Stupid Fast

Chapter 43: A PLAN




Andrew helped me into the basement. We sat on the couch to make a plan. But Andrew began fidgeting. Then he stood up.

“I can’t sit in this house anymore, Felton. It’s completely deadly.”

“Yeah. Outside.”

Andrew helped me into the garage. He pulled two lawn chairs out and set them up and then helped me sit down on one.

“Thank you.”

Andrew faced his chair toward mine. He sniffled. Then straightened himself up, looked me in the eye, and said, “I want to be your brother, Felton.”

It was a peculiar pronouncement. But I knew what he meant. I straightened myself up as best I could and then said, “Thank you. I was thinking the same thing before you came in with that zucchini.”

“Oh, good. That’s good,” Andrew nodded.

Okay. I was ready. Andrew knew stuff I’d been avoiding. Here it goes: “Do you remember when Dad died?” I asked him.

“A little bit. Not much. I remember getting closed in a bedroom and you crying.”

“I’d just found him,” I said. “I imagine I was freaked.”

“Yes. It’s fine you were crying. It must be difficult to find your father hanging from the ceiling.”

“Right.” I looked down the drive, the same drive that our dad certainly looked down ten thousand times. “And I believe you’ve come to the conclusion that this Jerri trouble has something to do with Dad.”

“Of course,” Andrew said.

“I didn’t want to deal with it. I’ve been confused, Andrew.”

“I was very mad at you for that,” Andrew nodded.

“What have you found out?”

“Not much. Jerri used to keep a diary, remember?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been looking for it.”

“You haven’t found it?”

“No. I did find out stuff though.”

“Like what?”

“Jerri won’t tell the truth. You ask her a question, and she’ll go crazy.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. She doesn’t want us to know anything about Dad though.”

“Why?”

“I think because she lied about him.”

“Lied? About what?”

“That he was nice.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I found a photo album from their wedding.”

“With Dad in it?” I really hadn’t seen a picture of Dad since Jerri’s bonfire. I had an idea of what he looked like, vague memories. I imagined he looked like the comedian Paul Reiser but also knew that probably wasn’t right. “You saw Dad?”

Andrew nodded at me. “Yes. He was in their wedding pictures.”

“Makes sense.”

“Yes. But”—Andrew squinted at me—“he looked like you.”

“What? Before I got big?”

“No. Like you now.”

“But he was short.”

“Maybe, but his face looked like your face.”

“My face?”

“Jerri might hate your face, Felton.”

“Why? Why would Jerri hate my face?”

“I’m very sure Jerri hates Dad,” Andrew said.

“No. No, she doesn’t. He was a sweet, little Jewish dude. He was…He was just sad. Why would Jerri hate…?” I began to lose my train of thought, and my chin started trembling. “What, Andrew? What?”

“I don’t think he was sweet,” Andrew said. “He looked really mean in the pictures.”

“At his wedding?”

“He wasn’t smiling. He was…He looked really, really angry.” Andrew started crying.

“Where’s the album?”

Andrew said something like “uhhhff,” he clamped his mouth shut, and then he said, “I only found it yesterday. It was above her clothes in her closet.”

“Was she in there when you found it?”

“Uh huh. She was sleeping.”

“Jesus, Andrew. You’re crazy.”

“I took it to my room and looked at it for a long time and then I wanted to Google Dad because I think I’ve Googled Steven W. Reinstein and seen actual pictures of him that I didn’t know were him, but my computer won’t charge, and you wouldn’t let me use yours.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”

“Then, in the middle of the night, Jerri came barging into my room, screaming at me to stop stealing her stuff—to stop torturing her. She was completely psycho, Felton. She screamed and pushed me against my wall and then she burned the album in her shower.”

“That was last night? I slept through that?”

“I don’t care, Felton. I don’t care about her stupid diary anymore. I just want this to end.”

“Yeah,” I nodded.

“I hid in the garden all morning eating tomatoes.”

“You hate tomatoes.”

“I’m hungry.”

“I’m so sorry, Andrew. I’m so sorry.” I gulped for air. My eyes burned.

“We’re both crying like babies,” Andrew said.

“I know,” I nodded. “No dignity.”

“It’s been stolen.” Andrew wasn’t joking.

We stared out across our yard, tall thistles all over the place. We didn’t say anything for several minutes. We both calmed down. Then something occurred to me.

“Grandma Berba knows what happened,” I said.

“Why?”

“She was here after Dad died.”

“She was? I don’t remember.”

“You were three.”

“You know she hates us,” Andrew whispered, looking over his nerd glasses.

“I think we have to call her, Andrew. I think she better come here. If she will…”

“Jerri is going to go out of her mind,” he said. “I don’t know, Felton.”

“Jerri is already out of her mind,” I said.

“Yes, but even more so.” Then poor Andrew’s lip started trembling again, and his face heated up again.

“I miss Jerri.”

“I do too,” I said.

“I hate Jerri,” he whimpered.

“We have to call Grandma Berba. Or if not her, I guess the cops or something.”

“Grandma,” Andrew nodded.

We discussed what to do next. One thing was very obvious: we couldn’t stay in the house anymore. After going through our immediate options (neighbor, Andrew’s piano teacher, Cody Frederick—Andrew had no idea who he was), I suggested the Jenningses.

“You mean Aleah Jennings?” he asked. “Her dad thinks we’re nuts. Jerri slept in front of their house.”

“I’ve, uh…” I realized that Andrew and I had been so out of touch that he had no clue I’d been with her.

“What, Felton?”

“Aleah’s my girlfriend.”

“Oh my God,” Andrew stared at me. “I forgot she liked you.”

“I…I really like her.”

“I’m so stupid,” Andrew said.

“Do you like her too?”

“Like her?” he asked, tilting his head like he does.

“You know, want her to be your girlfriend,” I said.

Andrew gasped, “No! I’m just embarrassed.”

“Because…” I was confused. “You like her?”

“Because I haven’t practiced piano in over a month,” he mumbled. “I’ll be rusty if I play.”

“That’s the least of our troubles.”

And with that, we decided to go to the Jenningses. Mr. Jennings was kind, and I loved Aleah. I was used to that house, and I needed something steady, which would help me call Grandma Berba, and—maybe most important—the Jenningses weren’t connected to the town, so they wouldn’t tell people about our trouble. If we went to Cody’s, the cops and everybody else would be involved from the start.