Storky Read Free Page A

She still isn’t used to going out at night. I reminded her that I’m 14 already.
    Then Vermin says, “You want to come with? Any movie you want to see?” I told him I liked horror flicks, just because adults never go to those. Mom sighed like I’m such a disappointment. She did that thing where she goes, “Oh, Mike,” and she sounds just like Carol Brady on those rare episodes where she isn’t all chipper. Mom goes, “You like other stuff too.” Verm butts right in, suggesting all these movies, like he’s already part of the family.
    What if someone from school saw me at the movies with my mom on a Saturday night? Total patheticity. And who would want to smell that Novocain or whatever it is all night? And watch him put his chubby arm around her?
    I tried to think up something polite to get out of it. Then Vermin started stroking Mom’s palm with his thumb. I just said, “Nah.”
    After they left, I called Gina, hoping maybe the Hunk had stood her up and she’d be home. That’s really mean, hoping like that. I guess I’d have felt pretty bad if she’d answered the phone all disappointed. No, I wouldn’t. The phone just rang and I hung up before the 6th ring when the machine picks up.
    So he probably didn’t stand her up, but I still bet I’m much more sensitive than he is. I’m Captain Sensitive. Like if I ever had a date with Gina, I’d bring flowers and/or chocolates and I’d ask her where she wanted to go. Even if she suggested some dumb Mandy Moore movie, I’d say, What a great idea.
    And I bet I’m smarter than Hunk. A guy named Hunk can’t be smart. My brain could probably eat his for lunch and still want dessert. I’ll invite Gina over for Scrabble so she can make the Mike/Hunk brain comparison.

Sunday, September 19
    Dad canceled on me tonight. Says he has a cold.
    Meanwhile, Mom’s been a total nag. Threatening to make me volunteer at Golden Village Retirement Home with her. She gave the old lecture about joining clubs and stuff instead of vegging around the house all day with the remote glued to my hand, feeling sorry for myself about Gina.
    “Thanks for the idea of gluing the remote to my hand. Hadn’t thought of that one,” I said. You could just see her face burning up. I’m never having kids. We’re such brats. You can almost understand why Dad moved out.
    How does she know I like Gina?

Monday, September 20
    Gina came over to play Scrabble. She hasn’t been here in 37 days. We used to play like every weekend. Then last year she was always at someone’s party or at the mall with her pretty girls group, or worst of all, at the movies with a guy. Arranging a Scrabble game with her nowadays is an ordeal. It’s worth it though.
    She takes forever to put down her tiles, but that’s okay. While she’s frowning over them and rearranging them a zillion times, I stare at her boobs. I wonder if Gina likes them. Do they throw off her balance? Did she have to buy all new shirts?
    She won the game. So much for impressing her with my brainpower. It’s not really fair, because I couldn’t concentrate and keep Rex under control at the same time. Just to calm him down, I had to stare at the wall and take 3 all the way to the 6th power. Then Gina swiped an eyelash off my cheek with her little hand, and Rex rose like pizza dough. I was forced to list the 13 original colonies in alphabetical order.
    After the game we ate vanilla ice cream at the kitchen table. As soon as we sat down, Mom decided she had to empty the dishwasher. What a coincidence. I had my usual Godzilla-sized bowl, while Gina ate about a teaspoonful.
    Out of masochism or something I asked how her date went, and that set her off. I had to hear how the Hunk brought her a rose, and about his cool truck he drove with one hand, holding hers with the other, and how he held her hand the whole time over dinner, and how she hated having a curfew.
    What did she want to do with the Hunk late at night anyway? I don’t want to