NEway, God, what a lame ass holiday Barri’s had. Hysterectomy, infection, emergency 2nd surgery… It sucks, but she’s also fallen off the grid. Percocet fog, she calls it. Lazy, I say. Try being a freshman juggling soccer, geometry, physics, peer pressure, Tim Silvey’s daily put-downs, a coach’s unspoken comparison to a perfect brother’s memory, hovering under that God-like brother’s eternal shadow, parental ghosts, ex-girlfriends you want in the current category, and the wrath of the Barbie Brigade and all their worshippers. That doesn’t even include coming up with the perfect project for Publications or writing a column for the paper this week… I think I have what big-time writers call The Block. But no biggie. I’m considering exposing Silvey. Him and his dweebs are all caught up in a new scam – he’s figured out that skimming bottom feeders’ Ritalin is big business. Did you know that the elite take Ritalin to focus and speed up so they can study for tests and SATs? How dumb is that? Teenagers will pop almost anything in their mouths, and for what? A better college? An A on a paper? Yep, life as a teenager these days is a piece o’ cake…who wouldn’t want to do it?
Well, I’ve gotta get ready for practice… Big game Friday. Maybe Mallorie will be there. You can bet Silvey will be – ready to wheel and deal his magic pills. I wonder if they can make your parents wake up and notice you? Or the fact that all this crap might just be as hard for you as it is for them?
Westwood’s motto might be that we all fly with the same wings, but I can tell you from first-hand experience that not everybody takes off from the same point. And not everybody has somewhere to go…
