G. Wayne Miller - Coming of Age: The True Adventures of Two American Teens

Welcome to the first edition of Total Godhead. We at T. G. Headquarters open our arms and hearts to all of you who wish to read our wonderful paper.

T ERRY G IMPELL

Dave Bettencourt was pale when he came into the senior quad that September afternoon. He spoke solemnly, which was not like him at all.

Chief knows its us, he told Brian Ross. Chief was Steve Mitchell, their principal.

Howd he find out? Brian said.

He called the cops.

Youre kidding.

Nope.

Jesus.

Burrillville High had never seen an underground newspaper before. In the two days since theirs had materialized in lockers throughout the school, Dave and his staff had kept to the shadows. No one could figure out who was behind this publication with the bizarre name Total Godhead. Maybe it was Satanists, as one girl speculated. Maybe it was a teacher whod gone over the edge. Maybe troublemakers from out of town or, more likely, some loser kid on drugs.

Even a careful reading didnt provide an answer. Each of Total Godheads thirteen articles was bylinedwith names like Toilet Duck, A. Nonymous, and Sum Yung Gi. The only clue that looked legitimate was a local post office box, through which Godhead hoped to solicit fan mail, subscription orders, and gifts. Among the suggested gifts were Elvis stamps and condoms, unused, of course.

What did the cops do? Brian asked Dave.

Went to the post office. They traced it to my dad.

They can do that?

They did it.

Now what?

I dont know.

There was funny stuff in Godheadyoud have to be a dweeb not to get it. Like the the story about meatball stomping, or the one about the human bludgeoned by baby seals. But some of Godhead was irredeemably tasteless. One article was an ode to obscenitya gratuitous listing of such items as rectal thermometers, nasal fluids, roadkill, and hairy gnome scrotums, whatever they were. One article was inspired by Cop Killer, the controversial song by black gangsta rapper Ice-T. One reprinted the lyrics from Rape Me, a song by Nirvana, Kurt Cobains band.

Another piece slammed classmatesby name and with exacting physical descriptions, lest there be doubt of who was being savaged. Im sick of the way you dress is how one boy was ridiculed. What the heck is it with the little beard thing? went the attack on another kid. The sharpest words were directed at the class president, Justin Michaelman, whod been elected in a stunning upset over Matt Stone, a clean-cut, three-letter athlete whod held the office junior year. How the heck did he become president? Godhead said of Michaelman. What a moron.

Dave and Brian withdrew to a corner of the quad, where they might have privacy while figuring out what to do next. The quad was nothing like what its Ivy League-sounding name suggestedonly a rectangle of lawn with scraggly shrubs, a single tree, and a manhole cover that boys (never girls) periodically and with great ceremony pried off, as if something rare and wonderful lurked in the darkness below. The quads sole furnishings were a trash barrel, a rusted barbecue grill, and two picnic benches decorated with obscenities and declarations of undying love. But permission to hang out there was a senior privilege, and even on inclement days seniors flocked to it, if only to flaunt their status to underclassmen.

Another senior privilege was hosting this Fridays get-acquainted dance, an annual hazing. Since lunch, the mood in the quad had been giddy as seniors made their plans. Could they get away with hosing down the freshmen? Coating them with Crisco oil, catsup, or WD-40? Freshmen were cluelessyou could make them kiss your naked butt if you wanted to. The challenge was determining the precise location of the line that Chief and his assistant principal wouldnt let you cross.