The New York Times Magazine, Sunday, August 22, 1999

The Outsiders
but overall they are getting better, definitely."
he quips ricochet around the bedroom like friendly-fire darts. Myles
Forrest, 16, a sophomore with baby fat and sweet eyes, is one of George
Farley's closer friends. George, also 16, is a floater. He has set up camp
with ConVal's freaks for now. George sees weakness everywhere -- in women
who look for milk cartons with the latest expiration date at the store where he
works; in the unemployed drunk who receives an allowance from his working
wife; in white girls who think they are cool because they date guys who are
black. Softness arouses his contempt. He is no more gentle with himself. The
volleying with Myles, who wears his Y2K T-shirt -- "01-01-00" -- relieves
George of the clearly burdensome obligation of having so much edge.
"The end of Myles's life," George starts.
"The end of life as we know it," Myles says. The phone rings. George lifts the
receiver. "Myles Forrest, loser," he announces, and so the afternoon begins.
Myles and George provide sustenance between insults. Myles fiddles with his
computer -- one of two -- as George peers out over the street. "What's up with
the dress?" George asks, spotting an exchange student from ConVal.
"What? He's Hindu," says Myles.
"I said, What's up with the dress?"
"It's like a cult thing," Myles says, somewhat sharply.
"That's a dress," George says, losing steam.
"It's like a cult thing. It's like a kilt."
"You know I'm messing with you, don't go getting all politically correct with
me." (Later on, Myles will explain the theory of equal-opportunity hatred: "You
ever notice that you can't hate a particular group, but if you generally hate
everybody nobody seems to mind?") The sarcasm slows when the Quake
competition begins.
It strikes me as I watch them in front of the famously violent video game that it
is one way for the boys to enjoy closeness without it being threatening. The
violence of the game, the state-of-siege mentality, the technical expertise
required, supplant the macho expectations and give the boys a rest from the
relentless one-upmanship. Rather than insult each other, they can attack the
game. Soon enough, they are allies in the search for snacks, rushing down the
stairs. They amble past the locked gun case behind the door leading through the
playroom, to the kitchen. George sticks his head in the fridge.
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