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⚠️⚠️⚠️ HEAVY WARNING FOR HOMOPHOBIC SLURS, TRANSPHOBIC SLURS, OUTDATED TERMS, PURPOSEFUL MISGENDERING, AND RELIGIOUS GUILT. ⚠️⚠️⚠️
“Spot Conlon ain’t no man. He- nah, she’s a tranny at best, and a sissy at the least.” I quipped to Ike, who half-heartedly high-fived me. He seemed upset after that comment, but we’re both dripping in sweat after awful practice, so who cares? I mean, I’m sure upset. I might have to wrestle Spot Conlon next game. Fucking Spot Conlon, the godforsaken captain of our rival schools’s wrestling team. Of course, I’m not scared of loosing to a transsexual, because I’ve got a biological advantage or whatever. I’m not scared at all.
“Good practice, boys. See you tomorrow.” Finally, it’s over! Good god, I love wrestling, but sweating for three hours after my dick was grabbed and twisted isn’t exactly good. Hey, it was a foul move!
Anyways, after weigh-ins yesterday (don’t ask, my school weighs us two days before and then releases the brackets the day before a tournament. It’s weird), I was itching to find out who I was going again. Then, of course, the dumbass coaches kid (some ginger bitch called Albert) had to hit to me that I might be wrestling Spot Conlon. The only reason Albert told me was because the fuck-face’s boyfriend, Racetrack Higgins, is best friends with Spot. They go to different schools and everything, but Albert knows I hate Spot.
I mean, he- damn, why do I keep doing that? She’s from my rival school, and a tranny! It’s wrong! You can’t just switch like that, and even if ya did, why would you want to? She’s gotta be insecure or whatever. God made us like we are, so why would you want to change?
Anyways, I got Ike to drive me home in his beat-up Chevy truck. My dad gets drunk a lot, and last night he came home swinging, so I crashed at York’s last night. My ma was also out last night (if you know what I mean), and couldn’t lend me her car to get to school and shit.
It’s not like I care or anything. My dad ignores me when he gets home, and mom just looks at me weird.
Ike drops me off, and then cranks up his shitty 60’s dad rock like I can’t hear it. Fuck, I miss him already. Not like that, I’m not a queer, but I just wish he could stay with me a little longer. My dad gets less angry when my friends are around, and he loves Ike. But I’m almost eighteen anyways, so I’ve been doing my best to man up and stand up for myself.
As I entered the door, the stench hit me first. The smell of the cheap, strong liquor my dad buys is basically infused into the floor, but what was new was a smoky smell. I mean, he mentioned finding “something new” to fuck himself up with, but who am I to care?
”MALCOM!” Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
I try to think of anything I did recently. Report cards were two months ago, I haven’t beaten anyone up, and I haven’t gotten in trouble for a while. Last time I did, coach threatened me with being kicked off of the wrestling team. I mean, not to brag, but they’re kind of shit without me, so I stayed for them. Hell, I don’t even like wrestling, but it gives me a reason not to be home anyways.
“Clean your goddamn room! I’m goin’ out.” My dad shoves past me, and I breathe a sigh of relief. At least I won’t have to cover up any bruises for the match tomorrow.
At last, I get to flop onto my bed, and relax. There’s no homework since it’s the last week of school, and this random big shot who’s a part of the mathletes and shit is hosting a party soon. I think the kids name is Davey or something. I know that Mike, Ike, Elmer, Racetrack Higgins, and Albert are going, so I’ll probably just hang around Ike. Unless anyone I remotely know is going, then I’ll just use my popular boy skills™️, and start up a conversation or whatever.
I just hope Conlon isn’t going.
Oh! Another reason why I hate the little shit! When I say little, I mean it! He’s- for fucks sake, I’m just gonna say he. It’s too confusing anyways, boys who wanna look like girls and girls who want too look like boys. He’s six inches shorter than me, and somehow heavier! I’m five foot ten inches and 140 pounds, and that’s a pretty good build if I do say so myself. But still! Conlon manages to be five foot and four inches, and 142 pounds! He looks like a fucking bull!
Whatever. I shouldn’t be stressing over it, I’ll win tomorrow anyways.