The good thing about going to a school in a fairly affluent suburb was that someone's parents were always going off to Europe or some tropical locale, and leaving their teenager at home with an envelope full of cash for food and emergencies. What actually constituted as an 'emergency', however, was subject to interpretation, and meant that on any given weekend, there was a good chance of a party being thrown somewhere in Shermer. They were never advertised of course, at least not to just anyone, but John wasn't just anyone, and invitations appeared in his locker all the time.

That was how, on Saturday night, he found himself waiting outside another party, mixed in rather incongruently with the wealthiest and most popular students from the area's two high schools. Stumpy, or whatever his equally retarded name was, was famous for throwing wild parties every time his parents left him alone for more than a few days. It seemed like every month John was passed another note with the address of his parents' mansion on it. He'd been there three times already since the start of the school year. Not that he minded. The place did have a pretty bitchin' indoor swimming pool after all.

When he finally got up to the front door, the linebacker who was playing bouncer gave him the nod, and John slipped effortlessly into a world that only tolerated his presence for one night a week. He was immediately greeted by one of his regulars—a tremendous asshole who thought that having money gave him a free pass to say and do whatever he wanted. In gym class, he was usually the one leading the taunts directed at those whom he'd deemed 'lower class', which included practically everybody. Tonight though, John was his best friend.

"There's my man!" the asshole exclaimed, handing him a red plastic cup filled with beer. "I was just telling Cameron that I hadn't seen you yet. Now this party can get fucking started!" He attempted to shout across the room to get his friend's attention, but the music drowned him out. "Fuck it. You're going to be here for awhile, right?"

John nodded.

"Excellent. Listen, I'm going to go get Cameron and a couple of the other guys, so have something to eat, grab another beer, and don't go anywhere until we do business, okay?"

"I'll come find you. Don't worry," John assured him.

"You're the best!"

And you're a fucking hypocrite, he wanted to reply. But he just smiled and took a sip from his beer instead.

While Richie Rich went after his friend, John surveyed the room for prospects. Unlike his fellow classmates who were busy living it up, he was at the party to work. That didn't mean that he couldn't try to fit in a little pleasure on the side, however.

The first girl that caught his attention was a redhead sitting on one of the sofas. She was talking to her friends, and he liked the way that her eyes lit up when she smiled. Her pale skin was just begging to be marked by his bruising kisses, and he could imagine her looking flushed as she writhed in ecstasy on the bed underneath him. She looked pristine though, and he didn't do virgins. He was a lot of things, but he wasn't cruel.

Instead, he made his move on a blonde that stumbled past him in her too-high heels. He could tell that she was already damaged, and it wouldn't take much to convince her to make out with him. Her short skirt, low-cut top, and Madonna-style teased hair practically broadcasted her need for attention. He fed her some bullshit line about how she was the one he'd been waiting for, and pulled her into a dark corner.

After a few minutes of making out with her, he was bored. He slipped his hand under her shirt and felt her up over the bra, just to switch things up a little, but it didn't do much for him. The blonde, however, seemed impressed by his initiative.

"Oh my god, you don't kiss anything like Bryce or Cory," she marveled, once she'd caught her breath.

He gave her stiff nipple a light pinch through the satin and then removed his hand from under her shirt. "Want to know a secret?" he asked.

She nodded slowly, like she was in a daze, and he leaned in closer so that he could whisper into her ear. "I snuck in tonight." It didn't matter that it wasn't true, it only mattered that it sounded good. "I don't even live on this side of town." That was the truth, however, and usually the clincher.

The blonde's glossy pink lips curled into a predictable smile. "Meet me upstairs in like, five minutes, and you are going to get so lucky. I just have to tell Lisa that she's on her own for the rest of the night."

Easy. So. Fucking. Easy.

He caught her arm as she turned to leave, and admired the thirty or so black rubber bracelets adorning it. "Can I have one?" he asked.

"Why?"

"To remember you by," he replied, giving her his most charming smile.

She giggled and slid one of the bracelets down her hand, then went off to find her friend.

John didn't stand around, or go upstairs. If he wanted to, he could pick up ninety-percent of the girls at the party. But that knowledge no longer gave him the same thrill it once had. Now, getting girls at parties, even the ones that should have been out of his league, was like shooting fish in a barrel.

Just once, he wanted to meet someone different—someone who was a challenge, but who was worth the effort. Someone who would call him on his bullshit, but at the end of the day would still talk to him because she liked him anyway.

Just once, he wanted to meet someone who wanted him.

xxx

John returned home around 2 o'clock the next morning, frustrated. Going to the party hadn't satisfied him in any of the ways that mattered. He tossed the bracelet from the blonde into the battered shoebox. It landed near a purple barrette, and a button that he'd accidentally torn off the shirt of a girl he'd made out with in the backseat of Mark's car. He stared down at his collection for a moment, and then shoved the box back under his bed and out of sight.

Next, he dug a sizable wad of cash out of his pocket and counted it. He supposed that the evening hadn't been a complete bust. Profitable, yet boring, was still profitable after all. He slipped the ten- and twenty-dollar bills between the pages of his math textbook and then buried the whole thing under a pile of dirty laundry on the floor.

Done taking care of business for the night, he collapsed into bed. He was still pretty buzzed from the party, so as he drifted off, only one thought came to mind.

Throw himself in front of the 'L'.

It certainly had potential. His entrails would be all over the train tracks, and his blood would probably rain down on the street below. People would run away screaming. He'd definitely make the newspaper if that happened. Probably even the front page. He pictured the headline with a smile, 'Teenager Offs Himself. Commuters Subjected to Gruesome Display of Guts'.