I was twelve, navigating the tumultuous new waters of acne dotting my forehead like a solar system. My eight-year-old step-sister, Shauna, managed to unleash chaos upon my life, as she often did. She tipped over a colossal tub of strawberry yogurt, and it cascaded onto my laptop. With a seemingly innocent "oops," she bolted out of my room, leaving me to grapple with the aftermath.

I rose from my bed and inspected the catastrophic scene. The laptop, a relic that had seen better days, lay dormant. The keyboard, once a loyal companion, had ceased to function. It was a hand-me-down from my older brother, a trusty old warrior passed on before he went off to college.

Determined to salvage whatever I could, I grabbed a less-than-pristine shirt from my bedroom floor and set to work. I mopped up the sticky strawberry yogurt, the screen now sporting a smeared and defeated look. I took my laptop and headed to the kitchen, where mom was busy slicing carrots.

I told her about the yogurt spill. I knew there was no turning back now. I made it clear that the laptop, a ten-year-old piece of junk, was now a lost cause. The words "I need a new laptop now" hung in the air, laden with the urgency of a technological resurrection.

Mom rolled her eyes, wiped her hands onto her jeans, and took the laptop out of my hands. She studied it carefully, her eyes narrowing in concentration, as if she thought she knew what she was looking for - she didn't.

She blew a strand of hair away from the corner of her mouth. "I think it's time for a new one anyway," she mused.

It was a scorching July Saturday morning. My mother's drinking buddy was about to take her kid to the mall. Mom knew this, and with a knowing look, she retrieved her phone from her back pocket and dialed her friend's number.

"Hi, Elaine," my mom began, her voice cheerful. She listened intently, sharing a laugh. "So, Evan needs a new laptop. Could you take him to the mall with you?... That's perfect... thank you... alright... yes, we should... How's John?" My mother's gaze wandered over me. "Yes, he's ready." She pointed at me, pulled the phone away from her face, and said, "Put some pants on. Wash your face."

Justin and his mom arrived at my house, and the car's horn blared as a signal. My mom handed me money for the laptop, her tone stern. "Don't you dare lose it," she warned.

I settled into the back seat. Justin sat at the front. His mom exchanged some words and inquired about my weekend. Mid-chew on a piece of gum, she asked, "What's your mom up to later?"

As we reached the mall, the hunt for a parking spot began. Justin's mom grew frustrated and let out a few choice words at a woman with a pram who appeared to be heading to her car but continued walking. She nosed into a handicap spot and said to Justin, "Limp a little."

Inside the mall, Justin's mom leaned in and handed Justin some money. "Get some lunch," she instructed. "I'm heading to the movies. Give me a call in a couple of hours, and I'll pick you up. Have a great time with your friends."

She looked me over once, smiled and winked and walked away. Justin turned toward me, a somber expression on his face. "Mom's screwing an old, bald guy from her work. That's where she's going," he confided. We exchanged a meaningful look, and then he waved, saying, "Alright, see ya. Don't come looking for me."

He walked away, joining the group of kids from school who were gathered around the food court, while I stood there, holding onto my arm.

I wandered around the mall. I spent some of the laptop money on Pokémon cards. I bought an orange julius and a cheeseburger. I tossed coins into the wishing fountain and spotted a girl from school I liked, waving in her direction.

About two hours passed, and I decided to find Justin. I combed through the food court, peered into the game shop, circled the outskirts of the mall, and retraced my steps, searching in GameStop, Target, Walmart, and every clothing store. I couldn't find him. I muttered a quiet curse under my breath, frustrated that my mom hadn't allowed me to have a cell phone yet. I took a seat on a bench outside of GameStop, my frustration growing. I hated Justin.

I checked my wristwatch; it was six o'clock. People were being ushered out of the doors, and security was rounding up the last of the loitering teenagers. I dangled my legs under the chair and rubbed the back of my neck.

Now it was seven, and one by one, the roller doors of the food court were closing. Only the arcade remained open until nine. It would be dark in less than an hour, and I couldn't help but wager all my Pokémon cards that my mom assumed I was having dinner at Justin's. "Piece of crap," I mouthed. I felt my throat tighten, my eyes welled up, the corners of my mouth pulled down. I pinched my arm. "Please don't cry. Please don't cry."

I didn't know anyone's phone number, not Mom's, not Justin's mom's. Home was an hour's walk away through some questionable streets. I'd never caught a train before. I didn't know what bus to catch. "Don't you dare cry, Evan, you wimp."

Exiting the arcade, three kids from school sauntered out, exchanging playful punches. On the left was Phillip, infamous for snatching items from backpacks and attempting to peddle them back to the kids he stole them from.

On the right walked Fynne, a notorious dick, rumored to have driven a teacher to alcoholism, and who had been expelled three times, with more suspensions than I've had ice cream.

In the middle was Wallard, or as he insisted, "Blue," wearing a tank top and flip-flops. Blue was known to aim and shoot a Nerf gun between your eyes if you called him Wallard, and he had hit his mark twice before. Later, he'd earn notoriety by shitting on the principal's car, though he wouldn't be the first to do so.

Approaching me, Wallard left his two friends in the distance. He grinned mischievously and said, "Sup, nerd?"

I couldn't hold back the tears any longer, my emotions overwhelming me. I desperately tried to stop, but the floodgates had opened.

"Da fuck?" Blue glanced back at his friends who were laughing like a couple of hyenas, then looked back at me, his forehead crinkled. He was older than me by a year, having repeated third grade, not because he was dumb or anything, but because he'd missed a year of school due to family issues - both parents in jail, I'd heard.

"Somethin' happen?" He asked.

I nodded, wiping the tears with the back of my hand, and I told what had happened. "Justin's a jerk," I said.

Blue straightened and folded his arms across his chest. He nodded once, "if you say so."

He turned and issued a command to one of his friends. "Ey, fuckface, give me your phone."

He dialed a number and pressed the phone to his ear, snapping his thumb and index finger in front of my face. "Alright, you can stop crying now," he quipped.

Blue's uncle picked up both Blue and me, and we made a stop at a McDonald's drive-thru. I reached for the laptop money, but Blue's uncle waved it off, dismissing it.

"So, who's this Justin fucka'?" Blue's uncle asked.

He hadn't introduced me by name earlier. Blue had simply said, "Dis is my Mam's brother from another mather."