Storky (15 page)

Awesome night, but I’m tired. Spent an hour and 43 minutes cleaning my room before Sydney came over to work on our report. Found $1.42, that math homework I searched all over for last semester, and half a sandwich that might have been turkey.

The dinner pictures turned out good. Sydney scanned them in her computer and blew them up. Everyone has a cool computer except me. We’re not using the picture with my arm around her. Our cheeks look really red in it. I wish I wasn’t too wimpy to ask her for a copy.

After we finished the report, we just talked. About Spanish class, swimming, cars, books. She’s read every novel Edith Wharton ever wrote. I dropped that I’d read
War and Peace
over winter break. She said she liked a man who could read Tolstoy. A
man.
When I showed her my complete collection of S. E. Hinton novels, she said “Wow” like she was looking at football trophies. Of course I didn’t mention my other collections—the box of comic books in my closet or the Scrabble stuff hidden under my bed.

She volunteers at the Boys and Girls Club once a week. I asked her what she did there, hoping to hear the word
Scrabble
or at least the words
board games.
But she just helps with their homework.

It seemed so noble, I couldn’t mention Golden Village. The whole nursing home volunteer thing sounds good, I guess. But then I’d have to admit I only go whenever I feel like it, and usually talk to only one guy, who mostly just kicks my butt at Scrabble.

I sat on my desk chair, but she lounged on my bed with the pillow propped between her back and the wall. I should get rid of that Batman pillowcase I’ve had since I was 7. I kept picturing me on top of her in the bed, both of us naked. Luckily I kept Rex under guard. In my vision I was all muscular. Me and Nate better keep lifting weights.

The only bad part was when Mom came into the room Even When My Door Was Closed, with this sudden need to put away laundry. Oh, and also when someone started hurling chow in the bathroom. I explained to Sydney that Bulimic Michele must be over, but I’m sure she got totally grossed out. Listening to those ralphing noises killed any shot of kissing Sydney on my bed. Not that I would have gotten up the guts to kiss her anyway.

Dad’s bimbo delight used the word
fabulous
13 times tonight. Fabulous arugula, fabulous chorizo, fabulous presentation of the sashimi-feta-risotto stack. All in all, a fabulous restaurant, for fans of minuscule portions of weird food. I’d kill for a Whopper right now.

Looked up back journal entries and calculated that just 3 months ago I asked Dad not to bring his girlfriends along on Sundays. Miss Fabulous came the last 3 Sundays. It’s just getting worse with him.

Maybe once I’m all muscular and start driving, I’ll seem almost like a friend he wants to do stuff with. I could join his gym and lift weights with him and check out the girls in their exercise bras, and maybe hang out afterward at the juice bar. Does Dad’s gym have a juice bar? They always do on TV. I’m not going there until I’m in better shape.

Nate and I really planned to work out today. But then Nate didn’t feel like biking over here. I lifted by myself for 5 minutes, rounded up from 4. I only quit so I wouldn’t be sore for the oral report this week.

Amanda got 6 Valentine’s Day cards, flowers from 2 different guys, and a box of chocolates from a secret admirer. What do they see in her? I mean besides that she’s beautiful and popular and smart. She threw away the candy because she’s on a diet, but when I came down to watch TV tonight, I saw her digging it out of the trash.

Berm came over and gave Mom a teddy bear. She cried again. I don’t think that’s such a great gift. Definitely not worth crying over. Isn’t she old for stuffed animals? Maybe she’s going through a midlife crisis.

I got absolutely nothing. No candy, no presents, not even a card. The usual. I wonder if Sydney got any valentines. Maybe I should have bought her something. No. Look what happened after I spent all that money on Gina. But Sydney’s a lot different than Gina. Thank God.

Duke really helped me today. As soon as we laid out the Scrabble board, I asked him the question that’s been bugging me for 3 days: Do most gyms have juice bars or is that just a TV thing? He said as far as he knew, they didn’t. His old gym just had a drinking fountain that was out of order half the time.

Then he said I looked glummer than the lady he ate breakfast with who just had her legs amputated. I told him I’d been hoping I could lift weights with Dad and hang with him at the juice bar afterward. Instead of just going out to eat with him and his bimbo delight every other week.

Then he started acting like a prosecutor, asking me all these questions that I think he knew the answer to all along. I bet he was a great D.A. before he retired.

He says, “Whose idea was it to go bimonthly?” I told him, “My dad’s.” “And you want more?” he asks. I nodded. He cocked his shaky head and frowned at me.

I said I wanted to lift weights with him, and maybe take up a sport so he could root for me at the games. Then Duke goes, “Like your older sister? Does he root for her?” I said she doesn’t talk to him anymore. Then he asks, “But did he used to?”

It hit me. Big time. That Dad never did much for Amanda either. Even when he lived with us, he never hung out with her or anything. What he did for Amanda was bang her assistant gymnastics coach. “Never,” I told Duke. “He never even rooted for my sister in gymnastics. Or in anything.”

He didn’t have any more questions. Just sat in silence while I stared at the Scrabble game for a long time. I was so weirded out, I didn’t even notice how much time. I didn’t notice much of anything. Just the letters blurring on the board and the sour smell of old people dying as I thought about Duke’s questions. As I finally realized Dad never rooted for either of his kids. No matter how athletic or popular or smart or good-looking we are.

After Duke reached out and patted my shoulder, I put down
atlatl,
which he’d used on me back in the fall, and Duke goes, “Good, you’re learning.”

I guess all this time I’ve been going about the Dad problem the wrong way. All this time I thought there was a solution.

Our report went great. Me and Sydney made a good team. I wore a sombrero, and she wore this little sheer white blouse that I guess was supposed to be like a Mexican peasant outfit. It made her gazongas look huge.

Everyone laughed when we showed the close-up picture of my mouth full of food. I aced the speech I wrote in Spanish. I even threw in the word
arraba
just to show off my perfect
r
roll. Ms. Padilla clapped really hard for us and went,
muy bueno.
We’ll definitely get A’s.

After class I gave Sydney a high five. Then she gave me a hug. I don’t know if it was a just-friendly-teammates hug or something else, but it sure felt good.

Then after that, Robby Poloski tapped me in the hallway and goes, “Nice job, Storky.” I gave him my Vin Diesel look, which I’ve only done before in the privacy of my own bathroom mirror. I said, “The name’s Mike. Or Michael to you.” As they say
en espanol,
I got
cajones.

Oh, man. Oh, man. Oh, man. I can’t even write about this. The whole day all I’ve been thinking is, Oh, man.

I think I can write about it now. But let me just write Oh, man one more time. Oh, man.

Okay, here’s what happened. Yesterday morning we were all downstairs getting ready for school. I was pouring out my Froot Loops, and Mom and Amanda were packing their lunches. Amanda asks her why she doesn’t drink coffee anymore. Mom says she buys it at school now. Then Amanda asks her why she doesn’t wear jeans anymore, and Mom says she gained some weight. Then Amanda asks why she gained weight. Mom says she was eating too much. Then Amanda goes, “It seems like all you ever eat these days is licorice and saltines.” Mom says, “What are you getting at?” Then Amanda says, “I’m getting at that you got yourself knocked up.”

Then I dropped the milk carton. It was nearly full. Almost a half gallon of milk all over the floor. Me and Mom went nuts trying to clean it up, getting out the mop and sponges and paper towels. Meanwhile, Amanda just leaned against the fridge, going, “It’s true, isn’t it? I can’t believe you didn’t use birth control.”

I felt like I was in a bad dream or a trance. It was too bizzotic to be true. I stared at Mom’s stomach, and she didn’t look pregnant. I thought, Maybe she’s not. Maybe she’ll say Amanda’s crazy.

But Mom started crying while she mopped. She’s like, “Howard and I were going to sit you both down and talk about it,” and Amanda goes, “I heard you puking again yesterday. How dumb do you think I am?”

Then I realized I must be dumb, since I figured she had menopause. I didn’t ever imagine her getting pregnant. She’s 40. 40½, actually. And I don’t want to think about how she got knocked up.

Amanda said we had to go so we wouldn’t be late for school. I never got to eat breakfast. She didn’t even finish packing her lunch. I didn’t talk to Mom about it yesterday morning, since Amanda was my ride. I couldn’t speak anyway, being like in total shock.

The whole way there Amanda went, “I knew it, I knew it” while I just slumped in my seat, saying, Oh, man to myself about a million times.

 

 

 

 

GOOD THINGS ABOUT MOM BEING PREGNANT
None.

Finally got a reaction from Dad. Not a good one, but something. Progress, I guess.

He was only 22 minutes late tonight. After he picked me up, he got Miss Fabulous at her house. Actually a dinky apartment she shares with this other actress. She brought a little pink suitcase with her. It’s bad enough I have to think about Mom having sex. Now I have to think about Dad doing it too. He made me sit in the backseat, even though I’m like 9 inches taller than Miss Fabulous and get squished.

I couldn’t wait to tell him about Mom. I don’t know why. Maybe so he’d know she’s moving on. That she’s not the sob queen she was when they divorced. Maybe I wanted to burn him too. Let
him
picture Mom doing it with another guy. Maybe it was just so I could tell someone. I don’t know.

I didn’t even do a buildup. Just shocked him with it at the Belgian restaurant. “Dad. Mom’s pregnant.” He was sipping Evian water, and it spilled all over his hand and into his leek soup. I should have waited until he drank his red wine.

He goes, “Are you sure?” I couldn’t help smirking. I said, “Do you think she’d have any reason to lie about it?” He didn’t answer, so I asked if he was okay. He had to clear his throat before he could say, “Of course I’m okay.” The water still dripping from his hand definitely gave him away. Seeing Dad all upset was almost worth Mom getting pregnant.

No, it wasn’t.

Mom and Dr. Vermin have it all planned out. Everything’s settled. Verm came over to discuss it tonight. Except it wasn’t a discussion. It was an explanation. It wasn’t even that. It was a briefing.

They never once asked me what I thought of all this. I’m getting a stepdad and a half-sister or -brother, and it’s all supposed to be this wonderful thing. Mom goes, “I’ll take a year off from law school so you’ll get to see me more.” Like what a wonderful treat. And it’s supposed to be so wonderful to go to their wonderful wedding in the wonderful spring.

When people tell you something will be wonderful, when they sound like an infomercial trying to convince you of it, then you know it won’t be wonderful. That it’ll suck.

Amanda’s pissed too. She called Mom and Verm sleaze-balls, and ran up to her room. At least Amanda gets to escape to college this fall. Me, I’ll be living here another 3 years and 5½ months, in this wonderful house with all these wonderful people I never asked for, ever.

Duke doesn’t think it’s wonderful, but he pointed out some positives. He says babies are chick bait. He didn’t say it that way. He goes, “Gals flock to young men holding babies like a drunk to Robitussin.” Supposedly if I take the baby to school during cheerleading practice, the girls will be flipping and jumping all over me. He also said he hopes the baby turns out just like me. I told him I wouldn’t wish my hair on anybody.

Duke said he wished he’d had children, because then he wouldn’t be stuck at Golden Village, eating crummy food and playing gin rummy with a bunch of geezers every day. Being so old must totally bite. We’re both stuck living with people that bug, but at least I get out of the house most days. I’m taking him to a Padres game when I get my license. Even though he keeps killing me at Scrabble.

Aunt Marsha came over tonight with her new girlfriend. Not a total hottie like her old one, but pretty cute. She’s got good taste in women.

They were all over Mom, rubbing her stomach, giving her these teas that are supposed to help morning sickness, acting like it’s so great to be pregnant when you’re 40½ and not even married. That’s why I’m in my bedroom typing this lame journal instead of downstairs eating ice cream with everyone else.