How to Win at High School (5 page)

Downtown is a wasteland.

Empty storefronts.

Second-run movie theaters.

Sketchy restaurants.

The bus station.

Homeless men.

And Crash.

(“In my day it was Voodoo,” Sam says. “The crazy shit I got up to in there, Adam, you don't even know.”)

It's not Voodoo anymore, though.

Voodoo's still around, Voodoo and a million other little bars and nightclubs, but we don't care about them. The Nixon kids don't even think about them. Crash is the spot now.

Crash is the hype joint.

Crash is where the gods hang out.

It's a dive.

It's a shithole.

It's a dank, sweaty room with a DJ and strobe lighting and a couple of stripper poles in the corner.

It ain't Studio 54, or even CBGB. It's just Crash.

As in: Crash and burn.

As in: Car crash.

As in: I'm wasted, man, let's find somewhere to

(Crash).

The bouncers are corrupt. They hardly check IDs. The drinks are dirt cheap and the clientele is hookup friendly. Paul Nolan's been known to score university girls there. Leanne Grayson picked up a hockey player. Rumor has it Alton Di Sousa got with some drunk Miss America wannabe in a bathroom stall a couple weeks back.

No one batted an eye.

It's
that
kind of joint.

Crash.

Friday night, Adam heads for Crash.

It's a long walk from Remington Park—

(Adam thinks:
I really need a car.

More $$$.

More Pizza Hut.

More dirty dishes.)

—but the bus service is spotty this time of night and it's not like Adam has the cash for a cab.

And nobody—
nobody—
gets a ride to Crash in their mom's beat-up old LeBaron.

So he walks. Dodges douchebags in Camaros cruising the strip. Drunk girls in tube dresses shivering in the October air, scarfing down greasy pizza. Crash sits on the end of the block like an oasis, a little neon box with a long line out front, a throbbing bass, and a loud, laughing mob.

Adam hesitates when he sees it.

Almost turns around and walks home again.

Then he thinks about Steph and that sly little smile. Thinks about Sam. Thinks about another two years as a loser.

Fuck that.

Hashtag seize the day.

Adam squares his shoulders. Wades into the mix.

Steph is at the front of the line, clinging to Rob Thigpen's arm. Sara Bryant and Paul Nolan are beside them. Jessie McGill's flirting with the bouncer.

Adam ducks back, suddenly aware of:

- His ten-dollar Walmart haircut.

- The pimple on his cheek.

- His crappy Payless shoes.

- His absolute loner status.

(There are people everywhere, all of them drunk, all of them happy, all—
absolutely all
—of them having fun. None of them are alone. The minute they notice Adam standing by himself, he's shark bait.)

Adam watches Steph and Rob and Sara and Paul and Jessie
breeze
into the club. As predicted, the bouncer doesn't ask them for ID. They just disappear through the front doors, into the strobe lights, the fog, the laughter, the screams, the music.

Adam walks to the back of the line.

He's nervous.

He kinda wants to go home.

But he's thinking about Sara Bryant's party last weekend and how everybody was there, even Darren—

(who isn't even that popular)

—and just about the only junior at Nixon who didn't get an invite was, hey, Adam Higgs. He's not going back and telling
Sam he bugged out again—couldn't even make it through the front door.

So.

He walks to the back of the long line and stands there, alone, staring through the club's foggy windows at the chaos inside—nervous, yeah, but hell, a little excited, too.

There are girls in there, man.

Drunk girls.

In tight dresses.

Adam waits a
long
time.

(Can you blame him? He's a virgin. He's never even kissed a girl. And if history has established any concrete human laws, it's that men will suffer anything if there's a chance they'll get some action out of it.)

So he waits.

Finally, he's at the front of the line. The bouncer lets a crowd of girls through and clips his rope back into place and looks Adam over.

Holds out his hand.

Says: “ID.”

Adam blinks. “Uh, what?”

The bouncer sighs. “ID, man. Identification. Proof of age. Show me something.”

“What?” Adam looks around. “You didn't ask anyone else for ID.”

“They look legal,” the bouncer says. “You don't. You have ID or not?”

The line's jostling behind Adam now. People are getting antsy.

(
Who's this loser holding up the line?
)

Adam digs in his wallet, trying to bluff. The bouncer watches him. The line shoves him forward.

He's got nothing.

He's about to say something to the bouncer, beg him,
plead
with him to let him in the club, when:

Sara and Paul and Jessie and Rob—

(yeah, and Steph)

—stagger out of the club, laughing, shoving, hugging, all of them wasted. They
breeze
past Adam and then—

(
shit
)

—Sara notices Adam. Smiles, wide, her eyes swimming.
“Heeeey,”
she says. “Adam, right? That's your name?”

Someone pushes past Adam and into the club. In the back of Adam's mind, he realizes the bouncer didn't check
their
IDs—

(
asshole
)

—but he doesn't care. Fuck the club. Fuck Crash. Sara
freaking
Bryant remembers his name.

“Hey, Sara.” He steps out of line toward her. “How's it going?”

Sara reaches out her arms. Wobbles a little. Steadies herself. “I'm so drunk,” she says. Then she looks at Adam. “What are you
doing
? Why aren't you
inside
?”

Adam looks back at the (asshole) bouncer. Shrugs. “Couldn't get in,” he says. “Where are you guys going now?”

Paul and Jessie and Rob and—

(yeah, and Steph)

—are already in a cab.
“Sara,”
Rob calls out the open door. “Get your ass over here.”

“We're going to Paul's place,” Sara says. “After-party.”

“Nice,” Adam says. “Cool.”

Rob Thigpen climbs out of the cab. Grabs Sara by the waist and drags her to the curb. Looks back at Adam. “Cab's full,” he says, shrugging. “Sorry, Pizza Man.”

“Pizza Man!”
Sara shrieks. “Adam, you're a pizza man!”

“I guess so,” Adam says.

Paul Nolan steps out of the cab. Picks up Sara and hauls her inside. “Say good night, Sara,” he tells her.

Sara sits. “Good night, Sara,” she slurs. “Good night, Pizza Man.”

Paul closes the door. The cab speeds off. Adam stands on the curb, watching it go.

Watching Steph in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead.

Like she doesn't know him at all.

Nightmares.

This whole Pizza Man thing, it could be a disaster.

An earthquake.

Volcano.

A nuclear bomb.

Adam knows how this story goes. “Pizza Man” catches on. Soon the whole school picks up on it. Not too long after, Rob Thigpen takes his lunch money.

Paul Nolan puts his head in a toilet and flushes.

Adam Higgs becomes a punch line. A walking joke. And he'll have to pretend to laugh about it while the whole goddamn school tortures him, while they look at him and point and whisper, “Pizza Man,” like he's a leper or something.

He's been down this road before. It's not pretty.

This is what keeps him awake all weekend.

It's what keeps him locked in his room, hiding out from his parents and—yeah, from Steph.

(
Especially
from Steph).

Adam's shot is blown, his opportunity wasted. He'll be a loser forever now, and Sam will smell the stink of failure on his clothes like BO.

Sam will hate him for blowing this shot. For not even giving him a couple of years of crazy high-school exploits to live through vicariously.

Pizza Man.

Adam can see the future, and the future is bleak.

It's a long,

brutal

weekend.

As he's lying awake Sunday night, though,

tangled in sheets,

Adam realizes

it's not so bad.

See, Tony Montana—

(
Scarface
, remember?)

—he was insulted too. He was

picked on

laughed at

rejected

kicked to the curb

and

he still took over Miami.

He still
won
.

Adam's going to win too. He just has to get back on his feet.

Fast.

So, Monday afternoon, our boy rides the bus out to Brian O'Donnell's house on the east end of town.

Brian's dad is an accountant or something. He lives in a new suburb, a pretty nice house. A house like Adam's family used to have, before his dad got laid off.

Adam knocks on Brian's door and Brian comes out and they walk to the park and smoke up. Adam tells Brian about life at Nixon Collegiate.

“It's like a private school,” he says. “Everyone's parents are doctors and lawyers, and, like, rich. I can't keep up.”

“Snobs
.” Brian takes a hit from the joint. “Everybody at Nixon's a snob.”

“Does it still count as being a snob if you really are better than everyone else?” Adam says.

Brian passes him the joint. “That's bullshit, man. They're not better.”

“I just need a way in,” Adam says. “I'm sick of being background noise.”

“Forget those guys. None of it's real, anyway. In a couple years we'll be out of school and none of this will matter.”

Adam shakes his head. “No. I've been a loser my whole life. I'm sick of it.” He passes the joint back. “I just need to make a change.”

Brian takes another hit. Looks out across the park and
exhales. “Anyway,” he says. “How's your brother? He still living in that place downtown?”

“Yeah,” Adam says. “He'll probably be there forever. He needs a fucking nurse to come by and help him whenever he wants to take a bath.”

Brian shakes his head. “Imagine if that was your life,” he says. “I don't know if I could do it, man.”

“Yeah,” Adam says. “Me either.”

They smoke in silence for a while. Then Brian finishes the joint. Crushes it beneath his shoe. “They're not just going to wake up and, you know,
like
you,” he says finally. “Those Nixon kids? You want to fit in? You have to earn it.”

“How? I can't afford all the clothes and the phones and stuff,” Adam says. “I don't have a BMW. I can't—”

“It's not about the
stuff.”
Brian looks at Adam. “Look, you're a nobody. I'm sorry, but there it is.”

“Yeah,” Adam says. “I fucking know.”

“You want them to respect you, you have to get their attention. Demonstrate value somehow.”

Makes sense
, Adam thinks.

Demonstrate value.

But how?

“I could phone in a bomb threat,” he says. “We'd all get the day off school.”

Brian nods. “Not bad. It's dangerous. Dangerous is sexy. It won't last, though. A week later, they'll forget you again.”

Adam thinks some more.

Nothing.

He looks at Brian. “So what do I do?”

Brian shrugs. “I don't know, man. But if you really want this, you're gonna have to go big.”

Go big.

Adam knows Brian's right.

You don't get to be the boss without taking a few chances. You don't win by playing it safe.

Pizza men don't earn respect.

Go big.

Or go home.

Here is how Adam Higgs begins to take over Nixon Collegiate.

(Whoops—

there's that phrase again,

Take over
.)

Here is how Adam Higgs begins to win at high school:

It's an accident.

(But not really.)

Mr. Powers—

(You remember Mr. Powers. He's the physics teacher who's always checking out Sara Bryant's ass as she
breezes
into his classroom.)

—gives out lab assignments every couple of weeks. They're brutal. Basically, you work with your partner on an experiment

and then there's an essay,

and you do that part on your own time, with your lab partner.

Each assignment is worth 5 percent of your final grade. And it's always—

(
always
)

—a pain in the ass.

It's a pain in the ass at the best of times, but when you're Adam Higgs—

(Pizza Man)

(LOSER)

—and your partner is Sara
freaking
Bryant, it's a serious ordeal.

Because Sara
freaking
Bryant doesn't trouble herself with meeting the likes of Adam Higgs after school or—god forbid—on a weekend, so the experiments pretty much just don't get done. And the essays are pretty half-assed themselves. Sara and Adam
have handed in two assignments so far. They've pulled:

-
 
40 percent on the first one.

-
 
40 percent on the second.

They're crapping the bed.

Girls like Sara Bryant don't crap the bed. It's unseemly. Undignified. Not cool. But it's just as unseemly to hang out with Pizza Man. This is a problem.

Adam has a solution.

Powers hands out the third assignment a couple weeks after Crash.

A couple weeks post–
Pizza Man
.