Free I'm with Stupid by Geoff Herbach Page A

table, duh,” Tovi said. “He can hear you.”
    I swallowed the ham, then looked back and forth between them. “Tovi’s right. I can totally hear you,” I said.
    â€œYou just look so much like your dad,” Evith said.
    â€œI know, I know,” I said. “I’ve heard it all before.”
    â€œNot just look,” Grandpa Stan said. “You act. You are. You eat like Steven.”
    â€œI eat like my dad?” It sounded so ridiculous. My head buzzed a little. “Everybody eats, Grandpa. You eat like Dad too. So does Tovi.”
    â€œNo,” he said. “Nobody eats like Steven but you.”
    I pushed my chair back and stood up. “Well, I’ll stop then. Don’t mean to bother you.”
    â€œNo, honey…” Evith said.
    â€œSit down, Felton. Grandpa doesn’t mean anything bad,” Andrew said.
    â€œI mean, I want to help you,” Grandpa said, his face flushing. His tufty white hair stood on end. “Have you ever tried meditating?”
    This made Tovi burst out laughing. “You guys are so nuts!”
    â€œ Not nuts! ” Grandpa shouted. “ My son is dead! ”
    People at tables around us paused. They stared at us.
    â€œSorry,” Tovi said.
    What’s weird is that I’d already sat back down and I was already eating again. Jesus balls, I love me a buffet.
    ***
    One of Dad’s T-shirts from the drawer has a picture of hand on it pointing to the left. Above it, in these blocky 1980s letters, are the words, “I’m with Stupid.” There’s a picture in a family album of Dad, maybe seventeen, arm around Evith, maybe fourteen, wearing this shirt. “I’m with Stupid”—arrow pointing at Evith. It totally killed me. I thought it was hilarious.
    I’d pulled the shirt out of the drawer several times during the week. I showed it to Evith on New Year’s and she said, “God, I hated that shirt. Your dad tortured me with that. I was always stupid.” She kind of laughed. Tovi laughed. Andrew stared at it.
    Grandpa said glumly, “Your father’s favorite shirt.”
    That night, I asked, “Can I take this?”
    Air moved in the room. “Yes,” it said.
    I packed the shirt in my suitcase. I was leaving in the morning.
    ***
    I woke up before almost everybody. I climbed down the stairs and found Grandpa Stan alone, sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking an orange juice.
    I poured a glass for myself and sat down next to him.
    â€œHave you made your college choice?” he asked.
    It was nice to have someone ask oddly. As much as I hated all the people up in Bluffton constantly being in my business about college, I felt sort of bad that no one in my family had asked. (I know now they were trying not to pressure me, that Andrew had actually told Tovi and Grandpa to lay off.)
    â€œI think so,” I said.
    â€œNot Northwestern?” he asked.
    â€œNo,” I said. “Definitely not.”
    â€œGood,” he nodded. “Wisconsin?” he asked.
    I exhaled. “Can you keep a secret?”
    â€œWho am I going to tell?”
    â€œStanford,” I said.
    â€œYes!” he said. He pumped his fist. “Very good school. Very good choice!”
    â€œThanks,” I said.
    â€œI’ll pay for it,” he said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIf you don’t want to play games, if you want to study and forget athletics, I’ll pay for Stanford. That’s a fine school.”
    â€œGrandpa,” I said, “I love football. You even told me to love it last summer.”
    Grandpa nodded. He looked down at his hands. “I know. And it feels good to run people over. Okay, fine. I want you to love what you do.”
    â€œIt’s sort of what my body was built to do,” I said.
    â€œYeah?” he asked.
    â€œYeah,” I said.
    â€œStay here.” Grandpa stood and shuffled to his study, where he listens to music and