Free King of Forgotten Clubs by Jennifer Recchio

CHAPTER ONE
How to Need

    Pak Higgins
    AP Psychology
    Fifth period

    Maslow’s hierarchy of needs is a load of shit. It assumes that once we reach one step of the pyramid, we go on to the next. Once we achieve security, we seek love. Once we find that, we search for self-fulfillment. It doesn’t even account for self-sabotage.
    What about those of us who go backward? Once we’ve destroyed ourselves, we search for someone else to alienate. Once we’ve done that, we take a sledgehammer to our security.

    Exhibit A: I stabbed love in the back and left it by the side of the road to die.

    We were in the park in mid-July, and Annabelle tore up a Styrofoam cup with her long fingers as we walked down the dirt trail that circled the lake that surrounded the island where Elvis Presley had supposedly had a fling with the Queen of England. Rip, rip, rip —a counterpoint to the whistling birds and laughing children— rip.
    I was nervously trying to pretend our relationship wasn’t a live grenade. “The weather’s nice,” I said, as if I could fill the canyon between us with small talk. “For July, I mean. It’s not too hot.”
    Annabelle nodded, still not looking at me. A chunk of Styrofoam fluttered to the ground.
    “We should come here more often,” I said to fill the space the torn cup left behind. “Learn about stupendously dangerous ways to walk dogs.” I nodded at a preteen boy on a bike who held the leash of the slathering greyhound bounding ahead of him. It was unclear whether the bike was speeding forward from the effort of the boy or the dog.
    Annabelle stopped. I halted and turned to face her. Her brown hair was windblown, messy. Her aviator sunglasses were wedged on top of her head. She tugged them down to cover her eyes. I tried not to think about what that meant.
    “Do you think I’m an idiot?” she asked.
    “No. Not you.” I had a bad habit of not thinking much of other people, but I’d never considered Annabelle to be “other people.”
    “We’re a fucking joke.” She dropped the cup on the ground. It didn’t seem like a great time for a lecture on littering, so I tried to ignore it. “I’m just your way to pass the time.”
    “That’s not true.” I should’ve put more conviction into the words. I felt them, I think, but being earnest was never my strong point.
    “Do you love me? Even a little bit?” Her voice wavered. Before that moment, I had assumed Annabelle immune to the uncertainty that so plagued others.
    “I don’t know.” I used to think I knew what love was. I used to think it was adventure and wildness and pushing each other places you never thought you’d go.
    Then the love of my life dumped me for a pizza delivery boy.
    “I’m bored of this game.” Annabelle turned away from me. “See you in the fall.” She shoved her hands in her pockets as she walked off.
    If my life were a movie, I might have gone after her. I might have fallen at her feet and pleaded for a second chance. I might have declared possession of unfathomable pits of feelings and emotions.
    As it was, I picked up her Styrofoam cup and wiped the mud off of the torn edges. Was this the part where I missed her? Was this the part where pain taught me to be stronger?
    Dirt lodged under my fingernail. The only things that stayed with me had no other choice.

    Exhibit B: I ditched a life of luxury and glamor to live in a crumbling pit.

    My keys rattled as I searched for the one to the apartment. My roommates were already home. Their punk rock music and raised voices blared through the door.
    “Pak-rat!” Lenny shouted as I walked in.
    I tried not to cringe at the nickname. “Busy,” I yelled over the stereo.
    I waded through a layer of old pizza boxes and lost socks until I reached my room, “my room” being a relative term for a carefully partitioned section of the main room. I’d set up cardboard walls around a corner. Because I paid the biggest portion of the rent, I got the corner with the