In my cell, I sit. I am in juvenile detention until my eighteenth birthday. I am going to try and write down my side of everything that happened to get me here.

It all started when I was in sixth grade. I had finally made it past all of my elementary school years. I was so thrilled my first day of middle; I really could not contain myself. I eventually hated it with a passion. It was not about the classes getting harder; it was the fact that I wasn't the most liked student attending school. Everybody started messing with me. I loathed all of the jokes about me being overweight and the ones about how much of a nerd I was. For the longest time, I just took it with a grain of salt, until the last semester of eighth grade. They finally crossed the proverbial line.

Bad enough were the jokes, but the pranks soon took their place. They started with small ones like chocolate pudding in my seat and things like that. I can't even remember how many times they hid my clothes while I changed in the locker room. Then, it escalated to a point where I had my back to the wall. What they did was plant a pack of smokes in book bag and turned me into the principal. Here I was a good kid, who made great grades, but now I was looking down the barrel of being expelled. The shit hit the fan. I finally became ticked off beyond recognition. After the school board just let me off with in-school suspension, I had a small mission. Revenge.

Near the end of the school, I had it all planned out for the kid who had done me wrong. Some time during the last week of school, I was going to sabotage their bikes. I got out of class by giving the teacher a little line about how I needed to straighten out things in the office. Grabbing the pass, I took off towards my locker for the tools. There were three people who I knew for a fact who had planted them in my bag. They were George Davis, Rick Stobs, and, the leader of the pack, Kyle Peters. Those three gave me the most hell out of any of the people at the school. They were the people I was out to get. I went out to the bike racks behind the school. I found George's bicycle. I found his with ease; it was a brand new Mongoose. It was worth upwards of five hundred dollars, I believe. But anyway, I took some parts off of it and tossed them in my book bag. Then I spray painted it "pretty pink". I spotted Kyle's bike immediately after getting done with George's. I cut his hand brakes and super-glued them back on. Of course, I knew they wouldn't work, but it was so it didn't look too suspicious. Now, it was time for Rick's bike. His was going to be the centerpiece because his was the most expensive. I slashed his tires, I broke his spokes, removed and broke his seat, and loosened his handlebars. I also rubbed dog crap on it. After all of that, I washed my hands and returned to class. The whole ordeal had cost me most of class, but, in my mind, it was worth it.

I could not wait for the next day to arrive and be able to laugh at them. When I woke up the next day, I got ready for school just like I did the day before. My mom drove me to school as usual. When I got there, nothing seemed out of place. However, when I went to my first class, there was something different. Kyle was not around. Near the end of class, the reason for his absence was let known during the morning announcements. It was that Kyle had been hit by a car while crossing the highway and that he was in ICU. I could not control my body and dashed for the door. It felt like all of my innards felt like they were coming out as I vomited all over the floor. I will say this much, it was the first time I had ever felt true guilt. I never fathomed that this would happen. It took the police a short time to find out that the brakes were cut and that two other boys' bikes had been "tampered" with. The police were questioning everyone at school and urging people to turn in the person who did it. I got scared that the fingers would soon be pointed to me. The police lifted fingerprints from the bikes, but none of them came back conclusive. I felt a small bit of relief, but my guilt was still chasing me.

About a week later, word got around that Kyle's state had been downgraded, but he would be confined to a wheelchair. My stomach turned in knots when I got that piece of information. I wanted someone to talk to about this. Everytime I went to my mother, she wouldn't listen to me and would walk away. I could not tell anyone else; I did not trust anyone else enough not to turn me in to the cops. So I did what every neurotic kid would do; I just bottled up all of my emotions while I was in front of others. Nobody ever really thought that I could have done this, so no one watched for bizarre behavior. They were all in the dark until the day I cracked.

It happened about five days after I found out about Kyle being paralyzed. I finally let my emotions get the better of me. I scrounged some money together to get him a card and talked my mom into bringing me into the hospital. I crept into Kyle's room and placed it on his bedside table. As I had one foot out the door, I heard his voice say, "Who is there?"

I said, "It's Tommy...from school."

"Why are you here? I could have sworn that you hated me for everything I did to you," he asked.

"I just wanted to drop off this card for you. I hope you like it."

"Gee, thanks, fat ass. I don't need your pity right now. What I need is feeling in my feet again! What I need is for my mom to stop crying! What I need is for people like you to stop bugging me with your cards and get over my accident!" he ranted.

I shot back, "You know what the saddest part of this is? Your accident did not change you at all. You are still the biggest brat. You think you are God 'cause you pick on people like me."

"I may not be God, but I am better than you," he said.

"That's just it, Kyle, you are not better than me in everything. You are just a spoiled, over-privileged piece of trash. Before I came up here, I was feeling guilty, but now I am glad. I am glad that I cut your brakes. You got what you deserved. Now everytime you wake up in the morning and get in your wheelchair, I pray to God that you remember I put you there. I hope you remember that. I hope you think of me with a big grin when you think of your disability!" I angrily, and hastily, said.

His mom was standing at the door when my confession came out. She slapped me and ran to her crying son. Hysterically screaming, she cried out to a nurse. The nurse came but could barely hear what she had said. I took him outside of the room and explained to him what happened. I had nothing to lose, so I explained it to the cop down the hall as well. I was arrested on the spot. The trial was held and I pled guilty and got a light sentence. I leave here on the day of my eighteenth birthday.