends is even more dangerous, especially in an All Boys’ high school and you’re only a turd. That’s what third formers were called, the turd form. But everyone has to start at the bottom. And speaking of bottoms, I was told I must keep my back to the wall. I think it’s a joke, I hope. I mean, the worst insult you can call someone at an All Boys’ school is a homo, and I reckon anyone identified as one would be dead meat.
My immediate goal is to hurt Simon who called me a faggot on my first day, and figure out exactly what to do with my homogrips.