A Minor's Minor Gripe about Grapes
September 7th

Quincy (a pure-blooded french kid) and I had an argument about Grape Crash. He said it was just like the real thing, and that it was even more delicious. My tongue's been reeling all day from the sheer nerve. I brought him an actual grape, and asked him to compare. He refused to eat it, and gave me some memetic excuse that he didn't eat anything that grows on trees, because it doesn't have enough blood. One of those jokes you hear on TV from absolute denialists of any kind of progress or self-improvement. The kind that mostly smell like ass and processed cheese, and shave their noses.
Anyway, we looked up the ingredients, and it turned out to be a beet extract and a chemical synthesis of "grape-flavor-inducing taste simulative", which means that it's about as natural as bleach. I probably shouldn't have drank it anyway, but what's the harm? It's just sugar and several chemically-engineered additives, preservatives, solvents and dissolvents. Nothing weird there.

Slipping Up
September 9th

I have the worst luck out of anyone I know. Or at least I would, if I knew anyone. Someone stole my bike right off the rack, cut the lock and everything. I just had it fixed, too. I'm lucky I had another one, but it's busted and I can't afford to fix it. Neither can Daisy. Aside from that, I feel like a chubby, nervous wreck. I've been getting thinner, but every time I eat meat or milk I bloat back up. There are kids that pound down the animal proteins and they look like a pepperoni stick. How do they do it? I think I'm just obsessing at this point. As long as I stick to my diet, everything's gonna be fine eventually.
I've been trying to relax, hang out with some people, but the only friends I have are somewhere else. I can't seem to connect with anyone here, we just don't have anything in common. Not even in that "isn't it funny that we're all kids and school is a mandatory re-education facility" kind of way. Okay, yeah, I guess not having an education would suck, if the bad-ass little girls from the Middle East have anything to say about it. Maybe it's just a local thing. Does it have to be so soul-crushing here?
The girls here definitely don't like me. They think I'm weird and slow, and kind of gross. I don't blame them. I look like I'm gradually replacing my inner organs, and I guess I kind of am.

A Friend, In Need
September 11th

I met a guy named Jaijit, from the ninth grade. He's fifteen, lean, and tall. Kind of tan. His accent is a thick Indian flavor, and it colors more than just his voice. Every movement is like a dance with him, it's effortless. I don't think he's "exotic" (there's a lot of Asian kids in this school), but he's different. Something about him... it feels like he gets you, before you do.

It drew me in, this past month, and I wanted to be his friend. He'd smile at me and ask me to tell him a joke. So I did. We started hanging out at lunch, and he told me his parents were vegan but that he was "exploring his options". That meat wasn't all bad, that there was even such a thing as Halal. That's when the animal's stomach is sliced open while it hangs over a bucket, and the blood drains from its body. The bible says you can't drink the blood of an animal, only its flesh. It's more of a spiritual practice, though, cause most people I know think animal blood is delicious. Pretty dark, though.

Jaijit's dad says that your spirit helps protect your mind from darkness. That's why he wears a symbol. I told him I'd been struggling, and he gave me one too. It's a cross made of wood, with a leather strap. "All-natural", he said. That's not exactly the Indian way, he said, but it's theirs. Jaijit says he doesn't wear them because he doesn't believe in any big sky daddy. Something tells me he's already got one.

A Friend In Deed
September 14th

I dunno why I thought I was so special, or whatever. Jaijit said today the only reason we've been hanging out is because his dad gave him Fieldwork, which is like homework for the outside world.

He was supposed to make one friend and show them a good time for about a week, and see how things go. Daisy said that only a scumbag would admit it, or even do that in the first place, but I gotta admit – I appreciate the honesty. When people say they're on "good terms", they seldom explain what those terms are. Maybe I just lucked out, won the friend lottery. Big deal, right? Hanging out, playing video games... it's nothing to complain about. I even found there's a kind of Tortillo chip that's vegan. It's still more oily and salty than a livestreamer's desk chair, but it'll do.

He's smarter and cooler than me, most days. I guess it makes sense his dad would force him to use it for something benevolent. He wins most of the games we play, even when he's barely paying attention. He's always slamming back some soft drink, practically at the same time. Columbo-Cola. Spritz. Grape Crash. Schlumps. I made one of those up. But which one...?

A Deal in the Dark
September 15th

Jaijit lives on the second floor of Building D. His room is the exact same as mine (big surprise), so with the bed folded there's just enough room for the two of us to play our GamePals side by side. They've come a long way since the GameBuddies you get from Smackers Toy Meals, with all the pre-fab animations... but that's 1989 for you. Always blazing ahead into the future, at light speed, with a sparkling smile and a cool slogan.

Today I found something odd in his closet: a white dress. He said he brought it home by accident one day, and he's been meaning to return it. But when I asked how long he's had it, he won't say. I wasn't sure if Jaijit was comfortable talking about what might be his hobby, but I've heard of cross-dressing, and Daisy (unfortunately) watches Rude Phil's Drag Den. It's a show where transvestite men pitch brave new fashion ideas, along with their own innovative designs – like the Pineapple corset, which won last year. It had a series of wire-frame pointed loops surrounding the corset, with green nylon just up to the bust, and a big round cage for the gold sequin skirt. I don't watch or enjoy the show, I just like inventions. Regardless, Jaijit made no signal that he intended to wear the white dress. However, I wanted to try it on. My dog died, I'm allowed to have fun. So Jaijit let me try it on in private, and said I'm allowed to have it two days a week – but won't say exactly why only two. I suppose to keep it clean, because white is the easiest color to stain. I've just been sitting in my room with it on, writing this. I folded up my bed so I can dance, as long as I keep the door locked. I don't think the other students in the boy's dorm are going to understand, and I don't want those guys looking at my legs, or my chest. Or my shoulders, honestly. I've heard how they see into the fabled "boob window", and I'm keeping my curtains drawn.
They say in the past, men were deeply homophobic, and wouldn't dare approach or take in the sight of unbound skin from another male, lest it be cut like diamond and gleaming in sweat, and totally in like, a not-gay context, bro.
"Like we're at the gym or something, and your cock just happens to fall out of your shorts. I'll just put that back for you, bro."
"Thanks, dude."
"No big deal, man, I'd never leave you hanging. You wanna get some tapioca pudding?"
"Fuck yeah, my favourite kind is the one with the little balls in it."
"Yeah bro that's what tapioca is, it all has balls in it."
"Awesome, I love balls."
"Me too, bro. Me too. Balls are the best thing ever. Whoever invented them should get themselves a real pat on the ass. Like a firm one, with a lasting, warm press and squeeze. The kind that makes you say, 'Gee doc you've been there for a while, you think my temperature's all good?' That kind. That sneaks up on you like a hug from a friend, a friend that also wants your hot dog in their buns. Because there's a barbecue on in your friend-heart, and it's blazing. The steaks are just sizzlin', fine as hell, spiced black. Real friendship times, here. Platonic hour at the gay bar. I mean not-gay bar. No homo, bro."
"Yeah bro no homo that would be gay"
Okay I'm done. What I'm saying is that things aren't really that way anymore, at least not in real life. Sure, TV still makes a big deal out of "who's bi" and "that one guy who wears makeup", and they're always the special guests on the show who mysteriously disappear into a narrative dumpster as soon as the credits roll. At school? Nobody cares that much, except our parents. Especially not the girls, and some of the more popular older ones all seem to be carousel-dating each other. One at a time, but like... on shifts, with plenty of smoke breaks. And the young men of today are a bit more socially unleashed to prey on those in the same gender-group as them, too. I mean, to aggress in an unromantic sense, on othersidely conditions that lax the ordinary precautions. Such as "hello", and, "buy me dinner first". Those kind. They're kind of animalistic, with fairness to the kind fauna we have here. Like coyotes, foxes, bears, and cows. And cocks.

Okay, NOW I'm done.

A Kiss in the Closet

September 17th

That did not go quite as I had expected. A routine trip to Jaijit's went awry as he, taking the freshly cleaned dress from my grasp, asked me if I'd like to wear it again alongside him. I assumed, of course, that he was simply offering the space to lounge in an accepting environment, one free from judgement. His next question, however, was whether I'd like to change in front of him. Far be it for me to reject the (un)romantic advances of an upper-classman, and handsome one of variable personal distinctions, but I kind of wasn't feeling the most safe out of everyone in the room. So I instead suggested the closet, with darkness and ample room to adjust my attire. He conceded, seemed to choose instead a Raspberry Crash to sate his desires, and I was allowed to make the change.
Upon my exit, he had waited for me with the lights dimmed, with nothing on but a bathrobe and extended arms leading up to a pair of puckering lips. Could I have fathomed the speed with which this young man could make such a lustful decision, and his conviction, I may have escaped all at once this unwelcome intrusion to my personal space. I was not successful, and his lips pressed against mine with a firmness and wetness that spoke neither of fondness nor reverence, but rather a predatory sort of possession. Soon his lips moved from my mouth to my neck, and he begun sucking at my flesh, his teeth clamped tightly on its surface, almost hard enough to break skin. His wet saliva warmed the damage, but cooled as he lifted his toothy-grip from the one spot and began sucking on another. From his still heat I could tell he was convinced that I was within his control, and so he, perhaps rightfully by his standards, assumed that his "accommodations" were adequately to my liking. Unbeknownst to him for the better part of about two minutes, they were not, and I struggled to free myself from his grip. He brought around his mouth to my own again, and as his sugar-soaked and pink-dyed tongue made its way to my front teeth, I slipped my arm from his vice-like hands, and escaped into the lightless safety of the closet. Barring the door with his collector's edition metal baseball bat, I quickly threw my own clothes over the dress, and tucked the long skirt into my pants. Were I ashamed I might have apologized, for giving him the wrong idea. But to my memory I gave no such imaginary protocol, and hastily I burst outward, bid my adieus, and left. Although he chased me, and attempted at last chance to ensnare my affections for future access, I'd made certain that a certain bathrobe belt was tied to a nearby steel futon arm. Should I have looked back more than once to see his expression, I imagine I would have seen a companiate emotion to his severe sense of loss and confusion. The angry whining that came from the bedroom as I scurried down the stairs, "WAiT I DiDn'T MeAN iT", gave a well-enough indication as to what it might have been.

I recall now my dismay that no parents reside anywhere near the dorms, for surely they'd have taken issue with his clingy and uncouth behavior. I looked back several times to see if he'd been following me, possibly in the same half-open robe, which I imagine gave him the impression that he was being quite luxuriously generous in his appropriation of my choice to affect him or his application of the fine art of "Kissing People Without Warning Because That's What People in Movies Do", as written by the masters of flirtation and sensual communion as Some Ox-Brain and His Merry Band of Horseflies. Y'know, those guys.

As I've come down from my elevated experience at some elevation (the overlook), I've realized that I've now a responsibility and a duty to see the dress returned to its rightful owner, whomever that may be. Also, that I've been writing like an Olde English Novelist for basically no reason. Some people just bring out the best in us, I suppose, at the worst of times.

I find myself surprised at the refreshing bouquet of flavors suddenly present in a can of Blister Lemonade, from the vending machine. Not just lemon, but also water and sugar. Quite exquisitely complex.