Hey. Hey you. Yeah, you, freshman. Come here. Not so close. You want to see the real secrets this school has to offer? Follow me.

Rumor has it this school was built on top of a cemetery for closeted lesbians. You know what that means? Exactly. Highly fertile soil. This passageway leads underneath the bleachers. And behind those bleachers? Grass. But underneath that grass? A hidden door. Behind that door is the principal’s office—and you can only guess what’s inside.

Look we’re already back in the lunchroom. Each group on campus has their own table- the cool kids, the centrists, the oblong, the wet and wilds. You don’t intermingle, unless you’re me. But you’re not me, not in this timeline at least.

Stop drooling at that oil painting of the girl that died in a skiing accident and come into the auditorium. It’s fine to smoke in here as long as you don’t make eye contact with any of the teachers. We’re about to put on Peter Pan. You ever see Peter Pan? Me neither. He’s like a small elf boy with a bounty on his life—but that’s not important. Quick, come this way. Mrs. Silvers is coming, and I’m not allowed to be here after what happened at last year’s Nativity scene.

Turn left. You’ve got to walk these halls like a prince. Watch this—that’s right, I just spray painted a haiku on that kid’s locker. He’s going to be smiling like a gentle fool all day. Oh great, the wet and wilds are here. Don’t acknowledge them or you’ll be damp all through next period.

God, what I would give to be in your shoes. Senior year isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, at least not once you’ve discovered all the hidden trap doors and taken advanced Spanish. This place becomes kind of boring at that point. Oh, that was the bell. And hey—if you need me, I’ll be gluing together the pieces of the ceramic baby Jesus that I broke.