Prologue
Wendell Harding. That’s my name.
But everyone usually calls me “Hardass Harding,” mainly because almost everyone sees me as a threat- my father and the whore I’m forced to call my stepmother, my older twin sisters Alicia and Anita, the teachers and students at the snobbish and uppity high-class private academy known as McHenry South Academy (or “McHell High” for me since I was the only scholarship kid in a sea of rich folks) and even Daddy Dearest’s favorite clients and friends and the twins’ equally vicious friends and their boyfriends.
But mainly because “Hardass” is basically my de-facto middle name since my mother died minutes after I was born and my father... well, the less I say about him, the better. But yeah, no one bothered to give me a middle name, so “Hardass” would have to suffice.
Anyway, let me tell y’all a little more about myself. I’m 5′9 (the dwarf in the family) and weigh as much as a Russian gymnast who’s being yelled at by her anal-retentive coach who needs prune juice and some cock up his ass; have the skin the color of a blend of caramel and cream; closely-cropped black hair; and a blend of blue and hazel eyes.
Everyone said that I was deemed the odd duck out all because I never fit in with the American Dream- tall, athletic, outgoing, brawn, and instantly gratified by greed. I was told that brains would never trump beauty and brawn and that delaying gratification was a means to lose in the end with having little to no real happiness at all.
And all because of many marshmallow tests that I took from kindergarten to the end of my sophomore year in high school.
But henny, let me make this clear: I have the highest IQ in history and passed the MENSA test with flying colors, making me a total genius. I also have a high level of street smarts that keep me on my toes and make sure that I don’t get fooled again. Not only that, I was a young man full of sass and a lot of cattiness that helps me read all the haters for filth- my family, my classmates, the teachers and principal, and even unknown faces who were fans of my family and wanted me out.
None were safe from me giving them the ultimate verbal beatdown via sass like my late great-aunt.
But even I have my issues, most of them making me feel more insecure and wanting me to huddle in a bed and cry my eyes out. I knew that I was friendless (save for my late paternal grandparents and my favorite guidance counselor Ms. Noreen Whitfield, who knew that I didn’t take shit from anybody). And everyone was hoping that I’d do them a gigantic favor and die before I turned eighteen.
To be honest, I was ready to die myself because one incident led me to my English essay that was to be read in class on the last day of school. And the said essay was the reason that my life would change dramatically.
How so?
Well, to make a long story short, let’s take a trip to the day of that fated English essay that was due on the last day of school. Fasten your seatbelts, folks! Kansas is officially going bye-bye!
Welcome to my world!
