Free Storky by D. L. Garfinkle Page A

sausage pizza, plus the TV.
    When Nate and I walked off, she rushed after us, going, “I really want to talk to you, Mike.” At least she didn’t call me Storky. Or something worse, like Stiffy or Woody. I said, “We’re in a hurry,” as if the pizza would explode if we didn’t get there in precisely 9 minutes. And she goes, “I just need to speak to you about something private.” Nate offered to wait by the locker, but I went, “No, no, we have to go.” And I rushed off.
    When Nate caught up to me, he asked, “Why did you blow her off? She’s so into you.” I didn’t say anything. Nate said my face was red. He goes, “I bet you like her, but you’re too scared.” I didn’t tell him she saw me with a boner and I think she wants to blackmail me.
    What a mess. I’ll deny everything. I’ll say, What was Sydney Holland doing staring at my crotch? I’ll say my johnson’s so big it just looked like it was hard. Oh, man, she better not tell anyone.

Wednesday, December 1
    I’m never seeing Duke again. And it’s not because he scored 403 points in Scrabble and did a victory lap in his wheelchair with the old geezers cheering him on. Even though that totally bugged.
    On his way back from the victory lap, he goes, “Don’t be glum, son. If I can stay alive another decade, you might win a game.” Hahaha. What a laugh riot. I told him, “Lucky you, I’m not your son.” It was supposed to be a joke, I guess, but it didn’t come out that way. More like pathetic.
    He got all serious and grabbed my hand in his wrinkly one, which was even worse than Berman’s hand in my hair. He goes, “Your parents should consider themselves quite fortunate. I know your mother does.”
    I wanted to say, Spare me. And my hand. Sure, the 1 percent of my time I spend at Golden Village, Mom beams like a flashlight. But the other 99 percent of my time, when I didn’t visit you when you were sick, or when I’m watching TV or inhaling the refrigerator or holed up in the bathroom with that Natalie Portman picture Nate got off the Internet, Mom isn’t high-fiving herself on what a great son she raised.
    I told Duke, “Mom likes everyone. Even that hard-ass nurse you say reminds you of Kathy Bates in Misery . Mom said she just went into the wrong profession.”
    Then he tightened his pruny hand around mine and goes, “It’s your father, isn’t it? You think you haven’t earned his respect. He deserves better than you, right?”
    Where did he get that anyway? From Mom? Was she psychoanalyzing me behind my back? Or maybe he just knew I’m too geeky a kid for a dad to be proud of.
    It doesn’t matter how he knew, because I’m never seeing him again. I don’t need his crap. I have more than enough adults in my life. Mom. Dad. The Thighmaster. Berm. I don’t need to bike to a nursing home to get harassed about my dad not liking me.
    I pulled my hand out and said, “I’m just here for the Scrabble tips.” Then I left so fast, I didn’t even look at him. I hope Duke’s face got as glum as he always said mine was.

Thursday, December 2
    Just finished the greatest book in the world. Berm gave it to me. Catcher in the Rye . It’s about this teenage guy who’s really smart and doesn’t fit in at school. He goes off on his own one weekend and meets all these phonies and keeps saying goddamn and then goes crazy.
    Like the whole time I read it, I went, Yeah, that’s right, so true. He had so many observations that I always think about in the back of my mind. He got put in the nuthouse, but it was like the whole universe was off and he was the only sane one.
    I’m not telling Berman how much I liked it. He’ll get all proud of himself for giving it to me.

Saturday, December 4
    Totally awesome night! I’m so psyched I can’t sleep. I rescued Gina. I’m going on a date with her. I’m like her hero now maybe. Gina might even be writing about me in her journal right now.
    It all started when I was sitting on my bed leafing