Born a Crime

In high school, the attention of girls
was not an affliction I suffered
from. I wasn’t the hot guy in class. I
wasn’t even the cute guy in class. I
was ugly. Puberty was not kind to
me. My acne was so bad that people
used to ask what was wrong with
me, like I’d had an allergic reaction
to something. It was the kind of
acne that qualifies as a medical
condition. Acne vulgaris, the doctor
called it. We’re not talking about
pimples, kids. We’re talking
pustules—big, pus-filled blackheads
and whiteheads. They started on my
forehead, spread down the sides of
my face, and covered my cheeks and