Saturday was my only solace. Sunday I had to go see my private tutor, who I hated, so I basically counted Sunday as a school day too. I learned to make the most of every Saturday. I would set my alarm Friday night to 5 am, wake up, and secretly leave the house after a smaller jelqing/edging period. This was the only time of day of any day of the week that I felt vaguely good. In the early morning light and fog I felt hidden and safe. I felt like Count Vampire or a secret agent that no one could see, and I could safely do my work. You see, I only had one thing going for me, but it was my only hope. On my 16th birthday my dad got me a soiled and hardly operational leather exterior Geo Metro starter car, which he picked up from the junk yard. For the first couple of months, I drove it to school, but shortly after the school's street racing and drifting club figured out it was my car. They broke into it while I was in home room and dumped in it and removed all functional vital parts for it to work. That's how I had to push it all the way home as they drove around in circles and whipped me from out the windows. After that day I kept it in my dad's shed and on Saturday mornings a special time would come and I would work on it from scratch rebuilding it. Any and all parts I could salvage from the heaps of car parts my dad would bring home I would look up on a secret Korean language website deep web DIY custom street racing car forum that I ran through a translator and modded on my car and eventually formed a trash heap amalgamation that vaguely resembled a 14 year old deviantart upload manga style drawing of a human-car hybrid. It still didn't run of course but some day it will and it will seriously blow away all of my friends at school and also all the bullies or anyone who was mean to me and they will all like me and I will do a big burnout in the baseball field and zoom off and look real cool because the turf in the field will have erupted into flames and the coach who was always mean to me will get burned really badly. And I will hit a home run and my car will be super fast. Then the whole school will try to street race me with their lesser cars and I will cause them all to spin out from bewilderment and smoke screen confusion and all the roads will be mine.
"Racer Boy" is what they'll call me. They won't ever call me "Dog breath" or "Hotheaded weiner" ever again. "Racer Boy" will get all the girls and "Racer Boy" will show no mercy to those who treated him like a half-slug half-idiot in his past life. "Racer Boy". Spending weeknights speeding along the coast, wheel in hand, girl in arm, big cigar on my lip, pedal to the metal, doing an 80 foot launch plus 27 full rotation front flip off the cliffside. As I polished the front end of the car to shine up the bright orange skirtless Goku decal I was totally lost in my own world. This was when I was truly happy. Whims of fancy and fantasy tickled my imagination and wisps of hopefully joy abound as I was lost in Goku's eyes (that's what I named the car). I winked at the car and let out a lot of hot gas really loudly. That was usually it for my saturday morning garage work and it lasted a long time. As soon as the sun would rise, no one could know about my work in the garage, so I threw a tarp over the car and blew a single kiss to it as I closed the door. There behind that door lay my one golden ticket to get out of this place.