I.
As Paul Whitlow approached locker 224, he noticed three of the football players waiting for him. Joshua Mikelson, Danny Reed, and Matthew Jasper were standing around, one of them leaning on his locker door. Oh great, another asskicking from the jocks.

Paul had just gotten out of his Zoology class. He had a ton of homework to do, though he imagined he’d just not bother with most of it. Yesterday had been report card day for Weasel Point High. Of his seven classes, Paul had 4 Ds, a C-, an F, and an A. The A was in English, and that’s only because the teacher there assigns easy books. Probably the only English class in the United States that goes over The Stand. Well, Stephen King lives in our state.

Paul’s Zoology class had been a nightmare. There had been a substitute today, and substitutes rarely knew how to keep discipline, especially in a class with two dozen rowdy high school juniors. They could probably have bent the teacher over, stripped her, and sexually assaulted her and I doubt that she’d have given them so much as a detention. His classmates had thrown paper airplanes, shouted obscenities, and acted up all through class. In one case a student wiped his nose with an American flag.

Paul was too timid to join in on the chaos. He was meek, and always had been. The teachers appreciated it, but the other students saw him as a wimp. His being 5’7 and only 110 pounds didn’t make it any easier. Paul had been an outcast at Weasel Point his entire life. He had no place, as he wasn’t smart enough to be accepted by the smart kids, but wasn’t rowdy enough to be accepted by the troublemakers.

In Zoology, Paul had chewed up gum thrown at him; he was called “Paul Low-wit”, his nickname since first grade, and he had been punched by one guy in the arm, leaving a large purple bruise where he’d been hit.

Any outcast at Weasel Point High could tell you that it was not a friendly school. The popular students were utterly ruthless. They kicked people out for not having the right kind of shoes. They kicked people out for not being “cool” enough, never mind that in adulthood the concept of “cool” ceases to have any meaning. As Weasel Point was a relatively small school, with about 600 students, most of the students grew up with each other. If you had friends, this was good, but if not, you’re doomed until graduation.

But one must put it in perspective for Paul, as he is in no position to do so. Another student he walked past, a girl named Liz, is routinely beaten by her father. Another football player, Jacob, has a severely autistic younger brother. The leader of the Debate Club, Mickey, has a father serving in the Marines who isn’t expected to come home from Iraq until February of next year. Paul had the advantage of having a somewhat stable home life. He hadn’t seen his father since he was two, as he had abandoned his family for another woman. His mother however, was a very kindly, supporting woman. If one has a decent home to go to after school, then what happens at school matters that much less, for those who have a bad home and a bad school life are the truly miserable.

But sadly, Paul did not see it that way. He took every insult to heart, including the ones he would soon endure as he walked to his locker. That didn’t seem to stop him. Joshua, Danny, and Matthew saw him.

“Hey low-wit!” Danny, the leader of the pack said.

“What’s up, faggot?” Joshua said before shoving him into a locker near his. Several other students watched, but no one did anything to help. Being the meek type, Paul just tried to get to his locker again.

“Hey queerballs, fuck your damn homework.” Matthew said. A few other people snickered. Paul tried to enter his combination into the locker. Four, one, ninety-seven. He was just going to ninety-seven when Danny shoved him away from his locker. He then opened Paul’s locker, and threw a Chemistry textbook at him. Paul ducked, and the textbook hit the door of a French classroom.

Unsure of what to do, Paul finally told them to go away. The others laughed at that, and Matthew tore up a sheet of paper, which Paul recognized as his math homework that he finished during Global History.

At this point Paul gave up, and walked away from the three jocks. One threw a wad of paper, hitting him in the back of the neck. He ignored it, having always been taught to ignore bullies, despite the fact that this strategy rarely worked.

After he got into the parking lot of Weasel Point High School, he saw a girl that he had always had a crush on. Her name was Cassie Fuselier. She had bright red hair. She was also known for being a staunch Christian conservative. Ever since Paul met her in the third grade, he had loved her. He never had the courage to ask her out, and he assumed he’d be turned down. Cassie was known for getting the only 5 on the AP English Literature exam last year, and was head of the Fellowship of Christian Students and Quiz Bowl. Paul had no extracurricular activities; the last time he had one was when he was in Quiz Bowl freshman year.

Cassie was outside talking to two of her friends. Paul looked at her as he walked to his car, a banged-up Chevy Blazer. She noticed, and Paul expected the worst, a malicious laugh or a snide comment. Instead, she just waved and smiled at him, and then went back to talking with her friends.

It wasn’t until he sat on a bench that Paul realized how upset he was. He hated school. He always did, and he always would. He honestly didn’t know how to make friends. Everyone seemed to hate him, and for what reason? He was different, yes, but was that enough? By this point Paul was almost in tears. He had been bullied and harassed before, but now he was close to breaking.

The more he thought about it, the less it seemed to affect him. He had been through this a thousand times before. He would likely do it a thousand times again.

Behind him, Cassie and her friends were talking about the election. That’s right, tomorrow is Election Day. She was annoyed at not being old enough to vote. She was very conservative politically, and Paul learned that her father was actually quite liberal, and supported the Democratic candidate while Cassie supported the Republican. I recall last year she was excited about Mike Huckabee, though he didn’t get the nomination.

Paul sat on the bench, hoping to be noticed. He knew he wouldn’t be. He saw the girl as someone he wished he could be friends with. To talk to someone like her would be bliss. They said every person has their soul mate, but Paul had found that to be utter bullshit.

Cassie finished her conversation, and walked to her car, a brand-new Ford Ranger with a Jesus fish and a magnetic yellow ribbon on the back. Paul had his head in his hands, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Paul walked back into the school, hoping the assholes had left. They had, and he assembled his books and papers, which were strewn everywhere and had such creative insults written on them like “FAGGOT”, “QUEERBALLS”, and “FUCK YOU!” Several of the papers had penises drawn on them.

The hallway was covered with political slogans, banners, and posters swirling together in a mass of red, white, and blue. DEMOCRAT in 08, KEEP AMERICA STRONG, and NO MORE BUSHIT. The last one had been approved only because the teacher whose students made it absolutely hated George W. Bush. Of course, the idiots had had their way with these posters as well, drawing more penises, and writing “HOMOSEXUALS” and “A PENIS UP UR BUTT” on them. What is it with these people and homosexuals?

Paul wasn’t into politics much, as he had other things to worry about.

Finally he walked back into the parking lot, where it had turned cold and was now sleeting. Ten minutes ago it was cool and clear. Now it’s cold and sleeting. Christ I hate Maine’s weather.

The parking space assigned to Paul was in a far corner of the lot. Paul braved the sleet to get to it, and when he reached the Chevy Blazer, he found that someone had keyed a penis into the hood.