A Loser's How to Guide to Survival

Summary: SLASH. Adam's a loser. Not just any loser but a loser who gets beat up by jocks, blamed for breaking a window, betrayed by his best friends, picked on by his teammates and has somehow managed to anger a lot of fan girls. But don't pity him. He'll survive.

How to Not Get Killed for Breaking a Window…Even if It Wasn't Your Fault

"Wait- no! Stop!" I scream on the top of my lungs, praying and hoping that the baseball has grown some ears and listens to me. But of course, how can I forget? Baseballs can't listen to commands! And baseballs can't stop after they were thrown…unless I can use my amazing persuading abilities and-

Oh who am I kidding? I'm not a superhero. I can't just use my awesome powers and attempt to make sure that that damn baseball doesn't land in the wrong place. But that does that stop me from trying to jump as far and as high as my two little legs can take me and trying to hope that the ball doesn't go any farther?


"Adam! You need to jump higher!" one of my best friends, Aaron, shouts. I give him a quick glare; he knows that I can't jump for my life. That's why I only run for the track team. I have tried all of the jumping events…and they have all resulted in pain…lots and lots of pain. I even tore a few ligaments during my brief career as a pole vaulter.

I try to reach for the ball; I really do but unfortunately, Justin, who happens to be the star pitcher for the school's varsity baseball team, just had to throw a fast ball so the chances of my catching it are not in my favor.

The ball moves in a rapid pace and conveniently goes through the second floor window…a closed second floor window.

None of us can do anything but watch in horror as every single glass from the window falls onto the pavement. We give each other petrified glances before moving our terrified eyes back to the broken window.

Oh shit. We're screwed.

"Ooooh!" one of my other best friends, Damien, shouts. I mean what seventeen year old says "Ooooh" anymore? But before I can think of an answer to describe the enigma named Damien, someone peers through one of the other windows of the house.

Which makes all of us go into panic mode. Now when I go into panic mode, I become frozen and stay that way for a long time. I tend to get scared easily and I will definitely fear the owner of this house.

"We gotta go!" Justin yells while running away. And before I can even say anything to them, five supposedly "manly" guys just disappear, leaving me, alone, standing right in front of a smashed window.

Damn them. Aren't friends supposed to have each other backs?

"You're all assholes!" I scream on the top of my lungs. Of course screaming doesn't do me any good…my traitorous friends are long gone.

I knew we should not have played baseball in front of someone's house.

I knew I should have just listened to my gut and not let, Justin, the baseball "extraordinaire", force me to play with him and the rest of my friends whom were also baseball players.

I knew I should have told them that I couldn't play a game because, unlike them, I knew nothing about the game of baseball…except that you needed a ball and a base to play. But no, instead of doing what I should have done like a good little boy, I am about to get in most trouble in my seventeen years of being alive.

Now I should run away from here, like my friends, but I am sick and tired of being known as someone who doesn't take risks, someone who doesn't take responsibly. So I am going to stand my ground and use my "amazing" apologizing and persuading skills to make the homeowner forgive me.

And, most importantly, not sue my ass off.

Because unlike my baseball playing-traitorous friends, I'm not rich. I have a low paying job as a waiter at some abandoned restaurant and my parents will not hesitate to put a bullet in my head if they find out that I have been sued.

Sure, I wasn't the one who thought it was a good idea to throw a fast ball into someone's window, but I will be willing to take the blame…unless, of course, the owner of this house is a killer or a cop…or something like that. Then I will just run for my life.

I slowly and carefully walk up the stairs leading to the front door. Man, I feel like I am walking to my death.

I stop at the door and stare at it. I'm not going to ring the door bell. There's no point when someone realizes that something smashed their windows, they will come running down trying to figure out what the hell has just happened.

I look around. Okay maybe staying back isn't such a smart idea. I am not a strong person. I'm a distance runner and distance runners are generally small and skinny so the only thing I can do if the owner wants to kill me is run as fast as I can.

I slightly pale as I glance at the red door. Oh man, what if the owner is a killer? With a gun? I can't outrun a bullet. I take a step back. You know what? Fuck this. I think I am going to go; I don't need to be brave this time.

But just when I begin planning my escape without being seen, the damn door opens.

Just my luck.

I slowly look to see the person at the door…I mean I'm sure he or she is some nice person who would never do any harm to me. I'm sure that-


I know that voice from anywhere.

My body instantly becomes numb.

Oh you got to be kidding me!!

I pale. It is him. The one who has made my life a miserable living hell for the past three years. The one who has personally loved giving me swirlies during freshman year and stealing my lunch money in front of the whole school. And the one who for some unfathomable reason that I am still trying to figure out, stood up on a table on the first day of school and announced to everyone that I was gay.

During fourth period.

When the damn cafeteria was the most crowded.

I don't think I will ever be able to recover from that day. Not only because, contrary to popular belief, I am not gay. I am not bi. I am not confused. I am one hundred and fifty percent straight. And because of that idiot and his evil tendencies to torture me, no one believes me.

So because I know that I probably won't leave this place in one peace, I make one of the biggest mistakes of my life besides befriending traitorous baseball players, I look up at him. Of course, being the show-off he is, he's only wearing shorts. You know, just in case some girl who likes shirtless guys with amazing abs pops out of no where behind me.

Not that I am staring at his chest because I am not gay. I am not attracted to guys, especially guys like him.

Okay, fine. As a heterosexual boy, I'm not going to lie. Marco Reyes is hot. He has a body to die for (I have gotten the chance to see him only in his boxers after track practice…be jealous), the most amazing eyes and he has this bad boy thing going on that makes girls want him and guys want to be him.

I mean, there's a reason why he has a fan club larger than the population of most cities.

But with this being said, Marco is deadly and he will not hesitate to crush a skinny boy's bones like a toothpick. Unfortunately for me, not many people, or at least the people that are noticed in my school, seem to realize that underneath all of that hotness, Marco is only second to the Devil.

A blind person can tell that I am terrified as Hell. It's all over my face. I am biting my lip in anticipation as if I know that I am going to die. And from that viciously dangerous smirk he is giving me now, I know the end of my days is coming near. Surprisingly, Marco doesn't seem mad though; actually he seems quite pleased to see my face.

But do not be fooled. The only reason why he would be happy to see me is to beat to the ground.

"Well, well, well." He says in a taunting voice, cracking his knuckles. "I wonder who broke my window."

Oh shit! Oh shit!

This is really unfair. Now I'm really going to die.

No. No. No. I cannot be pessimistic. I still have a chance to escape alive…I may be missing a limb or two but nether-the-less alive. I know, I know, I should be braver but the chances of someone of my stature standing up to someone who is easily twice my size are very slim.

I need to concoct a plan.


"Look, I am so sorry about…uh…that…my friends and I were just playing an innocent game of baseball and uh…someone threw a fast ball at your window…"

I take a step back just incase if I have to run away so I won't get murdered.

"Please don't kill me." I plead and try to give the best puppy eyed look. I know I am too old to be doing things like that but this is a life or death situation. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

And this is definitely a desperate time.

It seems that Marco is about to give me I another threat but luckily (or most likely unluckily) he stops. He tilts his head to the side then smirks in a way that sends shivers down my spine and makes the fan girls go wild.

Okay…I don't know if I should be glad or shit in my pants. Or maybe both.

Marco takes a step closer and stops to stare, amusingly, at my terrified trembling, self. Yes I am trembling quite badly. But it's not my fault. I am scared shitless of him. He can squish me like a bug. He can rip me into shreds. He can throw me in a ditch somewhere and no one will even notice.

Marco laughs. "Oh and you think that your begging is going to work?"

Damn. Well plan A certainly didn't work.

Maybe he will spare my life if I give him money. Yeah, that should do it. If I learn one thing from being picked on since pre-k, it's the knowledge that bullies love money.

I dig in my jean pockets and scowl. Of course, I do not have money because I have lost it some time ago in a bet the traitorous baseball players. Damn Justin. I'll haunt his dreams when I become a ghost.

I am about to speak up and make up another excuse to save my hide but Marco grabs my arm really hard and pulls him towards me. He glowers down and says in his creepy voice that he only use during his bullying phases, "Don't even bother."

I whimper.

I cannot believe that I am reduced to this. I know that I am a loser and being a loser comes with special qualities, like getting beat up by popular people and enduring every school prank known to man but whimpering in front of my tormentor? That's even low for the ultimate losers.

I do not say anything to him but that doesn't matter because he begins speaking again.

"I would kill you." He lets me go, "But I have a little proposition for you."

My eyes widen with horror.

I think I would rather be killed.

"I need you to help with things…" Marco trails off. Obviously, he doesn't like the fact that he is asking someone like me to help out someone like him.

"What things?" I answer very cautiously. Well at least I have my voice back.


My eyes widen. He's joking. He has got to be joking. He wants me to help him out with work? He never asks people for help and he just cheats on the nerds' tests and steal other nerds and weak people's homework. I have instantly decided that he cannot be trusted. There must be something hidden agenda for this.

There must be.

"You want me to what?"

Marco growls which immediately removes the smirk that is threatening to come on my face, "If I don't get my grades up then that means I fail and if I fail I can't play football and if I can't play football then…" He smirks at me menacingly. "Well you know what happens next."

Oh yes I do. I will be six feet under and my dreams of running a marathon in the Olympics will be shattered.

I groan to myself. I guess I will have to comply with his demands. It's not like I have any other choice. This is really not fair; why couldn't he pick other losers? You know the ones that don't have to worry about going to evil and painful two hour practices every day. Or dealing with insane couches who will throw a bitch fit if you miss one practice.

"Fine." I breathe out. "I'll do it."

Marco smirks again, takes a step back and slams the door in my face without saying anything.

I stare at the red door for a moment or two, replaying the events that have just happened. I couldn't believe that I have just agreed to be Marco Reyes' tutor. What was I thinking?

I take a deep sigh and begin to leave. I guess I should be thankful. I mean, I am still alive and walking in one piece. Maybe helping Marco out would convince him to stop taking my lunch money or something.

I laugh at the thought. Like that is ever going to happen.

I hope you enjoy this so far. This is my first story so if it's bad, I apologize. I just made up this idea while I was supposed to write an essay during. Anyway, tell me your thoughts, your complaints etc…and hopefully I will be able to update very soon.