Bully: Reunion

Of course, for many of us, the School Reunion (intentionally capitalised because that makes it look like a Big Deal which is is to some people-- I wonder if it is so big, does this mean that the rest of their lives pale so hideously in comparison because they haven't achieved anything?) isn't an event of social inclusion and wonder, but a time of stress and bewilderment.

But you go. You go because a part of you wants to see how fucked up everyone else has become. You go because while your fantasies can do some wonderous things, sometimes the reality is better. And taht's what I crave; stark, cold, track-marked ugly reality. I build my art on people's lives falling to pieces. It's what I do. If my books had been about kittens giving birth to sunshine and fuzzy bunnies copulating with rainbows, I doubt I'd have had the commercial success I get to enjoy now. (Go on, call me a sellout-- I'm still unhappy) as I do now: deal.

The night was typical of what one would expect at a reunion-- you turn up, you mill around, you look for familiar faces, and you realise that ultimately no one changes that much because we live in a world that doesn't really allow people to change, and back then, I was the same weedy little pessimist I'd been when I was 14 and penning articles for the school newspaper and being tormented by the jocks. Yes, my life sucked back then, too.

Of course there was The Speech: that event where they grab a couple of shining bright examples who either conformed so well that they practically embody the school's mundaness and wear it like a badeg of honor, or the ones who were just so noticably weird that they knew most of the school population turned up just to see them.

Sadly, Bullworth Academy didn't have anything or anyone that weird within its walls. We had a lecture about the joys of joining the armed services and responsibility, which made me suspect they're about to send more troops off to bomb the crap out of some other country the Republicans don't like-- and then he was scooted off-stage for Derby Harrington to do his thing.

Derby Harrington. He was one of those kids who had it all: he was dating one of the beautiful, popular girls, his family had been donating to the school probably since it was founded, and Derby had amassed a group of rich kid followers like him. Derby kept to himself unless the rest of the school had something to do with boxing, or unless he and his argyle-vested friends (they all looked like they belonged in an Aquaberry catalogue) wanted to annoy the other major clique in the school, the Greasers. Derby exuded arrogance, nothing brought him down.

Until along came the dark horse-- he'd been expelled, and I'd honestly forgotten about him-- he was another one of those people who school had irreparably fucked up-- put a dint in Derby's armour, interrupting his speech and apparently causing the lights to go out. (Personally, I suspect a power failure-- I'm pretty sure one man, no matter how determined he is to cause chaos and have a laugh and interrupt conformity-- can control the electricity on the school grounds).

But before the lights went out, we all got to see a side of Derby Harrington which we hadn't seen before. Appaerntly Smith, who'd overtaken the speech, was leaking little details he'd become aware of, about Derby's personal life.

Derby was gay.

And I saw him standing there, looking in shock and horror as his speech was hijacked as the lights went off, affording him some dignity and the cover of darkness. For the first time ever, I'd finally realised something: we all still had our vulnerabilities and secrets, no matter how much we'd grown up and changed; and Derby Harrington was just another nervous, naked creature standing there, despite the enormity of what he looked like under the expensive clothing and the power haircut.

And I wondered: had we all known then, would we have treated him differently back in school? Would he have treated us differently? Why was his gayness such a big deal: and why did the remainder of the night turn into bedlam following that?

And how must it have been for Derby in high school, having to enact the disguise of heterosexuality, having to date and be seen lusting after girls, having to hide behind something and pretend you were something you were not? Probably rough as a teenager.

But how would it be, having to do the same thing as an adult?

When I was a teenager, I was jealous of Derby Harrington, the fact that he'd been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and had the world at his feet. But last night, I realised something: maybe the spoon wasn't really that silver.

Reg Walton, The Daily Times

"Sometimes you read a book that has nothing to do with your life, but you feel it understands you. Young AND Miserable is that book for this generation.

Liz Daly, Writer's Press

"An anthem for this generation plagued by darkness, self-loathing and societal turmoil. I wouldn't want to be young today, and Brakus tells it like it is with unflinching honesty.

Jeremy Somers, FictionPress

"An important, uncompromisng peek into the underbelly of the artistic elite and surviving in a hostile world. With sharp and sardonic humour, Brakus has written a winner.

S. Reever, The Morning Tribune


Will somebody think of the children?! Oh, wait, they didn't... and that's why we've got kids like Brakus bitterly complaining about their misadventures with illegal drugs, back-alley gay sex, and waking up the next morning and not remembering anything about it.

Sarah Stevenson, Family Moments magazine

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Grant Shelby, Grant Shelby Tonight