When I was in high school, I got a lot of attention from a group of older boys. They were swaggering cool kids, surfer types in a time — the early 1990s — and a place — San Diego — where that was the bleeding edge of cool. They were all white kids, tanned from long days at the beach, with hair down to the middle of their backs. They were good looking, muscular and notorious, which at that particular time and at that particular school was just as good as popular.
They were also open white supremacists, talking about Tom Metzger and David Duke with the same muted fanaticism as they would earnestly discuss particularly good surf spots or strains of weed.