Stupid Fast

Free Stupid Fast by Geoff Herbach

Book: Stupid Fast by Geoff Herbach Read Free Book Online
Authors: Geoff Herbach
Tags: Humor, Contemporary, Young Adult
bringing Reinstein in.”
    “Yes, sir,” Cody said.
    “Reinstein. First things first. Pull off your shoes and socks. Let’s get your measurements.”
    I did what he said and then stood against a wall with a bunch of numbers on it.
    “Yes, sir, just about what I figured,” Coach Johnson said. “Six feet, one and one-quarter inches.”
    “What?” I shook my head. “Say that again?”
    “Six feet, one and one-quarter inches,” Coach Johnson repeated.
    “I’m six-one?” I said. I couldn’t believe it. “Are you kidding me?”
    “That’s right,” Coach Johnson said. “You’re an inch taller than Kennedy right now.”
    “Who?”
    “Ken Johnson? My son? You ever hear of him? Ha ha ha.”
    “Yeah. Hah,” I said. Ken glared at me. I smiled back, heart pounding. This time, my heart wasn’t pounding because of conflict with Ken Johnson though. This time, it was pounding from non-squirrel-nut adrenaline. I had no idea I’d gotten so tall.
    “Get on the scale, son.”
    I walked over and got on the scale. Coach Johnson kept moving things around, weight things, to put the scale in balance. He kept saying “Yup.” Finally, the scale balanced. “Felton Reinstein,” Coach Johnson said. “You weigh a hundred and sixty-eight pounds.”
    “Whoa,” I said, startled. “Am I fat?”
    “You’re a beanpole, Reinstein,” Ken Johnson said.
    “I’ve gained like forty pounds,” I said.
    “Seems to me your puberty went steroidal, kid,” Coach Johnson said. Both Ken and Cody giggled when Coach said puberty. “You’ve got no fat on you. None.”
    “No muscle either,” said Ken.
    “Well, some muscle,” Coach Johnson said, “He’s about as fast as you, Kennedy. But we can do better.”
    “Beanpole,” Ken whispered.
    “Jerk,” Cody whispered, looking at Ken.
    “We can do a lot better,” Coach Johnson nodded.
    “I grew seven inches and gained forty-three pounds since the beginning of gym last year,” I said, thinking back to Coach Knautz measuring us right before our Ping-Pong unit started last fall.
    “Reinstein, you’ve got a frame. You hit the weights, keep eating and growing, and you could be carrying two hundred easily by your senior season.”
    “Is it good to be so fat?” I asked.
    “That’s D-I sized,” said Cody.
    “Pfff. Yeah,” said Ken Johnson.
    “And with that speed?” said Coach Johnson. “You’re telling me. D-IA.”
    “D-I?” I asked.
    “Division I college athletics, my boy. You could get much bigger too. Two-hundred and twenty isn’t out of the question. You might get taller, of course. When do you turn sixteen?”
    “End of July,” I said.
    “My goodness, you’re big,” said Coach Johnson.
    Ken Johnson, who was shorter than me but probably weighed over two hundred, just glowered. I didn’t smile at him. I was lost in swirling thought, guilty, crazy thought:
    How did I grow so much? Am I driving Jerri crazy by eating everything? Maybe Jerri really needs my paper route money? I probably ate ten thousand pounds of food in the last year. Oh my God. We’re running out of money, and that’s why Jerri is so stressed out and has to go to a therapist and is crazy and calls me the f-bomber. I am eating Jerri and Andrew out of house and home! I ate that bagel! I ate an extra bagel! Oh, Jesus, I’m eating my family! Oh my God!
    Coach Johnson talked, and Cody talked, and I spun out in my brain, and Ken Johnson shook his head, and then Cody motioned for me to follow him, which, thankfully, I did.
    As we climbed the stairs to the weights, Cody said, “See, I thought you were big, Reinstein.”
    “I don’t feel big, man.”
    “You gotta start carrying yourself like you’re that big. Really, Reinstein. Nobody will ever mess with you again.”
    “Nobody messes with me now.”
    “Are you kidding me? Everybody does. I used to, and I don’t mess with anybody because I think messing with people is dumb.”
    “Really? You messed with me?” Duh. I knew that. People messed

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