I moved schools in eighth grade. My mother got a job in c̸̴̴̵̸̷̶̴̴̴̷̵̸̸̵̵̸̵̴̶̡̧̡̧̧̨̧̢̢̨̢̧̨̡̨̡̨̢̛̛̛̼͕̱͖̩͔͎̜̺̲̭̠̜͚̠̟͕̥̳͈͍̭̤͖͔̪̯͖͔̳͇̠͈͍͙̫̟̺̦̰̮̣͓̞͙̙͈̗̰̻͇̦͙̯̳̜͔̪͇̙̣̮͍͎͖̝͕̤͕͖͓̺͔͎͓̖̘̫̦̭̖̩͍̹̮͔͚̗̗̝̠̘͔̲̬̣̖͉̖̖͓̗̪͓͚̘̝̦̳̩̗̟̭̤̜͎͎̣̹̪̱͙̖̼͓̝̱̦̖̩͕̦͕̣̰̮̰̫̫͕̲̠̤͓̰̰̣̠̪̠͚̤͈͔̯͖̠͚̩̳͔̟̘̠̱͔̬̠̀͂̽̈́̑̇̀̔̃͑̌̿͐̑͛̂͑͌̓̌͑̄̔̑́̄́̈͊̃̆̃̎́́̆̀́̐̓̏͒̌̆̉͐́̈́͛̏͛͐͗́͐͛͆̍̓̀͑̆͌̀̂̓̍̀̂̑̌̊̎̾͆̀̔͒̔̓͋̽͗͌̓͂̔͊̂̊͒̎̋͗̊̒̏̍͛̈̔̽̅̃͌̓̐͑͒̿̃͌̓̏̓͋͂͒͌͆̇̓̑̇̓́̀̃̈̑̑̌̀̿̌͒͊̅̉̌̚̚͘̕̕͘̕͜͜͠͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅͅͅk̴̸̸̶̴̷̸̶̴̷̶̶̴̴̴̶̸̸̴̴̴̴̶̢̡̧̢̨̧̢̡̡̨̨̧̨̡̧̧̢̨̧̡̛̛̛̛̛̛͖̞̭̤̥͍͈͕͈̺̖͖̗̱̫͎̼̫̤̳̹̜͇̠̦̖̰͙̼̲̝̻̼͙̱̰̣̥̬̻̟̰̘͈͓̫̻̳̳̪͉̮̜͔͉͇̰̖͍̺̫͍͇͕̳͚̮͍͖͙̲͔͎͈̩̘̳̝̤̙͙̞̺̻̞̥̥̖͓̪̫͕͈̰̗̪͔̭̮̻̬̫͎̱̮̻̠̙̣̰̞̙̦̟̳͓͔͓͚̬̙͙͕̦̲̼̜͙̝͍͚͕͎̲͕̺̬̪̝̺͙͙̜͎͙̻͎̭̥͉̭̗̻͉̲̉̄̅́̌͛̍́̒͑̐́̀̀̉̊͑̉͛̾͂̃͆̏̏̈́̐́̾͌̒̎̾̉͛̇͊͐́͂̉͑͑̈́̌͐̐̓̉̍̽͋̓̅͛̔͊̔́̀͊̈̒͋̔̃̓͊͛͊͛̑̓̐́̒̈́̓̀͋͛͂̀͆̆̑̈̈́̐̍̾̽̅̑̊̽̓͒̾͊̀͑̂̇̀̐̂͌̉̂͂̒́̉̈́́͊̐̽̈́̓̂̌̐͛̅̈́̈́̌͂̐͑́͛̔̉̑̏̎̄̽͊͒̓̅̐͑̄̍̊͋͒̀̅̇̇̌͌͒̎́͌̑͂̓̎̉̉̐̂̊̓̾̾̋̏͗̊̂̀̐̐́̐̉̐̅͆̕̚̚͘̚̚̕͘̕̕̚̚̕͘͘͘͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅg̶̷̸̷̶̸̵̴̶̵̴̶̶̵̷̸̷̶̷̸̸̸̵̨̧̨̧̡̧̧̡̢̡̡̨̢̧̧̨̢̨̡̛̛̛̛̛̛̥̘͇͔̙͚̱̞̮̠̺̬̫̭̣͙̳̜̪̮̣̟̲̥̟̱̣͉̦͉̘͓̹̣̮̘͓̩̻͚͎̪͎͖̼͉̯̹͔̞̖͈̺̣͙̲̗̳̰͙̺͍͖̩̫̲̣̹̱̺͕̗͉̭̫͇̟͓̠͙̹̳̗͚̯̰̮̻̠̙̠̞͔̮̥͙͔͎̭̻̻̯͍̯̣̫̞̩̗͉̩͉̣̞̗̼̪̟̮̞̪̪̮̰̹͓̺̙͎͕̥͚̹̗͎̗̹̣̭̖̰͎͖̳̹͔̮͇̯̰͚̟͓̤͎̯̖͉̹̪̩̯̟̫̯̤̤͙̮̥̣͍̙̠̔̎͌̀͂͆͗̍̇̾̎̃̇̎̍͐͑̄̏̇͒́̒̋̍̎̑̆̉͛͌̂͗̓̐̈̓̏̓̓́̌̅͊̄̐̾͐̍̍͌͒́̌͗̋̈́̑̓̀̊̀̈̇́̎̀̄̍͂̂̃̒͌̓̅̓̂̊̊̒͊̾͒̂̉͋̀͐̉͋͂̐̈́̊̈́͌̋̈͂́͆͐͂̊̀͗͊̓̾͐͒̉̔̀́̃̈́̔́̆̂̇̀͂̋̄͋̽͐̌̾͊̀̃̒̈̈́́̏̈́̆̌̔̆̅͂̐͋͌̈́͒̋̇̔͂̿̏̉̒͗̂͑̆͛̐́̏̌̈̔̑́̃̇̌̈́̎̾͋͊̄́̄̈́̀͌͌͆̂̈̉̏͛͒͒̑̏͐̊̓͆͂̓͗̊̿̋͐̽̇̽̈́̈̈̾͋̐͆͋̋̕͘̚̚̚̚͘͘͘͘̕̚̕̚͜͜͜͜͠͝͠͝͠͝͝͠͠͠͝͠ͅͅͅͅb̶̶̸̴̷̷̴̶̷̴̴̵̷̴̶̶̸̷̶̸̷̶̶̶̴̷̴̸̧̨̡̡̧̡̡̡̧̡̨̨̨̨̧̧̧̧̢̨̧̛̛̛̛̛̹̺̦̟͇͍̥̦̤̞͉̻̪͕͓̜͖̹̩̥͇͉̖̯͈̙̹̳͕͉̯͚̙̟̩̼͉̱͈̼̦̟̮̫̞̮͍̳̙̣͕͈̜̙̪̟̠̘̲̣̟̠̮͖͉̳͈̰̬̯̥͕̫̫̤̖͉̩̪͉̺̭̘̪̖͕̖̮̮̗̪̞̱̖̰̞̜̖͕͍͍̥͕̠̤̳̜̺̯̼͔̫̟͍̫̤̭͇̜͔̳̖̖͉̺̲͉̟̞̩̹̣̪͓̻͍̣̠͈̫̥̱͇̬̬̯̪̲̲̝̥͔̫̜͓̟̣̜̠̘̠̖̜̪̙̫͇͓̭̣̼̦̻̞͍̖̯̟̮̦̟͍̗̱̜̜̥̮͙͈̠̳̭̺͇͕̯͓̙͇̺̯̜̩̝͉͈͙̗̣̲̙͖͍̻̲̱̯͚͙̟̖̮̫̣̳̼͕͚͍̣͖̠͕̝̲̬͍̌͒̋͛̑́̀͋̈́̓͂̎́̊̊̂̿̀̓͊̓̊̓̈́̓̓̄̋͂͊̈́͂̒̉̃͆͊̎̍͊̈̀̀̔́̓̈́̂̀̔̇͌͊̒̅̓̇̃̾͂̄̓͋͌̃̋͑̋͋͑͛̑̑͗͆͆̀̌̎̒̃̔̓͑̒̐̌͒̄͒̋̿̎̀̅̋̏͛̇̎͌͆̈́̂́̅̿͗͑́̒͌̉̅̀̎͒̈͑͒̋͊̓̇̈̉̒̈́̈́̆̍̄̓͛̿̄̑̄͌̽̈́̂̑̎͊̏̏̿̍̅̆͌̓͒̇̀̔̀̈́̋̇̌́̆͐͂̆͛̒͑̎͂̃̃̽͗͊̅̾͛͑̊̄̃̒̏͋̂̀̊̓̂̈̈̓̊̈̽̉͑̌̔̈͑̓͑͐̈́̽̽͑͗̈́̍͑̐̌̈́̇̿̾̍͂̌̃̏͋̇̀̕̚͘̚͘͘͘̚̚̕̚̚͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͠͠͝͝͠͝ͅͅơ̸̶̵̸̷̴̷̵̴̢̧̧̨̢̢̢̛͎̻̯͎̼͚̟̼̥͖̲͎̣̫͇̻͇͇̟̣̰̼̭̠̟̱͇̗͉͔̙̞̰͖͕͓̖̣͉̗̹̫̪̤̐́͆̔̎̅͛͆̀́̋̋͂̊́̅̐͛̏̊̄̌̈́̌̇̓͗̒͂͒̈́̀͋̊̆̓̊̉͑̈̽́̿͆̒͑͐͒̂͆͆̍̑̽̔͛̏̓̈́̈́͋̅̆͐́͊͘̕͘̚̕̚̚̕͘͜͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅa̶̸̵̵̴̷̸̶̸̴̴̸̷̴̶̸̵̶̶̴̴̶̶̵̴̷̷̢̡̢̡̡̡̢̡̧̧̧̢̡̢̡̡̛͚̮͓̣͙͓̠̻̹̱̹͎̙̯̹̥͙͚̩̝͖͍̥͚̻̟̯̥̼̞͓̲̗̫̗̮̟̤͇͈̬͇͈͍̳̣͇̟͓̗̖͇̜̬̦̘̯̲̞̠̙̘̱͔͖͔̗͙̫̠̣̫̮̹̱͕͕̝̻̤̭͉͇̯͕͓̙̜̜͇͉̮̹̝̪͚̲̺̠̠̟̗̦̻̩̗̪̞̻͉̣̮̱̣̥͔̘̜̗̪̰̬̟̝̩̟͓͈̲̱͚̻̜̙͕͈̺̘͓̼̲̮̝̬̠̘͖̮̫̟̖͕̟̭̤̜̻̮̝͍͙̼͕͔̱̳͓̪̘̱͚̰͔̠̺͚̫̼͎͙͍̝̤̋̑̈́͗̓͛̐̀̽͛̓̉̃̀̄̽̾̈́̏͂́̔͛̉̔̔̓͗̋͌̍͗̂͒̉̌̏̐̈́̀̋̓̀̇͐̂̔̔̈́̄̽̓̓͒̊͂̀̅̋͊̀̌̂̃͂͒͛̆̒̊͑̒̌̇͒̍̎̋̓̊́͛̌̓̐̽̈́̀̄̊̌̑̔̀̑̄̄͆͐̈́̆̂͒͋̊̇̆̏̌̄̌̎̂̋̍͋͒͊͐͗͒͋́͗͑̿͂̂̉̈́̈̄͌̔͗̈́̊̍̀́͊̊̂̿̈́̃̎͒̒͒́̓̔́̋͊͋͗̃́̆͋͆́̀̑̅͂̀̌̈́̑́̐̋̃̈̈̏̌͌͋͋̀̆̌̈́̃̀̅̀͋́̓͑̊̈́͒̽̒̓͗͌̚̚̕̕͘͘͘̚͘̚͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͠͠͠͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅ and I had to leave my friends, c̵̴̶̸̵̶̵̶̶̴̴̵̶̸̷̴̷̶̵̷̢̢̨̨̨̡̨̧̧̨̨̡̡̡̛̛̛̛͍̻̰̩̫̰̮̗̮̥͓̞̭̱̩̪͔͉̳͓̲͕̗̜̠͕̮̹̲̲͕͔̠͇̝̼͎̖̤͖̞̲̰̮̳̬̙͉̠̟̮̣̳̝͖͉̝̞͉̹̦̞̣̠͔͓̣̥̻̲̙͖͔̰͖̼̦̹̳̩͔̳͉̼̺̟̟͉̥̹͕̞̱̳̩̰̜͈̗͉̱̤͎̠̟͔̳̮͈̩̬͕̹͎͛͛̏̍̈͛͛̆̇̍̑̐̅̄͊̊͑̂̇̓̆̂̈̂͗̆̂̽́͋̉́̈́͗͌͂̋̈̈́́̇̿̅̀̎̇̀́͑͐̓̈́͑͊̌̍̓̏̂̓̀͌̈́̓͌͆̌́̀͛̃͂͐̌͒̈̆̓̍̆̈̓̓̅̈́̎̔͒̍̍̈̌̋͛̓́̐̉̓̀̈́̉͊́͊̍͌̔͒̉̒̆̌̂͗͐̓̌̍̈́̍̇̒̃͌͋͆̃̀̀̈́̇̆̏̋̋͘͘͘̕̕̚̚̕̚̕͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅķ̵̸̷̵̶̴̸̵̸̶̴̸̸̷̴̵̶̴̵̷̷̶̶̡̡̧̡̨̧̨̢̧̢̡̨̡̧̢̛̛̛̩͉͎̤̞̬̗̩͚̘̜͉̹̲͉͓̗̣͕͔̣̮͕̘̤̩̭̦͈͖͙̙̲̤͍̰̳̬̲̻̭̦̺̮̺̝͙̱͔̰̟͈̜̭̞͖̞̘̱͉͚͇͕̞̦̙̤̦̼̖̝͙̙̪͎̟̦̙̳̺̗͖͕͇̲̹͕̤͙̭̝̹̥̮̬̟̲̭͉̤͈̟̦̮̪͙͈̱͕̣̪̲̟͙̬̜̣͕͉͉̜̬̠̣̭̗̬̞̗̦͋͐̅̋́̊̍̑̈́͂̓̾͛̀̇̇͊̋͂͊̌̈́̍̑̔̒͗̀̏̓̐͋̍̽͊͆̃̔̑̍̃̈̑̈́̃̊̌̈́͆̈́͛̏̃͋͌͂̓͗̐͐̏̅͆͊͒̍̄̄̾̒̈́͊̓̈́̈́̀̌̀̇̊̀̐̓̈́͆̒̆́̐͋̓́̊̀͂̿͑͂̎̊̃̾͑̔̓̐̌̎͌̀̀̓̒͂͑̊͋͗͐̓͂́͊̀̑̃̄́̋̋̎́̃̏̇̈́̊͑̈̄̀̓̓͊̈́̍̂͋̂̆̌́̿̆̕͘͘̕͘̚̚͘̚͘͘͘̕̚͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅͅg̸̷̴̶̴̷̵̶̶̶̴̷̶̸̴̶̶̶̵̸̴̷̷̡̧̧̧̢̧̨̢̧̡̡̨̢̢̛̛̮̜̗̬̹̭̥̣͕̰̪̗͇̪̣̩͎̩͍̼̜̺̜̞̲̘̲̺̼̮͚͙̞͍̘̳̮̰̖͔̪̫͍͕̞͇̫͙̯͙̳̳͈̜̲̜̟̗̳̩̙̺̯͍̩͖̗͈̰̻͕͎̹̯͈̦̠̝̼̹̪͓̩̞͚̳̯͎̤̗̱̤̯̦̟͇̺̥̝̗̳͙͓̞̳̭̻̟̪͙̥̹̭̭̻̼͚̜̥̗̭͇̭̀́̔̄̓͗̔̊͌̐̀́̓͊͛́̀̎͛̍͐̎̀̽̆͂̄̈͆̎͐̔̂̑̽͛̐̃̈́̿̀̎̍̃͗̓̽̀̈͛́̏͗̑͋̄͐̏̑̆̃̎̆́̇̀́̏̓͛́̎̄̈͑͌͌̾̀̑̊̾͂̾̿̓̏͗̓̌́̄̾͂̆͐̈́͑̇̄͂̍̀̀̐̈́͛̋͒̽́̊̓͆̾̽̒͛͆̆̋̈͑͂̿̍͂͛̌̍̽̈͑̅̐͌̊̉̈́͌̎͐̉͆̉͒́̈́̅̊̉͒̑̆̄̒̔͘͘͘̚̕̚̕͘̚̚̚̕̚͘͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅb̶̶̸̶̸̶̸̷̸̵̵̵̶̷̷̸̶̸̴̴̸̶̸̵̸̸̶̴̨̧̧̨̢̧̧̨̢̧̨̡̡̧̧̧̢̡̛̛̛̛͍̪̻̖͕͓̫̠̻̭̱̖͉̼̞̤̠̺̬͔͉̩̮͉̪͇͕̘̳̟͇̫͓̺͔̠͕̞͙̜̜̥͔͈̞̹̞̦͓͓͚̜͔̤̪̱̗̗͔̭̝͙̣̬͈̩͕̰̞̙̭̝̹̩͍̜̜̥̖̺͔̩͕̦͓͚̠̭̝̼͙̟̯̲͔̙͖̭͚̹͚̮̦̱̼̳͍̠̗̜̻̩̬̜̦̭̺̞̜͈̫͕̪̝͈̰̼̝͈̬̖͎̲̭̥̣̟̱͈̩̜̪̯͙̞̬͚̣̫̹͓͙̣̮͍̫͎͕̬͕̣̲̣͉͎͉̤͍͉͕̘̙͚̤͕͙͓͎̤̰̅̾̾̈̌̐̌̔̋̓͛͆̀́͒̄̆̔̈́̐̌̊̃̉͊̉̿͆͂͗̿́̊̊̊͊͋̍͐̅̓͌́̈̀̈́̏̊͗́̓̉́̒́̌̑̓̔̊̓̔̃̽̐̆̐̈́̋̆̊̑̒͛͒̐̌̑̈̈́̈́̈́̅͆̈̉̿̀̆͛͆̄͐͛̂̓̀̔̉̿̇̾̃̌̒̀͋͑͌͑̀͋̂̓̑̌̓̋̀̓̽̇̂̈́̄̈̿͐͑̒̀̋́̋̔̂̏́͗̌́͋̆̈͌̓̂̽̊͛̆̆̿̈͊̀̇̉̄̍̐̊̾̓̍͋̈́̂̔͆̓̂̀̌͗̔͂̐̊̍̒̂̋̕͘͘̕͘͘̕̕͘͘͘̚͘̚̕̕̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅǫ̸̶̴̸̶̵̸̵̵̧̢̧̣̳̬̰͖͇͉͙̹̹̰̦̭̮̙̜̪̼͕̰̲̮͇̙̺̯͇̟̫̗̹̹̰͎̳̣͙̙̮̥͕͎̻͉̰͙͉̥̬̫͖̤͚͚̓̄̂̉̂̈́͗̀̎͆͑̏̄̐̋̀̀͐̌̊͊̽͊̀̒̋̽̊̀̇̎̀͂͋̀̀̐̌͂̀́̈́̽̍̊̍̒̾͌̀̐͑́̋͐̀̋̆̋͊̓̄̿̔͌̈͜͜͝͝͝͠͝͠ͅͅͅa̶̸̸̴̶̴̵̷̷̷̷̴̴̶̶̵̶̶̸̸̶̴̸̷̵̴̵̡̡̧̨̢̨̡̢̢̡̢̢̡̧̛̛̛̹̩͙̲̦͓̖͕͉͉̮̘̼̟̱̣̪̭̲̼̰̺̥̯̰͖͍̲͖͈͔͍͚̻̫̟̻̝̥̹͉͇̱̮̺̲͕̻͖̥͕̭͉̯̯͔̝̬̘̪̰͔͈̻̥̠͔̰̲͈̠̹̲̣̼͔̙̠̻̝̰̦͉͔̠̩̜͙̦̩̟̥̬̳̙̬̟̗̖̮̻̦̳͖̮͈͕̘̙͚̻̫̣̤͓̦̙͇̞̹̗̝͎̜̞̫͚̘͍̲̖͈̜͔̲̻̹̭̩̪͔͉̗͕̹͉̘̘̼̹̤̳̰̞̳͔͚̟̜̮̳͍̻̘̭̰͉̠̣̖̖͍̦̭̗̥͍̞͓̱̾͐̄̈́̆̎̀͌̇̔̈́̊̈́̅̅̓͆͛̾̔͛͛̉̇̈̔̈́̈́͌͋̾̈́̍̅̓͛̾̀̓̈́͐̉̎̆̿̒̌̌́̄́̎̓̅̇̓͑̎̒̔̽̒̃̉̎̋̎̀̿̂̋͊͑̾̎͛̒̒̂̇͋̈̾͋̆́͌͋̎̅̉͒͛̾̅̉̑̂͋̄͛̒͛̍̈̀̓̀̔̆͌̉̏̈́̉̈́̎̔̒̐̉͑̂͛͒͛̔͒̈̀̇͒͗̎͋̊̾͐͛̈́͛͂͊̄̈͒̅́́̓͌̐̍̈́̄̄̇͑͋̐̀͆͘̕̚̕̚̚̕͘̕͘͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͠͝͠͝͝͠͝͠͠͠ͅͅͅͅͅ everything I knew.
At first, I tried to be exactly the same person I'd been before. Same jokes, same clothes, same way of sitting at lunch. It didn't work. The new school had different rules. Not written ones, but real ob̶̶̸̴̷̷̴̶̷̴̴̵̷̴̶̶̸̷̶̸̷̶̶̶̴̷̴̸̧̨̡̡̧̡̡̡̧̡̨̨̨̨̧̧̧̧̢̨̧̛̛̛̛̛̹̺̦̟͇͍̥̦̤̞͉̻̪͕͓̜͖̹̩̥͇͉̖̯͈̙̹̳͕͉̯͚̙̟̩̼͉̱͈̼̦̟̮̫̞̮͍̳̙̣͕͈̜̙̪̟̠̘̲̣̟̠̮͖͉̳͈̰̬̯̥͕̫̫̤̖͉̩̪͉̺̭̘̪̖͕̖̮̮̗̪̞̱̖̰̞̜̖͕͍͍̥͕̠̤̳̜̺̯̼͔̫̟͍̫̤̭͇̜͔̳̖̖͉̺̲͉̟̞̩̹̣̪͓̻͍̣̠͈̫̥̱͇̬̬̯̪̲̲̝̥͔̫̜͓̟̣̜̠̘̠̖̜̪̙̫͇͓̭̣̼̦̻̞͍̖̯̟̮̦̟͍̗̱̜̜̥̮͙͈̠̳̭̺͇͕̯͓̙͇̺̯̜̩̝͉͈͙̗̣̲̙͖͍̻̲̱̯͚͙̟̖̮̫̣̳̼͕͚͍̣͖̠͕̝̲̬͍̌͒̋͛̑́̀͋̈́̓͂̎́̊̊̂̿̀̓͊̓̊̓̈́̓̓̄̋͂͊̈́͂̒̉̃͆͊̎̍͊̈̀̀̔́̓̈́̂̀̔̇͌͊̒̅̓̇̃̾͂̄̓͋͌̃̋͑̋͋͑͛̑̑͗͆͆̀̌̎̒̃̔̓͑̒̐̌͒̄͒̋̿̎̀̅̋̏͛̇̎͌͆̈́̂́̅̿͗͑́̒͌̉̅̀̎͒̈͑͒̋͊̓̇̈̉̒̈́̈́̆̍̄̓͛̿̄̑̄͌̽̈́̂̑̎͊̏̏̿̍̅̆͌̓͒̇̀̔̀̈́̋̇̌́̆͐͂̆͛̒͑̎͂̃̃̽͗͊̅̾͛͑̊̄̃̒̏͋̂̀̊̓̂̈̈̓̊̈̽̉͑̌̔̈͑̓͑͐̈́̽̽͑͗̈́̍͑̐̌̈́̇̿̾̍͂̌̃̏͋̇̀̕̚͘̚͘͘͘̚̚̕̚̚͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͠͠͝͝͠͝ͅͅơ̸̶̵̸̷̴̷̵̴̢̧̧̨̢̢̢̛͎̻̯͎̼͚̟̼̥͖̲͎̣̫͇̻͇͇̟̣̰̼̭̠̟̱͇̗͉͔̙̞̰͖͕͓̖̣͉̗̹̫̪̤̐́͆̔̎̅͛͆̀́̋̋͂̊́̅̐͛̏̊̄̌̈́̌̇̓͗̒͂͒̈́̀͋̊̆̓̊̉͑̈̽́̿͆̒͑͐͒̂͆͆̍̑̽̔͛̏̓̈́̈́͋̅̆͐́͊͘̕͘̚̕̚̚̕͘͜͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅnes. Who you sat with. Who you talked to in the halls. What you admitted to caring about.
So, I watched. I figured out who mattered and what they wanted to hear. I learned that being liked wasn't about being yourself. It was about being what the situation required. By sophomore year I was student council representative. By junior year, treasurer. I wasn't fake, exactly. I was just... optimized.
d̴̷̸̨̡̡̢̧̡̛̛̹̠᷿̳̰̘̫̹͕̜̝̪̹̫͔͕͕̠̹̫̘͔̹᷊̣̹͚̬̬̪͈᷊̻̞̝̝̦̦̗̃̓͊᷅̀᷄͒͐ͬ᷇̑̍᷾᷃̍ͤ̈́̓᷄̀ͩ︣͛᷉ͣ᷃͋̋͛̾ͪ̏̓̚̚͢͟͠s̴̶̸̨̢̨̧̢̧̛̛̳͎̯͕̙̮᷊̪̞̟̤᷊̹̲̪̮͖̰͚̘̩̺̪̮̠̖̺͖̪̮͓̮̠̤͈̺̯̣̟̘͓͕̦̻̟̫̲᷀ͥ́̃᷉̾͆︠᷈︡︣̓᷉︡̍᷁ͭͪ̀̈᷇̽̉̅̆̋︠᷉̃᷇̐᷄ͧ̑︣͐̾ͯ̈ͭ͑̕͜͝͠͡f̸̶̵̨̧̢͕̟̠͎̤̞͎͇̰͉̤̩̜̝̘̙͕̲̞̬̩̜̹̗̯̠̦᷊᷿̻̼̿᷇᷾͒ͨ̔᷁ͪ̀͊͑︣︠̈︠̀᷇̾ͤ̎᷈͋ͥͩ̀͊︠̐̅ͫ̋᷁͊́᷈̂᷇᷄ͤ︢︢ͫ̉̕̚͘͘͢͞͞s̷̶̸̨̡̡̨̛̛̛̗̭͖̣̱̫̠͈̼̳̮̫̻͈̙̲̞͔͉̙̘̤̱̳̮̗̙̙̹̬̹̜͉̟̻͗ͧͥ͊́̿͒́̾̈́̀︣́ͤ︠ͩ͌ͥ᷈̍ͤͭ͂͑͒̾᷇̾︠᷆ͥ͂̕͟͠͡͡͡͡͡à̸̵̷̧̧̧̨̡̧̧̛͔͔᷊̣͉͔̭̻̭̘͕̺̗̻̗̪̳᷿͉᷊̫᷂͕̩̰̗͎̲͕̮̱̫̳̣͉̠̟͔͕̼᷿̋ͧͣ̈́ͪͦ͒ͮ͒̀ͮ͂̋᷁̑͂̇ͪ᷄͛͐ͣ᷇̏̿̽᷉̽ͦ̑ͤ̅ͬ︡᷅᷁ͭ̈́̽᷁̕̕͜͢͢͞͠░░░░f̸̶̵̨̧̢͕̟̠͎̤̞͎͇̰͉̤̩̜̝̘̙͕̲̞̬̩̜̹̗̯̠̦᷊᷿̻̼̿᷇᷾͒ͨ̔᷁ͪ̀͊͑︣︠̈︠̀᷇̾ͤ̎᷈͋ͥͩ̀͊︠̐̅ͫ̋᷁͊́᷈̂᷇᷄ͤ︢︢ͫ̉̕̚͘͘͢͞͞░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░f̸̶̵̨̧̢͕̟̠͎̤̞͎͇̰͉̤̩̜̝̘̙͕̲̞̬̩̜̹̗̯̠̦᷊᷿̻̼̿᷇᷾͒ͨ̔᷁ͪ̀͊͑︣︠̈︠̀᷇̾ͤ̎᷈͋ͥͩ̀͊︠̐̅ͫ̋᷁͊́᷈̂᷇᷄ͤ︢︢ͫ̉̕̚͘͘͢͞͞f̸̶̵̨̧̢͕̟̠͎̤̞͎͇̰͉̤̩̜̝̘̙͕̲̞̬̩̜̹̗̯̠̦᷊᷿̻̼̿᷇᷾͒ͨ̔᷁ͪ̀͊͑︣︠̈︠̀᷇̾ͤ̎᷈͋ͥͩ̀͊︠̐̅ͫ̋᷁͊́᷈̂᷇᷄ͤ︢︢ͫ̉̕̚͘͘͢͞͞░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░f̸̶̵̨̧̢͕̟̠͎̤̞͎͇̰͉̤̩̜̝̘̙͕̲̞̬̩̜̹̗̯̠̦᷊᷿̻̼̿᷇᷾͒ͨ̔᷁ͪ̀͊͑︣︠̈︠̀᷇̾ͤ̎᷈͋ͥͩ̀͊︠̐̅ͫ̋᷁͊́᷈̂᷇᷄ͤ︢︢ͫ̉̕̚͘͘͢͞͞░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░d̴̷̶̨̡̡̛̛̹̠᷿̳̰̘̫̹͕̜̝̪̹̫͔͕͕̠̹̫̘͔̖̱̼᷿̪̗̻͇̖̳͉̟̃̓͊᷅̀᷄͒͐ͬ᷇̑̍᷾᷃̍ͤ̈́ͦ͌͊ͬ̍ͨ͊͐̐᷅︠̆͆̀̀̚͢͟͟f̵̨̧̡᷂͖͕̞̹̞̪̮̲̘͚ͨ︠̇̀̾͌̎ͪ̃̆ͭ̾͜d̴̯̫᷿᷊͔̘̖̲̙̔︣᷀̌̅̏̄̽᷁͗ͨ͐︠︣́̆ͬ̕͢s̴̶̵̨̢̨̛̳͎̯͕̙̮᷊̪̞̟̤᷊̹̲̪̮͖̰͚̘̩̺̪̮̠̖̺͖̪̮͓᷂͈̖̦̞᷊̤̯͎̹͉̻̗᷀ͥ́̃᷉̾͆︠᷈︡︣̓᷉︡̍᷁ͭͪ̀̈᷇̽̉̅̆̋︠ͫ̏ͪͫ̂᷾̉̓ͨ︡͘͘͜͟͝͠͞f̸̶̷̨̧̢̢̨̨͕̟̠͎̤̞͎͇̰͉̤̩̜̝̘̙͕̲̞̬̩̺̬̘̯̜᷂̰̗̫̝͇̩᷊̿᷇᷾͒ͨ̔᷁ͪ̀͊͑︣︠̈︠̀᷇̾ͤ̎᷈͋ͥͩ̀͊̍̓̓ͫ̄̌ͥ᷁ͩ̔ͯ͗̓̽̎̕̚͘͟͞͡f̶̨̡̗͎̝̹̺͚̝̞̦͖̹̌ͧ̀︡̽̈̈͛̐ͫͫ̂̃︡᷈̌̂͘͡s̷̶̴̨̡̨̛̛̛̗̭͖̣̱̫̠͈̼̳̮̫̻͈̙̲̞͔͉̙̘̤̱̳̮̗̙̼͚̱͎̦͕̮͚̘̝̗͕᷿̦̜͗ͧͥ͊́̿͒́̾̈́̀︣́ͤ︠ͩ͌ͥ᷈̍ͤ͒︣͛͋̀̾᷾͒̿ͨ̈ͭͪ̕̚͘͟͟͜͠͡͡͡͡à̸̵̷̧̧̧̨̡̧͔͔᷊̣͉͔̭̻̭̘͕̺̗̻̗̪̳᷿͉᷊̫᷂͕̩̰̮̻̟͎᷿᷂̦̪̜̬̹̝̋ͧͣ̈́ͪͦ͒ͮ͒̀ͮ͂̋᷁̑͂̇ͪ᷄͛͐ͣ᷇̏̿᷀͋ͨ̾̓̾̋̄̑̍̕͜͢͢͢͜͟͞͝͡d̷̡᷊͉̭͇̹̜̹̙̳̲̳͎̭͎̟̏ͦ̅͋̈́̾̈̌͛᷀͡s̶᷿̦̳᷊̙̯᷿͓̆̑̇́́ͨ̔̇̾ͥͨ̈́̚͜͜͝░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░f̸̶̵̨̧̢͕̟̠͎̤̞͎͇̰͉̤̩̜̝̘̙͕̲̞̬̩̜̹̗̯̠̦᷊᷿̻̼̿᷇᷾͒ͨ̔᷁ͪ̀͊͑︣︠̈︠̀᷇̾ͤ̎᷈͋ͥͩ̀͊︠̐̅ͫ̋᷁͊́᷈̂᷇᷄ͤ︢︢ͫ̉̕̚͘͘͢͞͞░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░
The lesson: environments shape people more than people shape environments. The smart move isn't to resist. It's to understand the system well enough to thrive by influencing the environment that will ultimately shape you.
I don't miss who I was in eighth grade. He wouldn't have survived the Academy. And I won't miss who I am now when I'm walking across the stage of the college you represent, diploma in hand, as I smile for pictures.
[ARCHIVIST NOTE]
I do not and have never condoned jumping into corrupted realities—in fact, I’m legally required to advise against it—but I just had to follow up on this lead AIK recovered and I’m so glad I did. I believe this file belonged to a recurring individual named Jordan Rivers.
Whether this essay was a sincere performance or calculated positioning is undeterminable as of yet. Both interpretations are interesting, especially given his weird relationship with the truth. Self-awareness is... something. The missing bit is probably not enough to turn the essay around, but it is still important to remember that we don't have the entirety of the document. So I implore you to keep your opinion separate from the reality itself. I’m mostly talking to myself there.
Anyway, this is the earliest document that I can attribute Rivers so far.