What can I do? Nick, Gabriel, Mrs.. G, G Doc, no one seems yet to see my antics. I shaved my hair, my nails grow, even a finger nail is five inches long and I got it painted bright red. I dyed my coxcomb and my body pierced. I break the rules, I do not like the curfew kept, I went to blows with others, have tantrums had skipped school and I even once after the girls' dormitory bedtime slipped. I drank liters of whiskey, often shamelessly sitting on my bed and I also made a pyramid of all the empty bottles. Is a tower next to my bed empty bottles of Jack Daniel's nearly one meter high. I plum tobacco and marijuana, such as Skoal and Kodiak, soaked in whiskey. If I've lost, I put a big ball of tobacco in my cheek. The bigger the defeat, the greater the ball.
What can I do? What new sin I can commit the world to show that I am unhappy and want to go home?
There are times when I did not try to invent new regions: during the free hours when I can relax in the recreation room and on Saturday night when I can go to the Mall Bradenton and girls can flirt. A total of ten hours per week of which I'm happy, or at least not torment my brains for some new act of disobedience to think.
I'm still fourteen Bollettieri Academy as a coach who hires us to the north of the state to bring a major tournament in Pensacola. The Bollettieri Academy travels every year a few times to these tournaments, anywhere in Florida because Nick these tournaments is a good test. A ruler, he calls them. Florida is the tennis heaven, says Nick, and if we're better than the best players in Florida, then we have the best players in the world.
I easily reach the final of my class, but the other children do less well. They are all previously disabled. And so they have to come watch my match. They have no choice, they have nowhere else to go. When I'm done, we will again be all together on the bus for the twelve hour drive back to the Bollettieri Academy.
Take it easy, she jokes.
Nobody is looking forward to another twelve hours in the stinking bus down.
For fun during the match I decided to wear my jeans. No tennis shorts, no shorts, but a torn, faded, dirty jeans. I know it will not affect the outcome. The boy who I play a loser. I can beat him with one hand on the back and dressed in a gorilla suit. Moreover, I keep eyeliner on and do my earrings in glimmendste.
I win the match in straight sets. The other kids cheering like crazy. They give me an additional bonus points for style.
