It was hard being the coolest guy in school, but Kyle managed. The key, he always thought, was to take time every so often and remind people who was in charge, who was important and who wasn’t. As he walked into school with his posse in tow, he saw a perfect opportunity: Jenna, the school’s punk queen, was sitting on the steps scratching into her notebook. Kyle had always hated punks. He was an old-fashioned, all-American sort of boy, short hair and A&F shirts, that sort of thing. He hated their stupid clothes, their ugly-ass piercings and tattoos, and their shitty music. Most of all, he hated how they-Jenna most of all-didn’t care about him. Fear, hate, respect-Kyle could handle of those. He wasn’t so fond of being ignored.
He strode up to Jenna with a smug grin on his face. Jenna, for her part, noted his approach by looking up and staring at him as if he were filth under her shoe. “Nice shoes,” Kyle began. “Make them yourself?” He kicke