My Future Ex-Girlfriend

by Jake Gerhardt

  “Jake Gerhardt’s debut novel is sweet, knowing, and a super-fun read. Takes you right back to the awkwardness and earnestness of adolescence, with a lot of cringe and even more laughs.”

  —PATTON OSWALT, New York Times bestselling author, comedian, and actor, on Me & Miranda Mullaly

  VIKING

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street

  New York, New York 10014

  First published in the United States of America by Viking, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 2017

  Text copyright © 2017 by Jacob Gerhardt

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Ebook ISBN: 9780698194199

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Names: Gerhardt, Jake, date– author.

  Title: My future ex-girlfriend / by Jake Gerhardt.

  Description: New York : Viking, published by Penguin Group, [2017]. |

  Summary: Amid worries about finals, commencement speeches, and the baseball championship, eighth-graders Sam, Duke, and Chollie fumble

  their way through being first-time boyfriends, hoping not to be dumped before

  high school begins.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016027785 | ISBN 9780451475411 (hardback)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Middle schools—Fiction. | Schools—Fiction. | Dating

  (Social customs)—Fiction. | Humorous stories. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION /

  Humorous Stories. | JUVENILE FICTION / Love & Romance. | JUVENILE FICTION

  / Social Issues / Emotions & Feelings.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.G473 My 2017 | DDC [Fic]—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016027785

  Decorations by Dana Li

  Version_1

  This book is dedicated to my mother,

  Nancy Gerhardt

  Contents

  Praise for Jake Gerhardt

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1: All Is Well

  Chapter 2: All Is Not Well

  Chapter 3: What’s on Deck

  Chapter 4: Freewriting

  Chapter 5: NYC Nites It Is

  Chapter 6: Meet the Parents Eve (Anticipation)

  Chapter 7: Meet the Parents

  Chapter 8: Freewriting

  Chapter 9: The Best Laid Plans

  Chapter 10: Date Night

  Chapter 11: Under Pressure

  Chapter 12: Freewriting

  Chapter 13: The Final Stretch

  Chapter 14: Surprise!

  Chapter 15: A State of Confusion

  Chapter 16: The Best Nite Ever!

  Chapter 17: Freewriting

  Jake Gerhardt

  “Boys are just like people, really.”

  —Booth Tarkington, Penrod

  1

  All Is Well

  SAM

  I’M THE FIRST guy at the bus stop, just waiting, waiting, waiting to get to Penn Valley Middle School. Part of me thinks I should just take off and start running, that’s how excited I am. But before the adrenaline kicks in, I hear the bus rumbling as it turns the corner and approaches.

  Once I’m on and seated, I just feel great, I really do. If we had a flat tire, I swear our bus driver, Ruben, wouldn’t even have to jack up the bus. I could just lift it with one hand while he changed the tire. Are you getting the impression I’m excited for the final stretch of eighth grade to start?

  You might be wondering why I’m so eager to get to school. The answer to that question is simple: Erica Dickerson, my new girlfriend. Erica is awesome and pretty. And pretty awesome. We got together just before spring break, and I spent most of my vacation thinking of all the things we’d get to do once we got back to school. Things like:

  Double-date with my best friend, Foxxy, who hasn’t been around as much since he started dating Holly Culver.

  Sit together on the bus when we go to New York City for our end-of-the-year class trip. Oh, and hang out in the city, I guess.

  Hang out at lunch together and have a civilized conversation instead of sitting around with the guys making fart sounds and putting butter on the floor to see if anyone slips.

  Go to the eighth-grade dance! (I won’t even mind if my sister’s dumb boyfriend drives us.)

  I can’t wait to tell Foxxy about my plans.

  When the bus pulls up to Foxxy’s stop, I instantly get the feeling that something’s wrong. I can’t put my finger on it, it’s just that Foxxy doesn’t have a grin on his face. And he always grins. As I watch him get on the bus I’m hoping maybe he’s just burped up his breakfast or something like that.

  “Sam, Sam, Sammy,” Foxxy says as he plops down on the seat next to me like it’s the end of the day and not the beginning. “You’re never going to believe what happened.”

  “What happened?”

  “She did it, Sam. She really did it.”

  We fall back into our seat as Ruben takes off. He’s an awesome bus driver, never in a bad mood. If he has to go to the bathroom, look out, our bus moves like a rocket. Today is one of those days.

  “Who did what?” I ask.

  “Holly. Holly did it,” Foxxy says.

  I look at Foxxy. His eyes are red and his nose is running. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. He’s a mess.

  “What did Holly do?”

  “She dumped me, Sam. She dropped me like a bad habit.”

  Okay, so I don’t want to be a jerk, but the first thing I think is that now we won’t be able to double-date. And then I remember that Foxxy has a tendency to exaggerate.

  “What did she say?” I ask.

  “‘I never want to see you again . . .’”

  “It was probably in the heat of the moment.”

  “‘. . . as long as I live,’” Foxxy says.

  “That could be interpreted many different ways,” I say, borrowing a line from my English teacher, Mr. Minkin. “Trust me. My sister Maureen breaks up with her boyfriend once a week.”

  And that’s the truth. Maureen’s in high school, and she goes out with this knucklehead (and I’m being generous here) named Lutz who’s always doing something to make her upset.

  “No, you don’t understand,” Foxxy continues. “She said it to my face. And then she sent me a text. And then I got an e-mail. And then she wrote me a letter, a real letter. And each time, she said she never wanted to see me again.”

  I look at Foxxy. Snot is dripping over his lips. His skin is pale and looks dry. His hair is uncombed. And his shirt is inside out. Besides that, he looks great.

  “How could she honestly say she never wants to see you again?” I ask. “You look terrific. I’m sure she’ll fall in love all over again when she takes one look at you.”

  Foxxy wipes his nose on his sleeve as the bus pulls up to school. Ruben jams on the breaks and leaps out of the door and sprints inside. I stand, ready to start my day.

  “I think things will be fine. I’ll see you at lunch, okay?”

  “Where are you rushing off to?” Foxxy asks. “We still have fifteen minutes before class.”

  “I gotta
see Erica,” I say, running up the stairs to school.

  “Hah,” Foxxy says, right on my heels. “Is that still going on?”

  “What do you mean, is that still going on?” I demand as we stop outside the cafeteria.

  “I’m sorry. Look, I’m not myself. I can feel people staring at me. Everyone knows I got dumped.”

  And my mom says I’m dramatic. I put my hand on his shoulder, like a good best friend.

  “I gotta go.”

  Then I skip off to see Erica. I actually skip, like one of those goofy kids from The Sound of Music. I’m actually smiling to myself, too, because I know if I saw someone skipping down the hall like this, I’d feel compelled to put a thumbtack on that person’s seat. They’d totally deserve it.

  Erica’s locker is on the second floor near all the math classes. When I’m about two classrooms away, I see her. Wow. I mean, wow! Even though Mr. Minkin is always telling us to use descriptive adjectives in our writing, I don’t know how to describe Erica besides saying she’s a knockout. She’s wearing a pink sweater and jeans and she looks just great in them. My heart is pounding like a hammer as I get near, and I’ve never felt better. I’ve got tunnel vision, and I’m really focused on Erica, and everything is a blur around her face. I feel like a superhero. I’m certain if someone came up to me and hit me on the back of the head with a wooden chair, the chair would splinter into a million pieces and it would only feel like a bug had flown into me.

  The best part is that when Erica sees me, her eyes light up. They sparkle, and she gives me a great big smile.

  She smiles like she is happy to see me.

  She smiles like she missed me.

  She smiles like I’m the most important person in the world.

  “Hey, Sam,” she says. It’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.

  And then:

  “Hey, Foxxy. What are you two up to?”

  I turn and see Foxxy right next to me. He’s practically touching me, that’s how close he is. He’s so close I’m afraid his snot will drip on me.

  “Just trying to keep it together today,” Foxxy says, looking down at his sneakers.

  Erica sticks her head in her locker to switch out some books, and I give Foxxy the old heave-ho with my thumb and whisper through my teeth, “Get out of here!”

  “Didja hear, Erica, that I got dumped?” Foxxy asks, totally ignoring me.

  “Oh no,” Erica replies. “What happened?”

  I’m the first guy to admit I don’t know much about girls, but I do know this: girls love to hear about guys getting dumped by their girlfriends. My sisters spend hours on the phone talking about that kind of stuff. And when Foxxy gives Erica his sad eyes and pinches the top of his nose between his eyes like he’s holding back tears, I know I’m in for the whole stupid, pathetic story again.

  Foxxy tells Erica the whole stupid, pathetic story right there by her locker, and she listens to every word. Finally they stop talking, and Erica and I rush off to biology class, but we never get a chance to talk, and I never get a chance to tell her how much I missed her over break, and I never get a chance to ask if she missed me.

  CHOLLIE

  When I walk into Penn Valley Middle School after spring break, I’m a new man. A new man with a girlfriend. A girlfriend who picked me over other guys. It gives me this incredible feeling that I call the me-and-Miranda-Mullaly-dancing-in-the-moonlight feeling.

  I haven’t seen Miranda since we made it official before the break, because she went out of town. (I always forget where, but it’s a state at the bottom of the US map.) She texted me a few times (seven times to be exact), which wasn’t too much or too little. My older brother, Billy, who knows everything about girls, thinks that seven is the perfect number of texts. Too many, he says, and the girl could be trouble. Too few, and she’s just not into you.

  And because I miss her so much and this is, like, our one-week anniversary, I wrote her a letter last night. Here’s what it says:

  Dear Miranda,

  This past week has been the best week of my life and I want you to know how happy I am that we’re going out.

  It’s been a really great week even though you’ve been away visiting your grandparents and I’ve been here in Penn Valley thinking about you. When I think of your pretty smile I feel like I’ve just hit the winning shot or made a spectacular catch for a touchdown or hit a home run in the bottom of the ninth. I just feel great.

  I miss you and will be so happy to see you in class.

  Yours truly,

  Charlie

  So I have a big smile on my face, and I’m holding the letter like it’s the most important thing in the world when I hear a voice.

  “Are you ready, Chollie?”

  It’s Coach, who’s an even bigger nut than I am about sports.

  “Ready for what?” I ask Coach. Does he know about me and Miranda?

  “Baseball,” he says.

  “I guess so,” I say.

  “Let’s have a little chat,” he says, and before I know it, Coach is leading me to his office.

  His office is actually the office for all the gym teachers, but for some reason Coach always has it to himself. Sometimes I think he has the greatest job in the world. He gets to teach gym and coach football, basketball, and baseball. And he gets to wear a sweat suit to work every day.

  “I think we’re going to need you on the hill a few games this year,” he says as he sits behind his desk, rubbing and sniffing a baseball.

  “Okay,” I say, and I sit down and take off my jacket and put down my book bag. I know once he gets going, I’ll be here for a couple of minutes.

  “Arms win championships, Chollie. The bats will come along, but we need pitching to win it all.”

  He gets up from behind his desk and writes the date May 20 on the board.

  “Here’s the big one, Chollie,” he says, circling and underlining the date about a thousand times.

  “You know what this date is?” he asks.

  “It’s the Cedarbrook game,” I say.

  Coach nods, and he doesn’t have to say anything else. You see, Cedarbrook is our rival, and we lost to them in football when I fumbled on the goal line. And we lost to them in basketball when I missed those free throws at the end of the game.

  Just the thought of those losses gets me interested in baseball again. I have to admit, I’ve been thinking so much about Miranda that baseball has kind of taken a backseat. But now I can picture myself striking out the side and then hitting a home run. And when I round third base, there’s Miranda on her feet (for some reason, in my dream she’s the only cheerleader wearing a fancy dress instead of a uniform) and cheering for me.

  “So, Chollie, are you ready?” Coach asks again.

  “I’ll be ready,” I say, and stand up. “But I also have to get to class,” I tell him.

  I rush off to class, and right outside the science room I get that me-and-Miranda-Mullaly-dancing-in-the-moonlight feeling again. My stomach is full of butterflies, and I feel like I could just float away. And then all at the same time I feel like everything is moving in slow motion and like there’s no one else in the world except for me and Miranda. It’s a pretty good feeling.

  But since Coach keeps me, I don’t have a chance to talk to Miranda before the bell rings. After class Miranda is already thinking about the final exam as I carry her book bag. Miranda is a lot like me, but instead of sports, Miranda is really into getting good grades and learning about all kinds of stuff.

  I’m pretty sure she is happy to see me, but it’s really hard to tell. You see, she’s the kind of student who never says anything in class unless it’s an answer to a question the teacher asks. Now that I think about it, I wonder if she’s ever even asked to go to the bathroom. Amazing, right?

  I walk her to her class, English, and I go off to histo
ry, and I don’t get a chance to talk to Miranda until lunch when we meet in the library. And that’s when a disaster strikes, and I lose that me-and-Miranda-Mullaly-dancing-in-the-moonlight feeling. In fact, I pretty much feel the way I felt when I lost the football and basketball championship games. I totally blow it.

  DUKE

  It was with a sense of purpose that I entered Penn Valley Middle School’s benighted1 halls to complete my final ten weeks. Happily, however, I was in my own little world and soon to see Sharon Dolan, my new girlfriend. Our budding relationship had begun just a week earlier after we had finished starring in the spring musical, the only bright note in the otherwise desultory days of middle school.2 I grinned thinking of her adorable smile, her innumerable talents (she sees and she observes!), her radiant eyes.

  Yet before I even had a chance to greet my lady, who I hadn’t seen because my parents forced me to join them at a conference in Boston, I discovered a note written on a Post-it stuck to my locker.

  Duke—Come to my office when you get this!

  —Mr. Porter

  That note just about sums up this school. Mr. Porter, the student council sponsor, is a typical civil servant. He can tell you exactly when his next salary bump is scheduled but can’t name a current member of Congress or a justice on the Supreme Court. Penn Valley is filled to the brim with his ilk, and a slack-jawed, ill-informed student body is the result.

  I ripped the Post-it from my locker, crumpled it in my fist, and made my way to the office.

  The secretary ushered me directly into Mr. Lichtensteiner’s office. Seated behind his desk and too lazy and ignorant to stand, he greeted me.

  “Good morning, Mr. Samagura,” he said.

  I nodded and sized him up. Mr. Lichtensteiner is a modest man with a lot to be modest about.3 It doesn’t say much about Penn Valley that such a man rose to the great heights of vice principal.

  “Please, sit down,” he said.

  “I prefer to stand,” I said, then nodded in the direction of Mr. Porter, who was seated as if he were still on vacation.