I'm so sorry, Kevin. Based on "Pinewood Derby." Kevin character study (I made him a supernerd), as well as a test at writing POV. It's so DIFFICULT, omg. Super quick idea ball lolol.

Contrary to Popular Belief...

Up Up Down Down Left Right Left Right B A Select Start!

I'm on the bus, getting back from work. I have my earbuds plugged in, and I'm tapping my feet to a bunch of anime openings because I'm a nerd and I like J-rock. Even if I don't understand a word of it. It's a Saturday evening, perfect for late night console wars and Gundam marathons.

Right now, my eyes are fixed intently on the screen of my DS. I'm guiding Bill Rizer through an alien-infested jungle, and my thumb is permanently attached to the firing button. I really like my 2-D sidescrollers.

Stan Marsh, a classmate I'm vaguely acquainted with, gets on at the next stop. Our bus is pretty full now, and there's only a couple empty seats left. Stan sends me a wave as he sticks his transfer into the machine.

I give him a brief nod of acknowledgement before turning back to my game – I'm so into it that I don't even notice him walking over.

"Can I sit here?" He's eyeing the seat next to me hesitantly.

His voice is really faint over Nami Tamaki's singing, but I nod anyway.

Stan takes the seat, crossing his legs and adjusting his poofball hat. "Um," he says, and I try to smile civilly without averting my gaze from my DS. A normal person would probably turn the thing off, but I'm Chinese, so leave me alone. The screen flickers, and my pixellated dude gets shot down again by a stupid alien soldier.

Meanwhile, Stan's trying to make polite conversation. "You like Star Wars, right?"

Sometimes I wish he weren't so nice. Sure, I liked Star Wars back in elementary school. I'm not gonna lie, I was obsessed to the point where I watched every single Episode every day of every week.

But not anymore. Things have changed. And if Stan would just keep his mouth shut, I wouldn't be getting these flashbacks, like, right now.

"Um." My eyes dilate and I accidentally bite my tongue. Which is now bleeding. "No. I… don't." God, I love monosyllables.

Then, without warning, his face flashes in my mind, and I can't help cringing.

"What, really? Why not?" Stan sounds surprised, but it's not like I can blame him. We hardly ever talk to each other since we've moved on to high school, and the only reason he still recognizes me is because I'm 'Kevin Goddamn It,' the kid who likes Star Wars too much. So Star Wars is the easy conversation icebreaker that people use when they see me. This is what happens when you have no friends. No one knows you at all.

I wouldn't resent it so much, except I swear my blood is turning into ice and my hair is standing on end. I really, really can't handle this. Why did he have to bring it up? Why couldn't he have just asked me about video games or something? Anything but Star Wars.

"Look," I manage, my breathing at this point unnaturally heavy, "I'll – I'll write all the reasons down." I pull a notepad from my bag and grab my Transformers pen. My girly writing moves across the page, and Stan just raises his eyebrows at me.

"Dude, it's fine," he tries to reassure me, but I shake my head violently. He looks kind of nervous, like he's thinking 'Kevin, goddamn it, I didn't know you were insane.'

And I probably look like a freak, hyperventilating and scribbling frantically on a piece of paper while trying to rock out to the TTGL opening, but it's not even my fault.

Dear Stan,

I don't like Star Wars anymore. Please make a note of that and tell everyone.

The problem is, I'm just not cynical enough. And I'm sorry, all right? I was nine, impressionable, and in love with Princess Leia. And like every normal Asian kid, I was obsessed with sci-fi and theories based on absolutely zero truth. Robots and Jedi and Mario. Gundam and Evangelion. I'm allowed to dream, right?

I'm allowed to have my dreams of Carrie Fisher in her prime time. I'm allowed to be Han Solo, I'm allowed to be a Stormtrooper, I'm allowed to save the princess and be the awesome guy in the shiny costume.

Except, apparently, my Princess Leia turned out to be your dad. You're not the only one who's scarred, Stan. We're seventeen now, and I still can't unsee it. The thing is, I take everything too literally. And then I get mad.

I was on vacation in Switzerland that summer. There was an exhibition at the Hadron Particle Super Collider facility for the new bending magnet, and being the science geek I was and still am, there was no way I was going to pass that chance up. I really wanted to see that exhibit. Except by the time I got there, the place was closed. I wasn't sure whether to throw a tantrum or not.

And then I saw her. Princess Leia Organa. I was a little taken aback at first, because her hair seemed to be unravelling and she looked really lost, but I just assumed it was because she'd crash landed on Earth and needed me to help her. She was clutching a tiny box in her hands, and she had a crazy deathgrip on it. I figured it must've been something pretty special.

I tried waving at her, but she just had this weird dazed look on her face.

Then she started to pull her hair off. Then off came the senatorial gown. Pretty soon I realized that she had a moustache, and suddenly Princess Leia was starting to look more like a thirty year old guy, than the love of my life. That was the point when I realized something was probably wrong.

You know the rest, Stan. And I know that by the time you're reading this, you're probably smashing your head into a wall. How many times did you watch the news clip? I get nightmares every time I think about it. But it's not your fault that your dad's an idiot.

I fell out of love that day.

Forgetting isn't easy. It's so difficult when your dreams are shattered and you can't even think about Star Wars without wanting to puke. Because suddenly you know that everything you took for granted isn't real, and your plastic lightsaber isn't going to save you anymore, even when you put your special Stormtrooper suit on.

I grew up thinking that Princess Leia was actually a man. I grew up with the terrifying thought that your dad and Princess Leia were the same person, and that I'd had a crush on her. Him. I don't even know.

I want my childhood back.

May the Force smite your stupid dad,

Kevin Goddamn It Stoley.

I fold the letter into sixteenths and shove the square into Stan's hands. Then I get off the bus as fast as I can.

Fucking Star Wars.

-fin.

Now I want to cry LOL

TTGL = Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann. Kevin has good taste, a'ight. And Contra is the most impossible game ever, unless you're not a lame teenager and can get past hard mode without using a continue. :P