By Christiana Perdis
The thing I miss most about high school is me.
You see, I’m a Hollywood Jock and that’s when I peaked (according to TV). High school is over, but they won’t let me leave. Brutish, broken, boneheaded – that’s all I’ll ever be. I’d like to move on, to be greater or worse, to be simple, or dead in a hearse. But the only thing they’ll let me be is that same old twenty-five-playing-fifteen version of me: the Hollywood Jock.
The boys barrel toward me on the field; grappling, grabbing, groping. They meet me in the hallway after the game, hugging me before they hug their girls, and helping in a way that only hurts. Boys will be boys – but never with boys. No matter how much we share with each other, all the ways we’re there for each other, we cannot care for each other (even if you want us to). We are each other’s greatest love story – the Jock, the Jerk and the Token – but we are never, ever in love.
That role goes to the Girl, the one I’m being saved for. The one who will save me. Did I mention I’m failing my classes? She’ll save me from that. I’m also failing my father (not as important, but it explains the intimacy issues.) The Girl will stay on my arm, unlike so many others.I will become her accessory. She will save me, and if she can’t, she will show me up. (How do I say sorry when I can’t string a sentence together?)
Failure, they whisper at the reunion when I walk in: balding, pot-bellied, and still living in my mom’s basement. The Girl looks better this way. Asshole, they say, when I walk in a lawyer or a stockbroker, lying and cheating to make everyone else feel better about themselves (at least I get to keep my looks). I spend the night complaining about the injury that stopped me going pro – always the knee – and they call me Has-been behind my back. What they actually mean is Never-was.
Never was a Good Guy, but always the best. Never was a Nice Guy, but always nice. Never was allowed to be anything but shallow, simple, buff, and vain. Always typecast, always staying in my lane.
I guess that’s what I really miss most about high school: knowing who I was. I miss the me who knew the game, the rules, and the ending. The me who could play his part as effortlessly as he played his sport, wearing the role like a fitted uniform. I miss being the Hollywood Jock almost as much as I despise him.
Do I get a call-back yet?
Christiana Perdis is a Sydney-based writer of fantasy, romance and contemporary fiction. In 2023, she graduated Professional Writing and Editing at RMIT, and started her position as the 2023-2024 Hachette Summer Intern. Her speculative short fiction has been published in AntipodeanSF and What You Become: An Anthology.
Website: https://www.christianaperdis.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/christianaperdis/
LinkedIn: https://au.linkedin.com/in/christiana-perdis-a1bb251a9
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