Storky

by D. L. Garfinkle

  WHAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED TO NATE AND HEATHER 1. Parents walked in on them.

  2. Nate got real drunk and ralphed on Heather.

  3. Vice versa.

  4. Nate decided he wants to be a virgin after all.

  5. He got his johnson stuck in his zipper, like in There’s Something About Mary.

  6. Heather’s really a guy, like in Mrs. Doubtfire.

  7. Nate’s really a girl, like in Boys Don’t Cry.

  Friday, January 14

  Ms. Padilla assigned the teams for our stupid Spanish culture projects today. She said it was to save time, but I think she did it out of spite. As she read the names, you could see the look of terror on people. Like she paired Jenny Rennert, homecoming princess, with Amy Kantnor, who has oily hair and zits. And Mark Rudolph, JV quarterback, with Stuart O’Donnell, skinny computer geek. Then she called out Sydney Holland’s name, and I knew, I just knew she’d put her with me. And she did. Why? Why is my life made up of stuff like this?

  Just to really torture us, Padilla said we’re meeting with our partners on Tuesday, so we can have the whole long weekend to sweat it out. We’re supposed to do an oral report on Spanish food, clothes, art, plays, or movies. Any guy teacher would let us do sports. I’d give a report on futbol anytime. Maybe a bio of Pele. Now that would be cool.

  I bet Sydney makes me go to some girly thing, like a Spanish play or an art museum. I’d do it too, as long as she kept quiet about the Rex Incident and the Snowball. Except no way am I dressing up like a tango dancer.

  Saturday, January 15

  I think Berm told me more personal stuff today than Dad’s said all year. Is that pathetic or what? Berm’s practically a member of the family now. He sleeps here like every weekend.

  Mom and Amanda had a big fight over it. It started this morning when Amanda walked in on him on the can. I wonder if he was sitting or standing at the time? Sitting would probably be better. She might not have seen much if he was taking a dump. Maybe he has a really big johnson. Maybe that’s why Mom likes him.

  Amanda screamed how she has no privacy with Dr. Berman around, and no one ever asked her if he could move in, and it’s bad enough with me laying on the couch all the time with the TV blaring. How she can’t even walk into a bathroom in private.

  Then Mom shouted that she had to have a life too, besides cleaning up after Amanda like a maid and taking her phone messages like a secretary while Amanda’s out on dates every night.

  They just had to drag me into it. Amanda said Mom wanted her to be a social feeb like me, and Mom goes maybe if she was less social she’d have grades like mine, and Amanda said Mom always stuck up for me and that’s why I’m such a wimp.

  I left the house. I slammed the door hard, either to show them I wasn’t a wimp or just because I was mad, I don’t know which.

  Berman followed right after and put his arm around me like he’s my dad or something. I squirmed out of the way. I walked for about a block, with Berman trailing, before I let him catch up.

  He goes, “You think there’s any way I could get Amanda on my good side?” I thought of 2 answers. First, Amanda’s not on anyone’s good side. Second, Stop seeing Mom, and Amanda will be fine. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t feel like being a smartass. I just practiced soccer kicks with rocks as I walked.

  Then he said, “I’m in love with your mother.” I guess I knew that already. I guess I should have felt pissed, instead of just glad for her.

  He went on. “And I think you and Amanda are terrific.” I didn’t feel at all terrific. Not after just hearing Amanda cut me down. I kicked a rock that was more like a boulder, stubbing my toe. I tried not to show I was hurt. As I limped up the street, I said, “I’m a social feeb, according to my terrific sister.” Then Berm goes, “You know, even though your sister may have more friends, you seem to have a close friend in Nate. Sometimes that’s better.”

  Complete bull. It’s always better to be popular. Plus, the way things have been going with Nate, I wouldn’t call him such a close friend right now.

  Then Berm goes, “I’m not out to take your dad’s place.” And I said, “Dad’s not exactly Mike Brady.”

  Berm didn’t say anything. He tried to kick a rock, but he tripped over himself. I couldn’t help it, I laughed. And he joined in. It was more like a laugh of relief, like when you get out a good belch after a big dinner.

  He put his arm around me again, and I let it stay for about 90 seconds before moving away. It felt pretty good, in a fake way. As long as I didn’t think he was just some dude screwing my mom, it felt okay.

  He goes, “He might not be Mike Brady, but he’s still your father.” Aunt Marsha said the same thing about Dad, but Amanda says he’s just the sperm donor. I guess Dad’s more than just a sperm donor, but less of a dad than Mike Brady. Somewhere in the middle.

  As for Berman, he’s less important than Dad but nicer. Where that leaves him I’m clueless. But I don’t need to figure it out right now. I have enough on my mind with the Sydney Holland Spanish project coming up, and Mom and Amanda screaming in the kitchen.

  Though when Berm and I got back to the house, Mom and Amanda were eating breakfast together. Well, actually Amanda just ate grapefruit because she’s on another diet, and Mom sat at the table scraping black stuff from the Eggo she’d burned.

  Tuesday, January 18

  Met with Sydney Holland today in Spanish class. It wasn’t as bad as I thought. She didn’t mention the Rex Incident. Or the Snowball. Phew!

  In fact, she was kind of nice. Actually, very nice. She asked me what project I wanted to do. I suggested the Pele bio, and she said that sounded okay but that we better ask the teacher.

  Sydney might be as into grades as me. Maybe I won’t have to do all the work this time. And she might be the one girl in high school who’s impressed by a smart guy. Maybe her dream date is Captain Sensitive.

  Ms. Padilla immediately vetoed my Pele idea. Of course.

  Then Sydney came up with this awful plan. She said she read this enchanting novel, Like Water for Chocolate, about these sisters and their mother. The enchanting book had enchanting recipes in it and was made into an enchanting movie. She wanted to rent the movie and cook one of the dishes.

  Yuck. Enchanting movie about sisters and mom = chick flick. And cooking on top of that. Then to have to stand up in class and talk about seeing a girl movie and cooking. Total humiliation.

  But I was worried about saying no and making Sydney mad. She could tell people about the Rex Incident. I decided to risk it and suggested Plan B, which was to eat tacos and talk about it. I thought we could go to Taco Bell, Jack in the Box, and some other fast-food place, doing like a taco taste test and making it all scientific.

  When I started telling Sydney my plan about eating out, she got all psyched before I could mention the fast-food part of it. She wants to go to this Mexican restaurant in Old Town that’s supposed to be real authentic. Eduardo’s. She heard Mercedes Bonnafeux all excited about it on the radio when her dad was driving her to a swim meet. Sydney’s probably the only other person my age who knows about Mercedes Bonnafeux.

  I was just relieved not to see that chick flick and cook, and not to explain the Rex Incident. So I nodded my head up and down like a drill while she talked, even when she said it was A Bit Pricey.

  What does A Bit Pricey mean? Probably a lot more than the cost of 3 fast-food tacos. I have that money Dad gave me for the suit. But I was saving it for computer games.

  Sydney doesn’t expect me to pay for both of us, does she? Is this like a date? Or payback for keeping quiet about the Rex Incident? Maybe Sydney thinks it’s a date. She seemed all excited. She said she’d drive. Is it a date if the girl drives and you’re doing it for Spanish class? No. That’s insane.

  I need to stop thinking of everything like a date. The Snowball, for instance. That was just me helping out a friend. Former friend, anyway.

  Thursday, January 20

  It’s totally over with
Gina. Not that anything ever was, but my part of it is over. She called. For a favor. The only reason she ever calls. Could I tell her about Of Mice and Men so she could write a halfway-decent essay? She never read it, and Blockbuster didn’t carry the DVD. She goes, “Which one is George and which is Lenny, and what’s up with the rabbit?”

  I almost cried during that book it was so good. Okay, I did cry. I told her, “If you come over today, I’ll lend you a copy and you can at least skim it.” Then she goes, “I can’t. I promised Hunk I’d go to the beach with him.”

  I said, “It’s like 50 degrees out, what are you going to the beach for?” For a smart guy I’m so dumb. When she didn’t answer, when chirpy little Gina went silent, I realized what she and the Incredible Hunk were doing at the beach. Finally, she goes, “So is George the smart redneck or the dumb one?”

  I couldn’t help it. I said, “You’re doing it with him, aren’t you?” Then she goes, “It’s none of your business.” She said, “Lots of people our age have sex, you know. Nate and Heather were going to on New Year’s Eve, except your friend Nate couldn’t even get it up.” She let out a laugh and said, “I wonder if he’s old enough for Viagra.” She got all excited to talk about him, but it made me feel grungy hearing it.

  I never guessed it before, that Nate couldn’t perform that night. I can see how he would feel embarrassed. Maybe he was too nervous, or drunk. Maybe it’s like the poetry report—Nate doesn’t do well under pressure. I don’t know. It’s not something Heather should have told people about, I know that.

  And not something Gina should have repeated. I might not be popular, but I know about being a friend. I know Nate felt bad about what happened, but Gina gushed over it like an actress plugging her newest movie. Like she used the Nate/Heather story so I wouldn’t think about her putting out just to stay with a dumb jock.

  And she wouldn’t let up. “Have you heard Nate’s new nickname?” she asked, and I couldn’t help cringing just thinking about people calling me Storky. She waited for me to ask what it was, but I didn’t. She told me anyway. “It’s Gimp. Get it? Because he’s like sexually crippled.”

  I could get more creative than that, I thought. In 3 minutes. But I wouldn’t. Because I felt sorry for Nate.

  And Gina’s the one who should have felt bad. For opening up her mouth about Nate. And hooking up with big Hunk, with his monster hands and clunky head.

  I couldn’t wait to get her off the phone. “So, about Of Mice and Men,” I said. “Yeah, can you give me like a 3-minute summary?” she asked. I wasn’t about to make it any easier for Gina to go to the beach with Hunk. Or cheat in English class. Or skip a Steinbeck novel. Anyway, how could I explain that George shot Lenny as a mark of their friendship? I don’t think Gina knows the first thing about friendship. “I didn’t read it,” I lied. “Can’t help you this time.”

  Gina was like, “Really? Michael A. Pomerantz actually didn’t do an assignment?” She sounded impressed. And I thought how screwed up she was to be impressed with that. “Really, I didn’t,” I lied again.

  Then I realized something else about her. “You don’t keep a journal anymore, do you?” I said. And she’s like, “No. That was my stupid sensitive phase. I’m too busy now. With Hunk and friends and stuff.” I go, “I thought so.” Then I added, “Have fun tonight” before hanging up the phone.

  Now I’m sitting here in front of the computer in my Chargers pajamas with the brown football-shaped slippers Aunt Marsha gave me for Hanukkah, and I’m feeling better. Relieved almost. Feeling like I smartened up.

  I guess I wasted all those years thinking I loved her. And I blew all that money on her for the necklace, and the cab fare after her fight with Hunk, and the Snowball.

  And actually Gina’s nothing. Definitely pretty. And smart. And popular. But nothing really. Not even as good as bitchy Amanda, who at least stands up for herself with boyfriends and doesn’t gossip. Or Nate, who might be sort of a loser popularity-wise, but is a loyal friend.

  Definitely not as good as Sydney. She never told about the Rex Incident. Never once reminded me of it afterward. Only gave a laugh that day and said, “Oh my God, Mike.” She never told, and I bet she’d never have sex with a dumb idiot just so he wouldn’t break up with her. She might not be as pretty as Gina, but she’s got brains. And she does have really nice green eyes, and that cute dimple on her right cheek. Or is it her left? I’ll check tomorrow.

  Saturday, January 22

  Slept over at Nate’s last night. His mom was at her newest boyfriend’s house. Some dude she met in a bar.

  I’m glad I told him I know what happened. Now we’re total buds again. 100% agreement that Heather and Gina are horrible for telling everyone. I go, “Maybe you would have scored if Heather didn’t look like such a boy.” Which is a lie. Heather’s a total babe. But I think Nate might have bought it.

  We got so trashed. Nate swiped his mom’s tequila from the kitchen cupboard. We didn’t have any limes or soda or anything, so we mixed it with Kool-Aid. Wasn’t bad after about the first glass.

  Nate says his mom’s a vodka drinker, so it’ll be a while before she notices. The important thing is my mom didn’t find out. Plus, after having a bulldozer in my head all morning, my hangover’s finally gone.

  For someone so cool, it’s weird he couldn’t keep it up New Year’s Eve. It’s like him bombing the poetry report last semester. Nate says he can’t come through in a clinch. Which led to me joking that not coming was the least of his problems, and somehow us going to the backyard for a pissing contest. I won for accuracy. Nate won for distance. I hope his mom’s roses don’t die.

  To cheer him up and also because I was drunk, I told him all about the Rex Incident. Actually, unloading on him made me feel better too. I don’t know if it was the tequila or what, but we now have new nicknames. Nate’s is L.D. and mine is S.D. Limpdick and Stickdick. It was way funnier last night.

  We’re going to lift weights together. I hate that kind of stuff, basically anything getting me off my butt. But it’ll be worth it to get big muscles.

  We’ll get so pumped, Heather and Gina will eat their hearts out. Their cold little hearts. And after we get all strong, Nate’s going to track down his dad and force him to pay the child support he owes, and I’ll show my dad he can’t push me around.

  Sunday, January 23

  Couldn’t even watch TV in peace today. Mom and her new law school friend Chad were practicing for moot court, pacing around the living room all serious and intense.

  The guy looks like a male model. And a lot younger than Berm, like 25, with a Swatch watch and dyed blond tips. I can’t see spending any time or money on hair dye, but maybe that’s just me.

  They wanted me to hear their speeches. I go, “Mom, why don’t you call your boyfriend and have him listen.” She said, “Don’t worry about Chad, hon.” Then they gave each other these big meaningful stares into each other’s eyes and superior smiles like they had something to hide. Mom’s like, “Chad and I are just friends.” And they both laughed, and Mom said, “I’m glad you’re feeling so protective about Howard, but Howard and I are doing just fine.” I go, “No, that’s not it.” But I sort of suspected maybe it was.

  So I had to hear Mom and Chad argue about whether someone can turn off your ventilator when you’re a vegetable. Seems obvious to me. If I was a turnip, I wouldn’t want to lie around drooling and wearing a diaper while everyone sat around my hospital bed grossing out. It’s like what Duke said: Once your brain goes, you should be shot dead.

  When I couldn’t take being around Mom and Chad one more minute, I biked to Golden Village. Duke sat in the Community Room surrounded by a harem of old ladies laughing all over themselves like he was the Last Comic Standing. Or sitting. While the blue-haired lady read his palm, he made some lame sex joke about having big hands and a big johnny. All I could think of were the Hunk’s big hands and little Gina. Duke was so right about her.

  He didn’t want to play Scrabble. He wa
s psyched that it was so sunny and asked me to push his chair around outside. I’d just been outside. I had to bike all the way over to see him. Plus I’m not one of those outdoorsy types. Give me a choice between staying in a heated house with a TV or going on a nature walk, you know where I’ll be. But I couldn’t turn down an old man in a wheelchair.

  I told him about Gina, and he didn’t even say I told you so. He goes, “Don’t worry. You’re the type of guy who gets more attractive with age.” I’m like, “What, you think getting all bald and wrinkled will be an improvement?” He points to my head, and goes, “As girls mature, they realize the brain is the sexiest part of the male body.”

  Hmm. It certainly isn’t the sexiest part of the female body. Boobs, legs, eyes, hair, and like 10 other body parts are way hotter than a brain. But I think I know what Duke was saying. He means after girls get burned by a few lardheads, they start concentrating on the squids. Like me.

  Plus, Duke said skinny guys such as myself supposedly fill out a little, while the bigger dudes just get fat. I wonder when this happens. At least not until after college, I bet. Well, what’s another 7½ more years of misery.

  Duke says when you get old like him, the ladies really come after you—because most of the other guys your age are dead. And if you have any money, like he does, they practically worship you. I guess growing all old does have its good points. Except I don’t know if getting worshiped by women is so great if they have blue hair, or no teeth, or keep forgetting who you are.

  If I had a cool car, it would help with girls. Duke doesn’t really relate. He says in his day hardly anyone owned cars.

  I wonder what kind of car Chad drives. Probably nothing as cool as Berm’s Jeep.