Nobody Ever Died of Teerminal Weirdness

This is an excerpt.
Geek. Loser. Whatever. It just happened. No matter how hard I worked to avoid it, a different arrow pointed down at me from the first day of kindergarten. In second grade I tried to leave school and start life fresh, but my mom wouldn't let me. In seventh grade I went the desperation route and played football, but my teammates asked me to sit out even though our side was three players down.
Going into the middle year of high school, I narrowed the problem down to Peer Interaction. I decided that by the end of the week, the end of the year, or the end of my life - whichever came first - I would be normal. Mr. Voleywall the vice principal would have to find someone else to reform, my friend Will would find someone else to kindly pity, the dogs would stop choosing my clean clothes to sleep on, and a girl would smile back at me. What made this only more difficult was no one in my family believed I needed changing.
I figured they were not the best ones to judge normal.
"You don't need to worry about impressing girls at your age," my mother said. "Just be yourself."
"I can't afford a big date on a social security check, and with the help you give me, that's about when it's going to happen."
"I didn't date at your age."
"Listen," I said as kindly as I could, "Growing up to be like my mother is not my top priority." I left my mother talking to the back to school shopping list, and looked up my brother, the football team captain, Honor Society president, and Boyfriend. Since he managed to avoid the family curse and actually acquire a girlfriend, I thought I could get some pointers. "This is the year," I said, standing in his doorway, "I'm going to get a girlfriend. Also get on a sports team, win over the vice principal, and be normal. Do you think you can help me out?"
"Are you still combing your hair once a year on Christmas Eve?" he asked. "You could start there."
"I hoped to make some progress before December," I answered. "But thanks anyway." My brother unfortunately considered himself a solo operator.
My father was watching the twentieth rerun of the Ice Bowl, but he swiveled from the tv to my question. "Just remember most things are a plot, and you can't really trust women to tell you if your fly is open," he admonished. "Also that you can't always get points when you need them, and sometimes neither can the other team." Since I wanted to find a female I could trust with more than basic neatness and football strategy concerns, I thanked my father and trotted back to my room.
After I locked the door, I sat down with the back to school newspaper circulars and began to plan.