Storky
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Sunday, August 29
Monday, August 30
Sunday, September 5
Monday, September 6
Tuesday, September 7
Wednesday, September 8
Thursday, September 9
Friday, September 10
Saturday, September 11
Saturday, September 11
Saturday, September 11
Sunday, September 12
Monday, September 13
Wednesday, September 15
Saturday, September 18
Sunday, September 19
Monday, September 20
Thursday, September 23
Saturday, September 25
Sunday, September 26
Monday, September 27
Thursday, September 30
Sunday, October 3
Monday, October 4
Tuesday, October 5
Wednesday, October 6
Thursday, October 7
Friday, October 8
Sunday, October 10
Tuesday, October 12
Saturday, October 16
Sunday, October 17
Monday, October 18
Tuesday, October 19
Wednesday, October 20
Friday, October 22
Saturday, October 23
Sunday, October 24
Monday, October 25
Tuesday, October 26
Thursday, October 28
Friday, October 29
Saturday, October 30
Sunday, October 31
Monday, November 1
Tuesday, November 2
Wednesday, November 3
Thursday, November 4
Friday, November 5
Saturday, November 6
Sunday, November 7
Monday, November 8
Tuesday, November 9
Wednesday, November 10
Thursday, November 11
Friday, November 12
Saturday, November 13
Sunday, November 14
Monday, November 15
Tuesday, November 16
Wednesday, November 17
Thursday, November 18
Fry Ember 19
Saturday, November 20
Monday, November 22
Tuesday, November 23
Wednesday, November 24
Thursday, November 25
Friday, November 26
Sunday, November 28
Monday, November 29
Wednesday, December 1
Thursday, December 2
Saturday, December 4
Sunday, December 5
Monday, December 6
Wednesday, December 8
Thursday, December 9
Friday, December 10
Sunday, December 12
Wednesday, December 15
Friday, December 17
Saturday, December 18
Saturday, December 18
Saturday, December 18
Sunday, December 19
Monday, December 20
Thursday, December 23
Friday, December 24
Saturday, December 25
Sunday, December 26
Monday, December 27
Tuesday, December 28
Wednesday, December 29
Thursday, December 30
Saturday, January 1
Sunday, January 2
Monday, January 3
Tuesday, January 4
Wednesday, January 5
Thursday, January 6
Friday, January 7
Sunday, January 9
Monday, January 10
Thursday, January 13
Friday, January 14
Saturday, January 15
Tuesday, January 18
Thursday, January 20
Saturday, January 22
Sunday, January 23
Wednesday, January 26
Sunday, January 30
Friday, February 4
Saturday, February 5
Sunday, February 6
Monday, February 7
Tuesday, February 8
Wednesday, February 9
Saturday, February 12
Sunday, February 13
Monday, February 14
Wednesday, February 16
Friday, February 18
Friday, February 25
Saturday, February 26
Sunday, February 27
Monday, February 28
Wednesday, March 2
Friday, March 4
Sunday, March 6
Tuesday, March 8
Wednesday, March 9
Thursday, March 10
Saturday, March 12
Sunday, March 13
Monday, March 14
Tuesday, March 15
Wednesday, March 16
Friday, March 18
Sunday, March 20
Tuesday, March 22
Wednesday, March 23
Thursday, March 24
Sunday, March 27
Monday, March 28
Thursday, March 31
Friday, April 1
Saturday, April 2
Sunday, April 3
Monday, April 4
Tuesday, April 5
Wednesday, April 6
Sunday, April 10
Tuesday, April 12
Wednesday, April 13
Thursday, April 14
Saturday, April 16
Sunday, April 24
Friday, April 29
Sunday, May 1
Thursday, May 5
Sunday, May 8
Saturday, May 14
Sunday, May 15
Monday, May 16
High school sucks!
I hate school. Duke better be right about high school not being the best time of my life. If it is, then life sucks. At lunch today, I went to the bathroom and Stretch Barron stood inside the doorway totally blocking me. His stupid hairy basketball friends leaned on the dirty walls behind him, passing a big thermos around. I bet anything there was booze in there. He goes, “Seniors only, kid.”
I had to walk all the way to the other side of school. I couldn’t go to the bathroom near the admin building, since that’s where Joey Hawkins got beat up last week and some sophomore got dunked headfirst in the toilet.
I finally made it to a bathroom I could enter without fearing for my life. Then some guy I don’t know at all said, “Hey, Storky” on his way out. And just as I got some relief, right at eye level someone had written, “Amanda Pomerantz is a total tease.” You really don’t want to be looking at graffiti about your sister while you’re trying to take a whiz.
OTHER BOOKS YOU MAY ENJOY
SPEAK
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Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published in the United States of America by G. P. Putnam’s Sons,
a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2005
Published by Speak, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2007
Copyright © Debra Garfinkle, 2005
eISBN : 978-1-440-68430-2
http://us.penguingroup.com
Dedicated to Jeff,
the best thing that ever happened to me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m grateful for my wonderful friends and family, especially Jeffrey Garfinkle; Sarah, Mark, and Aaron Garfinkle, my greatest achievements; Judy Green; April and Jessie Holland; Lane Klein and our book club; Micaela Alas-San Miguel; and Jeanne Taber.
Thank you to the writers I’ve met on the Net and in the flesh, who’ve been shockingly kind and helpful; my wise and fun critique group; James Meyers, my Dr. Berm, who made me revise until it hurt; and Bob Shacochis, Peggy Lang, the San Diego Book Awards Association, John H. Ritter, and Alyssa Eisner, for all their encouragement.
This book would not exist without three amazing people: Judy Reeves, who taught me how to write; Laura Rennert, who took a big dumb chance on me; and John Rudolph, whose picture is in the dictionary under dream editor.
And to anyone not at the A-list table in the crapeteria: You’re A-list in my book!
Sunday, August 29
HOPES FOR HIGH SCHOOL 1. Gina confesses she’s madly in love with me.
2. Dad teaches me to drive and buys me a Land Rover.
3. I’m the first freshman ever voted homecoming king.
REALISTIC HOPES FOR HIGH SCHOOL 1. Gina doesn’t totally blow me off.
2. Dad lets me sit in the front seat of his car.
3. I don’t get thrown into a Dumpster.
Monday, August 30
High school sucks rocks.
4 people at 4 separate times called me Storky today. I was hoping to lose that lame nickname. How hard is it to say Michael or Mike? It’s all my fault, for being such a stork. If I looked up the word storky in the dictionary, I’d probably see my picture. I’m way too tall for my weight and way too thin for my height. Not to mention the bird legs and wiry hair.
Soon people won’t even know my real name. They’ll probably still be calling me Storky at our 20-year reunion. I’ll be in an old-age home and the nurses will call me Storky. I can just see it on my grave:
HERE LIES STORKY.
3 people at 3 separate times found out my last name today and went, “Are you Amanda’s little brother?” like they couldn’t believe it, that I’m such a dork when she’s the Queen of Popularville.
0 people ate lunch with me today. I wish Brian was here. Nothing like your best friend moving out of San Diego the week before school starts. If Brian was still around, I’d be in his kitchen right now trolling for junk food. Not sitting in my bedroom typing this stuff on the computer about my crappy day.
I only started this journal to have something in common with Gina and to let her know I’m a sensitive guy. But I got kind of addicted to it. Kind of. Like a heroin addict kind of needs drugs.
I wonder if Gina’s doing her journal right now too, using that pink diary I gave her last year for her birthday. I can just imagine her hunched over it, sitting cross-legged on her bed in a little white lace nightie.
No. Better picture her fully clothed at her desk. Otherwise Rex might go nuts in my pajama bottoms and I won’t be able to concentrate on my journal. Or anything else.
Okay, now I’m imagining Gina in gray sweatpants and a big black jacket. Oops. Not leather. Something ugly. Polyester. Good Rex.
Maybe right now Gina’s twisting her hair as she writes about her perfect, nickname-less, friend-filled day. And her major crush on me. Yeah, right. Minor crush? Not even.
Sunday, September 5
Dad came 21 minutes late and took me out for Spanish food. He said, “Mercedes Bonnafeux gave this a 4-fork rating on the radio last week.” And I’m like, Ugh, another foodie restaurant. I didn’t say that. Just thought it. I’d rather go to a movie or bowling, so you don’t have to talk so much.
We sat at the table wracking our brains for stuff to say. At least I did. He mostly chewed on octopus legs, checked out his Rolex, and watched the front door.
Finally, Dad’s newest bimbo delight showed up. I call her The Thighmaster, because she’s always groping Dad’s leg. She makes her living getting rid of ladies’ hair. Facial and pubic. That’s just weird. Brian said they put hot wax over ladies’ pubes, let it dry, and then pull it off. Ow! Why would anyone want to do that? I’m glad I’m not a girl. The Thighmaster’s job sounds like the worst in the world, besides the guy who cleans up the animal crap at the petting zoo. And substitute teachers.
Dad managed to work in his story again about playing college football against Boomer Esiason, how he intercepted Boomer’s big pass in the last quarter of the game. I can quote him on it by now. “And when I took that ball and turned it around, Boomer looked like his mother had just died on him. He’s probably still not over it yet.” Then he always ends with this deep chuckle.
Got to hand it to The Thighmaster though. She goes, “Who’s Boomer Esiason?”
She practically sat on Dad’s lap, stroking his chest while she talked nonstop. Mostly yakking about some friend who got her ankle tattooed in Tijuana. That got her lifting up her sundress to show off the Minnie Mouse tattoo on her thigh, and her and Dad giggling like morons.
That’s when I started thinking about Home Improvement , how great it would be to live with both your parents, no sisters in the house, just working on cars every day after school with your dad while your mom made cookies.
I guess if I lifted weights, or played a sport, or at least wasn’t a nerd, Dad wouldn’t need his girlfriends for company on Sunday nights.
Monday, September 6
NOTE TO SELF: Memorize map of school. So you don’t have to stare at it while you’re walking. Because you could bump into people. Like 2 huge lardheads. And they could try to give you a wedgie. They could in fact succeed. You could still be sore 9½ hours later.
Remember to call said lardheads in 10 years if you need pool service for your humongous swimming pool with the swim-up bar and Jacuzzi. Because that’s probably the kind of career they’ll have. Pool men. While you’ll be either the Voice of the Padres, a Humvee/Ferrari dealer, or Playboy’s talent scout.
Tuesday, September 7
Mom completely humiliated me at my dentist’s office today. She just had to bring her Rules of Evidence flashcards into his waiting room. And she wore her USD Law T-shirt with the toothy guy chasing an ambulance on it. It wouldn’t be too bad if you were 25, but not if you’re 40 and all the other moms are in polo shirts or suits, reading Good Housekeeping and People. I bet she’s the oldest person in her entire law school.
Then I had to see the annoying Dr. Berman. As I laid back on the chair, he put his pudgy hand through my hair and goes, “Let’s take a look at those teeth, Mikey.”
I don’t like people messing with my hair, except girls, maybe. Plus he still calls me Mikey and I haven’t been Mikey in 8 years.
But what really bugged is that after he pushed me off to his assistant, he must have headed right for Mom. When I came back to the waiting room, he goes, “Bye, Geraldine, study hard. See you Friday.”
And Mom goes, “Okay, Howard, 8 o’clock.” Then she giggled and thanked him for helping her with her flashcards.
Yes, my life has gotten even worse. Mom now has a date with my fat dentist.
Wednesday, September 8
Turns out Gina’s going on a date too. Will my good luck streak never end?
I biked to her house after school. She looked gorgeous as usual. And patriotic. She wore this American flag halter top that was so tigh
t the stripes were all curvy.
I stood at her door listing 2-letter Scrabble words in my head, the only way I could keep Rex calm in my Fruit of the Looms.
She went on and on about this guy who asked her out at lunch today. Gina automatically went to the A-list table the first week of high school. Since Brian moved away, I have no one to sit with. It sucks.
“He’s 16,” she said as I thought of pa, pe, and pi. “He has his own car.” She did her adorable pout and goes, “How could he be interested in me?”
I go, “He’ll love you. You were so popular in middle school, and everyone thinks you’re cute.” Then she smiled and said, “You think?” I wanted to be honest. To say, I think you’re the most beautiful girl in the universe, and your smile is killing me. Instead I nodded and asked if she did all the Encouraged Reading.
She’s like, “What?” I said, “You know, in the orientation handbook? The Pearl, Wuthering Heights, Waiting for Godot. I read one a week this summer.”
Couldn’t figure out her reaction. She just looked at me with her pretty little mouth open. Awed by Captain Sensitive? Did she think to herself, Michael Pomerantz might seem kind of dorky on the outside, but the inside is what counts, and he’s the most deep, insightful, literary, just plain sensitive person I’ve ever met. Especially for a male. In a heterosexual way, of course. I can’t wait to see what other parts of him are sensitive.
Or with my luck, Gina was merely stunned by my dweebosity. Not that I could focus on her feelings with her in that halter top.
Now I can, typing my journal. Sometimes I think the only reason me and Gina are friends is because we’ve been friends since fourth grade, when we were the only kids pulled out for gifted class. Which mostly meant skipping spelling tests so we could build giant molecules and play Mancala while the gifted teacher read the National Enquirer.
Wait. That’s not the only reason Gina likes me. I’m the guy she can play Scrabble with, or use 4-syllable words around, or bitch about Honors Algebra to. She gets to act smart around me. Little does she know I keep picturing her naked.
So she told me this dude plays football and he’s a junior and his nickname is Hunk. Hunk? Why not just Brute, or Hulk, or Thug? “And,” Gina says, “he has the most exquisite gray eyes and really, really big calf muscles.” Too much information.