#don’t stand for these grades and this lack of knowledge in your own damn field

[theamazingannie]

Every time I see people talking about the class averages for STEM class tests, all I can think is that this is the reason we don’t have a cure for cancer

[docboots]

On Medical Judgment

Reading this blog, you may get a distinct idea I might desire anarchy. I do not, I simply wish to alert people to the problems of a broken system. I have had an odd obsession with fixing things for a long while. It seems to be one of the common traits of the decade, the critical eye and mind. While judgment is nothing new, I feel there has been a distinct increase in negative feedback with a sharp decrease in constructive criticism. This leads to this thought being scrutinizing, instead of a compliment. One would think having a critical mind is a good thing, and it is, should it purely be a layer.

Why I decided to ramble on this is thanks to an issue that has plagued me for a long time. I have mentioned ADHD plenty, but I am uncertain I have fully expressed how difficult it is to prove I  have it to the ones pushing out the pills. Not that I could find any to diagnose me as an adult (Was diagnosed as a child just fine. Fling all KINDS of drugs at the kid boots. FLEE from adult boots.)

It is when they use my strengths to try and prove otherwise. School was difficult due to boredom. I would be interested in the material, immensely in a number of cases, but get bored out of my skull from reiterating the same material the thousandth time. So I began to suffer academically from my mind wandering elsewhere, namely the worlds that would eventually be detailed into my fictional landscapes. I would try to explain my issues, but most teachers reacted to me like a simply a rowdy child. The flurry of bullying did not help any. I began to adapt, I learned to spread my attention properly without losing the lecture. Teachers argued with me about it, even if I was minding my own business in the corner You know the types. See you doodling and call on you to prove a point. Problem is that when I proved I was listening I was being a smart ass or..SOmething.

Anyway, the point is how I eventually was able to start getting good grades… Much later on in college. To the point that in Morrison, sure it was a scam school but they still were pushing out the material and tests, was a school I managed to get a 4.0 in. Got a certificate and anything. Least for a period. See, at that same time I was (and am) still in my eternal struggle to be treated, given guidance, something from my ‘medical professionals’ that turned useless. 60 minutes of waiting after my appointment time only to get a ten-minute piece with someone impatient. Even less for someone who ended up pushing some terrible antidepressants on me. Including one that, even though I went there initially asking for help on ADHD… Though admittedly vague since at this point I had plenty of people accuse me of wanting to pop off and sell the medicine on the street. Instead of taking the fucking things for the fact my mind is like having a series of hyper children try to explain you different subjects that fascinate them all at once. It is disjointed, voices overlapping, chaos, madness, and eventually, one of the trains of thoughts get lost in the scuffle.

They instead look towards my records. Claiming ‘Well if how did you do so well in school if you had ADHD?’ Well, though I was certain I explained this (as well as you can with a medical ‘professional’ rushing you, having you take these written tests and then saying they tell her as much as looking at them through mud) it wasn’t easy. In fact, I wasn’t all that great at first. There was a period where I was fine and dandy… ish. That period I was on Dexedrine (hilariously, the one they will only give to children) before being shuffled through medications that you do ‘better’ but instead made me claustrophobic even in open fields. The academic achievement award I put on my wall isn’t up there because I consider it a trophy in standard academia, especially given the scam college that gave it to me, but as a milestone.

Even as doctors would refuse to diagnose, treat, or even give much guidance towards controlling my ADHD… I managed to get one of those. It had involved week after week of swollen limbs and organs. The stress of college does horrid things to HAE. Especially when stressing over affording your pot, and having to deal with that nightmare pre-legalization (in my state.) and more all culminate in one lovely festering stress god. Controlling your life through your blood, keeping you from going or doing certain things at the flick of the wrist. ONe moment you can plan to go for a 3-mile hike, the day comes and you have to cancel because apparently, your lower intestines are now the size of a golf ball, along with all the lovely little issues that likes to cause for the next few days.

So, yeah, it was a WEE BIT fucking difficult to do well. Especially with doctors like that trying to use my struggle as the hammer of justice against the drug dealer I am not.

This same rage can be spread so far with me though. Treated like a criminal because I use pot for my difficulties, to the point I have lost jobs or never been hired at all for a drug test because I wouldn’t take the things TRULY ruining my mind and body. To supposedly protect me from this green herb from destroying my mind and body. I haven’t hurt a DAMNED soul in my attempts to get my medicine, barring maybe ranting their ear off for telling me to meet them in a shady parking lot next to a bus station at 1 in the morning, leave me waiting for a few fucking hours to the point I search for them. Only to return to find my window broken into and my e-cigarette missing. My medicine would have been wonderful for the stress that caused, and the swelling that followed.

Against, it is fucking laughable the bad luck I have. Plenty that have had bursts of FAR WORSE luck don’t get me wrong. It just seems like I have dealt with a lot of uniquely weird and infuriating issues that made me feel disgusted, humiliated, hurt, or just... Confused. Most of which leads, of course, to the demon of Hereditary Angioedema barking in my ear. Then instead of some advisement, knowledge, or what have you… More often than not you get treated like part of a grander problem.

Now here is why I am typing this. This is the little cliff-notes bit of knowledge I want to make sure so many know. The thing I want to scream at the world. I just haven’t yet figured out how to do so in a short and sweet manner:

When the world has beaten you down; when it has slammed your cheek and face against the curb and you have the yank yourself up. If you, at any point, attack an innocent party in some way… If done right, don't count venting, passionate ranting… When you begin to treat them as part of a problem they never had anything to do with you have a very high chance of becoming a part of that person’s bad day. A story about their bad life.

I am certain none of the people I rant about were out to get me. They were trying to protect their careers (especially thanks to the deserved scrutiny the prescription business is getting), trying to go on with their lives, trying to assist others, or maybe just a little spacy. I am no better at this than anyone else. I have had days where I am so angry I am a walking demon.

I try to be conscious of it. I try to fix my situations quickly, try to contain my rage and leave it for rants on the internet where I don’t use names. Specifically, because I try not to remember the names of my darkness. It is the good things in my life I like to assign names and labels to. They’ll stay longer in my memory. And, theoretically, the darker elements would stand out so strongly.

I don’t even know if the medicine will be any better than the medical marijuana. Thanks to having to buy from specials, I can’t quite get exactly what I  need. The strains work, I am still figuring out the...er.. ‘Dosage’ if you will. Though the best part is no fear of overdose. Of frying my mind. Of becoming an emotionless rock.

I’ve been through many flavors of hell. Physical, emotional, fictional… I have studied horror for ages and tried to think of every traditional and pop culture monster from multiple angles.

Yet still, nothing terrifies me like the idea of being trapped in my own mind again. Going through the entire process of getting and finding a medicine. After years of hoping and praying, only to instead find yourself everything D.A.R.E warned you about when it comes to the medicine that ACTUALLY helps me. Mind you, I stopped taking it for a period for fear it wouldn’t allow me to properly judge the effects. Minus when an HAE attack happened. Was my ONLY pain relief. As I am sure you may have gathered, I’d be opposed to opioids or any other pain medications that my fry my mind. It might be due to ADHD causing my dopamine productions to be faulty, but marijuana has proven oddly helpful.

Pot never made me feel like I was melting into the couch. My mind still was working on something in the least. On some of those medications? I… ‘heard’ them in my minds eyes. They were murky, in a haze. It was like you were expecting to watch Death Note but got the Netflix version instead, on a staticy channel. On a tv where half the screen is broken because some alcoholic asshole punched it.

I would just sit there. I’d hear the outside world like it was in another room. See it through constant tunnel vision. My thoughts all restrained. I truly and completely felt trapped inside myself. COuld move around otherwise fine, I just had so little energy to do so. Motivation, which already is a concept I struggle with, now seem just... Missing. I wasn’t just lacking it. I suddenly seemed devoid of the piece of me that care or ever felt such things.

The final story I think I’ve mentioned, but I surely will never get over. Two, technically, but they are short and connected. Disability requires a comprehensive packet on your health to be filled out. I, of course, checked it first. Even after explaining in detail and there being plenty of resources, such as official websites, for them to consult... They got EVERYTHING wrong. They even put, under how it affects me, nothing more than ‘When he is not having a flare up, he is a perfectly healthy 20-something male.’ Which, given the packet is about my DISORDER not those brief stints when I am not having a flare up... Not only that, they ignored me entirely and put that the Epi-pens works on me. When not only did they not, they just seemed to make the whole matters a hint worse thanks to suddenly feeling like I had been hit by a bolt of adrenaline.

Maybe this is why the last denial letter I got(what feels like a year ago since I filed for that appeal) claimed that while they recognized me as disabled, I could stand it.

The lot of them are probably why my sanity feels like it is dwindling. It is almost like they are trying to gaslight me. If this is true, all they are managing to do is give me confirmation the lot of them are incompetent and incapable of handling my medical care.

The worst part is all of this seemed to snap something in me. That 4.0 began to gradually drop. Now I am pretty sure I never let myself dip down below 3.0, but still... I stopped caring for that perfection. What was the point? If it was justing going to be used as a tool to cut away my personal achievements... I figured the one piece of paper was enough. I figured I shouldn't try so hard. All it lead to was pain and agony, then judgment for it.

I never seem to keep that thought for long, since here I am. Whining to the internet in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, my words can help pound away the problems in this machine. CLear the rust and stains. Maybe then they'll stop making me feel like such a broken cog.

So… Do you see the problem?

[perspectives-otherwise]

A Skeptic’s Certainty: How is He Certain of His Beliefs?

The first time I witnessed my father cry, he was standing at death’s door.

I have been raised on the bread and butter of a political household. For the many years that I sat in front of the television, forced to flip to the news channel, dear, my father has appeared behind the tempered glass screen more times than I could count as my age today. Not once did he ever waver in his conviction, nor his voice. His chocolate brown eyes held a steadfast – our family would call it hard – look that could shoot an eagle dead; once his eyes became glazed over in that way, all of us knew there could be no persuasion and negotiation entertained.

I inherited this very look from my father. Eyes that, at first glance, are colored a boring dark chocolate brown, but then one notices them to be a clear, soft almond as the light hits my face at the right angle. When defiant, I could bore holes into another’s pair of eyes. Most of the time, my parents were on the receiving end of it. Though I had never actually went out of my way to stand in theirs.

Everyone at school knew me as ‘the kid with a scary but famous dad’. This was, admittedly, an extremely helpful deterrent for those who loved picking on the timid, puny ones along the corridor – not that I was a shrimp, but small nonetheless. Acquaintances greeted me by my family name, but close friends call me Jo. My real name is Jean, but who likes to be named after an item of clothing?

The memory of books crowds my mind whenever I reminisced about childhood. The four walls of my father’s study room were lined with heavy bookshelves made of oak: each lacquered slab of wood that groaned under the weight of hardbound, leather-bound books had handwritten labels stuck on carefully with tape. Most of the spaces on the shelves had been filled even before I was born, but when I turned 7 and read as much as I breathed, my father called me into his room one day and faced me to the shelf closest to the French windows. He looked at me and said:

“This belongs to you now. Fill it with the knowledge you truly wish to have.”

Together, we began removing the books long untouched by human hands, and the air soon became choked with dust.

As a child, I devoured fairy tales and fictional stories. As a middle and high school student, my teachers unearthed and enthusiastically cultivated in me the love of nature and science. This naturally led me on to pursue environmental studies later in university, which also spelt disaster for the relationship between my father and me. In the years leading up to the falling out, however, I relished the joy in collecting books on geography and philosophy, amongst various classic literature novels that only encouraged my idealism and naivety.

~

“Excuse me, Ms. Brooks, I think the textbook is wrong…and I don’t understand this paragraph.”

It was in the middle of my favorite 6th grade lesson when I pointed out an error in our still crisp, plastic-wrapped textbooks.[i] At home, I had read a little about climate change – something about rising sea levels and melting glaciers – that these were the effects of human activities, such as industrialization and carbon emissions. However, the school textbook printed vague, ambiguous statements that eventually led to the conclusion that climate change is natural, and not at all caused by mankind.

Being the nitpicky student that I am, my hand shot up in the air during quiet reading time.

“Nonsense, Jean, the textbook is never wrong! Just follow the arguments and you’ll understand.”

Being the determined individual that I am, I went home and consulted my father on the matter.

“Jean…your teacher is right. Do as she says and you’ll do well in school. Anyway, you should stop reading whatever it is that is getting you all confused. Trust me, it will bring you no good – because they are WRONG. For every day that I am at the office and campaigns, all I hear about is the same damn thing: that climate change is truly happening and that we are the cause of it, blah blah blah. My colleagues and I are up to our eyeballs in work trying to rebuke these claims and keep the higher-ups happy, so the money continues rolling in for us. Please don’t be an additional worry on my mind, girl!”

I left the room in much greater confusion.

~

Politics never used to interest me at all. Since the textbook incident, however, I began paying more attention to environmental campaigns broadcasted on the news and searched the web for old speeches by my father. Amidst the name-calling and dramatic pauses, I realized the shocking mindsets many politicians had towards climate change, and how deeply rooted their beliefs are.

To them, climate change is a lie.

Besides accusing the activists of hurting the economy in their efforts to reduce carbon emissions, the ‘conservative’ politicians refused to make any further comment or argument by concluding that “I’m not a scientist”, and this statement effectively renders them immune to any scientific discussion or opinion requested.[ii] On the surface level, they claim to have no scientific and thus, expert knowledge on the issue of climate change, but in reality, they simply wish to avoid getting their hands dirty and putting America’s economy on hold. Evidently, they are much more concerned with earning profit than saving the Earth, though they would rather die than admit so.

As an amateur holding a Bachelor’s degree in environmental studies, I could still understand and empathize with some of the senior politicians and the general public; the phenomenon of climate change can be bizarre and its technicalities difficult to grasp, such that even the world’s leading experts are still racking their brains over finding a solution.[iii] If even the scientists are uncertain about the whole issue, then perhaps the average individual should be allowed to entertain a little skepticism!

Total skepticism is pushing it a little too far, however. The research I did online was baffling: one in four Americans were completely skeptical of climate change, and they believed that it is a natural process that humans had nothing to do with.[iv] Most of the time, the skeptical politicians had monetary backing from corporations vested in economic interest, such as the fossil fuel and oil industries. With a cap on carbon emissions, these corporations would face much loss in business and thus, revenue; with profit as the ultimate goal, these companies were little inclined to agree to such restrictions.[v]

Following the campaigns sickened me to the stomach, but I continued to do so in order to be updated on the progress of climate change mitigation. Little was achieved.

~

“You have no right as a daughter to lecture me!”

2009. That year, my father and I contested against each other at the 15th Conference of the Parties. At that point in time, I was considered one of the most established experts on the field of environmental science, global warming in particular. To everyone, I was greeted as Dr. Ernie, and my name was well-respected worldwide, but spat on by climate change skeptics.

My father was one of them.

Our relationship had steadily soured ever since I decided to throw his advice out the window and follow my instincts. Rationality kicked in as I dug deeper into the underworld of politics and environmental science, and I forced myself to stay level-headed whenever my father’s face drifted to mind, his threatening voice commanding me to leave the entire matter alone. Counter-intuitively, as I grew knowledgeable of the subject, his inability to understand my most beloved passion only encouraged my inability to understand the inner workings of his mind.

I worked through years with a single motivation: to persuade my father that climate change is, and has been ongoing for decades. Personal scientific reports were painstakingly simplified and rewritten countless times, complicated models reduced to layman diagrams drawn by hand in order to illustrate the very reality of it all.[vi] Every single time I handed him the papers, he tore them up into shreds before chucking them at my feet.

We had just returned home from the conference before I walked out of his house for the last time. He had ripped every single beloved book of mine from the shelves and set them on fire in the backyard.

~

2015.

I was about to leave my home for a jog when the telephone shrilled through my briefcase. A frantic female voice asked for my name, and I answered yes, speaking. It turned out to be my mother.

She told me that my father was dying.

~

“Hi, Dad.”

The house had remained its exact, spotless appearance. The midday sun illuminated his bedroom, washing it down with clean and golden-yellow warmth.

Blanketed and cushioned by stark white, sterile cotton sheets and pillows on his bed, he wheezed heavily and paused often to catch big gulps of air. My father beckoned me feebly nearer to his side.

Some formal exchanges on how are you, what have you been doing, before we lapsed into an awkward contest of staring each other down. Then he spoke.

My father lamented on the years wasted on preserving his own pride and self-image, instead of embracing new knowledge and making up for his lack of education. Something about cognitive dissonance theory, he waved his hand impatiently. To put it simply, denying climate change completely was the easier choice compared to conceding that his commitment in opinion is flawed; with scientific authorities directly challenging his belief system, the unconscious psychological inclination was to react negatively towards the rejected option, or reduce its initial appeal. In this case, my father was faced with the dilemma between altering his entire belief system on climate change to allow the appropriate decisions in mitigation, or to condemn the scientific consensus as a pack of lies and continue his anti-campaigns.[vii] Also, there was growing economic pressure from the corporations to deliver results and ensure that carbon emissions levels are not restricted.

As an uneducated and conservative man, he could only invest faith in human innovation and technological advancements to reduce the effects of climate change, rather than swallow the overwhelming scientific evidence that condemned everything he supported. Naturally, he sought discord with the latter and picked at any uncertainty that the scientists reluctantly revealed; this he did so especially with climate modeling, which are far from accurate and complete in their analysis and prediction of our climate.[viii]

“I’ve watched the world gradually progress into the technological age, a complete makeover that occurred over a few mere decades. There is so much more potential for the future, and I so believed in humans to conquer anything that stood in our way.[ix] Climate change, to many of us, was just another trivial matter that the government and certain goody-two shoes fussed over in order to gain more funding and support from policy makers. We didn’t want to relinquish any monetary control to them…[x]

Your growing passion in environmental science did nothing to persuade me in changing my mind. I had secretly admired your fierce determination in not letting the matter rest, but this old man of yours was never going to admit to his daughter that he is wrong about something he had devoted his life to fighting against. And I wish to apologize for that now.”

Never once did he let go of my right hand – clasped tightly in his icy cold own, I could only interpret this long abandoned gesture as his final way of expressing affection and regret, perhaps mingled with a little pride. There was no hardness this time, only a single tear clinging on desperately to the corner of his right eye.

 Endnotes

[i] See Singer, Merrill. "Anthropology and Climate Change." AnthropologyNews.

[ii] Atkin, Emily. "‘I’m Not A Scientist': A Complete Guide To Politicians Who Plead Ignorance On Climate Change." ThinkProgress RSS. October 3, 2014. Accessed March 8, 2015.

[iii] Dunlap, R. E. "Climate Change Skepticism and Denial: An Introduction." American Behavioral Scientist 56, no. 6 (2013): 691-98. 691.

[iv] Saad, Lydia. "One in Four in U.S. Are Solidly Skeptical of Global Warming." One in Four in U.S. Are Solidly Skeptical of Global Warming. April 22, 2014. Accessed March 8, 2015.

[v] Dunlap. “Climate Change Skepticism and Denial: An Introduction”, 692-694.

[vi] Dunlap. “Climate Change Skepticism and Denial: An Introduction”, 691. Refer also to Atkin, Paragraph 3.

[vii] Gelfert, Axel, “Climate Scepticism, Epistemic Dissonance, and the Ethics of Uncertainty,” Philosophy and Public Issues (New Series), Vol. 3, No. 1 (2013), 167-208, edited by S. Maffettone, G. Pellegrino and M. Bocchiola. 189-194.

[viii] Gelfert. “Climate Scepticism, Epistemic Dissonance, and the Ethics of Uncertainty,” 179-181.

[ix] Gelfert. “Climate Scepticism, Epistemic Dissonance, and the Ethics of Uncertainty,” 183-184.

[x] Dunlap. “Climate Change Skepticism and Denial: An Introduction”, 694.

[ecotone99]

The Other Side Of Summer Ch 1 [RF] [TH] [RO]

Authors note:

Hey all ! This is actually part of a much larger 12 chapter short story I wrote about a year ago. It was never meant to see the light of the day and may never outside of Reddit. While it begins as a slice of life style piece I assure you it does not remain as such forever. If you are a fan of modern thrillers this may be the story to you. If there is an interest in the rest of the chapters going forward I would love to hear from you all! And please, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, just keep it civil. Dm's are open to any and all who have things to say! Thank you to anyone that takes the time to read this questionably rough piece. (formatting is likely awful on account of lack of Reddit knowledge. apologies in advance.)

Chapter 1 - Samuel Cooper: Sex God

By all accounts the summer of 94’ was a god damn roller-coaster, and not one of the sturdy ones either. Just picture the old, shitty, wooden roller coasters that used to have a good chance of decapitating random passengers and you should begin to get a general sense of how things went. You see my hometown of Summer, PA had undergone the same unchanging cycle of existence since its founding back in 1927. For the majority of the year the town was no more exciting then an old decrepit graveyard, filled with a variety of skeletons, closeted or otherwise. Though as the slow heat of May began to grow more oppressive, and the ring of boat horns echoed their shrill cries across the murky waters of Lake Watauga, An unstable sense of freedom made itself known. it was the children who noticed first, taking flight from the old brick and mortar school buildings with untied shoes and false promises of “don't worry, I won't talk to strangers” which usually lasted until the jingle of the ice cream truck could be heard vibrating through the potholes that riddled twisting roads thrice paved over and then finally given up on.

As June rolled around the heat settled in, finding its place amongst the house parties that stood as beacons of debauchery against the inky backdrop of passionate summer nights. Drugs, Alcohol, Sex; anyone who grew up in Summer was familiar with at least one of the three personally or otherwise. Parents ignored it, teenagers craved it and so the twisted dynamic of life myself and the rest of my peers reveled in was left to continue on.

I had just finished my Junior year of highschool and the prospect of nearing what many viewed as “the beginning of the end” of my current chapter in life hadn't quite hooked its adult sized claws into my juvenile mind just yet. The oppressive rays of the summer sun kept me young and stupid, leaving me and my best friend Samuel Cooper more focused on the prospect of which party we were going to get smashed at that night instead of on things that actually mattered like college applications.

Sam was a tall, lanky boy of 17 who’s greatest aspiration at that point in his life was “getting ass” more so than anything else. This prospect being doubled each summer we spent together roaming the venues that the streets of our town had to offer. I met Sam way back in the first grade and, after a short disagreement over a yellow tonka dump truck which involved the throwing of various sized lego blocks at one another until our teacher Mrs. Lambert, had to forcibly intervene, we became inseparable.

And while I myself was not as personally preoccupied with the prospect of “getting ass” as Sam was, the idea of women was still new and exciting enough for me to play along with his bullshit.

So it was that we found ourselves pacing the charred blacktop of one of Summer's pockmarked back-roads, throwing errant stones and shooting the shit as we usually did

“ No dude I swear!” Sam exclaimed as the gumball sized pebble left his hand and collided with an old maple tree to our left “They're putting in a Wawa right next to Mrs. Thompson's bakery”

“Yea…..no, I'm calling bullshit on that one man” I retorted, casting him a sidelong glance as I leaned down to retrieve my own palmful of ammunition “Mrs. Thompson is like 900 years old, you really think that old hag is gonna let them move in next door without cursing them or something?” I heard his exasperated sigh before I felt the punch connect with my shoulder.

“What?!” My voice broke the momentary silence as I stared at him incredulously. His deadpan look transitioned into one of a cynical glee as our eyes met and a smile curved its way across his cracked lips

“ you’re just jealous i'll be closer to Wawa then you shithead” Silence filled the space between us as I fought to stifle my laughter,

“Have you ever even been to a Wawa before? it's just an over-hyped gas station that has super big hot dogs” Sam was silent for about thirty seconds before a forlorn noise escaped his mouth and a simple drudging “No” flopped out after it.

Our path carried the two of us to rest under a set of twin oak trees settled just a ways into the field that marked the edge of Summers western Border. By this point in the afternoon we had forgotten all about our previous topic of contention and had instead moved on to complaining about the ever present heat.

“If it's like this all summer I honestly may just drown myself in the lake” I groaned

“eh, not the worst idea you've ever had not gonna lie, might have to join you in that endeavor” The sound of Sams words were nearly drowned out by the buzzing of cicadas making their presence known to virtually anyone with ears.

The shade cast by the twin oaks above us did little to stifle the sun and as time crawled on I found myself nearly driven to the brink of insanity by the droplets of sweat that had begun to cascade down my back and puddle at the waistband of my shorts

“Okay, fuck this, What do you say we head down to the lake and try to cool off?” I offered, hoping that Sam would bite. His response came without hesitation as he struggled to stand up, using the trunk of our temporary shelter as support.

“Given that the prospect of getting ass is pretty high, count me in.”

By the time we had trudged our way through the backstreets of town and hopped the necessary fences to reach one of the many banks of lake Watauga, Summers typical brand of debauchery had already begun in earnest. The screams and squeals of intoxicated teenagers filtered through our ears long before we had pushed through the treeline that stood as the verdant gateway to brown sugar beach. This particular stretch of sand was known for being one of the best kept secrets in town, so naturally, everyone knew about.

Before my feet had even touched the sand Sam was wriggling out of his sweat drenched shirt, cherry red rays painting his pale, pock marked skin the color of what was shaping up to be a night well spent.

“C'mon loser, salvation awaits!” Sam made a grand sweeping gesture with his hand towards the waters of the lake and held the position for a full ten seconds before taking off, kicking course sand into my down turned face as he went.

It took me a while to find a place to settle our personal belongings, but after the hollowed out hole of a tree stump had been stuffed with our two sweaty shirts and a fair amount of loose dollar bills I set out to find Sam. It had only been a few minutes since he had taken off but the steadily growing crowd on both the beach and in the water was making it hard to find him. So, as is the case with most teenage boys worried about drawing attention to themselves in a crowd of people, I wandered around eyes cast downwards, praying that I wouldn't bump into anyone better looking than me. As luck would have it, I managed to find Sam relatively early on. He had a red solo cup in his left hand whilst his right was draped over the shoulder of a smaller boy who I recognized as Ben Wenninger.

Ben was a couple years younger than us and judging by the white t shirt stretched tightly over his gut, was about as self conscious as a kid who hadn’t gone through puberty yet on a beach filled with half naked teenage girls would be. I was about to tell Sam to let go of him but before I could get the words out I was greeted to a hand in my face

“Listen Ben..” Sams words were packed full with starry eyed enthusiasm “Today may very well end up being the best you've experienced in your short life, I mean just look around!” a number of people had to jump out of the way as Sam spun the pair so that they were facing the crowded waters a couple of feet down the sandy embankment, The hand that was holding the red solo cup with god knows what in it spilling a few drops of dark brown liquid onto my chest as it whirled by, miraculously held in Sams grip

“You see that down there?” Sam half shouted half whispered.

“Uhh yeah?” Ben's timid voice was nearly imperceptible over the bustle of the crowd.

“That's Infinite possibility my man! Ass for miles!” This time the red solo cup did go flying, as Sam threw both his arms up in a triumphant gesture. Causing whoever I presumed to be the one hit by Sams unintentional projectile to yell out in surprise.

“Ew! What the Fuck!?” the voice was female and resonated from somewhere to the left of us, deeper in the crowd. I made eye contact with Ben, matching his furrowed brow and pleading eyes with a shoulder shrug of my own. Peering through the crowd, I could barely make out the disgruntled features of none other than Megan Kelly, Summers self proclaimed “most popular girl” and Sam's hopeless crush since the Sixth grade. Somehow the red solo cup had managed to land on the messy bun she had her hair tied up in, staining her usual fiery red a dark shade of sewage brown, the cups contents stopping only momentarily to drip down her nose and onto her chest before continuing to the ground below. Grabbing a random towel from the ground, and shaking the sand that clung to it with a flourish, Sam began to strut his way over to Megan.

“My bad babe, let me clean you up!” Sam's voice echoed high above the crowd and caught the attention of everyone within the general vicinity causing curious heads to turn towards the source of the commotion. All I could do was watch and hope that whatever was about to happen ended with minimal damage to Sam and whatever dignity he had left. By this point Sam had nearly made it to Megan, parting the crowd as he went and Ben had made his way to my side, our gazes breaking from the ensuing chaos for just a second to exchange mutual glances of “holy shit”. Wiping the liquid out of her eyes with the back of her hand and fixing her face with a scowl that would have sent Summers resident Creepers running for the hills, Megan turned to face Sam who seemed oblivious to the hush that had now fallen over the crowd.

“Your Knight in shining armor has arri-” Sam's proclamation was cut short as the whip crack of skin on skin contact broke the bated stillness of the balmy twilight air.

“No, no, no! Don't you even think about saying another word!” Megan withdrew her hand and placed it on her hip, a wild look in her eyes.

“Who the hell does a loser like you even think you are? I'm not your “babe” I barely fucking know you!” I could see Sam struggling to find the appropriate words to remedy the situation but Megan was already too far gone. Taking a red solo cup from the hand of a random girl standing next to her, she marched up to Sam and tossed its contents into his face without a moment's hesitation. The crowd erupted in laughter as Megan turned on her sand caked heal and stormed off, her possy of friends flocking behind her, each one of them shooting a sneer in Sams direction before disappearing into the rippling line of onlookers.

I waited until I heard the drone of conversation pick back up before approaching Sam, Ben keeping his place beside me as we struggled to push our way through the crowd.

“I have to say, not one of your brightest moves. E for effort though.” I let my hand fall to rest on his sticky shoulder and shot him a shit eating grin. Sam said nothing as he turned to face me and for a moment I was worried I had said too much, though as I watched a small knowing smirk creep its way across his lips any doubts faded into the background, lost behind the heavy bass of scattered boomboxes that littered the beach.

“She's just playing hard to get, I am irresistible after all.” Sam flexed his nearly non existent bicep and kissed it for effect causing a groan of disgust to tear its way from my throat.

“If by irresistible you mean unbearable, then sure” Ben teased. I had nearly forgotten that he was right beside me.

“ You better be careful there, Wenninger. or I may have to Motorboat those sweet little boy titties of yours.” I watched as a look of fear wash over Ben's previously triumphant features, only to immediately be replaced by one of sheer relief at Sams next words

“Don't worry kid i'm only fucking with you” his gaze drifted from the now dried liquor stains on his chest towards the Choppy waters of the lake only a couple feet from us “ On a more serious note though… last one to the water is a little bitch” and with that he was gone, leaving Ben and I struggling to catch up.

The sun was no more than a bloody, quarter circle on the horizon, by the time we had convinced Ben to tell us about a secret piece of information he had heard while working a recent afternoon shift at his father's butchery.

“You promise that you guys won't say anything right? I don't want Ryan Green and his band of assholes to beat me up again.” Sam and I shared a look with one another before turning back to Ben's shadowed form and extending our hands respectively

“I Promise” Ben's pruney hand met my own, nearly disappearing within the palm of my grasp.

“This had better be good kid” Sam repeated the gesture in kind sealing our deal. Ben looked around nervously for a moment, Waiting till a random group of splashing teenagers had passed before lowering his voice to just above a whisper and beginning his story.

“Okay, So last week, like right after school got out for the summer, I heard some noise outside the back of my dad's shop. I know I probably should have just minded my own business but we have been having problems with raccoons getting into our trash recently an-” Ben paused and adjusted his sopping t-shirt

“Anyways, as I got closer to the back door I started hearing voices, like lots of them. Some were familiar and some weren’t, but the one that stood out the most was Ryan Greens.” I watched as a shiver ran down Ben's spine causing him to sink a little deeper into the inky waters of the lake.

“They were talking about all sorts of things, you know? bouncing from one topic to the next, but then Ryan got all quiet and made everyone gather closer around. He started talking about the new family that moved to Summer recently, mostly about the daughter though. Apparently she's done all this crazy shit and has slept with a bunch of boys.”

“Sounds like my kind of girl” Sam chimed in

“Haven't you already done enough damage today? Fucks sake man give it a rest.” I snapped, shaking my head in his direction.

Ignoring my outburst, Sam continued on.

“So,what's her name Wenninger ? or did you bitch out and run away before you could hear?” Ben just rolled his eyes and splashed a handful of water towards Sam,

**“**I don't know..I mean that's pretty much all I heard, or all they said anyways, despite the usual shit.” I tried not to make my interest in the story too noticeable but nerves got the best of me.

“Oh c'mon you don't know anything else, not even what she looks like, or where she hangs out?” I questioned. Ben just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in a kind of “Sorry to say” motion before standing up straighter and tightening his face

“Just..She sounds like a piece of work guys, Be careful… please? You really are the only people in this town who treat me halfway decent so it would suck having you get killed or some crazy shit like that.”

“Killed?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow

“Well we don't know anything about her family, and her dad is creepy as hell. I've only seen him once when he came in to buy something from the store and trust me, once is enough.” Ben look flustered and I could tell our constant questions were starting to get to him.

“Hey, look man” I placed a hand on his shoulder and shot him a smile “Thanks for looking out, Your pretty cool you know that?”

“R-really?” His eyes lit up as he struggled to contain his excitement

“For sure kid, you got some balls standing up to a sex god like me” Sam teased, throwing his arms to rest behind his head. Ben and I shot each other a look and burst out laughing.

“What's so funny, huh?! The both of you are total dick heads.” Sam's voice wobbled as he struggled to contain his own laughter, the absurdness of the situation seemingly far too much for even the sex god himself.

“Nothing Nothing, it's just, you should go tell Megan that, i'm sure she'd love it” My stomach was beginning to hurt and tears were pooling at the corner of my eyes.

“Oh oh! and make sure you call her babe a bunch” Ben piped in finding himself in a similar predicament as myself.

“Yea yea yea laugh it up, the both of you” By this point we were all lost to the slowly developing nature of each other's company and found it difficult to regain our composure for the better part of fifteen minutes, taking turns ripping on one another as twilight slowly suffocated the last remnants of the setting sun.

“Alright guys I think I'm gonna get going for the night” my eyes drifted back towards the darkened tree line and then to the dim lights of the town just beyond that.

“Same time tomorrow?” Sam's voice followed me as I moved to turn around.

“I wish but I got work tomorrow man, maybe you and Ben could stop by while im on shift, Keep me from dying of boredom?” I heard both of them laugh from behind me as my toes worked their way through the damp sand

“You got it boss, have a good night!” Sam shouted. I threw my hand up in half assed acknowledgement and began the trek back towards the tree stump that sheltered mine and Sam's belongings.

The walk back into town was a short one, My mind far too preoccupied with the days events to worry about the darkness of the woods surrounding me. As the orange glow of Mainstreet came into view my stomach made its proclamation of hunger well known. The only place still open was Gumbo’s, Summers Local ice cream parlor. Its red neon sign had stood as a calling card to children and teenagers alike for as long as anyone who called Summer home could remember. Unsurprisingly the outdoor veranda was packed full of people, a majority of whom I recognized from the beach earlier that day as well as a few new faces. Megan Kelly stood surrounded by a flock of her friends complaining loudly about “Some creepy loser on the beach” with one hand on her hip and the other holding a chocolate soft serve ice cream cone. I did my best to avoid drawing her attention and swung a wide circle around the group, eventually making my way through the tightly packed crowd of people and towards the back of the line. One of the reasons Gumbo’s was so renowned was partly due to its quick service and tonight was no different, Within five minutes I had received my strawberry soft serve cone and was making my way towards home desperately trying to lick it faster then the timid heat of the evening was melting it. The golden glow of the streetlights offset the cool purples and blacks that swirled in the night sky overhead and I found my mind beginning to wander once more.

“Hey, You.” I nearly dropped my ice cream cone as a voice ahead of me broke my stupor. Casting my gaze upwards I could just barely make out a shadowed figure just a few feet away from me.

“U-uh yea?” I found it hard to find my voice, the words creaking out like a rusty hinge on a hundred year old door.

“Was hoping you could point me towards Gumbo’s, awfully hot out tonight.”

“Oh, uh yea its just back that way” I jammed my thumb over my shoulder and tried not to sound as nervous as I felt.

“You mind?” my jaw nearly hit the ground as she stepped out of the light and whisked the ice cream cone out of my hand, Eyes never breaking contact with mine as she ran her tongue up the side of the cone and towards the drooping swirl at the top of the sugary pink confection. I had no idea what to do so I simply stood dumbfounded, wrestling with intense emotions of confusion and what I thought logically to be arousal, though fear also seemed applicable given the brazenly bizarre nature of the situation.

“Thanks” such a simple phrase, though in her case it was anything but. “Just wanted to know what I was getting myself into”

“Um sure, n- no problem” I was frozen in place, barely able to turn around as she walked past me letting the ice cream cone fall to the concrete below, Red, high top converse carrying her with a confidence that scared the hell out of me in the way only a teenage girl could. I desperately wanted to say something but as she turned back around to face me, glossed lips curling up into a teasing smile, My brain blanked.

“What's your name?” Fuck, for the life of me I couldn't remember. The look that she was giving me not making it any easier to recollect.

“Noah!” It sounded right coming out of my mouth, though In the moment I had no way of being sure. She paused for a second as if weighing its worth, slender fingers errantly twirling their way through curly blonde hair.

“Nice.”

I had no time to question what the hell she meant as the next second she was turned back around, sauntering in the direction of the Gumbo’s, whisking away any chance at an answer into the night.

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