Middle school is where everybody starts fucking up their lives for real. It’s like a fork in the road, and
most people choose the path that leads straight to a cliff. You see it every day—kids turning into complete
fuck-ups, becoming early-stage junkies, or worst of all, ending up as some middle schooler’s baby daddy.
Me? I was constantly walking the borderline of option three with Jasmine.
We’d been dating for over a year now, and keeping it a secret was getting harder by the day. We were
in that “body experiment” phase where your hormones are basically screaming at you to make bad
decisions. It was a struggle, man. My brain was telling me to be smart, but my body was trying to crash
out.
And the stakes? The stakes were life or death. Marcus and Diquerius were high schoolers now. They
weren’t just fat anymore—they were solid. They had that “football player who also eats three dinners”
kind of strength. If those two ever found out their foster brother had been dating their sister for over a
year, I wouldn’t just get an ass-whooping. I’d be getting jumped into an early grave.
I had to be a ghost. A ninja. I had to keep my hands off her in public and my head on a swivel at home.
But like I said, when you’re twelve and those hormones start hitting like a Goku power-up, staying
low-key is the hardest mission I’ve ever been on.
But me being an eleven-and-a-half-year-old kid at the time… I was no exception to the rule. I was a
basic-ass fuck-up in the making. Boy, I was fighting some real demons in that little body.
And Jasmine? She must’ve pulled the genetic lottery, because even in middle school she was…
“overly developed,” if you know what I mean. I’m talking borderline Double D’s and a dump truck. The
apple didn’t fall far from the tree, either, because her mama was the same way. You wouldn’t believe me
if I told you how many times I had to look away when she walked by.
It was right then I knew for a fact, Yeah… I’m definitely a straight man. Because being in that house,
in middle school, and being bricked up was a constant struggle.
Aside from struggling with hormones most of the time, my school life wasn’t that bad. I got straight
A’s, made the honor roll, and never missed a day. My social life, though? To say the least, it was
non-existent. I didn’t really talk to anyone but Jasmine.
A few girls were interested in me, but I never paid them any mind. “Nah, I got a girlfriend,” I’d tell
them.
Whenever they asked who, I’d just pull that old “she goes to another school” excuse. They all thought
I was capping, but shit—that was better than them suspecting I was dating my foster sister. So, I was
Gucci snakes.
But when I made it to eighth grade, the fuck-ups started to show.
Now remember, Jasmine and I are one year apart. I was fourteen, she was thirteen. I’d never actually
initiated anything with her, but when I say she was forward, dawg… she was forward.
A few weeks into the school year, I was hanging out with some classmates—I don’t even remember
their names, but they were cool. One of them showed me a porn website. After that, locked doors, lotion,
and tissues became a constant. I’m telling you, my “third eye” was finally open.
Tweedledee and Tweedledum already knew what was up, though. I still remember that bullshit.
“Hey, why was your garbage can filled with tissues?” Marcus asked, walking into the room like he
owned it.
“Why are you all up in my room for?!” I snapped.
“Ahh! Bro finally found out how to beat his meat!” Diquerius’s goofy ass yelled.
Keep in mind, they said this shit right in front of Jasmine. They were trying to humiliate the hell out of
me, but I wasn’t just gonna sit there. I shot my shots right back.
“I know your big-back, never-hit-the-track, obtuse, rubber goose, slumped-face, barely-in-shape,
stay-eating-cake asses ain’t talking,” I started, the words coming out like a freestyle. “Marcus, you got
some white stuff on your face. Y’all both some humpbacks who can barely do jumping jacks. Fat-ass title
maxed, extra whack, ‘Subway-what-kind-of-cheese-uhhh-I-think-I’ll-take-the-pepper-jack’ head-asses the
fuck on?”
Jasmine was dying laughing. The twins looked pissed.
“Yo, that’s crazy,” Marcus said, stepping up. “You talking like you can actually beat our ass.”
“Here you guys go with that shit!” I said, standing my ground. “You guys beat on me when I was
younger and roast the hell out of me, but the second you feel played, you want to attack somebody? Next
time, get your hands off the ground, you Neanderthals.”
They caught me in the hallway right after Ms. Patterson went to the store. It wasn’t a fight—it was a
lesson. Those two had been doing this long enough to know exactly where to land a punch. They hit the
soft spots: the ribs, the stomach, the meaty part of the thighs. Places that would be sore for a week but
wouldn’t show a single mark to a social worker.
I was laying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling every breath like a literal stab wound in my side.
My body was screaming, but my skin was clean. That was the foster care special—hurt ‘em bad, but keep
the paperwork pretty.
I must’ve been drifting off when I heard the click.
Now, foster care has some “death penalty” rules. The biggest one? No boys in girls’ rooms, and
definitely no girls in boys’ rooms. If Ms. Patterson caught a shadow out of place, we were gone.
The door creaked open, and a silhouette slipped inside. I didn’t even have to look to know it was
Jasmine. She closed the door softly, the lock clicking back into place.
“Rico?” she whispered.
“Go back to your room, Jas,” I croaked out, trying to sit up. My ribs gave a nasty throb, and I winced.
“If your brothers hear you in here, they’re gonna finish the job.”
She didn’t listen. She never did. She walked over to the bed and sat down right on the edge, her weight
shifting the mattress and making me hiss in pain.
“They did it again, didn’t they?” she asked. Her voice was low, but she didn’t sound sad. She
sounded... intense.
“It’s whatever. I’m Gucci,” I lied.
In the dark, I could see her leaning closer. Usually, she’d just give me a hug or tell me she was gonna
snitch on them, but tonight was different. She was wearing one of those oversized sleep shirts, and the
way she was looking at me... it wasn’t “sisterly” at all.
“Let me see,” she said.
“See what? I told you, they don’t leave marks.”
“I want to see anyway.”
She reached out, her hands sliding under the hem of my shirt. Her fingers were cold against my skin,
and I felt that “body experiment” phase I was talking about hitting me like a freight train. My heart started
thumping against my bruised ribs so hard I thought they might actually break.
“Jasmine, for real, you need to go,” I said, but my voice wasn’t nearly as strong as I wanted it to be.
She didn’t move. Instead, she leaned in until her face was inches from mine. I could smell her
lotion—strawberry and something sweet. She looked me dead in the eyes, and for a second, she didn’t
look thirteen. She looked like she knew exactly what she was doing.
“I’m tired of being scared of them, Rico,” she whispered. “Aren’t you?”
Before I could even process what she meant, she pressed her weight against me, pinning my sore body
to the bed. I was bricked up, hurting, and terrified all at the same time. This was the ultimate “crash out”
moment, and I knew right then—one way or another, my life was about to get a lot more complicated.
“Yo, Jas… I like you a lot, but everyone is sleeping. Please don’t make this worse.”
“I love you, Rico.”
That… that was new. I’d heard the word before, obviously, but nobody in my life had ever said it to
me. I just laughed. I don’t even know why; it was like a reflex.
“Yeah, that’s a joke, right? No way—”
“I love you, Rico,” she said it again, faster this time.
“Hey… you’re beating a dead horse here.”
She grabbed my face and forced me to look into her eyes. Those pretty, hazel eyes.
“I love you. I really, really do.” Then she started crying. “I love you so much it hurts… my brothers
are always so mean to every boy, and they only do it to show off to their friends.”
Oh, yeah. I forgot about that toxic masculinity thing. Their friends probably made jokes like, “That
guy over there is trying to crack your sister,” and they felt they had to act up. They were picking and
choosing when to be “big brothers” instead of just being brothers all the time.
It was because she was a girl. These guys were out here acting like male whores, but she wasn’t even
allowed to have a boyfriend in public unless he got approval from those two dickheads. “Oh, can I date
your sister?” Even if a guy got past that wall, asking for something like sex would be impossible.
Which, if you ask me, means those two low-key have a sister complex. Why the hell can’t your sister
get a boyfriend when you guys are out here long-dicking girls on a weekly basis? I’m not saying I wanted
her to be a hoe or anything, but nigga, damn—she couldn’t even experience life normally because of
those big bitches.
I was stunned. I just sat there, my ribs aching, looking at her like she was speaking a foreign language.
My mother never loved me. She’d spent my whole life telling me I was a mistake, a burden, a waste of
space. I didn’t think I was the kind of person people could love.
“You’re an amazing person, Rico,” she whispered, wiping her eyes. “Your mother… she was just mad.
She was mad because nobody was there for her the way I’m here for you. She was broken, but that
doesn’t mean you are. I love you with all my heart.”
That was the ultimate confidence booster. It felt like a weight I’d been carrying since I was eight years
old finally dropped off my shoulders. But then, she leaned in even closer, her voice dropping to a breathy
whisper.
“I want you to be my first, Rico. That way, no matter what happens—even if we go separate ways or
break up—we’ll always have this. Even if we fall out of love one day, the love we’re sharing in this
moment stays the same forever.”
My heart did a backflip. I was nervous as hell. I mean, I’d watched the videos, but I’d never actually
done the deed. Plus, the twins were right down the hall, and they were usually light sleepers. One
floorboard creak and I was a dead man.
“Jas, your brothers…”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, square foil packet. A condom. My eyes nearly
popped out of my head.
“Don’t worry about them,” she said with a little smirk. “I put sleeping pills in their sodas earlier.
They’re out cold.”
I looked at the condom, then back at her. She’d planned the whole thing. She was smart, she was
forward, and she was choosing me.
Well… it was GGs from there.
I didn’t know what I was doing at first, but we figured it out together in the dark, quiet room, with only
the sound of our breathing and the distant snoring of her brothers. After that night, I was no longer a boy.
I was a man.