Stupid Fast - By Geoff Herbach Page 0,70

be your friend,” she said.

“No. You’re right. They don’t really like me.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Then I told her how Ken Johnson had assaulted me and how his assault hurt my back and how Cody’s dad, the cop, must’ve stopped by the Johnsons to scare Ken or to arrest him and how John Spencer had seen me running around with papers this morning and how (even as I was telling the story) the entire honky world was texting me.

“Did you say honky?” Aleah asked.

“That’s what Gus and I call them,” I responded. “They’re town kids.”

“Pretty gross,” Aleah said.

“What?”

“Using inflammatory racial language to describe a bunch of your classmates,” Aleah said.

“What do you mean?”

“My gosh.” She stopped her bike. We were in front of her house. “You’re an innocent child, aren’t you?”

“I used to think I was retarded,” I said. “I think…I think it’s possible I am.”

She stared at me and touched my cheek.

“Simple boy,” she said.

I felt my heart tear (as if the other stuff weren’t bad enough). My head dropped. I looked at the ground. Something drained away. Something big. I swallowed hard. Aleah called me simple. I’m simple. I’m stupid. I’m me. I looked back up to tell Aleah that she should break up with me, but she was looking away, toward her house, not paying attention to me.

“Who’s giant SUV?” she asked.

It was blocking her entire driveway.

“Oh, crap,” I whispered. “Grandma Berba.”

CHAPTER 49: BRAIN MASH: PART IV

As I walked toward the steps, my pocket continued to buzz. The honkies—or whatever they should be called—continued the text barrage. I was only vaguely aware of my buzzing pocket. Grandma Berba had gotten Aleah’s address from me the afternoon before. I knew she was in the house. I paused outside the door and looked at Aleah.

“Do you mind going in first?” I asked.

“Will that help you?” Aleah said.

“I don’t know,” I told her.

Aleah opened the screen door and walked in. As she did, I peered around her and saw a woman who didn’t look like a grandma hugging Andrew on the couch. She wasn’t wearing old lady pants. She was wearing a business suit, and her hair was brown like Jerri’s, and she was pretty, like Jerri would be if Jerri hadn’t gone crazy. The woman let go of Andrew when Aleah was fully in. She stood up. She was ready for me. I pushed on the screen door and took a step in. Grandma Berba took a step toward me, opening her arms to hug me and then she stopped in her tracks. She stared at my face. She shook her head and said, “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’ve got to be…” She slapped herself on the forehead. She backed up a step and fell back on the couch and cupped her head, laughing. Andrew stared at her through his big nerd glasses—his mouth open. Then he looked at me, eyes wide behind his lenses.

“No,” Grandma Berba looked up. “Really. You have got to be joking. No wonder. No wonder,” she cupped her face with her hands and laughed.

“Wow,” Aleah looked at me. “You’re having a bad day.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I said.

“Come here, Felton,” Grandma Berba said. “Good lord, good lord. Really.” She stood. I walked to her. She reached up and hugged me and laughed and sort of cried at the same time. She wiped her nose on my chest.

“I mean, no wonder,” she said. “You’re the spitting image.”

CHAPTER 50: I GUESS IT WAS ALL TOO MUCH

Even if you’ve been awake all night long (6 a.m.), you have to stay awake for this (if you haven’t sort of figured it out already).

Grandma had a lot to get off her chest right away, which she’s apologized for later because maybe there was a better way to do this, a better time. While my cell buzzed in my pocket, I heard:

Steven W. Reinstein, who’s my dead dad, was an All-American, one-time national champion tennis player at Northwestern University. He played some pro tennis. He nearly qualified for major tournaments. He was six foot three inches tall. I, Felton Reinstein, have stretched and grown in such a fashion that I’m now an exact replica of Steven W. Reinstein. That’s why Grandma Berba freaked when she saw me. (Andrew figured right.) Steven W. Reinstein got his student, Jerri, pregnant during her freshman year of college. Steven W. Reinstein married Jerri because Jerri pressured him. Grandma Berba told Jerri she should not—absolutely not—marry that man.

“He was just a