I feel sorry for them.

Now that I've grown up, matured, become a respectable man... I look back on the things I did, and I cringe. I can't believe that no one ever tried to turn me in for the act at Winter Formal '02. They had more than enough reason to do it... and I think the only reason they didn't turn me and my pals over to the police was because they wanted to deal with us in their own way.

And you know what? They did.

But I hated them for it. It was embarrassing to me, getting beat up by one of the Outkasts. I forget which one it was... Flaming Spot Conlon, maybe, or Bad-Boy Jack Kelly. Maybe neither. Baby Davey Jacobs had the biggest reason to go after me, but he was a weakling, a geek; he played soccer on the Jayvee team back then, but a good strong kick was really all he had. Maybe that was why he became an Outkast. I've forgotten most of the reasons... I know that Thieving Snitch Riccio was shunned for his sticky fingers when he stole those drumsticks from the snareline captain. I know that Silent Pie Eater Jones never even tried to make it in the mainstream. Race... I forget what Race did. What Itey did. What Skittery and the others did.

There were ten of them. Ten high school teens sitting on the curb while the highway of life rolled right past them, and why? Because no one would stop and offer them a hand. Those that did only did so because they thought it would look good on their college applications.

I feel sorry for them now. The Outkasts anyway. I was a stupid kid doing stupid things. And I wish that maybe I had tried a little harder to help them out. I wish that I hadn't done what I did at Winter Formal.

I wish that I'd realized they were people before they graduated, before we fell out of touch. Because even when I was in O.A., I saw them as emotionless... things.

But I think they were only emotionless... because they had to be.

There's no pain or sadness if you have no emotion.

God.

Those poor boys.

I feel sorry for them.