If you can remember back to December’s TransWorld SNOWboarding, you might recall a little contest where readers could win a date with a famous Reef model (you know the girls I’m talking about, droolboy). Anyway, all we asked of our readers was to put their woe-is-me, pathetic, bad luck, and/or heartbreak down on paper and send it to the editors in O’side, California.

We received hundreds of letters, and boy were they pathetic. Some filled our hearts with pity, some made us cry (I didn’t cry, but I did feel a twinge of emotion, only to later write it off as gas from a bad burrito). Some actually made us laugh, and for that we apologize. Then there were some that made us, well, scared. We sifted through them all. One thing was for sure, picking a winner wasn’t an easy task. We’re not just finding a guy a date here, we’re changing lives! Okay, anyway one letter rose to the top again and again.

With that being said …

Congratulations go out to Morgan Delaney of Whitefish, Montana. Morgan won the promdate with a Reef girl contest with his sad but true (we checked with his mom) tale of love gone bad. But don’t feel too bad for Morgan, he’ll be on his way to the prom this spring with Miss Reef Brazil on his arm.

-Michael Lucas

My Story

by Morgan H. Delaney

The day I was born, my parents received a gift from a close family friend. One of his cats had given birth to a litter the same day I was born. As a gift, he gave us one of his kittens, who we named Bob.

I was still a baby when my parents and sister moved from my birthplace of Laguna Beach, California to the small town of Whitefish, Montana. I grew up in the countryside where there wasn’t much civilization at the time, and because my sister was much older than I, the only real friend I had was my cat Bob. We grew up and did everything together. Anywhere I went, he went, too. Our favorite place to go was Blachard Lake-about two and a half miles up the road from our house. I would hop on my bike and Bob would hide in my zip-up hooded sweatshirt down the dirt road toward the lake. One day, the summer before I was to start school (I was around the age of six), something happened.

It was a windy, sunny day in August and a storm was heading over the mountains. Bob and I were heading toward the lake when I looked back to see a group of five older kids on bikes racing toward me. The way they were racing, I knew I was in trouble. I had been warned by the neighbors about these boys as being “the sons of the Devil”. I knew I was in trouble if I didn’t do something fast. As I started to peddle faster, I could see the trail that branched off the road that lead to the lake. I knew that if I could get to it before they got to me, I could most likely hide in the woods. Unfortunately, even as fast as I was peddling, it wasn’t getting me anywhere because they were right on my tail. The thought of getting beaten started running through my head.

That, however, wasn’t what was going to happen to me.

The storm was now above us, and it was starting to rain heavily. One of the boys was right next to me with a large stick in hand. He then rammed the stick in-betweenhe spokes of my front tire, sending me flying over my handlebars. Heading toward the ground, I stuck my left arm out and kept my right arm in to protect my cat. I landed and heard what sounded like a tree branch shattering in my arm. After a few tumbles, I started to see red, and I feared that Bob was hurt. When I took a better look, I could see a bone sticking out of my left forearm. I was in shock and wanted to scream but had no breath. The boys surrounded me, and grabbed my cat. I cried out to them to leave us alone, but they just laughed the most evil laughs I had ever heard. Through tear-filled eyes, I could see that they were circled around my cat taunting it by spitting and throwing small rocks at him. Then, one of the boys pulled out a large metal pipe. I wanted so much to get up and do something but I was filled with so much pain, all I could do was lie in the rain and scream. As I started to fade in and out of consciousness, I started to hear the sound of thumping clubs and screams of unbearable pain from my cat. All of the sudden there was silence. As I lay face down in the road, a stream of blood mixed in with rain water ran toward me and mixed with the blood from my arm, I realized that my cat was dead. I passed out for about five minutes and when I awoke the, boys were gone.

I looked up and saw the dead body of my beaten cat. I slowly got up and walked over to where Bob was and fell to my knees in front of him. Scooping him up in my arms, I sat in the middle of the road. Tears rolled down my cheeks, as I broke down crying.

I walked home in pouring rain in complete shock.

I truly knew what it meant to have a broken heart because the fury and sadness that filled me was overwhelming. From that day on, I promised myself that I would never have any kind of emotional attachment to anything as long as I lived.

I went through life being friendly, yet very shy and very angry. In junior high I started skateboarding, snowboarding, playing the guitar, and listening to punk rock which soon earned me the label as a loser from my fellow teeny-bopping peers and they more or less didn’t want to have anything whatsoever to do with me. All the guys made fun of me and all the girls rejected and laughed at me.

Then something happened my sophomore year of high school. I met the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in the world; she was a freshman. I fell in love with her immediately partly because unlike most of the other hot, rich, yet clueless, snobby girls in my school, she was the first to actually talk to me; and she did with much interest. I wasn’t the only one that thought she was hot, because almost every senior jock was after her also. But I really thought that she liked me and I was filled with emotions of passion that were foreign to me. That is when I decided I was going to ask her to the homecoming dance that was coming up. I knew I needed to do it soon before anybody else did. So, I got up my courage, called her up, asked her, and she said yes.

I had never been so excited before in my life.

The day of the dance came, and I could hardly wait. I had even gone out and bought her the most beautiful rose I could find. We decided to meet at the football game, which I despised. Anyway, we met up after the game and walked over with everyone else to the dance. She even walked with her arm in mine. We got to the dance, which was a street dance, and everyone was in whichever little clique he or she belonged. Considering I was used to punk rock shows instead of high school dances, I felt a little awkward. But soon everyone started dancing and it was all good. The first slow song came on and she was in my arms. Besides the fact that I was sweating profusely and shaking like a mad man, I was in heaven and I never wanted the moment to end. Everything was right, the smell of her hair, the cool night air, it couldn’t have been better.

The song ended, I was quite thirsty and I went and got something to drink. When I returned, the DJ had put on one of those “gettin’ freaky” songs where everyone grinds, and I saw her dancing with one of the top notch jocks. It made me a little bitter, but I didn’t think much of it. When the next song came on, she didn’t leave him, she just kept dancing with him. I started to get very upset and started to slowly realize that I was getting shafted. By the time the next slow song came on, she was in his arms, not mine and her lips were kissing his, not mine. I was furious and heartbroken. Angry at the jock, angry her, but mostly angry at myself for letting something this like this happen to me.

The night was rolling on and I was miserable. I then realized that I still had the rose in my back pack, and when I went to get it, it had broken in half. I broke off the thorny stem, and I walked over with the rose in hand to where she was standing with the jock and about four of his jock friends. I was furious, but I hid every last bit of it. She asked where I had been, and I told her I had been around. I held out my hand and gave her the rose. She thought it was sweet but then whispered into my ear, “umm, I’m gonna hang out with these guys now, so you can leave now and go home or do whatever.

She turned around to show the jocks the flowers and all of the sudden, as I was walking away, I heard them laugh and yell at me, “I see you broke this rose just like you broke your arm!”

A wave of terror rolled down my spine and time seemed to stop. I had heard the laugh before. It was the same laugh that plagued me when I was so little. Here it was again, the same evil boys who damaged my life as a young child were doing it again. I started to get dizzy and nauseous as the whole childhood incident raced through my head. I stumbled off into the school and into the bathroom where I threw up into one of the toilets. When I was done I sat up and fought back the tears of remembering my childhood terror, unable to understand why this was happening again. I thought that this was just one big nightmare.

I finally composed myself and started to softly laugh. I’m not sure why, but maybe that was the madness trying to come out. About a half an hour passed and I went back outside to see the dance had ended and that it was raining profusely. I walked back to where the dance was being held and people were leaving. I was so furious and heartbroken again, that I cursed my own heart for being such a fool. I didn’t see the freshman or the jocks around but when I was walking to get my backpack, there in the middle of after the game and walked over with everyone else to the dance. She even walked with her arm in mine. We got to the dance, which was a street dance, and everyone was in whichever little clique he or she belonged. Considering I was used to punk rock shows instead of high school dances, I felt a little awkward. But soon everyone started dancing and it was all good. The first slow song came on and she was in my arms. Besides the fact that I was sweating profusely and shaking like a mad man, I was in heaven and I never wanted the moment to end. Everything was right, the smell of her hair, the cool night air, it couldn’t have been better.

The song ended, I was quite thirsty and I went and got something to drink. When I returned, the DJ had put on one of those “gettin’ freaky” songs where everyone grinds, and I saw her dancing with one of the top notch jocks. It made me a little bitter, but I didn’t think much of it. When the next song came on, she didn’t leave him, she just kept dancing with him. I started to get very upset and started to slowly realize that I was getting shafted. By the time the next slow song came on, she was in his arms, not mine and her lips were kissing his, not mine. I was furious and heartbroken. Angry at the jock, angry her, but mostly angry at myself for letting something this like this happen to me.

The night was rolling on and I was miserable. I then realized that I still had the rose in my back pack, and when I went to get it, it had broken in half. I broke off the thorny stem, and I walked over with the rose in hand to where she was standing with the jock and about four of his jock friends. I was furious, but I hid every last bit of it. She asked where I had been, and I told her I had been around. I held out my hand and gave her the rose. She thought it was sweet but then whispered into my ear, “umm, I’m gonna hang out with these guys now, so you can leave now and go home or do whatever.

She turned around to show the jocks the flowers and all of the sudden, as I was walking away, I heard them laugh and yell at me, “I see you broke this rose just like you broke your arm!”

A wave of terror rolled down my spine and time seemed to stop. I had heard the laugh before. It was the same laugh that plagued me when I was so little. Here it was again, the same evil boys who damaged my life as a young child were doing it again. I started to get dizzy and nauseous as the whole childhood incident raced through my head. I stumbled off into the school and into the bathroom where I threw up into one of the toilets. When I was done I sat up and fought back the tears of remembering my childhood terror, unable to understand why this was happening again. I thought that this was just one big nightmare.

I finally composed myself and started to softly laugh. I’m not sure why, but maybe that was the madness trying to come out. About a half an hour passed and I went back outside to see the dance had ended and that it was raining profusely. I walked back to where the dance was being held and people were leaving. I was so furious and heartbroken again, that I cursed my own heart for being such a fool. I didn’t see the freshman or the jocks around but when I was walking to get my backpack, there in the middle of the dance floor was the rose, which had been smashed. I fell to my knees, scooped it up in my hands, and sat holding it. A rain drop rolled down my cheek in place of a tear. The scar on my heart had ripped open, leaving it in a anguish. I snickered and went home.

News of what happened to me got around the school (that’s the problem of going to a small school) and some people felt sorry for me but most laughed (another reason why it’s a problem being in a school full of arrogant, egotistical redneck jocks, and stupid teeny-bopping girls). I just wanted to forget everything, but I soon found out it was impossible. To this day, I’ve never hated something so much as I hate love. I hate it more than those jocks and that freshman. I’m not worried about it because I know better.

I am 18 and a senior now, and still have never been laid, let alone kissed. Every time I see a group of giggly, clueless little girls who think they are better then everyone, it makes me laugh knowing how stupid they really are. Your contest would be the perfect revenge to get back at that freshman and those jocks.

So that’s my story, and if this is what you’re looking for, great, but if it isn’t, I want to meet the chap who has worse luck than me. of the dance floor was the rose, which had been smashed. I fell to my knees, scooped it up in my hands, and sat holding it. A rain drop rolled down my cheek in place of a tear. The scar on my heart had ripped open, leaving it in a anguish. I snickered and went home.

News of what happened to me got around the school (that’s the problem of going to a small school) and some people felt sorry for me but most laughed (another reason why it’s a problem being in a school full of arrogant, egotistical redneck jocks, and stupid teeny-bopping girls). I just wanted to forget everything, but I soon found out it was impossible. To this day, I’ve never hated something so much as I hate love. I hate it more than those jocks and that freshman. I’m not worried about it because I know better.

I am 18 and a senior now, and still have never been laid, let alone kissed. Every time I see a group of giggly, clueless little girls who think they are better then everyone, it makes me laugh knowing how stupid they really are. Your contest would be the perfect revenge to get back at that freshman and those jocks.

So that’s my story, and if this is what you’re looking for, great, but if it isn’t, I want to meet the chap who has worse luck than me.