A Peculiar Aftertaste
September 18th

I woke up this morning to find that my vision had improved, along with some other differences. Are kids supposed to have abs? Just kidding, but I do feel stronger. More energy than normal, too. I've been typing a little bit less, and talking less like I think I'm a time traveler from 17th Century England. Not much time for it, I'm afraid. I have to climb this fence that's begging for it.

Love My Way
Evening

Whatever it is I'm putting down, people are picking it up, for the first time in like, ever. Girls are saying hi. Boys are saying hi. They're also drooling on my shoes, figuratively speaking. Maybe it's because I look a bit different? Sharper, more awake.

I really appreciate their attention, but I also noticed how sick they look. Also, I'm still twelve, so I don't really need anything romantic right now. Kids gotta have fun. Maybe getting what you want is the best way to stop wanting it, sometimes. Maybe kisses and hugs are just kisses and hugs, and that "something more" we're always waiting for is still yet to come, and that's okay. What I DO want is to make a friend. Did I make any friends? Not really. They were just hanging around me, waiting for me to sweep them off their feet. It felt like I woke up in a love flick but all I wanted to do was play ping pong and eat a sandwich.

Even Quincy and his British friend Beakley have been acting different. Trying to get a little closer than normal, as if I have something valuable that they'd like to get their clammy hands on. I've declined three invitations to hang out in the last hour, and Quincy's been showing me pictures he took of himself without a shirt on, with an instant camera. This whole thing is starting to feel kind of... gross. Is it some kind of smell I'm giving out?

You're missing essential vitrients in your diet.

Vitrients?

Vitamins and nutrients put together. They're essential.

For what?

A balanced breakfast!

Shut up!!

T-Minus Nothing
The Day After That

I keep waiting for something bad to happen, but it never comes. Who was it that said that anticipation was worse than the whip? And who was the guy who waited for his defense to wear thin and then whipped him anyway? I'd like to talk to them about synergy, and respecting your fellow individuals. Jaijit's been ignoring me since the Day Of. Like if he's interested he can't just work up the courage to apologize for taking the initiative a little too far, or like he's just done with me. Both possibilities suck. I don't even have the energy to wax Olde English anymore. It's like... too much work.

Game Day
September 25th?? What???

I spent a few more days skipping classes and drinking canned juice and eating non-dairy chocolate ice cream. It gets gross after a while, too much potato starch. Still better than the real thing. I don't miss having giant, swelling infections all over my skin from eating dairy.

But it has minimals!

Minimals?

12 essential minimals.

You're going to have to shut up for one afternoon. I'm not going to be able to write this journal thing in retrospect the whole time, I just flat out don't have the energy. So I'm going to record what happens and transcribe the audio. It's going to sound like shit and it's mostly there just to help me remember what happened, so you'll have to take my word for it.

I'm using a WalkPal I bought at Stallmart. I'm strapping it to my chest, it's pretty small and fits well in a sports-bra I "borrowed" from Daisy, who still thinks it got lost in the wash. It helps me keep my upper back straight! Don't judge me. I'll be playing it back in my room with a pen and paper later. It'll be like, hey, instead of me writing this thing, everyone else is going to write it for me, including me. What a novel idea.

- Audio Transcript -

I met up with the team in the dugout. The stadium was surprisingly professional for a junior high game. There was already a table and a juice tank set up, with the bats leaning against it. Jaijit was pretending not to know me.

Jaijit:
Who's this loser?

Dryce:
We've met.

Jaijit:
I'd remember.

Dryce:
I'm Dryce.

Jaijit:
And I'm brown. You should get that looked at, pastyface.

[Wood baseball bats clanging.]

Jaijit:
Meng, watch your fat ass!

Meng:
Shut up, toolcase.

Jaijit:
Oooh, I'm so scared. Pass me my bubba.

Dryce:
Your bubba? What are you, five?

Jaijit:
What are you, arr-tarded? I meant my Bubba Spark. It's the officially licensed soft drink of a famous wapper.

Dryce:
Okay, you're having a stroke or something.

Jaijit:
Wapper! White rapper, you idiot!

Dryce:
Oh, he's from Europe.

Jaijit:
He prefers the term Euro-American. He doesn't believe in calling people "white" when their skin is actually more like a beige, or a sunflower pink. And the word 'caucasian' is appropriated from like, somewhere. He calls himself a white rapper because he exclusively wears white clothing, as a form of protest against the term. See, by SHOWING people that his skin isn't white, he creates a comedic dissonance...

Meng:
Oh, do go on.

Jaijit:
He's ALSO a big spokesperson for post-colonial hurt.

Dryce:
Oh, wow, that's uh... actually cool.

Jaijit:
He's mostly just hurt he didn't get a bigger slice of land, but we gotta take what we can get these days with pseudo-activism as a stand-in for the real thing.

Dryce:
I know of a fe-

Jaijit:
Stop talking. That was a lecture, not a conversation.

Dryo:
It felt like one, alright.

There's the weird part. I thought that voice was just in my head? Turns out it can be recorded.

Jaijit:
What did you just say to me?!

Dryce:
I, uh... I said I'm feeling alright.

Jaijit:
Yes, it's lovely out here. The autumn breeze really knows how to bring a flavorful and melancholic warm chill to my aching heart.

Dryce:
Your what

Dryo:
His whatever, focus on the game!

Jaijit:
Yeah, DRY-ICE, focus on the game.

Dryo:
He's such a douche oh my god

Dryce:
Nobody asked you!

Jaijit:
Stop making vocal impressions, you're up to bat!

Dryce:
My mouth wasn't even moving...

[CLOK! Swing and a hit.]

Meng:
That was pretty good, kid.

Dryce:
Was it?

Meng:
You should run, though.

[Wind rushing, feet sliding on sand and gravel. The referee blows his whistle.]

Reff:
SAFE!

Dryo:
You've got first base, but it's nothing yet. Most people get to first base with people they barely even know, at parties, or sleepovers.

Dryce:
Don't be gross. I have second, anyway.

Dryo:
You what

[The whistle blows in the distance. The ref calls "ball".]

Dryo:
My man! Second base. Now that's for up-and-comers, real go-getters. It's the first real sign you're becoming intimate with the game.

Dryce:
Jesus christ. Are you talking about sex right now?

Dryo:
It's unclear at this stage, but by the time we hit third, you'll know.

Dryce:
What's at third base?

Dryo:
That's where the magic happens.

[CLOK! A hit, wind rushing, and a whistle.]

Dryo:
You got caught. Blocked, one might say. Caught-blocked. Cocked?

Dryce:
Stop

Dryo:
There's always someone trying to ruin the fun.

Dryce:
That's just paranoid. Love (for sports) is free. It goes around and around... who'd wanna stop that?

Dryo:
Someone who doesn't wanna be a loser! If they can keep you from being a winner, it means they have a shot. Even if they don't make it, they'd still rather piss on your parade before you have it.

Dryce:
That sounds kind of recursive and pointless. If everyone let each other take turns being winners, we wouldn't need to feel so bad about being losers.

Dryo:
The truth is, you can win or lose any game you play, but it takes a good sport to lose with grace.

Dryce:
With wh-

Dryo:
It's about giving or taking one for the team!

Dryce:
Okay, that sounds like group sex.

Jaijit:
I appreciate your insightful two-way commentary and thinly veiled sexual humor, but if you could just KEEP IT DOWN?! SOME of us are TRYING to SCORE!!

[A small gaggle of girls coo and cheer from the bleachers.]

Jaijit:
Aw yeah. Those are my ladies. When I get to their plates... it's gonna be a home run.

Meng:
You're gross.

Jaijit:
I'm fifTEEN and I have NEEDS

Jaijit chugs his Bubba Spark and gets up to bat again. [CLOK!] It's a home run. He and two others reach the 4th base.

Meng:
He's good, though.

Dryce:
Do you two know each other?

Meng:
He's the best pitcher on the team. Sometimes he's good on bat, too.

Dryce:
What about you?

Meng:
Catcher. Umpire. Nobody else can sit still long enough, or crouch.

Dryce:
But do you know each other outside of the team?

Meng:
Why, you looking for dirt?

It was at this moment that Meng started leaning in closer. I couldn't tell what she wanted, but it was like she was magnetically drawn to me. A soft fuzzy feeling came over the side of me that was closest to him, and I started to feel warm. I pulled away.

Dryce:
No, I-

[Sliiiide!] Jaijit returns, kicking dust at everyone in the dugout.

Dryce:
(Cough!) Fuck

Meng:
Jaijit, you asshat! You do this every time!

Jaijit:
I just scored the game-winning points!

Meng:
It's the first inning.

Jaijit:
Yeah, but we're back next week.

Meng:
No, I mean the game's not over yet, dipshit.

Jaijit:
WHAAAAAAT

Jaijit looked distraught, almost compromised. Exactly as vulnerable as when I left him in his bedroom wearing a bath robe and a healthy amount of shame. He pulled another Bubba Spark out of his bag, but the coach snapped his fingers and said...

Coach:
Put that back. No pop on the field. You can have sports juice, regular juice, or water. No energy drinks, no soda. If it even makes a single bubble, I don't wanna see it.

Jaijit:
(Grumble)

Jaijit started curling up into a ball. A minute ago he was on fire, and now he looked cold. I almost felt bad for him.

Dryo:
You don't owe him anything, man.

And then I didn't. I slammed back some orange juice and took the glove. Then, I tripped getting out of the pit and my recorder stopped. Which sucks, because I actually don't remember what happened next. For a minute though, it almost seemed like I was... flying?