Excerpts From Monsoon Adolescense

Page 28 - 31

2004-12-01T13:39:00.000-08:00

“Did you apologize to him properly!”. Alyzeh demands as she stands with her fists on her hip in front of Noor.

“Haan na. Now shut up. By the way, does he have a staring problem or summat…?”

“No… not that I know of… why?”

“Shit! I KNEW you spilled some ketchup on my jumper! You BITCH! you know how much I like it!”. Noor grabs Alyzeh’s neck and puts her in a headlock. It’s a while before they stop their pseudo-wrestling match, as Mahrukh walks in.

“Noor baji, did…”

“Uff yes yess YESSS!! Why the HELL are you both so worried about him?!”

“Izzat bhee koi cheez hoti hai, aur kissi ki kero toh hoti hai.” Alyzeh replies.

“Frankly speaking, uss banday ki achi izzat ker dee thee meiney.”. Noor walks over to one side of the room and picks up a book.

“Ho bhee achi khaasi jaani thi. Omi’s all stage shows and what not…”. Alyzeh replies as she dodges a flying book.

“Omer wouldn’t seriously ridicule a woman. Jay would murderize him. Acha get up, we’re going to be late for our dinner reservations.”. Mahrukh thwacks Noor with the book and dashes out of the room behind Alyzeh.

“Dumb babies.”. Noor picks up her bandana cloth and looks at it closely. Nope, no stains. Then why was… Ugh never mind, thinks Noor as she puts it over her head like a shawl. Wow. A bandana and a hijab. How nice.

“Jaldi kero!”, yell Alyzeh and Mahrukh as Noor jerks back to reality and leaves the sweet-smelling bandana cloth at the dressing table.

Oh, one of Deep Impacts

How is the asylum they put You into? For laughing too much at the things I said...

Me... The Seducer,

Christened by You

I can picture You there in the morning, Sitting on the white bed

Seperate, Still living in Your perpetual darkness,

A dark figure covered in white

Blending with the surroundings,

Not to fit. But rather to remain hidden,

And i can picture You there at night,

With the raining beating on the walls

You seem Comfortable, So much more at Ease

On the path to Freedom

No Body Notices...

“Why are you both snickering so much? Apna khana khao aur chalo gher!”. Omer scolds both Maheen and Osama as they suffocate laughs, their backs towards the window. Omer never took a table by the window, but this time he did because Osama and Maheen insisted, for reasons unknown. “Oww!”, yells Omer in pain as Mahrukh grabs Omer’s hair and tugs, rendering Omer half on the floor.

“Meee-aowhhh!”. Mahrukh raises her arms in triumph.

“Fittay moo tum donoh ka. Oww…”, Omer straightens up, then stands up to hug Mahrukh. “Maryjane, you’re becoming too strong. We need to change you from wrestler cat-food to baby kitten food.”. Omer squeezes tiny Mahrukh in his arms.

“H… hello Omer…”.

“Heylo Alyzeh! Nice seeing you here… are you guys here for dinner as well?”.

“Umm… yeah… err…”

“Well you’re most welcome to join… oh sorry, this is Maheen, and Osama. Maheen, Osama, this is Mahrukh, Fatemah’s sister, and her friend Alyzeh.”

They all greet each other, and Alyzeh tugs Omer’s sleeve, obviously distressed by something.

“Omer, I thought I should tell you. Noor’s here as well. She’s just outside…”

“Oh my god! Does she have a gun with her?”. Omer replies, exasperated. His ersatz horror is understood when he opens his mouth wide and puts both his hands on his cheeks.

“Nahi naa… I just…”

“Uffoh befkoof! Don’t worry. Its all fine. She was nice enough to apologize, and its not like I had any grudges in the first place. I’d love it if you guys had dinner with us.”

Noor came over, and was introduced by Mahrukh to everyone. She greeted Omer as calmly as ever, though there was a certain something that inhibited both of them. They sat as far away from each other, casually joking around with everyone, even each other. It was as if they had a sworn duty to make it certain that there were no bad feelings between them… yet… there was more the analysis of the presence of something than the absence of bad feelings that they were pre-occupied with. They never exchanged glances, never looked at each other for longer than a few moments, as if they wanted to say something but couldn’t, yet they never escaped each others glance, so as to show that they were not avoiding each other.

“Uff! I am soo full, I am going to explode!”. Mahrukh pats her stomach.

“Next thing you know you’re going to belch out loud, heina Maryjane?”. Omer works at his teeth with a toothpick.

“What… no shit… she does that?”. Noor puts down her spoon, done with her meal. “Never saw a cat burp…”

“I don’t think Fatemah’s that gross, and I don’t think Mahrukh should be either. I’d seriously feel very, very sick.”. Maheen adjusts her dupatta over her shoulder.

“Khuda ka wasta don’t do anything weird to her again”. Osama intervenes, only to be eyed dangerously by Maheen (“You’re the only person who’s doing weird things to me”). All was good after Maheen winked amorously at Osama, which, thankfully enough, the rest didn’t notice.

“Acha so ab you’re actually trying to burp?”. Alyzeh looks at Mahrukh in somewhat horror.

“NO! Weirdos. I’m just really full and reeaalllyy sleepy… I think we should go. Mein yaheen girr jaoon gee.”. Maheen puts her head on the table.

“Omer, still have cigarettes?”. Noor inquires from across the table.

“Yep. And by the way, you CAN call me Omi, you know. The only person who calls me Omer is my grandmother, and it really freaks me out.”. Omer hands Noor his pack of double-o’s. He had to stretch quite a bit, but so did Noor, and she only managed to get a solitary cigarette out of the pack. Omer sat back in his chair, and threw his Zippo at Noor, careful enough to aim it at her palms. Noor lighted the smoke, and aimed the Zippo back at Omer when…

“Ugh if you both are going to smoke, you might as well sit together, otherwise I’M going to be sick. Omer, tum idher aa jao.”. Alyzeh gets up, and makes her way for Omer’s chair.

“As long as she doesn’t beat me up…”. Omer goes over to sit next to Noor, with a certain unwanted yet strongly present glee. Why?

“So… why do you smoke Bensons? Other people like Marlboros, Dunhill…”. Noor starts.

“Well, Marlboros are too hard for my throat, and I never could finish a Dunhill in proper time. Plus, my dad smokes Bensons, so I figure if my pack gets caught, anyone would think its his and nobody would suspect me.”. Omer talks behind a cloud of smoke that Noor blows towards the window.

“Right on.”

“So, why do you smoke?”

“Well, I don’t smoke frequently, but just now and then, I do. I’d think I just like the smell, but its more like I enjoy the fire at my fingertips.”

“Well said. Love the phrase, fire at my fingertips…”, Omer surveys his own cigarette, “things like these would make me fall in love with you.”

“Really? Well, you’d just have to stand in line with the others, eh flirt!”

“But really, I’ve known Alyzeh for a while now, and I’ve never seen you around her. Are you new here…?”

“Yeah, moved here from London a few weeks ago. My family’s shifting here. My dad is Alyzeh’s mamoo.”

“Mmhmm… must be leaving quite some sad people in Englishland, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. They’re going to hold a national holiday in my honour. But frankly, I always keep in touch with my special friends. And I’m not too fond of guy-girl relationships anyway. No… its not that. I’m still straight, and don’t you DARE picture that! I just don’t approve of such associations. A boy-girl liaison should be restricted till they are old enough to take care of themselves and each other and make commitments they can actually keep up with; that means, after legal age limit, innit?”

“I think you’ve been brought up in quite a religious family”, Omer turns to look at the window, softly exhaling the smoke in the plate’s direction. “Candidly enough, its quite good I’d say, and the way you’ve embraced that upbringing is even better. You’ve just given me sufficient logic to defy any ‘modernist’. My parents never stress on my religion being a prominent part of my life, but that’s obvious; they’ve separated. My religion is a part of my life because of me, not my parents or anyone else.”

“Oh… I didn’t know that your…” Noor utters uneasily, trying to find the right words.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine with it. I'm even fine with people talking about it in front of me, so if we’re supposed to be friends, you’ve to be okay about that, aight?”. Omer stops, and then puts his hand on Noor’s shoulder. Again, that invigorating feeling…

Dinner ends, and everyone bids everyone else goodbye; Noor, Maryjane and Alyzeh leave together, and Omer, Osama and Maheen leave for Omer’s car.

“Oy! Omer!...”, yells someone from the other edge of the parking lot…

“WHAT?!”

A short-of-breath Noor stalls near Omer’s car. “Here, I wanted to give you my chat ID, so we could talk later. I would’ve taken yours from Alyzeh but… ugh… never… mind…”.

“Umm.. thanks… but you really shouldn’t have run all the way like that…”

“Doesn’t…. matter… Take care, kay?... Bye…”. Noor makes her way back to Alyzeh’s car, clutching her sides, almost limping. The poor girl had never run like that before. She had never known she was THAT fast…

Omer starts the car, and turns on the CD player as soon as he turns left for the Jinnah Flyover. Automatically, or as if it was programmed by some unforeseen force, Noori’s ‘Neend Aey Na’ is put on. Songs that Omer could fall in love with, songs he could fall in love to. Little did he know that the planning was so perfect, that somewhere a little far away, Mahrukh and Alyzeh were also waving their heads to the same song. Noor was just silently staring outside the window, looking at the beautiful night sky. She was too tired from running that fast…

We barely remember who or what came before

This precious moment,

We are choosing to be here.

Right now.

Hold on,

Stay inside

This holy reality,

This holy experience.

Choosing to be here,

In This body.

This body holding me.

Be my reminder here that I am not alone

In This body,

This body holding me,

Feeling eternal,

All this pain is an illusion.

Page 50 - 52

2004-12-01T13:34:00.000-08:00

Scherezade puts down her pen to clasp her head. It’s been hurting since a night, and now she’s repentant about being inebriated. It wasn’t worth her cranium feeling like this. She cannot recall what happened the last day, or the day before, but unfortunately for her, someone else does. The phone rings. It’s Manni’s number. She answers.

“Ugh… hey Maannii… oww… my head hurts…”. Scherezade clutches the side of her head even tightly.

“Hey, Scherezade. Its me…”. A mature, heartrending tone that she can associate to. A voice she can never forget…

“O… Omi…?”

“Yeah… what happened…?”

“Nothing… I… nothing… just…”

“Got drunk?”

“Yeah… how did… did Manni told you?”

“Yeah. Plus, you sound like you still are.”

“Ahan… yeah… sorry about that… umph… you know, its weird, I don’t recall, but I think that… I think I kinda had a dream… about you… that we…”

“That we made out in my room?”

“Wha..! Omigod Omer… S… stop freaking me out… how did…”

“That’s because you actually came over, and we actually did…”

“We d… really… ?”

“How else do you expect me to know?”

“Hmm… true…”

“Shezoo… what… what does all this mean…”

“Whatever could you be talking about, Omi?”

“About what happened this morning… what you said… what we…”

“Omer… Oh my God… I’m so… I don’t… I don’t know what to say… I don’t even remember what I said to you… I’m sorry… I didn’t… I didn’t do it on purpose, I didn’t mean to hurt you, you know I never would…”

“Did you really break up with Sohail…?”

“Yeah, for almost a day, but he called a bit earlier. Said he understood I was drunk and a bit mad at him for ditching me yesterday for dinner, so it’s all fine. You don’t need to worry. We’re okay…”

Broken.

Manni fiddles with his deck, putting on ‘Closure’ by Chevelle. How paradoxical.

Closure has come to me myself.

You will never belong to me.

“Mmhmm…”. Omer strangles his rage.

“Omer… please… I’m sorry…”

“Ohho… its really okay… I just hope Sohail’s not mad when he finds out…”

“He’ll understand, he knows how drunk I was. He never gets jealous… Goddd he’s soo cute! Plus, very kind of you not to rape me while I was drunk…”

“What is THAT supposed to mean?”

“I’m just kidding… I know you never would… see? You’re still mad at me…”

And I shall fall.

And I shall be victorious.

And I shall feel no pain no more.

And I shall cease to love.

“And you’re still drunk, Shezoo. Go back to sleep.”

Oh ye who witness my pain,

Who cower from my Anger.

Behold .

As I fall...

And with a subtle click, Omer shuts off the phone.

“Doesn’t sound good, Omi”, Salman breathes out Marlboro smoke as he extends his neck so as to aim his exhalation towards the window.

“Yeah, I know. I need to go, Manni. I need to be alone, I hope you’ll understand…”

“Haan haan, sure. By the way, while you were on the phone, this Zeenat girl called on your cell. I told her you were on the other phone, so she told me to tell you that she’s in Lahore, and she’ll call you again…”

“Ahan… thanks… I’ll… I’ll be off then? Take care, acha…?”

“Omer, call me when you get home, okay?”

“Will do, brother. Allah Hafiz”.

“Khuda Hafiz”. Salman hugs Omer tightly, wrapping his bulky arms around Omi’s slim frame. “And don’t fret about it, yaar. Hota hai. Just don’t do anything stupid. Go now.”

So she takes it Away again and follows Me to My Death.

Too dark, She said, Too Dark. Over and over again.

And they Cheered me on.

Dread... Dont smile

Just dread, dread and dread.

The heart gives in to less than Allowance.

But Fails to feel the Warmth.

Too bad, they said, when the Last time it happened?

Love is where you Light it; Lust is a Game and I am not giving in.

The donut’s too sweet. Omer tries to occupy his mind with petty thoughts as he sits in the Dunkin’ Donuts outlet in Ahad Arcade near Liberty. Another cheesy song on the T.V. ‘Lahore Lahore Hay, Lahore Lahore Hay…’. Quite true, Mr. Tariq Tafu, but right now, I just hope I was back in Islamabad. No wait, Lahore is better. I just hope I didn’t have to find out that me being with Scherezade this morning was just a dream. It was real, but now, it seemed like just a dream for Omi. He gets onto the computer set up in the donut shop as soon as one man is done checking his mail. He puts on his glasses, logs on into his account, and writes a mail to Mahira. It reads, ‘hey baby sis. I’m back in Lahore, just don’t ask me why I left so soon. You told me to handle this carefully, then listen to what has happened. Let me clarify, I did NOT fuck things up. When Scherezade came over aaj subah, she was drunk, extremely drunk, and she didn’t even remember us doing all that. So it was just me who thought we were back together. She asks me not to be mad and that she’s sorry but is that really compensation enough for me? I don’t know what to do… send me a reply when you get the time, okay? Tc *huggsss* Allah Hafiz.’

Am i too foolhardy that i keep looking back?

Hoping to trace my steps and find her...

Lying on the crevices of the pavement,

Where she held my stumble yet fell herself...

Will i get her back where she left me?

Why do i still wait for her embrace...?

“I thought you said you were in Islamabad, dumass.”, says a voice behind Omer.

Page 15 - Cigarette Rituals

2004-11-19T09:21:00.000-08:00

Omer rips apart the brown, spotted paper on the cigarette as he is done with his double-o. He slowly tears the paper, so as to inflict maximum pain onto the thinned wooden bark. Give me pleasure for I give you pain. He tears the paper into two, then four, then eight, before he throws them into the toilet bowl. He then grabs the foam-like substance concealed within the paper from its blackened end and proceeds to tear it into two, then four, then tiny little strips of thin, frayed strips that resemble mattress-foam in colour. He throws them with the cigarette-butt paper and watches with half-amusement, half-boredom as the toilet juice dissolves the remnants of the cigarette butt. I will not leave any sign of me behind. He is not famous. It may be that when his life at last comes to an end, he will leave no more trace of his soul on this earth, like a stone thrown on the river leaves on the surface of the water. That it may be that the way of life that he has chosen for himself, may have an ever growing influence over his fellow men, so that long after his death perhaps, it may be realized that there lived in this age, a very remarkable creature. He turns to look at the ashtray perched on the windowsill and smiles as he turns the other way to face the mirror...

Page 36-37

2004-11-16T20:37:00.000-08:00

“So technically, you jumping on conclusions took away from me the most special thing I ever had, something I never wanted to give up, something I never even thought I’d had to let go, something straight out of my wildest dreams, you took it away from me on just a slight misconception…? Scherezade, how dare y…”

“Your Reason and Your Passion are the Rudder and the Sail of your sea-faring Soul.

Therefore let your Soul Exalt your Reason to the Height of Passion

So that It may Sing;

And thus your Freedom when it loses its Fetters

Becomes itself the fetter of

A Greater Freedom.”

Omer’s statement was muffled by Scherezade’s lips on his. She had pounced from the chair, turned to face Omer, her eyes piercing his as his words did her, and she silenced his protests because she finally realized that she was not the only one who was hurt, that Omer had to go through much more than her. Atleast he said he did, and this time it was enough for her to believe. Her hands find their way to Omer’s neck, and then make their way to his hair, ruffling them as Scherezade’s fingers cringe
in ecstasy. Omer’s hands are still by his side, thunderstruck by what had just happened.

Prologue

2004-11-16T20:32:00.000-08:00

Tum Khuda Ki Baat Kero. Mein Khudai Ki Baat Kerta Hoon.
Aur Tum Kiya Jano.
Khuda Ki Khudai Kiya Hai Aur Uss Khudai Ka Khumaar Kiya Hai.
Kehta Hai Tumhara Rabb
Ke Aey Ibney Aadam!
Aik Teri Chahat Hai
Aur Aik
Meri Chahat
Par Ho Ga Wohi
Jo Meri Chahat Hai
Bas
Agar Tu Ne Apnay Aap Ko Sapurd Ker Deeya Uss Ke
Joh Meri Chahat Hai
Toh Mein Baksh Doonga Tujh Ko Woh Bhee
Joh Teri Chahat Hai
Par Agar Tu Ne Nafarmani Kee Uss Ki
Joh Meri Chahat Hai
Toh Mein Thakaa Doonga Tujh Ko Uss Mein
Joh Teri Chahat Hai
Bas
Phir Ho Gaa Wohi
Joh Meri Chahat Hai.

(btw, this is Hadees-e-Qudsi. I HATE Jawad Ahmad. :P)

Page 44 - Ch 07

2004-11-02T13:35:00.000-08:00

In every love lies the seed of our growth.
Those who love more, the more enlightened they are,
The more they have been able to overcome the preconceptions
Of their era.
To sing, to laugh, to pray out loud;
They have danced and shared what
Saint Paul called “the madness of saintliness”.
They have been joyful – for those who love conquer the world
And have no fear of loss.
True love is an act of total surrender.
To love is to be in communion with the other,
And to discover in that other,
The Spark of God.

“Munawwar, get me that number you dialed yesterday… yes… the Lahora wala”. Abubakar Javaid rests on his bed with a hot cup of tea in his other hand.
“Yes sir. Please hold on…”
He did not know why he was doing this. Omer was here, so why did he call Lahore? He was beginning to think it was a bad idea when…
“Hello…?”
“Hello… Adeela…?”
“Jee, aap koun?”
“Adeela, its me… Abubakar…”
“Oh… hello Bakar. How are you?”
“I'm fine, how are you?”
“I’m good too. How are you? Are you taking care of yourself? How is the weather in Islamabad?”
“Yes, I’m well, I’m eating okay. The weather here is very hot, can’t wait for the rain…”
“You never could, Bakar, you always loved the rain…”
“So I did…”
Tense silence. Maybe I’ve said too much, Adeela thinks.
“So… how’s Omer…?”
“He’s fine. MashaAllah he’s grown taller. And what is with his beard…?”
“It’s a new fashion I think. He has his holidays, so I don’t see any reason not to let him not keep it…”
“Chalo… fine then…”
“Don’t you like it Bakar? I think it looks good on him…”
“Haan haan… yes, it does…”
“Bakar… are you sure…?” “Yes…”
Again, at a loss of words.
“Bakar… are you okay…?”
Nothing.
“Bakar…?”. Adeela searches for her ex-husband’s voice. Maybe he’s gotten busy with something else. Maybe he’s indulged himself into something more important. Maybe…
“I miss you Adeela…”
Yet again, silence. Too bad Abubakar could not see the sad smile on Adeela’s face. She missed him too. All because of his stubborn arrogance, she had lost the love of her life. She remained silent enough for Abubakar to realize that she missed him too; only, she fell short of admitting it verbally.
“So… tum batao… aaj kal Lahore mein kiya ho raha hai…?”. Bakar eradicates the silence.
“Nothing Bakar. Its as boring as Islamabad. Aiman’s coming over for tea in a while. Her shift at the hospital’s going to end in about an hour…”
“Oh… sorry if I’m disturbing you… I can call later if…”
“No no its fine, its perfectly…”
“Nahi nahi, I’ll call you when Omi’s back, theek hei? Uss se bhee baat ker lena, I’m sorry if I disturbed you…”
“Bakar, you know its perfectly fine to talk right now… uff… oh well… jab Omi aey kehna ke call zaroor ker lay. Itni ayyaashi na karana ke woh apni ammi ko bhool jaey!”.
Hearty laughter. Adeela could always set things straight, even when things were so bad. They hadn’t talked since two months.
“I’ll call you when he’s back, theek hei? Please take care of yourself.”
“You too, Bakar.”
“Allah Hafiz”
“Khuda Hafiz.”. Adeela kept the receiver to her ear for a bit longer, thinking that if she would stay that way a bit more, and if it was really quiet, she would hear him again, hear him tell her how much he loved her, how much he still loves her. She looks towards the carpet in sadness. Even the echo had gone now. What she was unaware of, as Abubakar was of her sad smile when he told her he missed her, was that Abubakar Javaid kept the reciever intently to his ear as well. He had pressed the engage button with his index finger; the one he now used to wipe away the solitary tear that had fallen onto his cheek…

Bleed, There's a void in my brain. It holds a place inside
Bleed. But dont tell her I’m afraid
Bleed. But keep the truth aside...

Bleed, feel your skin give way
Bleed, sense your blood sway. Embrace the freedom, your soul's desire.
Bleed, and behold the fire

Page 26

2004-11-02T13:31:00.000-08:00

Michael jots swiftly, almost hastily onto a tissue paper. It reads;

Good evening ladies and gentlemen...

Welcome to tonight’s terrestrial infamy...walk into the hall of
Bleeding crescents and the oh so wonderful doctored intellect...

Followed by a love course of divine mime and vintage deranged-high..

The attire for this evening is celibest insanity,
Them shoes of
Oppressed realism, Cupid’s serpentine licked bow ties seem always best
For confessional occasions such as these...

Black coats, sire? No... Never! Purple lavender hats are all we need
To bring out the whipped clown...

And so commences what they all strive so indignantly to forget...

He completes the elegy with his signature at the bottom, neatly folding the tissue paper, and placing it inside his pocket. He takes his glass of Coke in his hand once more, and notices Omer as soon as he’s done quenching his thirst. Omer, with a glass in his hand, a smile on his face, is eyes lost into the very space we lose ourselves in every now and then. Lunar sight, grant me second sight. Lunar light, I allow you to grant me second sight. Micheal smiles. Another aerial vibe captured by his corral, another aura stamped on paper.

Page 22-23

2004-11-02T13:27:00.000-08:00

“…And the best part was when I replaced all the v’s with w’s so lovely sounded like ‘laoly’ and… hey! Are you even listening to me?!”.
Omer jerked back to reality and turned to face Mike. Unbeknownst to him, he still had a smile on his face, his right arm raised limply, waving meagerly, both of which Michael pointed out.
“Hmmm… dazed look… weird smile… looks like you’ve got it baadd..”
“Hmm.. Wha? Sorry… got what?”
“Hahaha! You’re in love, fool!”
“Bloody nonsense. Why don’t you stop your bakwaas, Mike?”
“Aley chiknayy! C’mon, lets go. The afterparty awaits. Your other friends I’ve already invited. Come on na yaar!”.
Michael nudged and pulled Omer, and a couple of quick, calculated steps kept him from falling. As he made his way towards the other hall, he could see the car Alyzeh got into pulling out from the parking lot. He could see a familiar figure in the back seat. So it wasn’t a dream after all. Omer shifts his gaze to the ground, hiding his over-pouring glee as he watches the occasional dark grass recurring and his feet progressing. He can’t help but smile. As the doors to the hall open, the people inside start cheering wildly. Omer joins in the vigorous clapping and hooting, realizing he was with the star of the show as he steps into the crowd in reverse. The mortal applause drowned out that of the stars and the heavens. Little did Omer know that he was the star of their OWN show…

My Aborted Happiness,
My Captivated Agony.
So Deep is my Wound, So Heartless are my Intentions.
How ruthless is your Cause?
How damned is my Fate?
I worry for my faith, For it seems to be Fading.
You cut me real deep. I’m wounded.
You turned your back on Me. I’m neglected.
You raped my soul. I’m vulnerable.
An idle mind is the Devil’s workshop, they say.
I’m deprived of innocence.

You looked at me with Eyes so Penetrating, I’m dying inside.
You made me think I was Special.
I’m paranoid.
You made me think I would be Treasured. I’m bleeding inside.

Fucked up ninth grader, huh?