Jose learns the meaning of life and also death, he learns how to love and how to hate. Most importantly he learns to be a rebel.
Girls think I’m hot; boys want me to burn alive. They're just jealous...they are because all their girlfriends want to be with me. My parents abandoned me when I was six; I don't remember them enough to picture any details or rough sketches in my head of what they look like. All I know is that they didn't want me anymore. I'm fine with that now, I honestly don't care. If I found out they're dead, I won't care.
Everyday I get up in the morning; brush my teeth with extra toothpaste for a fresher and more tasteful mouth for the ladies. I brush my hair back and I drop some gel on top, rubbing it back as my hair stays cold and hard while it smells and looks fresh. My dark black hair matches my lightly tanned Spanish body very well.
Then I wash my face with t he most expensive kind of face soap there is in the store. I scrub for about three minutes just to make sure that I get all the extra grease off of my face. I don't want zits all over my face like half of the boys in the whole school.
Every morning I am alone, my step mom is out for work by four A.M in the morning. My step father abandoned me and Katharine, my step mother about a year ago, before I turned fifteen. I bring in my five hundred dollar dark black radio into the bathroom as I do my daily cleansing. Every once in a while I dance in the bathroom, run into the towel rack, fall onto the toilet, and crash into the shower.
The usual dance for a boy getting ready for school, at least to me. Once I finish with my bathroom hour, I move onto my druggy hour.
I walk into my room and I pull a box from under my bed, the box is painted a dark black, the same shade as my radio. It's important to keep this box away from my parents, because...well I have hidden drugs in this exact box. The box holds just a little portion of Cocaine, a medium portion of Heroine, and a large portion of crystal meth.
They aren't bad, but they aren't good. They aren’t bad because they get you in a good mood for anything. They're bad because they can make you ugly as shit, and can turn your brain to mush.
I don't do drugs every day, sometimes I wait months before another hit, I don't want to look terribly ugly, nor do I want to save up all the money I earn to buy more. I have things to take care of, like school or Katharine.
I close the box and I push it back under the small portion of room under my bed. I don't feel like taking a hit today, not in my taste of interest at the moment. I have to start walking to the ghetto school of the city, East Berg High. You can say that there is shootings everyday, but they aren't always at the school.
Only forty percent of shootings are actually on campus or in the school building. People over exaggerate the thuggish way kids are in East Berg High. Not every single student in the school are known to be thugs, some are smart...some a girly and dumb, and some are like me, the loners with no discipline or sight in the future.
I quickly walk out of the house and I lock the door behind me, looking through the window I see my dog Ralph sitting at the door staring at me through the thick glass.
I hate leaving Ralph at home, it's just the face he gives me, it's full of sadness. He's practically saying don't go to school, skip instead. You would have much more fun feeding me treats and scratching my belly all day than being at school doing nothing but bullshit. He's right, school is bullshit, but I won't get out unless I get the necessary grade point average.
Which is about a three point seven GPA, right now I have a two point eight GPA. A little too far, I need to start working more. I have been slacking a lot. My mom isn't helping me at all. She will be at work in the morning and afternoon, and then at night she will be out to dinner with some random man of the night. Sometimes she won't come home until the next day.
Sometimes we walk out in the town at night, I think she just goes to hunt for muscled men who are looking to have a good time. When a good looking man passes by the two of us, she swiftly turns back to the man and introduces herself, and leaving me alone in the ghetto town. I don't really mind considering I pretty ghetto myself. Skinny jeans, not as skinny as the wannabe emos where, but the kind someone with decent swag would wear. Plaid collar shirts, with some converse. In my town it's called being a fancy thug, you dress nice, you have French cologne on, and you look hot as hell.