Storky (18 page)

I just feel so weird about it all tonight. Like I wrote before, I don’t know how I
should
feel. But what I
do
feel mainly is proud of myself for sticking up for something for a change. And really wanting to go to the Spring Fling with Sydney, who I think likes me as much as I like her.

Spent all day cramming for the driver’s permit test. My brain’s filled with numbers—maximum speeds, alcohol limits, traffic fines. 35 more hours and it’ll all be over. I better pass.

Studied so hard for tomorrow’s DMV test I didn’t even watch TV. Last night I dreamt I failed, and Nate and Amanda and Gina all pointed to this big red F on my test and laughed like crazy, and Dad kept shaking his head and said, You’ll never get behind the wheel of my car, in fact you’ll never even sit in the front seat.

Got my permit! Scored 100% on the test. Of course I studied hard enough for it. Drove Mom to the dry cleaner’s, the bank, and the watch-repair place. It was awesome.

Mom’s too paranoid to let me go on the freeway. I don’t know if it’s because she’s pregnant or what, but she sure is a stress case. She kept going, “Slow down, slow down,” and doing these loud gasps and slamming her foot on the floor like there’s a brake on the passenger side.

When I see Dad on Sunday, I’ll arrange some driving practices. He’s a much better driver than Mom. She’s always doing the exact speed limit and looking in her rearview mirror. Dad’s really good at changing lanes on the freeway all the time and honking so he doesn’t have to be behind slow-pokes.

Sydney and I were the first people in Spanish class today. It was kind of weird. Like we were both very shy. Couldn’t think of anything to say, so I asked her if it was supposed to rain. What a dork. But then she went on and on about the weatherman on Channel 8, and her yellow umbrella, and how the clouds looked. I guess we both get geeky when we’re nervous.

Nate came over after school. We opened a can of Pringles and pigged. Instead of Mom bawling us out for eating junk food before dinner, she had some chips too. In fact, Mom ate more than we did. We finished 2 cans. She’s getting fat. Nate says it’s like her boobs are pregnant. I told him to shut up.

I had it all pictured in my head: practicing parking and U-turns at the Best Buy lot that’s usually half empty, driving on the freeway on weekend mornings, learning how to change lanes without slowing down too much.

All night at the stupid French-Vietnamese restaurant, I hinted about driving lessons. Saying, I got 100% on my permit test, and Mom’s all paranoid in the car, and You drive so smoothly, Dad. He either didn’t get what I was leading up to or pretended he didn’t. So finally when we shared that gross green squishy thing for dessert, I had to ask him straight out in front of Miss Fabulous. I went, “Dad, remember you said you’d teach me to drive? What days are good for you?”

Dad didn’t even pause before saying, “No days.” He just brushed me off like I was a time-share salesman calling at dinnertime. I never thought he’d turn me down. I thought maybe he’d say he could do it only once a week or something, but not that he would never do it, not at all. I didn’t think he’d say he couldn’t spare the time.

He offered to pay for driving lessons, which I guess in his mind solved everything, but to me wasn’t the point. The point is he only wants to see me twice a month, and only if his girlfriend tags along. The point is I should have known he’d say no, I should have known better. I should know how he is. I hate how he is. I hate Dad.

Oh, man! I didn’t know any of this was going to happen today. Today or any day. Duke never even hinted about it.

We went to see Duke’s lawyer today. I didn’t even know he had a lawyer. Mom picked me up after school and we went downtown to a big law office on the 14th floor of this ritzy glass building. The lawyer treated me like an adult—shaking my hand, calling me Mr. Pomerantz, talking to me instead of Mom.

She said, “Do you know what Mr. Jacoban left you?” I went, “You mean Duke, he left me something?” She handed me this copy of his will with the part about me highlighted. It said Michael Allen Pomerantz and it had all these legal-type words, real official looking. And it said he was giving me $30,000 that I had to use for a car and insurance.
Had to.

I let out a loud, “Oh, man” in the lawyer’s office, and started smiling and couldn’t stop. I’m smiling now as I type. $30,000! For a car! This is so excellent!

Duke never told me he was going to do this. I didn’t even know he had that much money. Enough for $2,000 to each worker at Golden Village, except the nurse he called Miss Misery. Mom and some of the other volunteers got $2,000 too. Plus he gave $200,000 to San Diego State.

Maybe he did it so the thought of dying wouldn’t be totally heinous. He was so smart. It’s just one more thing that makes me miss him even more. I miss him a lot, but oh, man, I’m still grinning just thinking about the awesome car I’m going to buy.

 

Bought
Car and Driver
and a cool Lakers key chain. Found some good car sites on the Net. Asked Mom to get me a price quote from her insurance agent. Only 298 more days until I get my license.

Maybe with Dad how he is and Duke gone, there’s some weird karmic reason for Berm in our house.

Though if someone was put on Earth to guide me, it wouldn’t be a fat dentist. When I came downstairs this morning, he was watching a sports bloopers show on the flowery couch in his old plaid bathrobe, a bag of pretzels on his lap. I guess I’d have been grossed out a month ago, but now I’m getting used to him. In a way it’s good to see another slob like me.

Mom had already gone to the law library, and Amanda was out somewhere being popular. So that left just me and him. Berm’s like, “So what are you up to today?” And I thought, Great, now I have 2 people on my case about lying around the house. I shrugged. I didn’t have any plans, and if I did, it was none of his business. Berm goes, “We could drive out to this great steak place in Ramona.”
We
meaning him and me.

It sounded like a decent idea. I hadn’t had steak in a long time. Not with Dad, that’s for sure. He’s too busy eating yuppy chow. And Mom’s always cooking girly food like baked chicken and broiled halibut.

Then Berm asked if I wanted to drive. For some reason, I never thought of driving with him. But since Dad said no, and Mom’s all nervous, Berm seemed like a pretty good option. Actually about the only option. So I said I’d go.

He was an okay driving instructor. Not paranoid at all, even when I cut off this old man getting on the freeway. Plus Berm’s Jeep is totally cool. You can feel like every bump on the road. Berm said I could get one for under $30,000. He looked all proud when I asked him. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I wasn’t buying a Jeep because of him. It’s just that I like Jeeps. I’d get a black one anyway, not green like his.

The restaurant was awesome. The steak was so huge I almost didn’t finish it all. They served great onion rings too, a greasy mound of them stacked about half a foot high.

On the way home Berm got mushy on me. It’s like he planned it. Like he had all this stuff to say and he set up the road trip so he could get it out. He said how happy he is to be living with us. “All 3 of you,” he said. And how the wedding will be the best day of his life because Mom’s the best thing that ever happened to him. When he said that, he got all choked up. I didn’t look at him because I had to concentrate on the road. Besides, I didn’t want to.

I didn’t say anything, but he kept talking and talking. He said Mom did a good job raising me and Amanda. Then he goes, “And your dad, of course, too.” Which we both know is a lie, since Mom did like 97% of the raising while Dad was off working and screwing around on her.

He said that he likes me and Amanda, and that he doesn’t want to put me out. That he hadn’t meant for things to happen so fast, but they did. Then he stopped talking.

He probably hoped I’d say I wasn’t put out, that I’m really into the wedding and the baby too. But that isn’t true. Berm’s okay and all. In a way it’s good to have another guy around. But in another way it’s not. I didn’t want to lie and say how wonderful it all is for me. So I just gave him this lame thanks. Then I asked him how fast you should go in the fast lane and how often you should look in the rearview mirror, just to break up the weirdness of the drive.

After he answered my driving questions, he goes, “Mike, there’s something important I want to ask you.” I told him to go ahead. So he cleared his throat and threw me a glance and said, “Will you be my best man at the wedding?”

My first thought was he was just trying to get me on his side about marrying Mom, so we’d be this big happy step-family. But then he said, “It would mean a lot to me,” and his voice cracked like it really
would
mean a lot. I said, “Sure” in a casual way, because I’m not one of those people who like big mushy scenes.

Except I was feeling mushy. As we got off the freeway, we passed the bowling alley, which seemed like some more weird Berm karma. I asked him, “Whatever happened to that bowling league you wanted me to join?” He goes, “They moved it to Sundays, it’s starting next month, but I know Sunday’s your night with your dad, so I didn’t mention it.” I couldn’t help sighing.

I pulled up to the house and we sat in the driveway awhile, even after I put the car in park and took the key out of the ignition. Neither of us made a move to get out. For one thing, I was so full from all that steak and onion rings, but for another I guess we were just enjoying the car and the man stuff.

Finally I looked out my window at nothing and said, “Can you take me out driving again, like once or twice a week? Maybe around the Best Buy parking lot or on the freeway early in the morning?”

I could feel his hand reaching out and then roughing up my hair, which was okay just this one time. I turned my head toward him. He had a goofy grin on his face, as if he couldn’t wait to teach me to drive. As if he didn’t mind that I’m nerdy and don’t do much besides watch TV and type this journal and read my Scrabble dictionary. As if he likes that. As if he just likes me. He said, “Great idea. What days are good for you? Wednesdays and Saturday mornings okay?”

I nodded, because I didn’t think I could talk.

Dad flaked again. Says he has some important meeting at Qualcomm. What’s the point of missing out on the bowling league if I don’t see Dad most Sundays anyway?

I called Sydney to ask what color her dress is so I can match a corsage to it for the Spring Fling. Very sensitive of me. Also I wanted to hear her voice. She has a great telephone voice. Peppy and sexy at the same time.

She goes, “It’s a light lavender dress with thin spaghetti straps, so a wrist corsage would probably be best.” Rex liked hearing about Sydney’s thin straps. I had to distract him by listing the planets of the solar system.

I still managed to say, all suave, “I’m really looking forward to the Spring Fling.” She said, “Me too,” and then there was this awkward silence. Finally, Sydney goes, “It’ll also be a relief when they take down those annoying posters.”

I almost dropped the phone. Okay, I did drop the phone. But I picked it up again real fast. “Because of the apostrophe problem?” I asked her. “Yeah,” she said, “I knew you’d notice too.”

I think I’ve found my soul mate.

The Spring Fling’s 23 hours away. Only 21½ hours if you count dinner beforehand. Only 21 hours if you count what time Sydney’s picking me up.

I’m ready. I ordered the corsage, tried on my suit, and made reservations at Hawthorne’s. Sydney’s driving, but that’s okay. I’m paying for everything. Just the white orchid corsage alone set me back $26.87.

I’m not that nervous. Not like before the Snowball. Maybe it’s because I’ve already been to a major dance and I know the Spring Fling can’t be anywhere near as heinous as the Snowball. Maybe you need one really bad dance to get out of your system, so other dances won’t freak you out.

 

I did it. I did it. I did it. I kissed a girl. I kissed Sydney Holland. With tongue involvement. More than once. It was excellent.

The first time I kissed her, we were slow dancing to some cheesy Mariah Carey song. Or maybe it was Vanessa Williams. Or Whitney Houston. Whatever. While we danced, we stared into each other’s eyes just like in the movies. Sydney looked so beautiful in her sparkly dress and with her cheeks all red. I told myself, It’s now or never. I bet I said it 18 times.

But I did it. I put my hands in her hair and I kissed her. And she kissed me right back. It was just before the song ended, but we spent the whole next song like that, swaying around and kissing to some hard-rock thing. We stood in the middle of the dance floor with all these other kids around us, but I didn’t care who saw.