Storky (7 page)

I’m going to spend all my time this week studying. I won’t even let myself think about Dad or Amanda. I’ll be totally focused on English, geometry, and history. I’ll even be too busy to write in this journal.

Couldn’t study today with my brain crammed with Dad thoughts. Told myself there’s still Wednesday and Thursday.

So I biked over to see Duke. He goes, “You score a perfect 10 on the glumness scale today.” I didn’t feel like telling him about Dad. I mean, I did feel like it in a way, but I couldn’t. It’s embarrassing when your own father thinks you’re a loser. The whole thing of running through the mall just seems lame now. So I told Duke I had these tests Friday I should be studying for and a stupid oral report I haven’t started.

Then he swept his shaky arm over the Scrabble board, ruining the game. Not that I was winning or anything, but still. He goes, “You need to start studying right now.” When I told him I didn’t even have my books with me, he insisted on helping me with my oral report.

Turns out he’s got a whole bookshelf of poetry books, plus overflow stashed in his closet. We went through them, weeding out anything too girly, hard, old, or weird. Which got rid of most of them. We finally settled on something by Robert Frost.

After he helped me with the report, he made me go home and promise to study for Friday’s tests. I really was going to. Until I turned the TV on just while I ate some Twinkies for energy, and saw
Patriot Games
just starting.

Dad called. Luckily I didn’t answer the phone. Mom did. She spoke to him for 52 minutes, real quietly. I wonder what they talked about. Probably me. I wish I could have heard it. Then
Amanda
got on the phone. Only for 6 minutes, but for her a big deal. I’m supposed to call him back. Ugh.

Went to the new slasher movie with Nate. He joked with these 8th graders in front of us all through the previews. During the first murder, he tickled the Asian girl on the back of her neck. He even got her phone number afterward.

I, on the other hand, just laughed at Nate’s jokes like a talk show sidekick and tried to think of something to say. I bet he never would have introduced himself that day at lunch if he’d known I was such a shrub.

Maybe not a total shrub. After Spanish class today, Sydney said I had a beautiful accent. She goes, “I love how you roll your R’s.” Score one for Captain Sensitive.

I wish I’d said something besides thanks. Like that I was good with my tongue. She probably would have slapped me.

Nate wants to lose his virginity by the time he turns 16. I think I’ll stick to my goal of 19. I’ll be grateful just to kiss a girl by then.

I’m too busy to deal with Dad. I have that stupid poetry report Monday. Besides, I’m a wimp. Got up early to call him during his 9:00 tennis match. Thank God for answering machines. “Hi, Dad, it’s Mike. I won’t be able to see you tomorrow. Bye.”

Amanda finally apologized about reading this journal. Now I only have 100 things to worry about, instead of 101.

It all started by Amanda coming into my room without knocking. I was sitting on the bed with her June
Cosmopolitan
that I snuck out of the trash last summer. Turned to page 67 as usual, that redhead in the $118 turquoise bikini. Who would pay that much for a bathing suit anyway? I slid the magazine under my pillow when she came in. I hope she didn’t notice. She didn’t say anything about it. But so what, she never said anything about my journal all this time.

She goes, “I think you should talk to Dad.” Miss Superior! She doesn’t talk to him for over a year, but she tells me to. I told her, “You butt into my room, you butt into my problems with Dad, and you butted into my journal.” She says, “I didn’t butt in about Dad. You were the one who called me last Sunday.” Which is technically right.

I go, “What about my journal? You sure butted into that.” She’s like, “What?” Her face got all pink and she looked up at the ceiling. I should give her lying lessons, she’s so pathetic at it. So I said, “That stuff you told Dad you could only know from reading my journal.”

And then she did a half-assed apology. She said she could barely help it. She said I’m so quiet she never knows what’s going on with me. Like it’s my fault she read my journal.

Still, I sort of relate. Though I wouldn’t tell Amanda that. If she had a journal, I bet I’d be all over it. Hey, maybe she does have one. I should search her room.

We ended up having a big heart-to-heart. Totally cheesy. It’s embarrassing how much I liked it.

Amanda’s pretty smart, I guess. First of all, she explained that Gina’s being pressured to have sex. Now that I think about it, it’s obvious. The Incredible Hunk must always be trying to devirginize her. Then I had to make that joke and try to rush her in Scrabble and that’s why Gina freaked out.

Hunk’s such a jerk. She’s only 14. I hope she doesn’t give in. He’s so hulky and hairy. He’d probably crush her. She’d probably never want to have sex again. It’s too sick. I can’t even think about it.

Amanda also tried to convince me how bad it is being popular. How everyone’s really phony and all people talk about are looks and clothes and being popular. If it’s so bad, then why does everyone want to be popular? You never see the A-list people asking if they can eat at the nerd table, or sitting by themselves at lunch. It is an option.

She even tried to complain about being pretty, how people don’t appreciate anything else about you. I sort of get it, but on the other hand, I’m dorky-looking and people still don’t appreciate anything about me. Amanda gave good advice about Gina, but if she thinks I’m all happy now about being unpopular and funny looking, she’s definitely wrong.

She also listened to my report 4 times and gave me lots of tips. Since I know she can’t read my journal anymore, I can write that it’s good to have her around sometimes.

I’m so psyched! My poetry report went really well. Ms. Dore said I had an ear for poetry. Awesome. Sydney Holland told me she heard I did a great job. And she’s not even in my English class. Maybe I’ve just got the Captain Sensitive rep now. It beats being called Storky.

I’m glad Duke helped me find a short poem without all that old English. Good old Robert Frost, “The Road Not Taken.” Mark Gillespi did a Shakespeare sonnet with all these
thous
and
thines
, and I had no clue what he was talking about.

Nate went up right after me and totally choked. First he said his poem so quietly that Ms. Dore made him stop and do it over louder. The second time he talked a little louder, but started shaking. Even his voice shook. Painful. When he finished, the whole class was still, like everyone was embarrassed. Then I really felt sorry for him.

He left class as soon as the bell rang. I don’t know where he went. I was so fired up at lunchtime I raced over to Amanda on the senior lawn. This is how wacked school is: if you touch the lawn and you’re not a senior, they throw you in the Dumpster. So I had to stand on the concrete, shouting to Amanda like a squid.

She comes by with her best friend, Bulimic Michele, and I tell her I aced the report. I just wanted to thank her for her help. She gave me this look that could chill a polar bear, and goes, “I thought it was an emergency the way you geeked out.” The whole time, Bulimic Michele won’t even glance in my direction. Then they rush back to the popular people Amanda says she doesn’t like, as if they’re worried I could give them some disease. Dorkitis. It’s like there’s Home Amanda, who’s nice, and School Amanda, who wishes we weren’t related.

Whatever. Her little brother was a star today.

Finally talked to Dad today. He started off the phone call saying, “I don’t understand what got into you last week.” The guy makes big bucks managing all this technical engineering stuff at Qualcomm, but he pretends not to know why his son ran away from him.

Ordinarily I’d probably apologize for leaving the movie theater. Not tonight though. Maybe it was from acing the poetry report, or just being so mad at him. Whatever it was, I didn’t back off. I told him I didn’t like having to see his girlfriend every week.

Then Dad said, “She’s quite fond of you.” Quite fond of me. Yeah, right. That she’s this important part of his life, that he loves her, blah blah blah. Instead of listening to me he had to defend himself. And I know The Thighmaster can’t stand me. Saying she’s quite fond of me is a big fat lie, and how stupid is Dad for trying to pull that over on me?

Not stupid. Just, I don’t know, someone who thinks his son is stupid. But I’m not. Just ask my English teacher or Sydney Holland. I’m Captain Sensitive.

Then he got another call and put me on hold.

So I walked around my room with the cordless, thinking, I hate arguing with people, especially Dad. Thinking I should just see how things turn out Sunday—maybe The Thighmaster will be nicer. I waited forever. Well, 4½ minutes. I was ready to give in, like I usually do.

Then I started whispering my poem. I pictured myself in front of the Honors English class again, Gina staring at me with her big dark eyes, Ms. Dore scribbling notes. I remembered Duke going through all those old poetry books with me. And I imagined Robert Frost, hunched over a little wooden desk like mine, but without the computer and Princess Leia mousepad, writing out the poem with a long quill pen. I pictured myself telling my classmates that the road less traveled can make all the difference.

And then I imagined myself squishing my long Gumby body into the backseat of Dad’s car, while The Thighmaster rode shotgun with her fake little smile.

That’s when the poem clicked. I figured out what Frost was saying before, but tonight I really felt it. It was so weird, I almost saw a lightbulb turn on in front of me, like in those old Warner Brothers cartoons.

I thought about the usual road I take, just going along with people, waiting for things to happen. Waiting for Dad to get back on the phone. Waiting to see how it would go on Sunday. I decided right then to take a different road.

He got back on, not even apologizing for keeping me on hold so long, just saying, “Hi, Champ,” like calling me Champ would make everything all right.

Then I said it: “I won’t see you with your girlfriend.”

Long silence. Then he goes, “Mike?” And I go, “Yeah?” He didn’t say anything. Then I said, “Dad?” And he said, “What?” Then another silence. Then he finally goes, “I’ll call you back,” and he hung up on me.

So today I took a road less traveled. I don’t even know what’s going to happen with me and Dad now. But I’m 14 years old. I told him what I want. And that has made all the difference. I hope.

Heather Kvaas slid a note into Nate’s locker today. I think I remember what it said exactly. I should. We stared at it long enough.

Your poetry reading sucked a lot.

But I still think you’re pretty hot.

Have a great day.

Love, Heather K.

So I ace the report and get an A from Ms. Dore. Nate blows the report and gets a love note from one of the prettiest girls in 9th grade. Figures.

Went to Golden Village today to thank Duke for giving me the poem. He wanted to show me more poems. Thought I might enjoy them. I’m not
that
much of a nerd. Though Duke said that when he was in high school, Shakespeare’s sonnets and half a bottle of wine helped him score the first time. Cool.

I said I wanted to impress Gina with my sensitivity. I go, “She’s in my class so she got to hear my report. Maybe I blew her away.” Duke told me to take the road not taken, to ask her out. When I told him she’s dating this dumb 11th grade jock, he just put his shaky hand on my shoulder and said, “She doesn’t care about sensitive.”

Gina looked so beautiful today. She was the 5th girl to do a Sylvia Plath poem, but hers was the best. She wore this long skirt with birds on it and a soft pink sweater and a little braid in her hair. I’m crazy about her. I didn’t really get the poem though. Something about a dead Nazi.

All the girls talked about how Sylvia Plath died by putting her head in the oven. I don’t understand that either. How could she have kept her head in there? Wouldn’t you pull it out at the last minute? Did she get burned to death, or was there like a breathing problem? Why didn’t she pick an easier way to go, for instance a quick bullet through the head or at least an overdose of Valium?

Called Gina this morning to congratulate her on her poetry report. Wanted to tell her how pretty she looked in the pink sweater, but instead said, “You sound really knowledgeable about poetic structure.” Lame.

I was hoping she’d say something about my poem. Like what a sensitive guy I must be. So sensitive she just knew I’d be a good boyfriend or at least boyfriend material. All she said was, “Why did Nate choke so bad on his report?”

I don’t know. I never would have suspected. Not from a guy ballsy enough to show me his dirty playing cards that day in the crapeteria when he didn’t know anything about me. And he doesn’t seem to have a problem picking up girls.