Stupid Fast - By Geoff Herbach Page 0,69

“I sure miss that little Mexican boy.” He was talking about Gus.

“He’s not Mexican,” I shouted back. “He’s Venezuelan. Get your facts straight!”

I’m going to email Gus about being a super baby when I get back, I thought. He’ll be freaked! Then I remembered I was going to Aleah’s and not my place and my laptop was at home. Crap! Maybe I can swing by the house?

In about ten minutes, I’d delivered almost all the papers. I was on fire. My back was complaining a little, but I felt good otherwise. I felt free. The truth sets you free, is what I thought (super baby).

Then as I ran up the stoop to one of the last houses, a familiar face plastered itself against the picture window, eyeballs wide, mouth open. It was one of last year’s seniors from the track team, John Spencer, a bony long distance runner. I dropped the paper in the door and turned and ran. Spencer was out the door behind me in a nanosecond.

“Hey, faker,” he shouted. “I heard you might be out for the whole football season. I heard your neck might be broken. How can you run?”

I moved to get onto my bike, but Spencer grabbed the handlebars.

“You’re a faker!” Spencer shouted.

“What are you talking about?” I shouted back.

“Where’s your broken neck?” he spat.

“I never said my neck was broken, asshole.”

“Tell that to Ken. Police were on his ass yesterday.”

“Get your hands off my bike.”

“Apologize to Ken.”

“I said, get your hands off my bike, dick. Do you understand?”

I must’ve spoken in an extremely threatening way because Spencer gulped air, let go, and backed away ten feet. I pulled my bike around and rode away.

“Faker!” Spencer shouted behind me.

I biked more slowly toward the nursing home, very nervous, feeling sick to my stomach. It did look bad, didn’t it? Me running around the day after I was supposedly injured.

Within a couple of minutes, I could feel the buzzing of my phone in my pocket. I didn’t want to look. Stupid cell phones.

As I pulled up to the nursing home, Aleah was just getting there.

“You did all those papers that fast? You’re so fast, Felton.”

“Well, I didn’t ask to be.”

“Whoa. Cranky.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

“Goddamn it.” It buzzed again. “Goddamn cell phone!” I shouted.

“Are you okay?”

“Let’s deliver these stupid papers.”

I handed a couple to Aleah, held on to the rest, and entered the building. Immediately, there was screaming and pandemonium. The younger crazy lady was standing in front of the door in the lobby. She saw me and went total ape shit. She screamed “Ghost! Ghost! Ghost! Leave me alone! Ahhhh! Ghost!” She pointed at me. Orderlies and nurses came running to her aid. I turned to Aleah, handed her the papers, and said, “Um, could you take care of these?”

“Yes. I’ll see you out front, Felton.”

I turned, punched in the dumb 1, 2, 3 security code, and left the building.

While I waited for Aleah, I looked at my jackass phone. There were five texts from five different honkies. All of them forwarded this message:

squirrel nuts a faker saw him running this morning.

what about? Jason Reese asked.

faker? Jamie Dern asked.

spencer a dick, said Cody.

this going around, Abby Sauter let me know.

squirrel nut faker! an anonymous texter wrote.

It was only eight in the morning too. Most of the jerks wouldn’t even be awake yet. I felt so heavy. Really heavy. You called yourself a super baby. Idiot. I had a feeling about the truth. These people weren’t my friends; they were about to turn.

As I closed my phone, Aleah exited the nursing home.

“That was weird,” she said.

“What was?” I replied, so tired.

“That crazy woman thinks you’re her lover and you’re dead.”

“It’s probably true,” I wheezed.

“Did you do something to her, Felton? Did you touch her?”

“Are you freaking kidding me, Aleah?”

“Okay, okay. It’s just weird.”

“I didn’t do anything to her. I wouldn’t hurt anyone. I’d never…” And the words left me because I was so heavy. So heavy. A crazy lady’s lover…No freak baby…A crazy mother who doesn’t leave her house for weeks and a dead dad who murdered himself and now the honkies are calling me names, and everything is so bad.

“Aleah,” I said. “I’m really messed up.” Then because I’m a dork, I cried.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Felton,” Aleah grabbed my hand.

***

As we biked home, I told Aleah all about my childhood as Squirrel Nuts and how, because I’m fast, it all seemed to have ended.

“Being fast doesn’t seem like a reason someone would