A/N: Paragraph breaking faces omitted out of respect for K2. ^_^

God Must Hate Me by Teen Dreamer

Tuesday.

My eyes fluttered open.

7:04am.

"Neat," I yawned, rolling over and sitting upright.

The definition of a bad day, I believe, begins with a rude awakening of some description: be it insanely early or stressfully late. Tuesday was neither, so naturally, I was at every liberty to assume the worst was over. I stood up, swayed dazedly on the balls of my feet for a short while, took a towel from the rack, and paced out into the hall, keeping myself in check, in case MC Hammer turned predator again.

The dog, however, was absent.

"Hm," I shrugged, strolling into the bathroom before calling out to my mother. "Mom! Is the hot water still down?"

No answer.

I kept my cautious Rapture impulses at bay as I searched the apartment for her.

"Mom? Mo-ah?"

There was a note on the refrigerator.

'Corky – Hospital called. Had to take an early shift. Didn't have time to pack your lunch. I still love you, but. And the cookies on the counter are for Becky. Sincerely, Mom. xoxox'

"Confound it," I murmured under my breath, running a hand through my hair as I went back to the bathroom.

From what I could deduce, the hot water had been re-activated. Its warmth eased my malcontent to no end, let me assure you, and before long, I'd gotten my groove back. Dressed & fed, I proceeded to casually prepare a lunch for myself as I listened to the morning traffic report on the radio.

"……Roadworks at the corner of Landcaster & Maple have northbound traffic re-routed down Main. The delay aside, several vehicles have fallen victim to the potholes surrounding the construction. If you're headed that way, be sure to slow down and do as you're instructed……"

Yawning, I switched it off and dropped the brown paper bag into my backpack, zipping it up and slinging it over one shoulder as I departed.

*

"Good morning, Mrs. Harding!" I smiled warmly as I passed the elderly woman who lived at the end of the hall.

"Oh, Corky," she beamed meekly, squinting up at me through her enormous lenses. "You're just the young man I was hoping to see right now."

Crap.

"What can I do for you?" I asked, my politeness now feigned.

"Those plumbing gentlemen – you know, the ones that shut off the water yesterday? I don't believe they've adequately completed their task."

"Well, how do you mean?" I asked.

"My hot water is still running cold, dearie," she lamented in a coy despondence only a sweet old woman could muster. "I was wondering if you could go round back and check to see what the problem is?"

"Uh, sure," I said, checking my watch a little anxiously. "I'll be right back."

*

Of course I hadn't a clue of what the heck I was supposed to do, even if I could identify the problem. I went down to the first floor, to the small patch of lawn round the side of the building, where the domestic water heater……thing……was. Unsurely, I removed the outer casing of a box housing the apartment building's network of pipes.

"Well, here's your problem!" I called up to her as she peered over the balcony. "Your apartment's piping isn't hooked up to the water heater!"

"Oh, would you, dearie?" she begged from above.

"Sure," I muttered, annoyed. "As long as the noose is around my neck, I may as well jump off the horse."

I took the length of hose at the base of the piping and looked for a place where I might have been able to connect it to the six foot cylinder before me. And, as luck would have it, there was. I latched it to an opening near the top and gave the frail woman a thumbs-up, the batty old sweetheart scurrying inside to test it out.

I wished she hadn't.

Apparently, her hot water was on hiatus for a reason. For when she twisted that basin handle, a powerful, pressurised geyser of boiling H2O blasted me square in the chest, propelling me forcefully into the adjacent fence, where I fell into a crumpled, wheezing heap.

"Oh, praise be!" I heard her cheer from inside. "It's working, bless your heart! It's working, it's—oh, dear. It's stopped!"

And judging by the unanimous cry of protest from virtually all the other apartments in the building, it looked like I'd killed the entire supply. Still gasping for breath, I staggered to my feet and didn't stop staggering until I'd nearly staggered directly in front of the oncoming bus.

"Holy cow, boy!" cried our Kentuckian busdriver, Mr. Stern, "Nobody told me it was raining out!"

"Look harder," I croaked as I stumbled aboard, soaked from the waist up.

As per usual, Jason was on hand to add insult to injury, bless him.

"Word, G!" he laughed, slapping his thigh and wagging his tongue in jest. "Do I need to tell you what creek you look like you're up without a paddle?"

"Save your breath," I said in reply as I let my head fall against the glass.

*

Of course, my lunch & textbooks were soaked through. It looked like I was going to have to subsist on a juice box for the entire school day, and tolerate that awful prune contour of the damp pages as I made my displeasure known to God through clenched teeth during every lesson.

But the real fun began during History.

"C minus, Mr. Abrams," mused our teacher, Mr. Strohm, as he held Monday's exam paper before me, letting it linger so as to instil me with the full effect of devastation. "Very disappointing, wouldn't you agree?"

Very disappointing? I remember thinking as I gaped at the blood red grade at the top right corner of the page (underlined three times – Mr. Strohm really didn't like me,) There must be some mistake you bearded quack! I've never got anything less than a B in my life!

He let the paper waft from his hands onto the edge of his desk, glowering smugly at my shell-shocked disbelief.

"You're dismissed," he said coolly, leaning back in his chair.

I nodded, distraught, and followed the masses as they spilt into the halls.

"Damn, Corky!" cried Jason, demonstrating genuine concern as we both gawked over the poor result. "What is with you lately?"

"I-I don't know!" I answered honestly. "It's like……some sort of gung-ho supernatural dogma, or – something! I've had nothing but bad luck since yesterday morning!"

"Trippy," he said, following the statement with a low whistle. "Well, have you prayed about it? I mean, maybe this is a wake-up call, or somethin'?"

"A wake-up call to what, Jason?" I asked, squinting and shaking my head incredulously. "I'm Christopher Abrams, the most beloved & hip theist on the west coast! What could God possibly want to say that He has to go to this irritating level for me to hear?"

Jason just shook his head.

"I think it's just routine bad luck," I finally conceded, sighing. "You have bad luck, don't you?"

"Sure, I have bad luck," he grinned. "'Member the summer of '94? My cat choked to death after eating my canary. And when we buried it  –"

"—the earthquake brought it back to the surface during your birthday party!" I laughed, nodding enthusiastically. "That's right, how could I forget? I guess I must be going through something like that."

"Y'must be," he smiled, though there was something in his eyes that suggested he'd sided with his first theory. "Hey, have you spoken to Reefer Pittsburgh about the dope?"

"Ah, no!" I cried, dismissively shoving the paper into my backpack as we exited the building. "I should do that now."

"Be discreet, dawg," he cautioned, slapping my back. "'Cause discretion is the, uh……yeah. Be careful."

"I will, don't worry."

*

Looking back now, the situation was more than a little suspicious. Becky, Jason & I had organised an Anti-Drug demonstration for the following day, but in order to actually demonstrate the negative properties of narcotics & depressants, I was saddled with the unenviable task of purchasing an actual sample of the stuff – from San Marino High's resident dealer, Ricky 'Reefer' Pittsburgh.

"God Boy?" I remember him grunting in contempt as I approached that afternoon. "What is you doin' here?"

"Hi," I smiled, my posture a little rigid. "Uh, I'd like small sample of cannabis, if it's not too much trouble."

A disbelieving laugh escaped his lips as he gaped at me dazedly.

"No way!" he hollered, "This has gotta be some sort o' dream! Am I stoned?"

Judging by the thick, perfumed aroma blanketing his surroundings, (not to mention his personal appearance……and hygiene), I didn't rule out the possibility.

"Will fifty bucks be enough?" I asked, pulling the note from my pocket.

"Hot damn, Jesus freak!" he crowed, giddy with delight as he exchanged my money for a sandwich bag of crushed flora. "Pleasure doin' business with you, but, uh……"

His demeanour became suddenly solemn as he bunched the front of my shirt into his fist.

"……you should know I have a policy on snitchin', y'dig?"

"Yeah, I dig," I nodded, appalled at the amplified odour as the proximity between our faces was narrowed. "I won't tell anybody."

I probably should have, given my cause. I dismissed the notion as a queued mental note. If I were going to rat him out to the higher authorities, I would've at least waited until this lapse of dire misfortune had passed.

"Good," he grinned as he released his hold. "You have a nice day now, aight?"

"Yeah, thanks," I murmured, burying the small baggie deep within my trouser pocket, before turning and hastily leaving.

*

"Mom, I'm home."

"Hola, there, my sweet," she beamed, sticking her head out from the kitchen. "How'd today go, has life improved?"

"Yeah, life's improved," I muttered bitterly as I fell into a seat and ploughed through the tray of fresh brownies before me, "In the eyes of a third-world orphan, maybe."

"Oh, stop that," she scolded, whacking me upside the head. "You're being melodramatic, you know."

She began to babble nonsensically, in which case I instinctively tuned out.

"……it's no wonder……sheltered existence……you're as soft as a baby's hieney……."

I rolled my eyes & stood up, dusting the crumbs off of my shirt.

"Don't forget," she suddenly interrupted herself, "You're picking up Becky on your way to the prayer meeting tonight."

"Awhaw, no!" I was heard to moan. "I wanna go to bed."

"Well, see it's that kind of attitude that –"

"Ah, forget it, I'm on my way. I'm gonna take a shower first."

"I wouldn't recommend it!" she called with loving reluctance as I slunk away from the kitchen, "Somebody downed the hot water again this morning, apparently."

I felt like crying.

*

I drove with one hand on the wheel that evening. The other massaged my temple, deepening my frown with each motion as the streetlights passed ominously over Mom's car.

It just doesn't get any better than this, I remember thinking as I glared at the deserted road ahead. My eyes darted absently to the sign at the crossroad as I passed through.

'Maple Drive.'

At the last second, I remembered I had to pick up Becky, who lived on the street to the right. I slammed my foot against the brake pedal and yanked the handbrake to slide the back wheels of the vehicle into a 90 degree turn.

Mysteriously, the traffic report from earlier that day struck a chord as the following nine seconds progressed in slow-motion.

The back wheels, as they slid sideways to level themselves with the road, fell at the mercy of what could only be described as the biggest pothole imaginable, the forceful and unexpected jolt flipping the entire car onto its roof, bouncing the vehicle violently away from the bitumen, and back onto all four wheels – ironically outside of Becky's house.

My expression could have been likened to a fish at that moment: vacant eyes bulging from their sockets, and jaw hanging dumbly open. My knuckles were a deathly white as they gripped the wheel like a vice. All I could do was sit, staring petrified through the enormous spider-web crack in the windshield as a few concerned residents emerged from their houses.

"Oh my goodness, Corky!" I remember hearing Becky shriek as she exploded from her front door, sprinting valiantly out to my beaten-up automobile.

She threw the car door open, pried my rigid fingers from their grasp on the wheel, and dragged me onto her front lawn. I must've looked like a corpse: my stoic limbs were suspended, motionless above my body, as if I were still in the seat. I felt her warm tears of concern fall across my face, but that was nothing compared to the next sensation – her lips pressed desperately against mine.

From what I could deduce, she was attempting some sort of resuscitation. But it being Becky, chances are she was exercising some sort of new romantic strategy. And I had to admit, it was……nice. Soft, gentle and minty. I felt my muscles loosen as my limbs fell to the side, and was beginning to enjoy myself – until my dazed eyes locked onto the car.

"Pffo my God!" I cried, bolting upright and half-headbutting the poor girl. "The car!!!"

I scurried to my feet, but fell to my knees just as quickly. The roof had caved, and all of the windows had subsequently fractured. On top of that, the paint job had been mercilessly hacked to the core – a crowd of psychotic golf enthusiasts would have caused less damage.

I heard Becky whispering prayers of thanks to God for my safety as she rubbed her nose, but I took no heed – I was as furious as I was distraught.

*

I remember uttering a despondent sigh as I sat atop the balcony railing outside my bedroom later that night. Of course, we'd missed the prayer meeting. Mrs. Sanchez had escorted me home after calling in a tow truck to escort the injured vehicle back to our apartment building. Now only the murmured conversation of my mother & the mechanic three floors below broke the stillness of the crisp evening.

I looked up at the full white moon as a thin veil of mist passed over it. And as I was musing over my life as of late, I felt the full force of a nasty spontaneous mental image……

……I saw God. I saw Him with a host of angels. They were cracking open a case of Budweiser's as they sat before a massive 700 inch Plasma television. And they were splitting their sides with gleeful mirth as 'hilarious' instances such as the water main incident, my poor History result, and of course, the car accident played across the screen in agonising slow motion.

This little whim was in jest, of course. Which is why I was so surprised when I felt tears of bitterness sting at my eyes. I heard Mom bid the tow truck driver good night as he clambered into the front seat, and decided to go to bed before she could come upstairs and engage me with a few dozen Bible verses. With a sigh, I dropped from my perch on the balcony railing, only to realise my foot was caught between two bars underneath. Annoyed, I forcefully yanked my leg away – pulling my shoe right off. It fell three stories down……into the back of the tow truck……which rumbled away into the night.

They were new shoes, too.

"Oh, yes," I could almost hear God holler as He grabbed the remote, "Let's see that one again!!!"