Twerp Read online

  “Isn’t this better than a movie?” Jillian said as we strolled along the midway. We’d only been inside the park for a minute when she said that, but she was right. There was no denying it.

  “It’s kind of a real-life movie,” I said.

  “Are you having a good time?”

  I nodded that I was, which was the truth.

  “What do you want to do first?” she asked.

  I glanced left and right. “How about the Ferris wheel?”

  Her expression went sour. “Really?”

  “The line’s not too long—”

  “But once you’re up there, you’re up there. Then what?”

  “You sit back and take in the view,” I said.

  “Then let’s do that last. It’s the perfect last thing to do.”

  “What do you want to do first?”

  “How about the Music Express?” she said.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  The Music Express is just your basic ride, nothing special. It goes round and round on a banked track, except it’s speeded up because the purpose is to throw the riders inside each car together. High school guys like it because it’s an excuse to get cozy with their girlfriends. But it’s also fun to ride with your friends since whoever sits on the right gets crushed against the side of the car. I found that out the hard way the first time I rode the thing with Quentin and Lonnie. I thought the two of them were going to come right through my rib cage and wind up on the other side of me.

  The line at the Music Express didn’t look too bad. There were maybe a dozen people waiting at the gate. The song “Dizzy” was blaring from the ride’s loudspeakers, louder and louder as we got closer. But as soon as we came to the back of the line, Jillian started standing on her toes for a clearer look at the front. Then she started to wave.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Looking for someone I know.”

  “Who?”

  Before she could answer, a skinny blond guy in a black Adventurers Inn T-shirt waved back at her and began making his way toward us. The way he was cutting between people, sliding in and around them, and the fact that no one was giving him a hard time told me he wasn’t just another guy waiting on line.

  “Hey, babe!” he called as he stepped past the last three people and walked up to us. He gave Jillian a playful shove. She shoved him back, and then he winked at her. I doubt he meant for me to see the wink, but I saw it. Right then, I got a bad feeling.

  “Hi, Devlin.”

  Devlin turned to me and put out his hand. He had the skinniest, boniest fingers I’d ever felt, but he squeezed my hand real hard. It was painful, like getting squeezed by a skeleton.

  “I’m Julian,” I managed.

  He let go of my hand only after I’d told him my name. It felt like he’d squeezed it out of me.

  “Devlin mows lawns on my block. He started last week. He goes to McMasters.”

  “You’re in seventh grade?”

  “Eighth,” he said. “You?”

  “Sixth.”

  “Ouch!”

  “Tell me about it,” Jillian said.

  “You’ll grow out of it, though.” Devlin laughed real loud and gave Jillian another playful shove. She shoved him back harder, and then he waved his hands at her, as if to say he surrendered.

  “Julian is writing a book.”

  “You’re kidding me! What kind of book?”

  “It’s not a book,” I said. “It’s just something I’m doing to get out of Shakespeare.”

  “Is it more than ten pages?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sounds like a book to me!” He laughed real loud again.

  “Devlin’s brother runs the ride. That’s him standing at the gate.”

  “Oh.”

  “So Devlin rides for free,” she said, “as many times as he wants.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” Devlin said. “I hang out with him on the weekends. I’ve ridden the thing hundreds of times, so I’m pretty sick of it. But it’s still a sweet gig. I get to eyeball the chicks. You know how it is.”

  “You’re so bad!” Jillian said.

  Right then, the Music Express came to a halt, and the cars started to empty out. The people behind us surged forward and pushed us to the front of the line. I took out the two passes and flashed them at Devlin’s brother—who looked just like Devlin except taller and bonier and with pimples on his chin. He put out his arm as Jillian and I were about to step past him.

  “How old are you?”

  “Twelve,” I said.

  “Got to be thirteen.”

  “What?”

  “Got to be thirteen to ride unaccompanied.”

  “But I’ve ridden it before with my friends.”

  “Not at night you haven’t,” he said.

  “What’s the difference—”

  “C’mon, Duane,” Devlin said, “I’ll ride with ’em.”

  Duane glanced down at his brother with the fakest look of surprise I’d ever seen. Then he hesitated and rubbed the pimples on his chin, like he was giving the situation another thought. Maybe a second passed before he said, “All right, if you ride with them. But just this once.”

  Devlin hopped up the three steps to the Music Express and put out his hand for Jillian. I followed a step behind. He helped her into the car and then climbed in after her. The two of them squeezed together to make room for me on the right side of the car. The squash seat. I glanced at Jillian, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes. What could I do at that point? I slid down into the seat and stared straight ahead.

  It took maybe another minute for the rest of the cars to fill up. I could hear safety bars slamming down and latching, and parents telling their kids to hang on tight to the bar, and right behind us a couple of high school guys were wisecracking about throwing one another off the ride once it got going.

  Then, at last, Duane called out, “Is everybody ready to rock and roll?”

  Three or four carriages let out a halfhearted “Yeah …”

  Suddenly, Devlin jumped up and yelled, “My brother said, ‘Is everybody ready to rock and roll?’ ”

  That got the entire ride to scream back, “Yeah!”

  “That’s better!” Devlin yelled, and then wedged himself back in between me and Jillian.

  “I can’t believe you did that!” she said. She elbowed him in the ribs. He was so skinny, and we were squeezed in so tight, that I could feel the jab of her elbow.

  The music started up, real loud, and right in the middle of the song:

  Indian giver!

  Indian giver!

  You took your love away from me!

  The Music Express lurched forward, and we were off. Jillian began to shriek with excitement. I don’t know how else to describe the sound she made. You could go to the end of a piano and not come close to how high her voice got. Meanwhile, Devlin was pounding his bony hands on the safety bar to the rhythm of the song and singing. I couldn’t hear him. I’m not sure if he was singing the words out loud or just to himself. But I could see his lips moving. Red, white, and blue lights began to flash around the track as we picked up speed. There was nothing gradual about it, though—we picked up speed in sudden jerks, and each one of them snapped our heads back.

  It wasn’t long before the ride was going full tilt. The music was beating inside my head, the lights were flashing in my face, and I was helpless. Jillian and Devlin were screaming their lungs out, letting go of the safety bar, and waving their hands in the air. Each time they let go, I could feel their full weight ramming against my left side. It was painful, like getting rammed by a sack of bones.

  I closed my eyes and waited for the thing to end.

  “C’mon, man!” Devlin screamed in my ear. “Be free!”

  I opened my eyes and nodded at him.

  Then I heard Jillian scream, “C’mon, Julian!”

  I nodded at her too. I had no idea how else to react.

  The ride went on for maybe two mi
nutes but felt a lot longer. I felt sick—not from the ride but from the situation, the fact that I’d been set up. Suppose I’d bought the movie tickets before Jillian had ever showed up at the RKO Keith’s. Would she have sat through Mackenna’s Gold with me and forgotten about Devlin? But the more I thought about it, the less I cared. That sounds pretty bad, but it’s the truth. I was back to thinking of myself as a “quintessence of dust,” and the thing about a quintessence of dust is that it rolls with the breeze. However the breeze blows, whichever direction, the dust comes along for the ride. Which is also true of a twerp. So Amelia had me dead right. I was a twerp. I was the quintessence of a twerp.

  By the time the ride jerked to a stop, my left side ached from my shoulder down to my hip, but I felt nothing whatsoever about the situation with Jillian and Devlin. What I did feel was relief. The date was over. I was just curious how she was going to make it official.

  The answer came after the three of us climbed out of the car. I hopped down the steps of the ride ahead of them. I didn’t turn and wait for them because I thought they might be holding hands—which would make things even more awkward. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Duane give a thumbs-up sign to Devlin. But I still didn’t turn around.

  Then I felt Jillian’s hand on my shoulder. “Did you have a good time, Julian?”

  That forced me to stop and turn around. Devlin wasn’t with her. He was back by the gate of the Music Express, talking with his brother. People were streaming past us on both sides. It seemed pointless, the two of us standing there, about to have a conversation neither of us wanted to have. All we were doing was parting the crowd.

  “It wasn’t my favorite ride,” I answered.

  “Didn’t you like the music?”

  “It’s not my favorite song either.”

  “Julian …”

  I pretty much knew what she was going to say, but I didn’t care. “Yeah?”

  “Do you mind if Devlin hangs out with us?”

  “No, but—”

  “He’s a fun person. You’ll see.”

  “What I was thinking was that I’m not much in the mood for Adventurers Inn. I might go home. But the two of you can use the passes. Here …” I shoved the passes into her hand.

  “Really?”

  “Why not? I won’t be using them.”

  “That’s such a sweet offer, Julian.”

  Devlin jogged up behind us right then. “Where to next?”

  “Julian’s going home. But he’s going to let us have his passes. Isn’t that the sweetest thing?”

  “That’s real cool of you, man. Real cool.”

  He put out his hand, and I shook it. He didn’t squeeze as hard this time.

  Jillian stepped forward and gave me a long hug, and then the two of them turned and walked off in the direction of the Ferris wheel. They hadn’t gone more than ten feet before he slipped his arm around her shoulder. Her arm slid around his waist, and that was the last I saw of them as they disappeared into the crowd.

  That was when I heard a familiar voice. “I’m so sorry, Julian.”

  Eduardo was standing right behind me. I spun around to face him. He looked as if he was about to bawl … for my sake.

  “¡Qué lástima, Julian!”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “She told me you asked her to come to the movies,” he said. “But I knew she wanted to come here. I told her it was not a nice thing to do—to ask you to come here.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” I said.

  “It was not a nice thing that happened. ¡Qué lástima!”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means ‘what a pity.’ It is a pity her heart is with him.”

  “That was the feeling I got.”

  “Maybe not forever,” Eduardo said. “I hope it is not forever. He wears shirts with no sleeves, and he curses very much, and in front of grown-up ladies too. But that’s where her heart is, and where a woman’s heart is, you cannot argue.”

  “He’s all right. Give him a chance.”

  “You have a generous soul, Julian.”

  “No, I’m a twerp.”

  “I don’t know this word ‘twerp.’ Tell me, what does it mean?”

  “If you look it up in the dictionary, you’ll see a picture of me.”

  He smiled. “So you are making a joke. It’s a very brave thing.”

  “It’s not brave—”

  “Soon, though, when you win first place, maybe the hurt will be less.”

  I looked him straight in the eye. “You mean on Track and Field Day?”

  “Yes, of course—”

  That made me laugh. Despite everything, that made me laugh out loud.

  “What is so funny?”

  “That’s not going to happen. I’m not going to win. We both know it.”

  “No?”

  “You’re going to win,” I said.

  That cracked him up. “I don’t think so, Julian. But maybe I will. No one knows what will happen because it is the future. But it will be an honor to run against you. That much I am sure of.”

  He put out his hand, as usual, and I put out my hand. But instead of a regular handshake, he slid his palm forward and wrapped his thumb around mine. It was like the two of us were making a fist together. I’d seen high school guys shake hands like that. It felt like a grown-up thing to be doing.

  He said, “It will be a good race, I think.”

  “If you say so.”

  “It is what I say.”

  I was about to walk off, to cut my losses and call it a night, but then I had another thought. “I told Jillian I’d ride home with her on the bus. Do you think Devlin will take her home?”

  “I will make certain she is safe, Julian.”

  June 13, 1969

  Track and Field Day

  One good thing and one bad thing came out of my “date” with Jillian at Adventurers Inn. The bad thing was that Jillian told whoever would listen that Devlin was her new boyfriend. The week before, she’d told whoever would listen that I was her boyfriend, so kids who’d never said a word to me were tapping me on the shoulder in the hall and telling me how sorry they were that I got my heart broken. That’s a no-win situation. You nod and smile, and they think you’re bawling on the inside. You roll your eyes and shrug, and they think you’re acting like a jerk.

  The good thing that came out of the date with Jillian happened as I was walking home from school Monday afternoon. I’d just gotten to Parsons Boulevard when I heard footsteps come up fast behind me. It was a sound I would’ve known anywhere, anytime. It was Lonnie running to catch up.

  He slapped me on the shoulder. “I knew she was no good!”

  “No, I was an idiot for going.”

  “How much did you lay out?”

  “Eighteen dollars,” I answered, “for the two of us.”

  Lonnie gave me a pained look. “You laid out eighteen bucks, and then she walked off with another guy? That’s about as low as you can get. Where’d you come up with eighteen bucks?”

  “Amelia loaned me some of it. Or maybe she gave it to me. I’m not sure.”

  “It gets worse and worse! ’Cause you know she’s not going to let you pay her back. You’re going to owe her a favor, and it’s going to wind up costing you a lot more than eighteen bucks. Mark my words—”

  “I don’t think it’s like that, Lonnie.”

  “Just mark my words,” he said. There was a long pause as we continued to walk. He started to speak a couple of times but stopped himself. Then, at last, he said, “Look, I’m sorry I got a little crazy. I went screwy in the head. I wish it didn’t happen, but it did happen.”

  “We both got a little screwy.”

  “No, I shouldn’t have treated you like I did. You didn’t do a thing wrong.”

  “I asked Jillian out,” I said. “I shouldn’t have done that, regardless.”

  He grinned at me. “That was a pretty screwy thing to do, looking back.”


  “Then we’re good?”

  “Yeah, we’re good.”

  Just like that, we were good. I know how that sounds, but it’s true. It’s not as if the memory goes away. I’m not saying it does. But life goes on, and Lonnie is still Lonnie, and I’m still me, so what’s the point of dwelling on the past?

  “Are you going to beat that guy or what?”

  “What guy?”

  “You know … Eduardo.”

  “I don’t know, Lonnie.”

  “C’mon, you’ve got to beat him!”

  “He’s real fast.”

  “I don’t care if he’s real fast. He’s a dirtbag.”

  “He’s not a dirtbag.”

  “Then how about the fact that he’s Jillian’s fake brother? Are you going to let Jillian’s fake brother beat you? Are you going to give her that satisfaction after the way she treated you? Are you going to give her that satisfaction after the way she treated us?”

  “What if there’s nothing I can do about it?”

  “There is something you can do about it,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Run faster.”

  So that was the strategy I had going into Track and Field Day: run faster. What other strategy is there? The thing about sprinting is there’s not much to think about. You listen for the gun. You push off. You run as fast as you can until the end. Either you’re fast enough to come in first, or you’re not. That’s what I like about it. It’s pure. But it’s also terrifying for the same reason. If you’re not fast enough to come in first, you’re not going to come in first. There’s no way to come in first except by running faster than whoever comes in second.

  The school year was winding down. Another week passed, and another weekend, and I spent the entire time studying for tests and thinking about losing to Eduardo. Studying was by far the less painful thing to do. I don’t know if I was ever more prepared to take a bunch of tests. I aced every one, including English. (Thanks for the 96, Mr. Selkirk!) The last one came on Wednesday, June 11, in social studies. Before I turned in my test paper to Mr. Loeb, I wrote at the bottom, “Sorry again about what I said to Mr. Caricone. I deserved to sit out in the hall. Sincerely, Julian Twerski, the second-fastest kid in P.S. 23.”