The Wall

The first in a Debate Team Story

Debate boys always seemed more charming in real life than they were on paper. I thought they could hold their own in conversations about quantum physics and art history—maybe even read me a little poetry—while the rest were quoting Beavis and Butthead and laughing at fart jokes.

But here’s what I learned:
Debate boys aren’t necessarily more mature.
They’ll leave you on read when they’re running scared.
They’ll cancel your Asheville dreams because of a ghost.
And they’ll absolutely ruin your night with Red Dye #5 and a white wall.

Which brings me to the first.

The Debate Team Legend Who Couldn’t Hold His Kool-Aid

New girl. New school. New debate team crush. Naturally. He looked great in a pair of Levi’s and was sarcastic as hell. Obvi, I was smitten. And low-key stalking him after school. I’d hang around until practice was over and walk out when he did.

But crushes are fickle. Teenage girls, more so. After he went off to college, the crush had just about run its course. But then my friend said he was back—and could he come to my party.

My mother was always out of town. She usually left me to fend for myself with $20 for groceries. I did not buy food. I had parties.

And I hadn’t thought about debate boy in months, but suddenly I was imagining us on the back porch, looking out over the bluff, discussing subjective reality and Sylvia Plath—while everyone else was inside getting stoned.

What happened was an explosion of red Kool-Aid and Everclear on my mother’s bedroom wall.

I was not impressed.
I. Was. Livid.

“Dude, you’re the oldest one here—and you can’t hold your Kool-Aid?”
(I’ve since learned age is no measure of maturity, folks.)

This legend-in-my-mind, passing out and falling off his pedestal, was a soul punch—but I didn’t have time to sit with it. I was trying to figure out how to rage paint a full bedroom in less than 24 hours.

I told his friends, “He WILL be back here tomorrow to clean this up—hungover or not.”

They promised. Then they picked him up like a rag doll soaked in vodka and dragged him out to the car. They hit his head on the door frame, rousing him just enough to mutter a fart joke and something about Nietzsche. The buzz had officially been killed.

To his credit, the boy showed up the next day with a bucket, bleach, and towels. And bless his heart—he scrubbed. And scrubbed. And the wall sparkled. But my crush? It had been permanently doused by Kool-Aid and hard truth.

Turns out, he wasn’t the last debate team guy to get sick and let me down…

Here’s the mixtape.
Intro:
🎶”Cleopatra” – The Lumineers

Act I: The Wall
🎶”Criminal” – Fiona Apple
🎶”Walls” – The Lumineers
🎶”One Headlight” – The Wallflowers

Here’s what you may have missed:

Every week, Stories from the Jukebox gives us a prompt. Here’s mine from last week, such as it is:

🎶 This week’s Jukebox:

📼 From the Jukebox Vault:

🪑 Southern Writers’ Guild:
If you haven’t visited MJ, Rick, and me over at the Guild yet, I’d love for you to check out this piece:

Backstory of "The Cooler"

🎥 SWaG Feature of the Week:

This month, we’re featuring Rick West’s novel, First Light. He’s treated us to the first ten chapters, then some real behind behind-the-scenes commentary.

This week, he’s giving us a little mix of both as he continues with the story:

First Light