Outside.
"You don't know what 69 means?" This said to me by a few classmates on a walk back from the mini mart at lunch. "Yea I know what it means." I lied. "What does it mean then?" The fateful challenge, an inevitable elevation of argument. "It's drugs." I went with what I thought was most relevant at the time. (laughter erupts) I have outed myself. I in fact, do not know what 69 means. The rest of that day in 7th grade was abysmal, for I was reminded again that I was different. I was on the outside of something all the other kids knew about. How did I miss this. I couldn't help but wonder, sitting in math after lunch, consumed with the social exclusion I was feeling. After all, nobody will like me now, for not only did I not know something so obvious to everyone else, but they caught me pretending. What if they figure out other things about me? As my adolescent armpits start to erupt with moisture, I now start to fear sweating...