October 3, 1978
Sigh* Figures my old man, Big Hank, would show his sorry face around here again. Can't even get a break at school without having to worry about that deadbeat and his white powder habit. He's been smoking that fucking thing all day. Piece of shit.
But at least Ma's outta the picture now - small mercies, I guess. Two weeks ago, the old lady kicked the bucket, and Big Hank being the charmer he is, just up and buried her in the backyard instead of a real funeral.
Anyway, I'm just tryin' to roll up to school on my board, but Gomie's yappin' my ear off about this Sunday's English test. Like, seriously dude? Fifth grade's stressful enough without having to worry about that crap, and I'm already barely gettin' by in this language as it is. So I told him to shut the fuck up to his face.
That's when I hit the ground - looks like someone tripped me up. I turn around and there's this group of big ol' high school meatheads, led by that knucklehead George Merket. "If it ain't Hannah Schrader and his boyfriend," he sneers, grabbin' me by the collar.
I fire back, "You're the one talkin' about boyfriends, genius. There's three other dudes with you." Wrong move, 'cause George just drops me and takes off cacklin' on his bike, leavin' me in the dirt.
Gomie's eyes are like saucers. "Dude, you just talked back to Big Boy George! No one's ever done that and lived!" Yeah, well, looks like I just signed my death warrant. Big Boy George is real alright - been held back nine years in this rinky-dink elementary school. Just my rotten luck.