The guy in front of us turned around and had a totally sweet, kinda scruffy face, greenish eyes, and one of those grins English teachers like to call “puckish”—all you-can’t-prove-it-was-me mischief. I blushed, feeling my ears burn. He smiled wider. I slid down in the seat and wished that I could disappear.
We ended up playing eye-tag the rest of the train ride. In the window’s reflection, he’d catch me looking at him, smile a bit, and then turn around to look at me. I’d look away, and thirty seconds later it’d start up again.
“Enough with the flirting, Charlie,” Bink said, kicking my foot and groaning. “Go talk to him already.”
“He’s probably not into guys.”
“Trust me, dude. He’s into guys.” Bink rolled his eyes, then shouted, “My friend thinks you’re hot.” Embarrassed, I slid low in my seat so I couldn’t see him or his reflection.
When we pulled into the station, I made sure I got the hell off the train first. There was no way I was gonna risk Bink “accidentally” forcing me to bump into Mr. Totally Sweet Face or worse, offer to get us a hotel room somewhere.
“You’re such a total wuss,” Bink said as he lit a cigarette while we waited for a cab to take us to Wrigleyville.
I was about to tell him that I wasn’t a wuss, it’s just that my idea of a good time didn’t involve hitting on strangers on a train, when Mr. Totally Sweet Face came up to us and asked Bink if he could bum a square. Bink gave me a see-I-told-you-so wink that made me want to slug him. As soon as Mr. Totally Sweet Face lit the cigarette and took a puff, he started hacking like he was coughing up both lungs and his entire ribcage.
“I don’t really smoke,” he said, letting the Marlboro fall to the curb. Bink body-checked me with his hip. I was about ready to kill him. “So you guys are going to see the Larry Arms, too? I heard you on the train.”
“Yeah,” Bink said, “wanna share a cab with us?”
“Cool.”
I got stuck in the middle, mostly ’cuz it gave Bink the chance to spread out and push me into Mr. Totally Sweet Face, whose real name was Ben. When my thigh touched his, he didn’t move away. He smiled and eased his against mine. Ben and Bink did most of the talking. I was too busy trying to keep Mr. Five-Incher from deciding to interrupt the conversation by making an appearance. Ben was a senior at Central, he’d been to all the all-ages Lawrence Arms shows in Chicago, even the guitarist’s solo show last summer. He wasn’t into labels, he said, but he was into me. Cheesy, I know, but I still loved it.
The show was good, but the best part was the train ride back to Crystal Lake. Ben sat with us and he ended up falling asleep with his head resting on my shoulder. That had to make Bink gag.
Ben and I traded numbers. Thank God he had some paper, ’cuz I was gonna have him write his digits on my palm, which wouldn’t have done me any good—especially after all the hand-to-glans combat in the bathroom. We’re supposed to hang out sometime this week.
Sunday, November 18
Ben called. I’m supposed to meet him at Colonial tonight. I was too embarrassed to tell him that I don’t have my driver’s license yet and there’s no way I’m asking Mom or Dad to drive me to a date. Guess that means I’ll be biking across town and it’s frickin’ freezing out.
I sooo need to get my license.
Friday, November 23
I’ve caved. It’s the day after Thanksgiving and I’ve been working on a personal essay for my college application. I’m only doing it ’cuz the Ps say they won’t take me for my driver’s test—even Dad thinks I’ll pass this time—unless I promise to “at least try to get into college.”
So here it is:
My name is Charles James Stewart, II. Charles the Second. My friends call me Charlie…but this isn’t about them. This is supposed to be about me telling you how wonderful I am, what a great addition to your student body I’ll be, and how some day I’ll be this famous alumni who you can brag about in your brochures and hit up for cash.
And we both know I’m writing this (read: lying through my teeth) to convince you I’m a cross between Mother Teresa and JFK. You’re supposed to be impressed that during my summer vacation junior year, I organized and presided over a new organization, Wet Nurses for Bangladesh, for which I personally convinced pregnant unwed teens to spare their families from shame and embarrassment by putting their own bastard children up for adoption and then arranging for them to breastfeed third-world orphans. I was a member of choir, speech, student government, boys and girls swimming, football, baseball, girls lacrosse, Students Against Drunk Drivers, Students Against Young Christian Athletes, and National Honor Society.
I was also the writer-slash-director-slash-executive producer of Nutcracker!: Mongoloids in Tutus, which featured a cast of elementary schoolchildren with Down Syndrome whose plucky, can-do spirit more than made up for the drool on their leotards. The critics raved, saying that the performance was a triumph of the human spirit in the face of adversity and ill-fitting costumes. Even The Chicago Reader—and they hate everything—wrote, “Under Stewart’s masterful direction, this reviewer couldn’t help but be moved—if only to stifle his own impolite and uncomfortable laughter.”
Then, of course, I’m supposed to write about how I couldn’t have done any of this if it weren’t for 1) my strong faith in God; 2) a tough-love teacher who took the needle out of my arm and inspired me to stop shooting heroin and read Wordsworth and Keats; 3) the support of my dirt-farming parents (Yes, they actually farmed dirt until one night a horrible tornado blew away the whole season’s crop.); or 4) my own battle with masturbation, which I’m hoping your college’s men’s gymnastics or wrestling teams can cure me of. I plan on being a big athletic supporter.
But before I write anymore, let me ask you something: What’s the point of this, really? We both know none of it’s the real me—or true. Isn’t it a bit ridiculous to think an eighteen-year-old kid’s got any answers, any real sense of who he is? Isn’t that why I’m supposed to be coming to you? To figure it all out? I mean, what’d be the point otherwise?
I do know this: There’s stuff I’m not proud of, but I think I’m better for what I’ve been through. And, yeah, maybe I haven’t had to overcome anything whackin’ big like polio, a wicked overbite, a prison sentence of two years’ hard labor, court-ordered testosterone injections, or filial cannibalism. The best I’ve got for you is that after the last few months I know more about me than I did before. And let’s face it, that’s a pretty big accomplishment.
Yep, it needs work.
What do I think my chances are? My fingers aren’t crossed and I’m not holding my breath. But I’m actually kinda happy for once.
Christ, what am I supposed to do now?
A READING GROUP GUIDE
THE SCREWED-UP LIFE OF CHARLIE THE SECOND
DREW FERGUSON
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The suggested questions are included to enhance your group’s reading of Drew Ferguson’s The Screwed-Up Life of Charlie the Second.
Discussion Questions
1) As a novel, The Screwed-Up Life of Charlie the Second is told entirely through Charlie’s journal. Does the journal form allow Charlie to reveal more than first-person narrators in other books? What are some examples of the things that Charlie reveals or discusses that main characters in other books avoid? Are there any moments in the book in which Charlie censors himself? Are there moments when he exaggerates?
2) Throughout the book, Charlie writes explicitly about his sexual fantasies and experiences. Do you think he’s ever too explicit? Why or why not? What do Charlie’s graphic descriptions of his sexual fantasies and activities reveal about him? When Charlie writes about losing his virginity, he details the wide range of emotions that he experiences. What are they and do they seem authentic?
3) At the beginning of the book, Charlie writes that his father, whom he’s still calling First at the time, often refers to Charlie as “smartass.” Is Charlie truly a smartass all the time? Are there m
oments when his sarcasm might be a defense mechanism? At what moments in the novel does Charlie stop being sarcastic and reveal his true feelings?
4) Since the novel is in the form of Charlie’s journal, we only get to see the people in Charlie’s life through his eyes. Are his opinions of his friends and family fair or unfair? Are his opinions about the people in his life 100 percent reliable?
5) Charlie and First have a difficult relationship for much of the book. When, if ever, is Charlie too hard on First? How does their relationship change over the course of the novel? How is Charlie’s relationship with First different from and similar to Charlie’s relationship with his mother?
6) It’s been said that there are only two types of stories—“a man goes on a quest” and “a stranger comes to town.” In the first chapter, Charlie meets Rob Hunt, whose family has just moved to Charlie’s hometown of Crystal Lake; and Rob, in many respects, changes the direction of Charlie’s life. At the same time, Charlie is on his own quest for self-discovery. In what ways is The Screwed-Up Life of Charlie the Second a “stranger comes to town” story? A “man goes on a quest” story? Can it be both?
7) In many of his journal entries, Charlie compares and contrasts the romantic relationships of the people in his life. What do you think he learns about the various types of love from them? Does he apply these lessons to his relationship with Rob or ignore them? Charlie says in his journal that he’s in love with Rob, but also writes that he loves his best friend Bink, and he is frequently jealous of Bink’s girlfriend Dana? Does he love Rob and Bink differently? What type of partner do you think would be better for Charlie—one like Rob or Bink? Why?
8) At one point in the book, Charlie expresses the desire to be “human wallpaper.” Is he being truthful? Does Charlie really want to blend in or does he want to stand out while being accepted for who he is?
9) Charlie mocks just about everyone he comes in contact with—stoners at school, sensitive goth girl poets, rural rednecks, lesbians until graduation and closet-case varsity jocks, his parents, the old, the mentally handicapped, give-peace-a-chance flower children “gone to seed,” ROTC Nazi gun nuts, and even himself. How many of his views are affected by his age? His personality? His own experience with being mocked?
10) By the end of the book, most of the characters have made their own decisions as to whether Mr. Hunt, Rob’s dad, played a role in his wife’s death, but there’s no definitive evidence introduced in the book to show whether her death was an accidental overdose or an assisted suicide. How do each of the characters come to his or her own conclusion about Paul Hunt’s innocence or guilt? Do you believe Paul Hunt intentionally killed Rob’s mother? Why or why not?
11) The book begins and ends with the personal essay Charlie is writing for his college applications. What do the two versions of the essay show about Charlie? What about his life is or isn’t screwed up at the end of the book?
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
850 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
Copyright © 2008 by Drew Ferguson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-6347-6
The Screwed-Up Life of Charlie the Second Page 24