Falling isn't as bad as you might think it'd be. I mean, the actual falling. Not the jumping. The jumping was pretty bad, and the thought of hitting the ground is even worse, but the falling itself feels pretty good. It's like floating in the air, in Heaven, or something. I mean, I'm not real religious or anything, so I don't really know all that much about Heaven, but I can't help but think that Heaven's gotta be something like this. Just floating, looking at the stars. Just like right now. Who knows, maybe I've died without realizing it and I'm in Heaven already. But that would be too easy.

Anyway, there's not much reason to be so religious all of a sudden. Except that I'm probably going to die pretty soon. Actually, that's not it. I am going to die pretty soon. Oh, God, I'm going to die. That's what happens when you jump. Jump, fall, die. That's what happens. I just wish I knew why it's happening so slow. That's what's really driving me crazy. The window can't have been that far from the ground. Still, I don't regret it. That would be the worst, knowing you've killed yourself and then regretting it. I don't regret anything. I don't regret a single thing I've done since I came to this lousy school. Most of all, I don't regret saying it. I'll say it again. Phil Stabile is the most conceited louse I've ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on.

This is taking way too long. I should have been dead hours ago. But I'm not. I look to my right, at the wall. It's like I'm lying down on my back, in the air. It's a good feeling, except I have to look at that wall. That stupid crumby red brick wall. Elkton Hills in all its glory… all it's phony glory, that is. I should have known that from the very first day I got here. I should have known it the minute I first saw Mr. Haas, the headmaster. He's always smiling. Charming. It's a lie. I should have known that the first time he met my parents. Every Sunday, lines of cars drive up to the school, all parents coming to visit. Haas comes and shakes their hands, and talks to them, and makes it seem like Elkton Hills is the grandest school what ever existed. And he was having a grand old time of it, when he got to my parents, and just kind of shook their hands and gave them this phony smile and walked off without another word. I didn't make much of it, until the next Sunday, when he did the same thing to another set of parents. And the next Sunday. And the Sunday after that. Every single time, he ignored the same kind of parents, the ones that don't look so high up, the funny-looking ones. It made me sick. The next time my parents came around, which wasn't for a while 'cause it's not like they can drive up to the school every Sunday, I told them about it. But my mother was how she always is, and told me, "Jamie, life's like that sometimes. Now, you came here to get a good education. Keep your sight on that, and the rest of it will go on by without any trouble."

I didn't have the heart to argue with her. Then again, it's not like I usually have the heart to argue with anybody. Not until just recently, and I think that was just Holden Caulfield's sweater talking. Normally I'm quiet like you've never heard. Anyway, after that whole thing, I made a point to be even quieter, and to do better at school than ever before. I'm no genius or anything, but I did decent. But every Sunday I had to stay inside, unless my parents happened to come by, or else I went mad.

It was on one of those Sundays that I met Dick Slagle. He was inside for the same reason I was. I never really got to be friends with him or anything, though. Actually I wasn't really friends with anybody at Elkton Hills, ever. But I'd see Dick Slagle inside on Sundays once in a while, and sometimes we'd talk a little. It was from him that I first learned the word "phony."

"Haas is such a phony," Dick was muttering as he stared out a window on the second floor. The cars were all lined up in front of the building.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean? Are you blind?" He shot a look at me. "I guess so. Huh. Those glasses are so bourgeois, too." I didn't know what "bourgeois" meant, or if I should be offended or not.

Dick kept talking. "Anyway. Phony. You know. The way he skips over the average looking parents and saves himself for the hotshot ones. Like the average ones don't matter. Like he's not average."

That had me thinking for a while afterward. When I stopped to think about it, it came to me that Haas is pretty average. Just an average old man headmaster. No better than any other old man in a suit. That thought had me occupied for a long time. But when my mother and father next came around to visit, I didn't mention it to them. Mother would have given me some new lecture, something like, "It isn't right to think of the headmaster that way, Jamie. He's a good man, who's done plenty of work to get to where he is." And Father would've said, "Your mother's right, James. And if you do that same kind of work, you could come out on top too."

But if being on top meant being phony, I wouldn't do it. I thought about that for a long, long time. Were all the other important people in the world phony, too? And the more I thought about it, the more I heard that word being used. Not a lot of people used it, though. Not at Elkton Hills. It was mainly one person I heard it from. That was Dick Slagle's roommate, Holden Caulfield. He didn't go around shouting it or anything, but if you listened, you could hear him muttering it all the time. Speaking of Holden, I'm wearing his sweater. No real reason why. I told him it was because my cousin was coming up to the school and taking me out for a drive. It was gonna be a real treat, too – I don't get to ride in a car all that often. Can't afford it. But it's not like I needed that sweater to have a good time. But for some reason, I just wanted to wear it, just for a little while. So I did it. There he was, in the can, brushing his teeth, and I just walked up and asked if I could borrow his sweater. The first time I saw him, he was wearing it. He was sitting in math class, all the way in the back of the room, horsing around, not paying any attention to anything going on around him, and he was wearing this blue turtleneck sweater. That color stands out in the memory more than anything. Maybe more than Holden himself. I remember thinking it was like the sky or something. But it's what I associate with that feeling the most. The feeling of doing something. The feeling that, I really wanted to be like Holden Caulfield, who wasn't afraid of anything. I remember envisioning myself doing all sorts of crazy things. Overturning my desk in the middle of class and giving all the phonies there what they deserved. Or just dying. Dying and getting away from everything. Me, James Castle, who everyone knew as that quiet guy with glasses who sat in the corner of the room with his face buried in homework.

I borrowed his sweater. He looked shocked, but he lent it to me anyway. I remember thinking, "Oh, I'll just wear it around for a while, don't have to keep it all weekend," or something like that. I put it on and I was walking around after classes, and maybe I was imagining that I was Holden Caulfield, when I saw Phil Stabile. "Conceited louse." That's what I thought. That's what everybody thought. How could anybody think otherwise, the way he went through the halls with all his friends tagging along behind like some kind of holiday parade. He wasn't even all that smart or good at anything. He just acted like if you were good at something, he was better. And if you disagreed, he had six guys ready to jump you. Anyway, I saw Phil Stabile, and the first thought that came to mind was, "Conceited louse." And then, for some reason, it came out of my mouth. There I was, standing in the hallway, staring at Phil Stabile's conceited back muttering about him, something that quiet little James Castle would never have done. In his right mind. I swear it was Holden's sweater.

As I saw him walking away, I saw one of his friends turn his head in my direction. Then I knew I was in for it. But I didn't run away. I sat in my room the rest of that afternoon, waiting. I knew they were coming. And I didn't care. Phony, conceited. All of them. So I sat there waiting. It didn't surprise me one bit when the door opened. I had told my roommate that I needed the room empty that evening. He was gone. In his place was Phil Stabile. "I hear you've been saying things about me," he said. He looked very big, standing where the door was. I didn't answer. Phil walked into the room, followed by all of his friends. One turned, shut the door, and locked it. Now I wouldn't have help. But I still wasn't scared.

"It would be in your best interest to take back anything you've said today about me," said Phil. "Because I can't guarantee your safety otherwise."

I was still wearing Holden's sweater. "No," I said.

Phil's mouth tightened into a little ugly line across his little ugly face. "I don't think you understand," he said.

Before he could say anything else, I said, "I understand. And I say no. I won't take it back. I don't regret anything."

Phil shook his head mockingly, and then he grinned. He had bits of dinner stuck in his teeth. It was disgusting. Everything was disgusting. He said, "I sure hope not."

I swear I've never seen that much blood before. Most of it was probably mine. I hope I got in one or two blows on their lousy faces. But probably not.

"Take it back!" Phil screamed. It sounded like a donkey. I couldn't answer, though. Not enough energy, or time. Maybe they figured this out, because they stopped for a second to get an answer out of me. "You gonna take it back?" asked Phil. It wasn't a question, but I answered.

"No." At least, that's what I think I said. My nose and mouth were bleeding a lot by then and probably made my speech all messed up, too.

Somebody landed a good one on the back of my head. My sight went out. I reached out into thin air, hoping to grab one of their hairy, elephant-like limbs. Instead, I touched the windowsill. Then I realized that I wasn't going to come out of this. Before they could get me again, and before my resolve ran out, I jumped.

I banged my legs against the window as I was falling, and heard a few screams from above and below, but other than that it was perfect. A dream come true. No more phony people. No more phony world. No more being treated like crap just because I wanted to be somebody real. Heaven.

Anyway, that brings me back to where I am now, falling. I wonder if it's a waste to be dying now. Maybe I'll look back on this from Heaven and think, "What a waste." I hope not. I'm not regretting it now. Although I wonder what I'm going to tell God. It isn't exactly easy to say, "I don't know. I guess I just got sick of it."

The ground seems awfully close now.