Stupid Fast

Chapter 48: BRAIN MASH: PART III




Aleah shook me awake. Light was coming in from the high basement windows. It was morning.

“Felton. Felton. Wake up.”

“Whuh?” I asked.

“You didn’t set an alarm. We’ve got to do your paper route. It’s past seven.”

“Oh, shit!” I sat straight up. My back hurt but not that much. My back didn’t really hurt. “Wow. I’m not paralyzed,” I said to Aleah.

“That’s good.”

“It only makes sense,” I said. “I’m a super baby. I must heal fast.”

“What?”

From upstairs, I could hear piano playing. Andrew wasn’t at my side.

“Is Andrew playing piano?”

“Yes. He’s very good.”

“Oh, that’s good. That’s really good.”

“Paper route!” Aleah shouted.

“Oh, shit!”

I pushed my way out of the sleeping bag and ran upstairs, with Aleah right behind me. I’d slept in shorts and a shirt. I was decent. I could go out that way. We ran into the living room. Ronald sat there reading a magazine (“Don’t have my paper yet. Ha ha”). Andrew played piano. I bent over to pull on my shoes. “Owww.” My back did hurt a bit.

Andrew swiveled around and looked at me.

“They were married, so we’re not bastards,” Andrew said.

“Duh. I know that,” I said.

Then Aleah and I were out the door.

“Well, maybe you are,” Andrew called after us.

Ha. Andrew. He’s funny.

Aleah and I biked to the pickup station. My paper stack was the last one left. Then I realized I hadn’t brought my paper bag from home.

“Oh, shit!” I shouted.

“What?”

“We’ve got nothing to carry the papers in.”

“Oh, brother,” Aleah said.

I handed a bunch of papers to Aleah and said, “Do all the papers from your house on. You know, the one’s you know. I’ll meet you at the nursing home in fifteen minutes.”

“I have to bike with one hand?”

“Can you stick them in your pants?”

“I’ll figure it out, Felton.”

“Sounds great!”

I had like thirty papers to deliver while Aleah delivered her small batch. I biked as fast as I could. The dull ache in my back didn’t hinder me from really moving. So good to pump it. With one hand, I held the papers. With the other, I steered. My legs pumped like mighty elephant legs. At each house, I just let the Varsity drop, and I ran up to the front door. At some, old men or old ladies waited to give me the business for being so late. I didn’t wait for them to say what they wanted to say; I just handed them the paper, turned, and took off.

One called after me, “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, a*shole.”

“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 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.”