A Loser's How to Guide for 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.

Author's note: I just want to say thank you to all that reviewed, favorite and alerted this story. I am shocked beyond belief…really.

How to Persuade Worst Nightmare even if it Doesn't Work

I am not a fan of school. Actually, I quite despise school. No, it's not because of the work, though it would be nice to have no homework. No, it's not because of the harsh practice that immediately follows the school day. No, it's not because many boys don't even want to come near me because they are convinced that I will rape them. No…I am afraid it's much worse.

I despise school because of Marco. The terrifying Marco who thinks he can rule the school because he technically does- which I have to admit is a great accomplishment on his part…seniors are normally the ones that rule the schools.

I was not always this way. Once upon a time, I used to love school (don't ask why) but ever since Marco gave me my first swirlie during the first week of freshman year, all I want to do is stay home, sit in front of the TV and get fat.

I take a deep breath before closing my locker.

One more year I am out of this hell whole for the rest of my life…and I won't have to worry about getting any more swirlies.

Feeling quite aggravated, I look for my traitorous friends so I can have someone to scream at without the fear of getting beat up and not worry about getting picked on by Marco and co. But of course, after searching all over the school, I cannot find them.

Damn them. This is bad, real bad. They are normally the ones that protect me from Marco and now-

I inwardly scream with pure horror as Marco strolls into the school hallways with his minions. All five of them are wearing their varsity football jackets, checking out the hot girls, and intimidating their inferiors at the same time.

I sigh to myself while I get ready for some pre-homeroom bullying that mostly consists of Marco stealing my lunch money. And everyone wonders why I am so skinny. It's all Marco's fault! If he hasn't been stealing my money since that first day of freshman year then I would be twice the weight I am!

Damn Marco. Damn him to Hell.

Marco points to me and says something inaudible but I know it's some joke because all of his minions laugh.

God, I hate them all.

Maybe when Marco comes here, I can just punch him in the face…wait no…never mind. That wouldn't be a bright idea.

That would be a very, very bad idea.

Marco ditches his friends and makes a beeline towards me. He is sporting a predatory grin that can make any girl and gay boy swoon. No, but not for me. All that grin does is make me wish that I was a senior that would be gradating from this hellhole very soon.

I do not panic and run away, screaming like a little girl (the last time I tried this, Marco hanged me on the flagpole by my boxers). I do not stand up for my self and return the horrifying look I am getting from Marco.

Oh no…I just stand there like little loser that I am who is about to be robbed and threatened. I check my pockets. Good, I have my lunch money.

Now all I have to do is wait for the abuse to commence.

"Well, well, well…isn't it the boy who broke my window with a ball."

I guess I should tell him it was actually Justin who threw the fatal fastball but I won't. Justin wants to get a baseball scholarship in college and he can't get that if he ends up in the hospital.

See what a good friend I am? Sacrificing my well-being for another. I should get a Nobel Peace Prize or something.

"Hello Marco." I mumble, trying and failing miserably to not sound like I am terrified of this horrible being.

"Alright, faggot, cough it up." Marco immediately says as he gets in front of me. He glares at anyone who is looking in our direction before giving me his famous, "I am going to beat you up" smirk.

Oh come on. At least he can be polite enough a say hello.

I should feel upset that Marco is calling me a faggot because not only I am no where near the vicinity of being gay but because calling people faggots are rude, but I am not. I am used to his rather colorful nicknames he reserves for only me.

And if I say something, I may not have any teeth.

"Cough up what?" I ask innocently.

Marco growls causing me to whimper (not this again!) in fear. He grabs me shirt in a fist and slams me against the lockers (not in that way), "You know what the fuck I meant."

I sigh although the action is not easy to do when your worst nightmare is lifting you up by your shirt. I'm surprise I can still breathe.

I am an appeaser, not an aggressor. I refuse to be one of those brave souls that try to take on people who can easily rip them apart. So when Marco Reyes says that he wants my lunch money, then I will give it to him unconditionally.

I don't care. Call me a coward, but unlike those "brave souls", I will like to go home in one piece and not on a stretcher.

"Okay! Okay! I'll give it to you! Just don't hurt me." I dig into my shirt pocket, take out a five-dollar bill, and throw it on the floor.

Marco drops me, picks up the money, shoves it in his pocket and glares at any onlookers.

"You're pathetic." He spats with disgust before leaving me to my misery.

He's right. I am pathetic, but I am a loser. Why else would he expect something different?

I am about to pick my stuff and scurry away to safety until I remember something that will sure to haunt me forever.

I cannot tutor Marco today and this time, it's completely out of my control. I have to go to evil track practice today because my couch wants to have some meeting. And if I even think about missing it, my couch will want my head on a silver platter and if I don't tutor Marco, he will probably strangle me to death.

So either way it doesn't matter what I choose do: I'm dead both ways.

I pale just thinking about what Marco will say or rather do when I break the news.

Just great.

But maybe, just maybe, I can persuade Marco to let me tutor him tomorrow…

Hmm…that may work.

"Hey Marco." I call out trying to sound cheerful and not someone who will probably have no legs by the time the day's over.

Marco, who just happens to be "flirting" with some girl near one of the homerooms, faces me and growls, "What loser?"

"About the tutoring…" I begin in the calmest way possible- which as not easy I tell you when the object of your horrors is emitting some serious deadly glares. Not at all.

I gulp and pray that I won't die.

He does not say anything. Instead, he dismisses the girl and growls even more. I think he should stop doing that; it's starting to get really creepy.

"Look…" I say, leaning against my locker though this is probably not a wise idea since Marco can easily squeeze me into my two-foot long space for books.

So what if I am much bigger than a two foot locker? Marco will find a way to put me in there because he is just that evil.

"Look." I repeat. I need to reason with this guy because everyone knows that I can't fight him, "I understand that you want me to tutor you after school…" I whimper (I can't believe I am doing this again!) as Marco growls (for the umpteenth time), "But I have track practice and if I am not there, my coach will kill me."

Okay, maybe that's not the best excuse. But like me, Marco's an athlete. He should understand how missing practice is not the greatest idea especially when you have a mentally unstable coach who likes to force his kids to do five races in one meet.


Marco gives me an odd look. He's confused. I know he is; never in my life have I told him that I cannot do something for him. "What do you mean you can't tutor me?!"

My eyes widen. Oh crap.

"Uh…I need to go-"

Marco roughly shoves me against the lockers for the second time in less than five minutes, "Listen and listen clear 'cause I'm only going to say this once, meet me at the public library at 3:30." He slightly twists my wrists, "And for your sake, don't be late."

I slump my shoulders in defeat. "Fine."

"Good." and with that, he finally releases me and heads to homeroom or wherever he and his minions goes to at this time. I doubt that they even go to class because every time I am turn around they're threatening some poor nerd to do their homework.

I sigh to myself again as I sling my abnormally large backpack over my shoulders.

I hate my life. I really do and now I am going to hate it even more because my coach is going to blow a fuse.

Damn Marco. Damn him to Hell.