Stupid Fast - By Geoff Herbach Page 0,54
schedule so I’m awake during the afternoon so I can see you more.”
“But I’m not around in the afternoon,” I said, feeling dizzy.
“Where are you?” she asked.
I got off my bike, and rolled it up to the curb, and then dropped it and sat down.
“I just do stuff, Aleah.”
She followed me over to the curb, put her kickstand down on her Walmart mountain bike, and then sat down next to me.
“Can’t you change your schedule a little?” she asked. “I want to see you more.”
“I can’t. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Why? Do you need to drive around with your football friends?”
“I don’t. I don’t do that during the day.”
“What do you do?”
“I practice.”
“With your football friends?”
“No. Alone. I practice running, I guess. Or maybe it’s more just moving?”
“Oh my God. You’re so weird, Felton. You practice moving?
“Yes.” I looked down between my knees because it did sound dumb.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. You know…Why do you practice?”
“I know if I’m good at piano, I can play in front of a thousand people who’ll light up like Chinese New Year. They’ll shout and scream, and there will be all kinds of fireworks blowing up everywhere. Practicing for that makes sense!”
“Yeah.” I clearly didn’t practice running up a hill so crowds would clap for me—although I liked it when hikers were astounded by my running. I moved because I liked to move, I guess. “But is that why you play piano, Aleah? Because of Chinese New Year?”
“I guess. So I can perform for big…” She thought for a moment. “Also…Also because I know everything when I’m playing. Everything makes sense.”
“That’s it!” It hit me. While running on the Mound, I knew everything I needed to know. I knew everything. And whereas hippy crystals never helped me nor whispering Gus’s name in fourth grade, knowing all I needed to know completely helped. “Me too, Aleah. Everything makes sense. So I have to move in the afternoon.”
“You’re so weird, Felton Reinstein. It completely stuns me. I mean, ‘move’? How weird.”
“I know. Don’t tell anyone.”
“You’re weirder than me,” she sort of whispered, staring.
“Shhhh.” I gestured with my hand.
“It hurts my heart. I just love you.” She shook her head.
I nodded.
Then we kissed for about twenty-five years, I think.
CHAPTER 32: THE MOUND AGAIN
I bought an iPod with my paper route money, and I started carrying my school backpack filled with fruit from Kwik Trip and protein shakes and water bottles, and I’d go up there—and being up there became the best home I ever had. When the weather was good, I’d stay forever. I’d run myself totally out of energy, and I’d sweat and sweat (thankfully, Jerri had purchased a giant jug of laundry detergent in May, so I could clean the pee-stinker clothes) and then drink water and eat and take naps and listen to rap Cody gave me. I’d just relax, breathing, growing my body hair, running like the Road Runner, getting largely muscled (weights helped too), thinking about life and whatnot, but mostly not thinking at all. All the while, I’d look over all three states, Wisconsin, Iowa, and Illinois, far below me.
You’re an adult, and this is what you do. Meep meep.
Aleah did take some nights off practicing. She even drove around with me, Cody, and Karpinski a couple times. Karpinski thought she was really hot, which wasn’t surprising. What was surprising? Aleah liked Karpinski. That stunned me.
“Oh my God, he’s funny!” she said.
“Really?”
CHAPTER 33: MUSCLEY BARBARIAN
Oh my God. It’s 5 a.m. There’s every possibility that Grandma is going to wake up and find me awake and then give me the business about not going to sleep. Like I’m trying to stay awake. I’m not!
I’m very muscley.
Very bruised but very muscley.
I worked so freaking hard!
Because if I wasn’t running the big M, I ran pass patterns with Cody. If I wasn’t running pass patterns or running the big M, I lifted weights, getting closer and closer to the school record maxes that jerk Ken Johnson set for all backs and receivers. My shirts got super tight. My stomach muscles got ripply. Extremely muscley, like a barbarian.
Toward the end of the second week of July, Coach Johnson said, “Reinstein, you’re putting on weight. Not fat, son. Don’t worry about that. You’ve got no fat. You’re carrying a lot more muscle though. Let’s get you on the scale.”
Cody, Karpinski, and I all followed Coach down the stairs from the weight room to the locker room. Down there, I pulled off my shoes and T-shirt and got on