Stoner & Spaz Read Free Page A

ripped off and something drawn on the backs with Magic Marker.
    “So what,” Stephanie asks, “does the ghost mean?”
    “It’s not a ghost. It’s a pirate’s head, like on their flag.”
    Robert turns around. “It’s not a pirate, man. It’s a skull. That’s what was on their flag: a skull and crossbow.”
    Danny points. “Look at your own fucking earring, man. It’s a pirate.”
    Robert takes off his earring, makes a big deal of finding some glasses in his pants pocket, and peers through them. “It’s a skull. It’s got little eyes.”
    “Pirates have got eyes, man. Otherwise they couldn’t see, like, their rum or the plank or anything.”
    They fall all over each other laughing.
    Stephanie scowls and shakes her head. “Thanks for nothing, you jerk-offs.”
    She turns away and scans the Pit. I’m almost right in front of her, and she doesn’t even see me. Not really. I’m just the resident spaz, invisible as the sign that says NO RUNNING , the one nobody pays any attention to.
    Then she intercepts Colleen coming out of the girls’ room. I can’t hear what Stephanie says but I can sure hear Colleen.
    “Are you nuts? Go ask somebody who gives a shit.”
    She’s still shaking her head when she gets to me. “Unbelievable. Ed would never let me forget it if I turned up in the school newspaper with a fucking opinion.”
    “I was watching Ed in action. He’s like Louis the Fourteenth, moving through the gardens at Versailles dispensing favors.”
    “Louis better watch his ass,” says Colleen. “This is Ed’s turf.”
    “I guess that big tattoo on his arm is a marijuana leaf and not an ad for Vermont in the fall.”
    “You got that right.” She leans closer and whispers, “You got the stuff?”
    “I’ve got the book report.”
    “When nobody’s looking, give it to me.”
    “Colleen, it’s a piece of paper, not a kilo.”
    “Like you know what a kilo is.” She grabs the folded sheet out of my hand and scans it. “This’ll do. Give me your phone number.”
    “Why?”
    “So I can call you.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I might want you to write another paper for me.”
    “But you haven’t paid for this one. Remember?” I smile to show that I’m kidding. A little, anyway. “You’re going to show me . . .” I stare at her chest. “Your, you know . . .”
    “My what?”
    “It’s okay. I knew you weren’t serious.” But I point, anyway.
    “I told you I’d show you my tits?” She holds up the essay. “For this?”
    “Uh-huh, but it’s okay. It’s not that good, anyway.”
    “Hey, if I said I would, I will.” She stuffs the page into her purse, shrugs that off one shoulder, and starts to tug at the shredded black lace she wears over an old Clash T-shirt.
    “No! It’s okay.”
    “You sure?” She reveals an inch or two of very pale skin. “Live half-nude girls. No waiting.”
    I retreat. “It’s fine. Thanks, anyway. Really.”
    Who is this girl? She is out of my league. Way out.
     
    THE NEXT DAY I find myself prowling the halls. . . . Well, I don’t prowl the halls, but at least I’m in the halls. I don’t just go sit in my homeroom like a fungus.
    Finally I spot Colleen, this time in boots that lace up to her bony knees, ripped painter’s pants, and a lacey, soiled top that looks like Madonna has been mining coal in it. I don’t even get a chance to say hi before she pounces.
    “Did you call my house last night?”
    “Yeah. I wanted to see if you liked that paper I wrote for you, if it was, you know, okay and everything.”
    “Why did you talk to my mom?”
    “Because you weren’t home.”
    “She said you were the nicest guy who ever called.”
    “So what’s the problem?”
    “I don’t want nice guys calling; I’m a total bitch, okay?”
    “You’re not, either.”
    “Like you know anything about me.”
    “I know you’re honest. You said you’d do something if I wrote that
Gatsby
essay, and you were going to do it.”
    “Oh, that. My