Stupid Fast

Chapter 55: FAKER!




On Thursday morning, the day before my birthday, there was more trash piled at the end of the drive. I had to move it to the side so Grandma Berba could get her giant SUV past so we could do the paper route. I swore and kicked those stupid bags, which was dumb because there was old milk in one that sprayed all over me and made me nearly throw up. Sour milk smells like Andrew’s baby poop.

When I got back in, Andrew plugged his nose and complained. Grandma didn’t complain. She said, “Are you going to tell me what’s going on here?”

“What?” I asked, even though I knew what she was talking about.

“Somebody has it in for you. Does this have something to do with you being in sports? Are your rivals coming after you?”

“I’m not in sports.”

“Yes, you are,” Andrew said.

“I’m just a guy.”

“No,” Grandma said. “I’ve heard you’ve become quite an athlete. In part, that is why your mother had troubles.”

“Great. Exactly. I’m just a guy, okay?”

“No,” Andrew said. “I know for a fact you’ve been running up the big M all summer. Aleah said. No regular guy would do that. I can’t even make it up walking.”

“That’s because you’re a turd,” I hissed.

Andrew gasped. He looked like I slapped him.

“Sorry. I’m just mad.”

“Because your rivals are dumping garbage on your lawn?” Grandma asked.

“Sure. Let’s leave it at that.”

“We should notify the police,” Grandma said.

“That won’t help. They are the police.”

“What do you mean?”

“The police’s kid,” I said.

“I hate this town,” Grandma said.

“Maybe we should contact Homeland Security,” Andrew said. “They have jurisdiction over terrorism.”

Grandma Berba giggled.

“What?” Andrew asked.

“I’ll clean it up,” I told them.

After the route, I did clean it up. It took me over an hour, and it was totally gross and smelly. Then I ran up and down the hill on the main road. It didn’t help my urge to destroy. You all better watch out.

***

That afternoon, while I was lying downstairs and considering all kinds of ways that I’d have my revenge, the phone rang. Grandma Berba answered it. She shouted down the stairs, “Felton, your football coach is on the line.”

“Tell him to stuff it in his ass!” I shouted.

“Felton can’t come to the phone right now. Yes, he’s all right. Really? I’ll have him check his phone. Oh, no, he seems fine to me. Oh, well, that’s nice. I’ll let him know. Good-bye.”

Grandma Berba came downstairs and found me in my room.

“First things first,” she said. “Don’t you ever tell me to have a caller stuff something in his”—she swallowed and pursed her lips—“ass. That’s disrespectful to me and completely inappropriate.”

I breathed. I swallowed. Looked down. Such a jerk, Felton.

“Second, your football coach informs me that someone from the school will be videotaping you doing drills next Wednesday because of a recruiting website? Is that what he said?”

“Maybe.”

“He’d like to put your profile on a recruiting website.”

“Recruiting for what? I’m not playing football. I don’t know how to play football.”

“Third, during practice on Thursday, he’s invited a couple of gentlemen from the university in Madison to meet you.”

“Wisconsin?” I sat up. “For football? Oh God, no! I want out of this!”

“Felton,” Grandma glared at me. “Why aren’t you returning messages from your cell phone? What are you doing?”

“How do you know?”

“Your football coach told me.”

“I don’t want to speak to him.”

“Andrew’s little friend said the same thing yesterday. You’re not returning her calls, either.”

“Aleah?”

“What are you doing? What’s wrong with you?” Grandma Berba was pressuring me, and that made me hot.

“Is Jerri staring at the wall upstairs?” I asked.

“She isn’t going to recover overnight, Felton.”

“Did my dad have girlfriends all over town and then kill himself in my garage?”

“Yes,” Grandma whispered.

“That’s a lot to absorb, Grandma Berba! That’s pretty big, don’t you think?”

“I don’t appreciate your tone,” she said.

“Well, maybe I don’t appreciate being responsible for Jerri cracking up. Maybe I don’t appreciate that I look just like my a*shole dad. Maybe, huh?”

“I’m sorry, Felton. I understand how upset you are, but you can’t speak to your grandmother that way.” Grandma Berba turned and left my room.

I was such a jerk.

When I found my phone after digging around for it, I saw that others shared that opinion: Felton Reinstein, Jerk. There were a dozen FAKER texts from numbers I didn’t recognize.

The last text before my inbox got full three days earlier was from Cody Frederick. It said:

cant believe i plan a party for six weeks and you wont call me back!



Yeah, I can’t believe you trash my house because I won’t go to a stupid party.

I erased the entire inbox and then erased my voicemail, which was also full. If Aleah wanted to get hold of me, all she had to do was come downstairs.

It did occur to me that neither she nor Andrew were at the house at that point. They weren’t playing piano anyway.

I looked at my phone. It was still on. Then I did it. I called her cell, breathing really shallow, but she didn’t pick up. I left a message and then left the phone on, waiting for her to call back.