FicWad

Things you should probably avoid doing before the first day back at school after Spring Break and a week long suspension: getting high in your bedroom.

Things that Connor did anyway: got high in his bedroom.

His dad kept staring at him at breakfast, and it was literally taking all of Connor’s energy not to laugh right in his face.

His whole fucking family was terrified of him suddenly.

Which.

Great. Whatever.

At least they left him alone.

Zoe had been avoiding him since the summer, since before then, since he beat the shit out of Jake and his idiot friends last May.

No adults had found out about that.

But everyone at school knew that Connor, scrawny and thirteen, had beat a sixteen year old bloody, had hit a girl and broken her nose, had kicked the crap out of their friend so badly that he reportedly transferred out of the school district.

Everyone at school knew he was crazy.

Brian Harris had even tried to talk to Connor after that, tried to ask him if he wanted to sit with Brian and his idiots at lunch because apparently assault and battery made you cool in Brian’s book. But Connor hadn’t forgotten getting head flushed and shit talked about him behind his back for the past couple of years. So. Connor punched him, which meant he was suspended for the entire last week of the seventh grade. Which suited him fine because he hated school and everyone in it and if he actually had a way to do it, Connor didn’t doubt that he would actually blow it up.

His parents, naturally, had taken away all of his books when they grounded him indefinitely over the summer. They didn’t bother taking away his phone anymore. Apparently they finally realized that nobody ever texted him or anything so it wasn’t really much of a punishment. His mom was just nervous enough that he arguments that he would need it in an emergency seemed to override the protests from Fucking Larry. So the books were taken away, and when he didn’t shape up, all donated.

Which whatever. It wasn’t like Connor read much anymore.

Now he just smoked a lot. It occupied his mind, not exactly as well as reading, but differently. He could sort of just stop being himself when he was stoned.

He spent that summer getting high in the park. He also dog sat for a few of his neighbors, whose regular dog watcher was away on vacation. At his parents’ insistence, of course. Some shit about teaching him responsibility. Connor spent most of that money on weed, cigarettes, and a couple of books that he was able to smuggle into the house.

But mostly on weed and cigarettes.

He had just enough social capital that he could cash in on with some burn outs from the high school that he could get them to deal to him.

Whatever.

“I can’t believe you’ve already outgrown those jeans. You just got them for Christmas,” His mom said, and she was smiling but cast a worried glance over at his dad. Like he’d be pissed off that Connor had grown taller (again).

Connor wouldn’t put it past Larry.

He had grown a lot, actually. He’d been barely five feet tall at the end of the summer. But he’d grown nearly six inches since the fall semester; he towered over literally everyone but the teachers now. He also looked fucking gangly and awkward as hell, but at least he was taller than Zoe. His mom had taken to call him a beanpole. Which she probably thought was cute, but sort of made Connor want to light himself on fire. Whatever. At least he wasn’t shrimpy anymore. He figured at this point the extra height could only help him.

And there was the hair.

It was finally, like, hair again after the disastrous buzz cut from the end of last school year. It was a sort of wavy mess, but he could hide behind it again, which was all that really mattered to Connor. It fell in front of his eyes a lot, which Connor knew his dad hated. But that was good for him. Eye contact went against Shutting Up. So did wearing your glasses, so Connor’s were sitting, snapped in half somewhere at the bottom of his backpack, the result of the last time someone had dared to try to fuck with him. They’d snapped his glasses, but it didn’t get a reaction from Connor, which apparently was scarier than dislocating someone’s jaw.

His mom had taken him to get contacts about a week later, which had also pissed Larry off. But the thing was that Larry’s little tantrums didn’t bother Connor much anymore. So when he shouted about how irresponsible Connor was and how he didn’t deserve something as idiotic as contact lenses, Connor just walked out of the house. He didn’t go back home for a full day, staying out all night in the park, smoking and not sleeping. His mom got him the contacts, which was great, under the guise of them being less of a target. Connor liked them because then he had an excuse to always have eye drops on him.

His mom just seemed too scared that something would happen to him to ever tell him to knock it off. His dad was too pissed off to do more than yell. Zoe stayed as far away from him as she could while their bedrooms were next to each other.

Which was really fucking great.

His dad rumbled something about how he needed to talk to Connor before school. Which, admittedly, was a lot less scary now that Connor wasn’t almost a foot shorter than Fucking Larry.

He followed his dad out into the garage, smirking at how badly this had gone last time, at the end of last year. He wondered if he could get away with punching his dad again.

...He was admittedly pretty fucking high.

Fucking Larry stopped, frowning, saying, “I don’t want anymore of this shit, Connor. You need to get it together.”

Connor blinked, a little confused. What had he done this time, exactly?

Oh right. Larry was probably still pissed off that Connor had gotten suspended for calling his gym teacher a fascist. He might have also thrown the book he had been reading instead of participating in some barbaric state sponsored running bullshit at Mr. Bryant, hitting him in the face and leaving him with a small cut under his eyes.

Connor had protested, while he was being hauled to the principal’s office, that it was a paperback and they were all making too big of a deal out of it.

Thus the reading ban was resumed, again, but that didn’t stop Connor anymore.

“What shit are you talking about?” Connor said, faux innocently. “Could you please be more specific about the shit, dad? Maybe describe the shit?”

“Cut the crap,” Fucking Larry said. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve been suspended three times since the end of last year. Your principal said you’re on thin ice. You could get expelled . If you don’t knock this off you’re not going to make it to high school.”

“And what a tragedy that would be.”

“I’m not fucking around anymore Connor,” His dad said, his face hard. “Get it together.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Connor said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Larry grabbed him by the front of the shirt. “Knock it off. Seriously. And don’t ever let me catch you going to school high again. If your mother finds out…”

Connor raised his eyebrows. “She’ll… what? Cry ?”

Larry looked pretty disgusted with Connor as he let him go, but Connor wasn’t terribly interested in this conversation anymore so he just shoved his hands into his pockets and started to walk out of the garage.

His dad grabbed his shoulder, stopping him, “What is the matter with you?” He said.

Connor shrugged. “Fuck if I know.”

It was the most he’d spoken in months . Since Christmas at least.

His own voice surprised him. It was lower than it had been last time he had noticed. Or talked. The only people he ever talked with were the high school kids who dealt to him, and that was usually just in dollar amounts.

“Just… go to school.”

Connor rolled his eyes again, but stomped out of the garage anyway.

Zoe eyed him suspiciously when he retook his seat at the table, resuming eating his cereal as if nothing had happened.

“The bus will be here any minute,” Their mom said anxiously, looking out the kitchen window.

Connor shoved away from the table, grabbing his bag, not bothering to even apologize about not putting his dishes in the sink. He used to always try to wash it out before he left for the day. He also used to do pretty much anything his mom told him to do, but. Fuck that. There was no point anymore.

So he walked out the door without even saying goodbye.

Zoe wasn’t far behind him as he walked to the end of the driveway, turned the corner, checking the time. He had at least five minutes before the bus got to the stop. He reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out cigarettes, lighting one.

“What the hell are you doing?” Zoe said from behind him.

Connor turned, eyebrows raised.

“You’re smoking!”

Connor realized, distantly, that Zoe had never actually seen him smoke before. Which. Whatever. It’s not like she could actually be surprised. He didn’t really bother hiding it.

“And your eyes are all bloodshot!” Zoe accused, sounding completely shocked. “You look like a stoner .”

Connor blinked at her lazily. Took her fucking long enough to figure that one out. He’d been high more often than not lately.

But also he said nothing because he just didn’t talk to Zoe anymore.

“What… why ?” She said.

Connor took a thoughtful drag on his cigarette but decided that, ultimately, it was for the best if he didn’t say anything back. He missed her sometimes, but lately he just plain hated her more. She was so fucking bitchy and annoying. It was like she tried to find ways to get him into trouble. The only thing he was looking forward to about high school was getting a year away from her.

“I’m going to tell mom,” Zoe said.

Connor shrugged.

“I’ll… I’ll tell dad!” Zoe threatened.

And Connor couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make her jaw drop. “He knows already.” His first words to her in ages, months, spent just to make her mad. It was weirdly satisfying.

Zoe’s eyebrows knit together, and for a second Connor was certain they experienced a shared thought: how the fuck was Connor still alive if their dad knew?

Connor didn’t know.

His dad probably thought smoking pot was the most masculine thing Connor could be doing these days.

Masculine. One point vocabulary word.

He was pretty sure that he actually had a vocab test that day. He knew he hadn’t studied. Whatever, his English teacher was an asshole anyway. He’d given Connor a zero on a paper the first week all because he misread the assignment (write two to three pages examining theme in The Outsiders). He’d thought he was meant to write on two to three themes and wrote two or three pages on each; his total paper was like ten pages long. It was a lot of extra work, he found out later. He’d even cited outside sources and formatted them in MLA style. He was just desperate to get in good with this teacher, because the end of last year had made English classes miserable for him and he missed being able to disappear into a book.

But the teacher, this mouth breather called Mr. Check, had failed him because he hadn’t “followed directions.” So Connor didn’t bother handing in work in Mr. Check’s classes anymore. Even when Mr. Check chased him down during lunch and study hall, Connor would only do the bare minimum or, if he was feeling especially pissed off, he’d do no work at all and just stare off at the wall. Sometimes he’d pick at the occasional scab on his arms.

He made fewer of those too, which he credited entirely to the weed.

Thanks weed!

He felt like he ought to write God a thank you note for it or something.

Connor had also, pretty hilariously gotten his best grade in Mr. Check’s class on a persuasive essay about marijuana legalization. Which. Well.

At least Connor thought it was funny.

Zoe was still staring at him as the bus rolled up, and Connor tossed his cigarette to the ground, stepping it out with his toe and smirking at her. She let out a disgusted noise.

The bus routes had gotten redrawn over the summer, which meant that the bus was a lot more crowded in the mornings. Which meant Connor had sacrificed his solo seat at the start of the year. Which was a damn shame.

At least Evan Hansen never fucking talked to him so Connor could ignore everyone once he put his headphones on. If anyone asked, Connor would flip them off and let them draw their own conclusions about what kind of death metal emo school shooter bullshit he was supposedly listening to. The reality was that he was listening to an audiobook - his own little version of rebellion on the reading ban. His parents had taken away his books, but not his phone, so. He just listened to books now. When he could...

Evan Hansen was fucking crying on the bus again.

He really was a mess lately.

This kid was going to get himself murdered if he didn’t get it together. Middle school was not time to let your freak flag fly. Connor fucking knew that now.

He tried to look annoyed as hell in Evan’s general direction so that if other kids looked they would see that he wasn’t condoning crying on the fucking bus like a pussy.

Connor frowned. He didn’t want to be an asshole, but Jesus Christ. Like. Shit wasn’t easy but Evan was just making himself a target.

This girl, this redhead who was new this year, turned around and glared at Connor before saying something to Evan. Connor didn’t hear because he turned the volume on his book up and closed his eyes.

He didn’t like doing this. He wasn’t actually enjoying being all callous and mean and whatever. He knew that Evan was, like, having panic attacks a lot lately and he knew, objectively, that he should feel bad for the guy because he was a fucking mess. But.

Connor wasn’t looking to make himself more of a target.

He could only bank on appearing scary for so long before he’d have to actually punch someone again, which was scary on its own because whenever that happened it was like he just couldn’t stop himself. He had nightmares where after he beat the crap out of Jake and his friends, and Zoe left, Connor turned around and kept hitting them until there was blood everywhere, until their eyes rolled back in their heads, until their skulls were bashed in until they were dead and he killed them.

Fuck.

Connor blinked to get himself out of that line of thinking.

He couldn’t be nice to Evan because Evan was already a target.

Besides, Jared was still Evan’s friend so. No point risking that shit. Connor might be able to literally, physically shove Jared into a trash can now, but he was not going near him ever again. He wasn’t scared. He just fucking knew better now. Jared was a fucking snake. He’d turn on anybody if it meant not getting his ass kicked. As he had been doing most of the year to Evan, Connor noted. Not like all of the time, but Jared spent a lot more time hanging around the fringes of Brian Harris’s little group than with Evan. Though Connor doubted he ever said much. Might let people in on how nerdy and uncool Jared actually was.

Whatever.

He could feel Evan get up from the seat the moment the bus stopped, rushed off by the new girl Georgia. Connor sort of knew her from around. He knew she bought weed from the same guy that he did. It sort of surprised him that she associated herself with someone like Evan. Maybe she was like suicidal or something. Weird. Whatever.



Mr. Check announced to the class that with less than five weeks left of middle school for the eighth graders, they would be focusing on one final project: making a class yearbook. They were expected to design, write, and collaborate on all of the pages, and each kid would get a page to do whatever they wanted with. Apparently there was some kind of budget surplus and they decided to give the eighth graders an art project lest they risk having the budget cut for next year.

Connor thought this was literally the stupidest thing he’d ever heard of, and as Mr. Check started passing out requirements for pages, he just put his head down on his desk, deciding he was done participating for the day.

“Intending to join us, Mr. Murphy?”

He looked up and gave Mr. Check a dirty look. The sheet placed on his desk gave all of the requirements for the individual year book pages. It talked all about preserving the memories of the class, how they’d all want keepsakes once they got off to high school.

Connor didn’t want any of these assholes to remember him.

He could hear the other kids excitedly discussing their plans, leaning over each other’s desks, talking about photo collages and stuff like that. He didn’t have any pictures worth saving, any friends he wanted to recruit to take them.

He just wouldn’t do it. Whatever.

He shoved the paper away, to the edge of the desk, and put his head down again. His high was starting to wear off and he was due in lunch detention with his math teacher Mrs. Carlson, even though it was only his first day back. Something about how Connor was disrespectful when he ignored the equations on the board in favor or drawing a picture of a stick figure hanging by the neck in the corner of his text book.

Jared Kleinman had giggled when the teacher gave Connor that detention but he immediately shut up when Connor glared at him.

So at least he was still intimidating.

“Hey!”

Connor looked up from his folded arms. He wished he had some gum or something; his mouth was pretty dry.

Standing before him was that girl, Georgia, with her red hair. Connor stared at her. “What?”

“You dropped your paper.” She put it back on his desk. She was smiling. He didn’t trust people who smiled that much.

Connor rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m not doing it.”

She blinked, like she was surprised. “Oh.” She lingered maybe a moment too long before rushing back to the other side of the classroom, and Connor put his head back down. This was like the second time she’d tried to talk to him. Like a stray dog who couldn’t take a hint. Connor wished he could just hang a sign around his neck: Unfriendly. Do Not Approach. Do Not Feed.

He just wanted everyone to piss off. He wasn’t interested in trying anymore. He just…

Whatever.



“Connor… I got another call about you not turning in your assignments,” His mom said tentatively, nervously, as she set out a plate of snacks for Zoe and the group of loud girls she had over after school. They were rehearsing some dance routine for the end of the year talent show, and Connor was half ready to murder them all.

He blinked at his mom, then rolled his eyes, and started toward his bedroom.

“Connor!” His mom tried, but it wasn’t commanding. It wasn’t the same as it used to be. She used to really yell at him, at both him and Zoe. She wasn’t afraid of raising her voice, of making a scene.

He turned anyway. Hoping that maybe if he just acted indifferent she would finally lose it on him and quit tiptoeing around him like he was a bomb about to go off.

He had been wracking his brain trying to figure out what made his mom so strange around him. Why she let him get away with murder these days. Why she seemed to stop caring and start acting scared.

All Connor could think of was that time Fucking Larry had lost it and slapped him across the face. She’d been weird to him ever since his dad had lost it on him last year. She seemed scared now. Scared of Connor. He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand why. He hadn’t hit Larry back, he hadn’t even gotten mad or yelled or cried or anything after. He just sat there and said nothing. And now his mom acted like he would turn around and light the house on fire if she ever told him no...

He knew why Zoe was afraid of him. On some level he understood. It made sense. He’d beat the shit out of three people, single handedly, in front of her. Zoe… it made sense.

But he didn’t get this .

He didn’t understand his mom’s fear. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this, but she just seemed checked out. And he wanted her to snap out of it. “ What mom?” he tried to sound snotty, to sound like an asshole, to piss her off.

“Why aren’t you doing your homework?” She asked, her face falling, looking at him with these big, lost, helpless looking eyes.

“I don’t feel like it.”

If this had been a year ago, he could have expected his mom to snap at him, say something like “well then I hope you don’t feel like eating” before sending him to bed without dinner and grounding him. He would have expected punishment, or if not that, an impassioned plea to understand why he didn’t just do the damn homework when they both knew he was smart enough to have it finished by now. But now his mom just sighed. Now she just looked tired. Now she looked like she had lost some fight that he hadn’t even been aware she was in. “Connor. Please. Could you just…. Do it?”

It was starting to piss him off. Why didn’t she get mad at him anymore? Didn’t she care? Had she stopped caring?

The thought made his breathing catch for just a second. He had been trying so hard to keep himself from thinking, from feeling, like this especially. It was too hard. He shouldn’t have risked coming downstairs without smoking first or something.

He looked at his mom, stupidly, helplessly, and realized that he’d made her hate him. Somewhere in the last year, he had made her hate him too… just like his dad, just like Zoe. Only… with Zoe or his dad he knew why they hated him. But his mom?

She’d always been the person who was the kindest to him. The most understanding. The one who would pet his hair if he got upset and who had tried and tried to help.

And suddenly she didn’t care. Because she hated him.

Fuck.

Fuck.

They really were going to throw him out of the house if he got in any more trouble at school. They really were going to get rid of him somehow and it was entirely his fault…

Connor blinked.

He bit his lip. “Fine. I’ll do my fucking homework,” he muttered and she gave him this pale impression of a smile and watched him carefully as he climbed up the stairs, glancing back at her a few times.



When he got to school on Tuesday, Connor opened his locker and was mildly surprised to see a note apparently shoved into the grate.

He sighed, unfolding it and fully expecting that it was meant for someone else’s locker. He didn’t get notes from people.

The note read, “School without you was nice last week. Make it permanent. Kill yourself.”

Connor sighed and crumpled it into a ball.

The fact was that he knew the handwriting. He also knew that bringing this shit to the teachers would do nothing. Like somehow he’d end up in the school psychologist’s office to talk about wanting to die but the writer would get off with a detention. No thanks.

He threw the note out. Decided to ignore it. Again.

He wasn’t able to fight it so.

He just.

Just put his head down in his algebra class and wished that he had played dumb last year so he wouldn’t feel actually dumb now. He wasn’t good with algebra. He couldn’t understand the point of a lot of it, but he’d done well enough in pre-algebra last year that they stuck him in the class that started algebra one before they started high school. And he was utterly lost within the first two weeks. And then he was totally stoned for a while. And now there was really no going back. The school year was almost over. He hadn’t been paying attention for so long that it seemed stupid to try now.

On his placement test, they told him that he’d have to repeat algebra as a freshman. Which suited Connor just fine, because he didn’t fucking plan on caring in high school either.

The teacher in this class had called Evan Hansen up to the board to solve an equation with the quadratic formula.

He suspected that Mrs. Carlson would get along well with his dad, because her approach to learning that Evan Hansen had panic attacks when called on was to call on him all of the time. Like she thought she could scare him out of his anxiety.

Which was a dick move, in Connor’s mind.

But he didn’t say anything, just kept his head down. He was trying not to get suspended again.

At the board Evan fumbled with a marker at the whiteboard, shoulders hunched, the back of his neck turning progressively red. He hadn’t even written anything yet, which surprised Connor a little since he was pretty sure Evan had gotten an A on their quiz on quadratic equations last week. Connor had gotten an C-. Which was great for him, since you needed to have a parent sign your tests if you got a D or worse. If Connor could coast through the rest of the year on C minuses, he’d get through middle school after all.

“Hey, Mrs. Carlson? Is he okay?”

Connor turned, surprised to see Jared daring to say something. To a teacher. In front of everyone.

“While I appreciate your concern, Jared, Evan can do this problem without your help.”

“Seriously, Mrs. Carlson, I don’t think-”

There was a wheeze from the front of the room. Connor wondered if it made him a bad person because he knew exactly what was happening but wasn’t doing anything about it. Wasn’t saying anything. Was just kinda pretending this wasn’t happening, ignoring it as best he could because he just didn’t need to single himself out and it wasn’t like he’d get anything other than disdain in return if he stood up for Evan.

“Mrs. Carlson, I think he should go to the nurse…” Alana this time, her voice sounding strained.

“Thank you for your opinion, Alana, but I think that Evan will be fine if he just gets on with the-”

But Evan had turned around, and everyone could see that he was crying, and within the second Jared had made a noise of disgust and followed him when Evan ran out of the room.

A lot of the other kids laughed.

Alana stared hard at her desk, looking half like she might cry.

Jesus. All of these crying people.

Connor watched as Mrs. Carlson carried on with the class like nothing had happened, not even acknowledging that she’d just let a kid run out of the room crying and another follow him out. She solved the equation slowly, calling on random kids as she did, asking for the next steps.

“Connor,” She said, grinning wolfishly. “What do you do next?”

He shrugged. “No idea.”

“Come on, people, you’ve got to actually try. They won’t let you just whine your way out of the work in high school. Connor, seriously, I know you know this. What do you do next?”

He shrugged again. “Realize you’ll never use algebra outside of school and do something else?”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Detention, after school.”

Connor rolled his eyes back.



In Mrs. Carlson’s detention that afternoon, Connor was surprised to see that Evan and Jared were also in with him. Mrs. Carlson was just making them work on their math homework, so it wasn’t such a bad detention in Connor’s opinion. He’d had to sit through worse; like the time that Mr. Check made him sit there, doing nothing, while he read Connor’s last essay out loud in front of all of the other kids in detention, making comments as he went along, projecting a digital copy on the board where he highlighted sentences he thought were particularly badly written.

So really staying late and working on his math wasn’t so bad even if he was totally lost about how to solve most of the equations.

Of course to look at Jared and Evan, you’d think it was a lot worse. Evan’s face was still all botchy. Connor half expected him to run out of the room crying. He’d probably never ever had a detention before. Jared kept shooting glances at Evan that Connor might have thought were concerned looks if he didn’t know better. Now he was sure he was just trying to get Evan to knock it off and quit freaking out at school.

Connor might have felt bad for Jared a little if Jared weren't’ such a prick. It would probably be hard to be friends with someone who was a walking, talking, crying target. Evan wasn’t like doing it on purpose, but he obviously wasn’t making anything easier for Jared.

But then again, Connor would have felt bad for Evan too, if Evan weren’t friends with an asshole like Jared. If he’d ever told Jared to not be a dick to Connor. If he’d ever said anything about the fact that he knew Jared was the one putting the notes in Connor’s locker. If he’d ever done anything nicer than sticking a water bottle on Connor’s desk, then Connor might have felt sorry for the guy. But Evan hadn’t, so Connor didn’t.

And so he didn’t say anything. Just worked on his fucking math, wishing Mrs. Carlson would like… choke on her husband’s dick and miss the rest of the school year because she was really a cunt. Wishing he wasn’t like the worst possible person in the world, because otherwise he might have said something nice to Evan… wishing he didn’t actually want to be different because it made whatever the hell he was so much harder to be.

Lately all he thought about when he wasn’t stoned was a way out.

But he was too scared.

He wished he could just get hit by a bus or something. Get sick, get cancer, get shot when a crazy person decided to hold up a convenience store. He wished he could just take a bow and exit without it being his own fault. Which he knew was stupid. He knew it was dumb. He knew how stupid it was to just wish you could drop dead. But that didn’t stop him. Didn’t stop him from taking stupid risks. Cutting but not cleaning the cuts. Riding around on his bike after dark without a helmet or a light. Lighting matches and letting them burn down to the tips of his fingers before blowing them out. Wondering how it would feel if he lit himself on fire. Himself. His house. If he burned it all down. If he burned it all down, until there was nothing left but ash.

Would he even feel it? Sometimes it was like he felt so much that it all went numb.

Like someday he was an exposed nerve, a tooth with a cavity, a burn open to the air. Uninterrupted pain.

And then others he was just blank. Nothing. Not even there. Not even sure if he was real.

He knew this made him crazy. He knew.

So he just…

He knew it would be better for everyone if he just took himself out of the equation. But he didn’t know how to do it. He didn’t know if he could do that. He was too scared. Felt too guilty.

On his way out of detention, Connor heard Jared mutter something to Evan, something like “get your shit together.”

And Connor frowned.

Man, Jared was seriously an asshole.

And as soon as Jared and Evan were gone, and the hall was deserted, Connor stopped at his own locker. He had a sharpie in his bag, and he thought for a moment. On the front of his own locker, double checking that there was nobody around to see and no cameras to catch him, he imitated Jared’s messy handwriting. He wrote “FAG” in big letters, then drew a dick under it.

He rushed back to Mrs. Carlson’s classroom, shoving the sharpie into his bag, making sure to look upset. “Mrs. Carlson!” He said, making sure his voice cracked. “I-I think Jared wrote something on my locker… I went to the bathroom before I was going to leave -and-and-.”

She got up from her desk, looking irritated, and followed Connor to his locker. He tried his best to look mortified and shocked as Mrs. Carlson’s eyes went big. “That does… look like his handwriting.”

“I…. I…” Connor was doing his best to make sure he looked humiliated, make this teacher buy it. He even managed to make his eyes tear up a little.

“Calm down Mr. Murphy. I’ll contact the janitor, see if we can’t get this off of your locker by morning.” Mrs. Carlson frowned. “I’ll have to call his parents… He’ll be in a lot of trouble.”

“No!” Connor said, trying to look scared. “Please I don’t want him to be more mad at me-”

“He’s defaced school property, Mr. Murphy, and it’s not up to you how we punish him.”

“But-”

“Enough. It’s the end of the day, you should head home.”

He stared after her for a minute, then turned. Smirking.



The next day Jared got detention for two weeks. His parents were called. Apparently they threatened to not let him walk at graduation.

He might have tried to trip Connor in the halls, but it was totally worth it. Because the notes stopped. For a while.



At night it was hard to sleep. Had been for weeks now, since he went back to school. He didn’t know how serious his dad was about shipping him off somewhere if he got kicked out Weatherby Middle School, but Connor wasn’t exactly keen to find out. All of the options Larry had laid out sounded equally worse than being here. So he was trying not to get suspended again. But that meant actually going to school, which meant sleepless nights.

Plus, Connor was nearly out of weed and his allowance had been suspended since he was still grounded from the suspension two weeks back.

Since it late, he figured he was fine to sneak out of his room. He walked into the kitchen, just planning on stealing a beer or something from the fridge since he couldn’t even fucking sleep, and then he realized his mom’s purse was still out.

She probably had some money in there...

Connor blinked.

He loved his mom. Even though she hated him now... He never wanted to… upset her on purpose.

He didn’t want to hurt her.

But also, like…

Fuck her.

Seriously fuck his mom.

Fuck her for being scared to talk to him, scared to touch him, scared to stand up for him. Connor knew he didn’t know anything, but even then he knew that moms were supposed to look out for their kids. And he knew she had stopped. And he knew it was his own damn fault, for lying to her, for saying he was fine when he wasn’t, but part of him still blamed her. How could she not know? She was his mom for fuck’s sake.

He walked to the purse and extracted the wallet, frowning. There was like a hundred dollars in there, all in twenties. What was she carrying all of this cash around for?

Connor pocketed a twenty dollar bill, and then closed the wallet and the purse back up. He didn’t want to take money from his mom… but it wasn’t like she couldn’t get more money. She probably wouldn’t even notice. They were exactly the sort of family who had enough money that twenty dollars didn’t make or break much.

Feeling a little bit guilty, Connor headed back up the stairs. He texted Zack, the guy from the high school who he usually bought from and glanced at the clock. It was only midnight. It wasn’t that late….

He got a text. “I’ll be at the park in 15.”

Connor sighed, put his phone in his pocket, and grabbed his shoes. He had to be careful not to set off the motion activated lights out in the front of his house, but this wasn’t the first time he’d had to sneak out of his parents’ house at this time of night. It only took him a few minutes before he was out of the house, out of the driveway, and heading off to the park in the neighborhood. The same one he used to play at with Zoe when they were little. The same one they went to the last time they could stand to look at each other.

Or well. The last time Zoe could stand to look at him.

He ended up buying off of Zack and then sticking around the park, smoking a joint on the swingset and enjoying the way the stars were out for a change.

He started when he heard footsteps.

That girl Georgia stepped into the light of the streetlamp. “You’re Connor, right?”

He nodded.

“Well. Be polite.” She held her hand out, and he passed her the joint. She took a puff and passed it back, taking a seat on the other swing. They didn’t talk, just shared the joint.

“What are you doing out here?” She asked him eventually.

Connor shrugged.

“Don’t your parents…?”

He shrugged again. “You?”

She sighed, taking the joint back. “They don’t give a shit about me.”

He nodded. That he understood. When he passed the joint back to her, he could see she’d pulled her sleeve up. She had a bunch of cuts on her arms.

Connor looked away. It was like looking in a distorted mirror. He didn’t like it.

“You’re the one with a dick drawn on your locker, right?”

Connor glared.

“Jared Kleinman was almost barred from walking at graduation over that,” She said conversationally.

Connor didn’t move.

“Nice work. That kid’s a prick.”

Connor raised his eyebrows suspiciously.

“I hang out with Evan sometimes. We’re neighbors. Jared’s a dick to him, like, all of the time.”

Connor nodded. He took the joint back from him, took a hit, and then dropped it to the ground before it burnt his fingers. “How’d you know?”

Georgia smiled. “Jared’s too scared of getting caught to pull that. He just sticks notes in lockers.”

Connor stared. “You too?”

“The last one called me fugly. He’s such a moron.”

Connor almost laughed, but didn’t.

“You could sit with me at lunch sometime,” Georgia said suddenly.

“Why would I do that?”

“Better than reading alone.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “No. It’s not.”

“What are you doing that stupid yearbook thing for Mr. Check’s class?”

Connor shrugged. “Nothing, probably.”

“I was thinking I’d write my suicide note, wait until the books get published, then hang myself at the front of the classroom.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Stupid. There’s nothing to hang yourself from.”

“I know. Such a bummer.”

Connor almost grinned.



The next morning he found another “kill yourself” note shoved into his locker.

He wondered what Jared would think if Connor told him that he wanted to kill himself. Would he laugh? Would he tell Connor how much of a freak he was? Connor knew he was a freak, but he wanted to see how Jared took that news. Fear. Anger. Amusement.

How did normal people take that news?

Connor only knew how his mom had taken it, and well she was his mom so she had to tell him she was worried and sorry.

Connor crumpled up the newest note and took out his math book. On top of it, he found a book with a bright green cover, called The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

Inside there was a note that read, “Return whenever you’re finished. GS.” It was followed by a locker combination.

Connor blinked in surprise.

But he was a little bit desperate to have something so he shoved the book into his bag and planned to read it at lunch.





The two days Connor spent reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower were his best in months. He made himself read slowly, getting lost, getting sucked into the world of this loner as he gained friends slowly but surely. He was rationing it, like someone on a desert island because he didn’t know how much longer he would go without getting his hands on a book, a real book.

He liked the story. A lot.

The bit with Charlie’s sister hurt to read. He had to put the book down for a while because of how much he felt it.

With the sister saying she hated him and that he was a freak.

Connor bit his lip until it bled reading that.

His eyes followed Zoe around all night at home, wondering what he would do if a guy ever hit her, what he would do if they ever talked like Charlie and his sister. He knew Charlie was the youngest and things were different, but sometimes. Sometimes Connor felt like he wasn’t getting any older. Like maybe he stopped at age twelve and while everyone else was rocketing toward being a real teenager, Connor was stalled out because he was never meant to make it this far, this long. Like he was supposed to have died years ago but the world had forgotten him so he kept going but he never got older or better (though he did get bigger).

He rationed the book to save it and also to save himself that pain.

Connor wasn’t naive. He knew it was highly unfuckinglikely that he’d meet anyone at his new high school who would take him under their wing like Sam and Patrick. That he’d find anyone to get stoned with, any pretty girl or boy who’d kiss him to because they wanted his first kiss to come from someone who loved him.

Because nobody loved him.

Connor knew that.

Like maybe his mom did, but that was different. She had to.

But for two days, Connor let himself get lost, daydream, imagine a world where someone, anyone nice and kind would notice him. Invite him to a diner. To a party. Hell, even to do extra English assignments like Charlie’s teacher. He just.

Connor needed something.

But he knew it wasn’t real. None of this was real.

So escaped into it for as long as he could.

And when he read the end.

Well.

It was sort of like being punched in the gut. Even though the ending was happy… Charlie was still alone. Perhaps now more so since he had experienced being not alone.

And Connor felt that way.

Like the fact that once upon a time he had been a little more normal, a little less of a freak, that once Zoe could stand the sight of him and Jared Kleinman laughed at his stupid jokes just made the fact that nobody talked to him worse.

Just so much worse.

But it didn’t make him feel infinite. It made him feel shitty. Like infinitely shitty.

It was probably stupid that a book that made him feel so happy and hopeful was ultimately the last straw, but it was.

Connor finished it, finished reading Charlie’s last letter, and it was like it all clicked into place.

Happiness didn’t last for him.

Hope was hopeless.

He was hopeless.

So he decided he was done.

He was so keyed up, so ready at that very moment that if he had means he probably would have just done it then.

But he didn’t. He’d hidden away that knife and it was the middle of the night and he hadn’t decided if he was leaving a note yet or not so.

He figured.

He would give himself a week. Last week. Until he finished middle school. Just to give his mom a good week. Just to get some stuff in order.



Field Day was some kind of experiment meant to torture kids without athletic ability into killing themselves, Connor decided.

Joke was on them though. He was already planning to do that.

It was hot as hell, but he kept his hoodie on defiantly, and ignored the way that the teachers tried to convince him to join in the idiocy of the activities: soccer games and kickball and a water balloon toss and a three legged race. He managed to sneak away for a while, into the woods beyond the school, to smoke a cigarette and watch all of the morons in his class run around screaming like idiots, but eventually Fascist Mr. Bryant spotted him hanging around the treeline and forced Connor into line for a relay race that he had no intention of running.

It was hot and stupidly sunny and he had a headache from being outside. He moved sluggishly when they handed the idiotic baton to him for the stupid race but managed not to lose the lead for the line he was in.

Hours dragged by. Some teacher spotted him and told him to take off his hoodie before

he overheated. Another one told him to get more sunblock from Mr. Check. He didn’t do either. He’d rather be sunburnt or pass out of heat stroke than talk to any of these assholes.

He slunk off to find some shade beneath one of the trees around the school, hoping not to attract attention.

“Hey, Murphy!”

He looked up suspicious. He was surprised to see Georgia Stern approaching, dragging Evan Hansen, red faced, by the wrist. “Want to sign Evan’s shirt? He’s worried that nobody will sign it.”

Connor stared. If possible, Evan’s face went even redder. He was staring at the ground.

Connor sighed.

There were only five days left of middle school.

Maybe. If he did this.

Maybe…

He got up, took the Sharpie from Georgia’s hand, and signed the back of Evan’s shirt. “There.”

“Thanks,” Evan mumbled.

“Yeah.”



He returned Georgia’s book to her locker that day, with a post-it saying a simple thank you.

For his yearbook assignment, Connor turned in a list of his ten favorite books.



Somehow.

Within even meaning to.

He was done with middle school. His mom ended up needing to buy him a whole new outfit because he’d outgrown all of the dress clothes she had bought him in the midst of some bar mitzvah season brain fever last fall. When she assumed incorrectly that he had friends.

He didn’t expect to make it this far.

Or maybe he just sort of hoped he wouldn’t.

So he planned to just stop.

He decided he was done now. He was just done.

He had a plan.

He’d graduate. Let his parents have that.

And then he was done.

The day of the ceremony, Connor was off school. Zoe still had to go. The eighth grade finished the week before everyone else.

There was a dance following the ceremony, but Connor intended to ditch. He doubted his mom would let him skip if he asked so he’d just hang around behind the school, maybe get high, and wait it out. When he got home, he’d finish the job.

They were at the mall, Connor and his mom. The only thing more pathetic than shopping for a suit you’d wear exactly once was shopping for a suit with your mother. She seemed to have determined that the whole experience would some kind of mother-son bonding scenario, which mostly just gave Connor a stomach ache. Whether it was guilt he didn’t know. He just didn’t want to be here, but he was trying for his mom.

He didn’t want to be in this store, in this mall, in this town, this state, this country, continent, planet.

When you don’t belong everything feels like a task.

Connor thought he ought to write that down. Save it for his headstone or something.

He figured having a suit meant that at least they’d have something to put him in when they put in him the ground.

His mother was nattering on about how it was a good thing they were suit shopping anyway, because none of Connor’s jeans fit him anymore. Which had been going on for weeks, but now suddenly it was something worth addressing.

He kind of wished it would stop, the growing.

He kind of wished everything would stop.

So he was stopping it.

He kept forgetting.

He shouldn’t be surprised that he was bad at this too. He was bad at everything.

“What do you think of this shirt?” his mom said, holding out a buttondown.

“Fine.”

“Connor, come on. Do you like it?”

He shrugged. “I guess. I don’t care.”

“Honey. Come on. You’re graduating tonight. You’re going to start high school. Can you muster up a little bit of enthusiasm?”

Connor sighed. Tried to smile for her, even though it felt totally wrong on his face. “Yeah, mom. It’s great.”

She patted his cheek. “I know things have been tough honey. But I am excited for you. And proud of you. You’re going to like high school, I’m sure of it.”

Connor didn’t have the heart to tell her he wouldn’t make it there, so he let her cart him around. They got him a new suit, shirt, and shoes. He already had a striped tie at home that he could wear. He thought it was a lot of shopping for something that he would be wearing a cap and gown over for most of the night.

His mom also bought him some new black jeans, a new pair of sneakers, and a couple more hoodies. She seemed to have it in her head that shopping was all he needed to “feel better.”

They were driving home after a stop at Starbucks (his mom even let him get an iced coffee which his dad would never do) when his mom looked over at him and said, smiling, “I know your dad has been saying that you need to cut your hair… but I think it looks nice. And I want you to know that I talked to him, and I told him that it’s your body and you can do what you like with it.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean I can pierce my tongue?” He said, sarcastically.

His mom laughed. He hadn’t seen her do that in forever. “When you’re eighteen, go right ahead if you want.”

“Thanks mom,” he said, rolling his eyes, and she smiled and laughed and he tried to smile back at her.

He figured it would make it better for her in the long run.



Connor hated pictures being taken of him. This past Christmas he even managed to dodge out of Zoe’s insistence that they all take a family photo in front of the tree. He just rolled his eyes and walked away when she pointed the camera at him.

He just didn’t like pictures of himself. They always seemed to distort and amplify his worst features. His weird eyes, big teeth, big ears, big nose. He hated the way he looked in mirrors, and the camera just seemed to make everything worse.

So naturally graduation was a nightmare. Connor and his mom. Connor and Zoe. The whole family, taken by his Aunt Christine who had come down for the graduation ceremony. She’d never seemed to express any explicit liking for Connor, but she drove down to the graduation and gave him a card for ten dollars.

A waste.

This whole thing was a fucking waste.

Connor wasn’t planning to continue being alive for much longer, so the whole act of everyone documenting this event felt kind of… funny. Ironic. Stupid.

Zoe didn’t want to take a picture with him, and when Connor said that was fine he didn’t want one with her either, their mom snapped at them both to shut up and took extras. Connor doubted any of them were worth saving.

His dad didn’t hug him when they met in the gym after the ceremony. He didn’t ask for a photo either, which made Connor sort of relieved. His grandparents hadn’t made it - it was only middle school, after. Which was fine by Connor. Being around them always made him feel uncomfortable.

After about ten pictures, Zoe fled to go hug her friends from jazz band.

Connor wondered if it would be the last time he ever saw her.

He tried to be sad about it. Or angry. Or anything.

He wasn’t.

His mom left him at the dance with a kiss on the cheek. He hugged her extra tight, extra long because he thought she needed. Would need it.

Connor ditched the dance almost immediately, the second the music started blaring and the teachers hit the lights. He shuffled out of the gym, down the hall, and came out behind the school, walking out to the field where they held outdoor gym classes. He had managed to sneak his cigarettes with him, but not the joint he had saved. He figured he could smoke that once he got home. Before he…

Connor walked around the field, smoking, taking in the night sky. This far out in the suburbs you could see most of the stars. When he was little, he and Zoe had stayed overnight in the city at his Aunt Christine’s while their parents went to a wedding, and the pair of them had been alarmed to discover the lack of stars in the city’s night sky. All of the lights of the buildings were pretty, and the moon shone through, but the stars were mostly absent. Curled up together on their Aunt’s pull out couch that night, Zoe had told Connor all about how they were going to have to become astronauts who figured out who had taken the stars.

“Like space cops?” He had asked, because he hated playing cops and robbers. He prefered to play magic or even house.

“No. More like space detectives,” Zoe had said, nodding to herself in the half dark living room.

Connor exhaled smoke and watched it as it disappeared into the air.

He tried to tell himself not to be scared.

He didn’t know how not to be, though.

He knew things sucked and they weren’t getting better. He knew he was tired and didn’t think he could go on anyway.

But there was something about the unknown of all of it that terrified him.

It made him wish he had something that could do it for him.

Something that made his fingers shake less.



He managed to sneak back into the dance as he heard the DJ announce the last song. People were hugging each other on the dancefloor, some crying, lots of “I’ll miss you”s and the sort of sad sack sappy shit that happened only at graduations. Connor didn’t exactly understand what everyone was all emotional about. He was pretty certain that, like, all but two people were planning to go to the same local high school. Most of them would still have classes together come September.

There was nothing to be crying about.

Connor hung back toward the wall of the gym, watching as everyone slow danced to the last song. He could see Georgia Stern and Evan Hansen hanging back a few feet down, talking quietly.

As the lights came up, Connor could see his mom across the gym. And in a moment of totally stupidity he thought she’d probably like it if he looked like he had any friends. So he walked over to Evan and Georgia and mumbled, “Have a good summer.”

And Georgia’s arm shot out, catching his, saying, “God, I didn’t tell you.” Like they talked ever. Like they were friends. “I’m moving.”

“Oh.”

“Do you have facebook? I’ll add you.”

Connor nodded vaguely even though he didn't actually have a facebook, waved at Evan, and walked away. Back across the gym to his mom. She smiled really wide and asked him who he was talking to.

“Are those your friends?”

She sounded so hopeful.

“Sorta,” He lied. “Evan and Georgia.”

His mom nodded, started talking about how he was welcome to invite them over any time he wanted this summer, how tomorrow he could sleep in late but after that he was going to have to try to get up at a reasonable time since she didn’t want his sleep schedule getting altered like he had last summer. She chatted happily, breezily, and Connor knew the sound of relief when he heard it.

She was relieved.

He was finally acting normal enough for her.

If only he had figured it out sooner.

He stayed up until midnight talking with his mom in the kitchen. She insisted on him rehashing all of the details about the dance… the dance which he had mostly skipped, choosing to stay outside and chainsmoke instead. He told her what the girls were wearing once they took off their caps and gowns, how there were a few boys who had already grown too tall for their clothes from last year’s bar mitzvah season. He said that Evan didn’t really like dancing so they spent a lot of the time hanging out by the wall, just talking about their summers. He mentioned that Georgia was moving away, but that she wanted to add Connor on facebook.

Eventually his mom sent him off to bed, and he gave her another hug because even though he knew he was doing the right thing he was still fucking scared and wanted his fucking mom. She kissed his cheek (he was too tall for her to kiss him on the top of his head like she used to now – he’d always thought she was so tall before).

Then he went up to his room.

Grabbed the joint from his desk.

And the knife.

He changed out of the suit, putting on some jeans and that old t-shirt his dad hated so much. Didn’t bother with sleeves. Figured he wouldn’t need them.

Locked himself in the bathroom.

He smoked first. Until he was properly high. Until he wasn’t scared anymore.

Debated if he ought to leave a note.

Decided against it.

Pulled out the knife.

He felt his heart speed up a little bit when he saw the blood.

But then it passed.



“Oh god damn it Connor.”

He blinked.

He didn’t feel good.

His head was spinning, his stomach felt sick, like he’d had a terrible headrush, like he’d ridden a roller coaster and now his insides were scrambled.

He was alive.

His dad was staring at him.

“Shit, now what are you doing?”

He mumbled something, he wasn’t exactly sure. Looked around. There was some blood on the floor. His wrists ached…

He hadn’t done it right, he hadn’t managed it, he hadn’t-

“Come on, get up,” His dad said, frowning, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him bodily onto the lid of the closed toilet seat. “Jesus, Connor,” his dad said, frowning, going into the medicine cabinet. His dad was cleaning up his wrists, ignoring the wincing and hisses of pain, wrapping them up in a small amount of gauze.

“Connor… look. Suicide is a quitter’s way out. You can’t do that, okay? You’re not going to do that.”

Connor stared.

“Listen, I won’t tell your mom about this alright? I won’t even mention the pot. Just… just get it together, yeah?” His dad finished bandaging up his wrists. His eyes stilled for just a moment on the collection of cuts and scabs. “You’re lucky you don’t need stitches.”

Connor stared at him.

“It’s early. Go back to bed, I’ll clean all of this up.”

Connor didn’t move. “I… I want to die,” he said, his throat dry, his voice hoarse. “I tried to kill myself.”

His dad sighed. “Just get some sleep. You’ll feel better after a few hours not passed out in the bathroom.”

Connor didn’t move.

It seemed like something, anything else should be happening.

“Come on kid, I’ve got to shower and get ready for work still.”

Connor nodded. Stood up. Stepped gingerly over the puddle of blood.

He hadn’t done it right. He’d fucked it up. He…

He could hear his mom downstairs, making coffee. Zoe would be up soon for school, since she had to go for the rest of the week.

He could run down there now. Tell them all. Beg for help.

He could slink off to his room… the knife was still in his pocket. He could do it, try again.

Finally make it all stop.

Connor went into his room.

And almost immediately there was a knock at the door.

He turned to see Zoe standing there, awkwardly, frowning. “Mom said not to wake you but…” She rolled her eyes. “Look I was supposed to give you this yesterday and I didn’t because I was pissed off that mom took you shopping. So. Sorry or whatever. I don’t even think you’ll like it, and it’s probably like super babyish or whatever, but I found it in the sale bin so…”

She put a book down on his desk.

Connor stared. “Thank… thank you?”

“Don’t make it weird,” Zoe said, sighing. “See you later or whatever.” She hurried off, like maybe somehow his freakishness was catching.

Connor walked over to his desk and saw that there was a copy of The Little Prince.

Zoe couldn’t have known that it was on his list of his ten favorite books.

She couldn’t have known it was still a favorite of his.

But she got it for him.

Connor had a choice… he could take out the knife. Try again.

He could rush downstairs and show his mom what he had done.

Or he could crawl into bed and relive a happier time, reading this book. The most unexpected thing to happen to him in a while.

Connor was tired.

So he crawled in bed. He bit his lip, pulled the covers up high, and propped himself up on his pillows, book in hand. He read and read and read until his eyes got too tired.

Then he closed his book.

Closed his eyes.

Slept.

It was stupid for him to be thinking about that now.

He knew this.

He was too old to be thinking back on all of his middle school failures. Too old to dwell on it. But he did. He thought about all of the little stabs and slights and Jared Kleinman's broken glasses and the piles of books and that girl Georgia who moved away. She had died last year; killed herself. He thought about all of it, about how none of those people had ever cared, about how he didn't fucking care right back. Too old. He'd always been a bit of a baby about things.

He anxiously tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.

Zoe was ignoring him across the table. He couldn’t remember the last time they even talked. She hadn’t visited him the whole time he was shut away at rehab this summer.

Being sober was fucking stupid, but it was sort of nice not to be constantly worried about withdrawals. That was pretty much all half assed sobriety had gotten him.

Connor’s head ached. He scratched idly at his arm.

Shouldn’t have gotten high before coming downstairs.

Should have fucking died years ago.

His mom was losing it on him already. “It’s your senior year, Connor, you’re not missing the first day!”

“I already said I’d go tomorrow,” He shot back, sarcastic, “I’m trying to find a compromise here.”

He was such an asshole to his mom now. It was almost like a reflex. Defensive or something.

He should probably feel bad about that.

Connor knew he was a bad person. He had known since he was thirteen. He had known since that first failed try, the one his dad never talked about, the one he never talked about.

Connor knew he was a bad person.

Certainly a bad person.

So much worse than reading his little sister’s diary or making his mom cry or making his dad angry.

He was bad. Wrong. Angry, all the time. Seeking oblivion all of the time.

So, the morning of his first day of senior year he decided he would stop being a person. For good. For real this time.