Most of the people at the service were real old, all slumped over in their wheelchairs or the cheapo plastic chairs in the Community Room at Golden Village. I kept wondering whether they were imagining their own memorial service. When you get real old, maybe you think about death 97% of the time. Like when you brush your teeth, if you still have any, maybe you say, What’s the point, I’ll be dead soon anyway. Or maybe you refuse to think about dying, because it’s way too depressing. Maybe everyone at Golden Village thinks they’re the person who’ll live to 120.
Learned a lot about Duke today. I guess he was kind of the life of the party, if you could call living at Golden Village a party. This one little old man said Duke hired a stripper for his 90th birthday. She came into the cafeteria dressed as a nurse, and next thing everyone knew she was sitting on the dude’s lap in a G-string.
This lady with no teeth said Duke told her she was the prettiest thing in all of Golden Village, and she believed him until she heard him say the same thing to Fat Frieda, who I guess is dead now too. Then another old lady waved her cane and shouted that Duke told her she was the prettiest thing in Golden Village. We all cracked up so bad, the blue-haired lady fell out of her wheelchair and this old man had to get out his inhaler.
I did more of a serious speech, about how great a Scrabble player he was and how he always listened to me. Then I got carried away by everyone else, and said Duke had great tips for getting the girls.
I know I spent the day with a bunch of old geezers in an institution remembering our friend who died, and maybe it’s pitiful, but it was the most fun I’ve had in a long time.
Tuesday, March 22
That memorial service kind of cleaned out my brain so I’m not constantly thinking about Duke anymore. More like 88% of the time. Now I guess I can decide how to ask Sydney to the Spring Fling.
Still don’t have a plan. I should have that cabdriver invite her, the one who asked Gina to the Snowball. Hahaha.
First of all, where do I ask her? Spanish class is too crowded. I don’t need 30 other people hearing me get rejected. I could go to school early and hang out by the pool while she’s at swim practice. But if she’s in her bathing suit, I might not be able to concentrate. Strike that idea. I could wait for her at her locker, but that could be just as crowded as Spanish class. Maybe I could pull her aside at lunch, like Nate did when he asked Heather to the Snowball. Or I could call her. But that seems so wimpy since I see her in school every day, like I’m too much of a wuss to look at her when I ask her.
I think lunch is the best idea. She only eats with one person, Miranda Moran, so it’s not like a whole bunch of girls will be laughing at me. Only Miranda and Sydney will.
Okay, lunch. But what should I say? First I have to make small talk. I could complain about the Spanish midterm, and maybe tell her I like whatever she has on. According to Amanda’s Cardinal Rules of Dating, you should always give a girl one compliment. More than one is phony and desperate, but girls like to hear one good thing.
But what if Sydney’s wearing like a plain sweatshirt and jeans? I can’t really compliment her on that. I could say her hair looks good. Except she almost always wears it the same way, back in barrettes, so a hair compliment seems fake.
Maybe I should just get right to the dance question. First I’ll ask if she’s going. If she is, then I don’t have to invite her and get turned down.
If she says she’s not going, I’ll ask if she wants to go with me. Straight out? Or maybe more subtly, like, If I invited you to the dance, what would you say? Or, Do you enjoy school dances like the Spring Fling? Or, Do you have any other plans on that night?
Okay, so I ask her 1 or 2 of the above questions about the dance. And then if she still acts interested, I hit her with the direct question. Would you like to go with me?
Wednesday, March 23
Got all psyched up to ask Sydney today. Even wore my loose shirt that makes me look like I might have muscles. Walked over to where Sydney usually eats lunch.
She wasn’t there. Miranda said she had an optometrist appointment. There’s that old Michael A. Pomerantz luck again.
Thursday, March 24
After all that work outlining my 7-step plan to ask Sydney out, I completely blew it. It’s Robby Poloski’s fault. Sort of.
I got messed up when he and Sydney blocked the doorway into Spanish class. They both acted all dramatic that they were going to bomb the midterm. Like Robby Poloski ever got less than an A on any test, and like Sydney hasn’t already spent a million hours studying for it.
Then Robby goes to Sydney, “You have such a great laugh.” It’s like he was stealing my plan. First small talk about the midterm, then the compliment. And Sydney’s laugh isn’t so great. It’s an ordinary laugh. I just knew he’d start talking about the Spring Fling next.
I stood against the wall listening to them flirt, thinking how Robby isn’t good enough for Sydney. Sure he gets great grades, but he has greasy hair and he always raises his hand at the wrong time. Just when the teachers drift away from the subject matter and get interesting, like in history class when Mr. Ellis said how he went to college just to get out of the Vietnam War, or in geometry when Ms. Pinkstaff was complaining about calculators ruining American education. As soon as I start getting into their stories, Robby Poloski’s hand shoots up and he asks if it’ll be on the final.
Plus I get great grades too. I’m the man who read War and Peace. I wrote that big speech in Spanish about the restaurant, and I had Sydney over to my house, and I tried to talk to her at lunch yesterday. Just thinking about all that and watching Robby laugh at everything Sydney said, fake as a laugh track, got me so pissed.
Luckily, we all had to take our seats before Robby could mention the dance. The whole class period I kept my eye on him, making sure he wasn’t passing any notes to Sydney. I also worried that since he sat closer to her than I did, he’d get to her first after the bell rang. He could easily walk her to her next class and ask her to the Spring Fling on the way, leaving me out in the cold. I could just picture Nate going, I told you you should have asked Sydney last week, acting like he knows so much about girls.
So I decided I had to pass her a note. It’s a wuss way to ask a girl to a big dance, but it was quick. I thought of writing a note with my 7 steps on it. Like, I hope the midterm’s not too hard. I like your belt. Are you going to the Spring Fling? Do you want to? How about with me?
But I didn’t want to make a huge deal out of it. So in the end I just wrote, “Sydney, would you go to the Spring Fling with me, and dinner before? Sincerely, Mike.” Then I folded it 4 times, put her name on it, and passed it off.
She read it with a total straight face. She didn’t nod or smile or roll her eyes or anything. So I had to sit through the whole next 26 minutes of Spanish class totally stressed.
When class finally ended, Robby Poloski started talking to this glitterbag girl in front of him. He probably wasn’t even going to ask Sydney to the dance. I could have stuck to my original plan.
Sydney walked up to me at my desk and said, “I’d love to go with you.” Those were her exact words. She said love. I think I turned red again. But by the time I started blushing, she’d already headed out the door.
So even though I screwed up my 7-step plan, I was still gutsy enough to ask her and she said yes. And love. If Duke was here, he’d probably be doing wheelchair wheelies, bragging that he knew there was a suave guy inside me just waiting to come out.
Sunday, March 27
Big day. Dr. Berm moved in. First he dropped me and Nate off at the Convention Center for the car show. He bought our tickets too. It was obviously to get rid of me while he took over my house, but we had a great time. They had this babe from some soap opera there. I never heard of her before, but she looked totally hot. We got her autograph. She just signed her name inside a heart on my Jaguar brochure, but Nate got her to write, “Nate, you’re my man” on his arm.
They had awesome cars. Nate’s into
the little hot dog ones, so we looked at the new Porsches for like 15 minutes. I prefer something beefier. I think Jeeps are really cool, even though Berm has one. His is green though. I’d definitely get mine in black.
After Mom drove me home, I had to see Berm all sweaty, unloading boxes. Even though I hate him being here, we have a lot more cool stuff now. Another TV, for one thing. A 25-incher. Not a big screen like I really want, but much better than our 13-incher. They’re putting his TV in the living room and the little one in Mom’s room. I mean their room.
He let me have his chair. A Chargers director chair—blue and yellow, of course, with the official logo on it. It’s excellent. I don’t know why Mom didn’t want it in our den.
I wonder if he misses his condo. But he seemed pretty happy today. Yeah, moving into Mom’s bedroom, having sex with her whenever he wants. Though maybe you’re not supposed to do it with someone who’s pregnant. Like it would be really gross if your johnson touched your baby.
The best thing is his new computer. He’s hooking us up to the Internet first thing tomorrow. Awesome! We’re keeping the old computer in my room, so I can still type this journal in private.
The other thing that happened is Dad took me out to dinner. He wanted to go to this French restaurant in Del Mar, but I said I should have some choice in the matter. And he actually said okay. So we went out for pizza instead. Miss Fabulous wasn’t there, but that’s not because Dad wanted to see me by myself or anything. She was acting in a play.
Dad asked me about Duke, but he called him King. He said, “How’s King doing?” I don’t know why, but I laughed so hard, and I kept laughing when I said, “He’s dead, Dad.” Dad looked at me like I was nuts, and I went, “Duke, Dad, Duke. Not King.” He didn’t think it was funny. I guess it’s not.
Oh, I didn’t even write the major thing that happened with Dad. When he came to pick me up, Berm was still moving all his stuff in. Dad always parks at the curb and honks so he and Mom don’t have to talk to each other. Which is much better than the old way, when he came to the door and did all that awkward small talk with Mom, and they tried to sound like they barely knew each other. Half the time it turned into a fight. Mom would say, “You’re late again,” or Dad would tell Mom how messy the house looked, or Mom would tell Dad he was 2 months behind on child support. Sometimes they’d stand there yelling so long I’d just go up to my room and close the door. I guess it helped me see maybe the Divorce wasn’t such a bad idea.
When Dad pulled up, Berm and Lester from the bowling league were standing in the driveway, about to get this big box out of Lester’s truck. Berm walked over to the Lexus and shook Dad’s hand. He was only over there like a minute. I watched it from my bedroom window. I wonder what they said to each other. So you’re the one who knocked up my ex-wife? So you’re the one who made her cry all the time? Weird.
When I came out, Berm gave me this big wave and goes, “See you later,” like trying to show Dad how tight we are. I didn’t even wave back. I just went, “Bye” real quietly.
As we drove to the restaurant, Dad gave me the FBI treatment. Did he sell his place? Do you get along? Does Amanda like him? Is he divorced too? Does he work full-time? A lot of talking for Dad.
I couldn’t tell if he was pissed off or sad or just curious. Or maybe he was deciding whether he could cut back on the child support and get Berm to take over. I bet Dad’s really jealous, thinking what a mondo mistake he made moving out, and how it’s too late now to do anything about it. Or I might just hope that.
Would I even want Dad back? Maybe it’s better to have the imaginary Dad in my head who shows me how to drive and buys me a Jeep, than the real Dad in my house who complained about our noise and our school papers lying around and never seemed happy unless he was on his way out the door.
Monday, March 28
The Internet is awesome! Been on it 14 hours today except for short food and bathroom breaks.
Thursday, March 31
Here I am in the Chargers chair typing in my bedroom. I can’t believe spring break is almost over. I spent it in front of the new computer. I even found a site where you can play computer Scrabble against other people.
Mom’s freaking out. I told her she should be happy because I’m not watching so much TV anymore. She’s not happy. Tomorrow the new computer’s going in her room, and I’m only allowed an hour a day on it.
That sucks, but in a pathetic way I needed someone to get me away from the computer. Nate’s pissed because I didn’t want to hang with him much this week. Plus I was supposed to read Moby-Dick for Honors English and I didn’t even pick it up. And I should have been planning what to do for the Spring Fling with Sydney.
Oh yeah, Amanda decided where she’s going to school. University of Arizona. 6 hours away. I bet she only comes home like twice a year. I might even miss her on rare occasions. Probably not though. Maybe I can visit her and get tickets to Wildcats games and sleep in a coed dorm and go to frat parties and meet drunk sorority girls.
Friday, April 1
Berm has lived here exactly 5 days.
GOOD THINGS ABOUT DR. BERM MOVING IN 1. He cooks dinner and the food’s a lot better now.
2. Mom stopped wearing her stained bathrobe with the rip under the sleeve.
3. Amanda’s home now even less than she used to be.
4. He brought all this cool stuff with him.
BAD THINGS ABOUT DR. BERM MOVING IN 1. It’s creepy to watch them go into Mom’s bedroom at night.
2. I had to see Berm in his bathrobe this morning. He’s so hairy.
3. He does this morning cough/spitting thing that’s totally disgusting.
4. He finished off the last apple cinnamon Pop-Tart, the Doritos, and all the leftover Chinese.
Saturday, April 2
I feel really weird about what happened tonight. Can’t decide if I’m an idiot, a jerk, or someone who finally got smart. I’m leaning toward the last one.
It started out like it did 4 months ago, but ended a lot different. I was watching the new 25-inch TV. E! did a show about some modeling contest. I got this great idea to mute it while I listened to Sports Talk on the radio.
Everyone else was gone. Amanda’s sleeping over at Bulimic Michele’s house. Make that Formerly Bulimic Michele. Her big spring break trip was to some eating disorders clinic in L.A. Mom and Berm went to the symphony. One good thing about Berm being here, he can get dragged to that stuff. When Mom took me last year, I spent most of the night wondering if someone could actually die of boredom.
So the phone rings and I go, “Hello,” and there’s this silence. I go, “Nate,” thinking he’s playing a belated April Fools’ joke on me. Then a tiny voice goes, “It’s Gina.” She has this little high voice anyway, but it was even softer than usual. I got all psyched up. I couldn’t help it. Then she said, “Mi-i-i-ike.” Just like that other night she called, and I pictured her holding the phone with one hand, wiping her eyes with the other, her mascara all runny just like last time when I picked her up from Denny’s.
I felt sorry for her and kind of happy to hear her little voice, until she said that I was the third person she called, that everyone else was out, that she and Hunk had this big fight at Pizza Palace and she told him to leave and he did, and that she was stranded again. I guess I was supposed to rescue her.
I half listened. Not only did I think about how she’d blown me off, but I also wondered who the other 2 people she called before me were, and why Hunk and Gina would go to Pizza Palace, which is all grungy-looking and has that crust that tastes like cardboard. I didn’t ignore her on purpose. It’s just that there was so much about Gina I hadn’t thought about in so long. And because I had other stuff going on too. The other stuff namely being Sydney Holland.
When Gina stopped crying about Hunk, we were silent. I knew she wanted me to come get her again. But this time I didn’t feel like it. No one was home to drive me, and I wasn’t going to blow the money I made at Berman’s condo for cab fare.
So I didn’t say anything. Gina was all quiet and I started to feel guilty. I thought, Maybe she’s too choked up to talk. Maybe she’s about to start sobbing. I said, “What are you going to do?”
Then Gina goes, “Can you come get me?” She said it in a bitchy way, like I was too stupid to see the solution, like she couldn’t believe she had to point it out.
I told her Mom and Amanda weren’t home. I didn’t feel like going into how Berm was living in the house now too, so I just said Mom and Amanda. I said I could wait until they got back, that maybe one of them could drive me over.
Then Gina goes, “Never mind.” Her voice had lost all traces of sweetness. It sounded like any ordinary person’s. Or actually, like a spoiled, nasty person’s. I said, “Why don’t you call your folks or a cab?” And Gina goes, “Yeah, okay, good-bye.” Then she hung up.
So that’s what happened. I don’t know if Gina will get back with Hunk or how she got home from Pizza Palace. I hope she’s all right. I doubt we’ll be friends anymore like we were. But we hadn’t really been friends for a long time, and that wasn’t a good type of friendship anyway—me moping after her, her always asking for favors, telling me about the Incredible Hunk, and probably psyched up to be the object of a crush.
I just feel so weird about it all tonight. Like I wrote before, I don’t know how I should feel. But what I do feel mainly is proud of myself for sticking up for something for a change. And really wanting to go to the Spring Fling with Sydney, who I think likes me as much as I like her.
Sunday, April 3
Spent all day cramming for the driver’s permit test. My brain’s filled with numbers—maximum speeds, alcohol limits, traffic fines. 35 more hours and it’ll all be over. I better pass.
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