Blog Prompt 3 11.6.15

My first week at Northridge, I was shocked and relieved too see that everyone else was "faking it" too. "Come on, Larry you could've done much better than this"(1), I thought, laughing to myself at the thought of my superior trying and failing to screw me over yet again. I introduced myself to the boy whose locker was next to mine; he said his name was Charlie, and I dazzled him with an anecdote (2) about how I came to study there at Northridge. I told a story about an egotistical teacher who didn't rest until he got me kicked out of my last school. What Charlie didn't know was that the story was really a satire (3) about Larry's self-serving, willingly ignorant attitude towards those who he commanded. Charlie countered with a tale about how he ditched study hall one day to get some donuts. I wasn't impressed to say the least; it was no doubt an attempted appeal (4) to my apparent anti-establishment sentiments. As is glaringly obvious by now I'm sure, Charlie was quite the flat character (5) in the grand scheme of my plans at Northridge, as he did not offer even the slightest bit of insight into the underground drug-ring that operated during lunch and study-hall hours. However, Charlie's slapstick (6) humor and pervasive buffoonery (7) provided the perfect cover; the drug kingpins would never expect Charlie's new best friend of being bright enough to uncover their industry. One dark, dreary, damp day (8), I came slowly and unwillingly (9) into school to find Charlie negotiating heatedly with a group of guys I sarcastically (10) referred to as "The one percent" due to their designer salmon shorts, gelled hair, and sickening "My dad could beat up your dad" attitude. I was surprised, and I found it ironic (11) that Charlie, someone who wasn't even intelligent enough to be anything but genuine, was talking so passionately with people who only knew how to act like the models they saw in magazines. I never got my answer, as Charlie and I made eye contact and he made his way over as the trust-fund drones threw words at him that had connotations (12) which their sheltered minds couldn't begin to fathom. It was clear to me that they weren't actually friends, as their attitudes (13) toward him were reflected blatantly in their tone (14), which indicated their disgust for anyone who dared differ from them. I asked Charlie why he would talk to people who treat him so poorly, but he only answered with "Oh, they're not that bad, they just like to mess around with their friends". From then on it was clear to me that Charlie was a highly unreliable narrator (15) when it came to social tensions and cliques, and I reminded myself to gather information from other sources regarding the investigation. I was instructed to spend my first quarter at Northridge focusing only on blending in, but it was difficult as each group was made up of what seemed to be a ridiculous caricature (16) of kids from my High School days. It was impossible to belong to one group of students while communicating with any other. Trying to fit into multiple groups was like trying to put one leg into both holes in your pants (17). I quickly became known as "Jake the floater" (18), because I would spend time with all the different groups each day trying to get a hold of who knew about dealers, suppliers, buyers, etc. I was just getting into a groove with my social status, but the pace (19) of my experience was about to pick up faster than I could ever have expected. Charlie ran up to me one morning looking like a kid who just robbed a candy store (20). He pulled me over to his locker, ripped the door open, and my jaw dropped halfway to the floor (21). It was clear to me now what he had been discussing so fervently with the one percent.

To Be Continued...