I'm with Stupid by Geoff Herbach Read Free Book Online Page B

while Mr. Farber warbled on about labor unions and corporate greed and crap, Karpinski leaned over and asked if the California bikini chicks were hot. You don’t know what hot means because it’s not bikinis—it’s library girls in plastic glasses who smile when you make jokes!
    I whispered, “Not at all.”
    â€œMadison girls are totally hot,” Karpinski said, nodding.
    â€œKarpinski, care to share?” Farber asked.
    â€œ Madison girls are totally hot! ” Karpinski shouted.
    â€œTrue enough,” Farber said.
    My English teacher, Mr. Linder, who is not a football fan, stopped me after class and said, “Great writers at Stanford. You could learn from the best.”
    â€œI don’t know,” I said. “I’m not much of a writer.” I would write love poems to Frisbees!
    â€œBullshit,” Linder said.
    â€œCalifornia has earthquakes,” I said. I made a face.
    Then Coach Johnson, Coach Knautz, Abby Sauter, Jess Withrow, Mrs. Callahan, Ms. Rory, etc., etc., etc., all pulled me aside to talk in private, to get the lowdown. Everyone wanted to know about Stanford.
    While I thought, I’m in love with library couches and red roofs and fist-bumping second-string kickers who talk smart about Louis C.K. , I told them all, no, it wasn’t that cool, which seemed like what I should say—I was doing my duty to God and ESPN, keeping my secret—except Gus cornered me after he heard me tell Abby Sauter that Madison is prettier than Palo Alto (where Stanford is located).
    â€œFelton. Shit,” he whispered.
    â€œWhat?” I whispered back.
    â€œFollow me. Now,” he said.
    I followed him into the faculty bathroom, which was right across the hall from where Abby and I had been talking. Going in that bathroom made me totally nervous. (Gus does what he wants.)
    â€œJesus. It’s clean in here,” I said, looking around.
    He turned to me, lifted his hair wad, and said, “They are going to kill you.”
    â€œWho?” I asked.
    â€œYou’re telling people that Stanford wasn’t cool?”
    â€œI have to keep the secret for ESPN,” I said. “It’s my job.”
    â€œBut you’re building expectations. You’re making everybody think you’ll be at Wisconsin. These are Wisconsinites, man! You know how pissed they’re going to be if you dupe them like that?”
    â€œDupe?” Slowly his words sunk into my brain. “Oh.”
    â€œYeah,” Gus nodded at me. “Jesus. Just don’t say anything. Just keep it to yourself. Can’t you just hold it in a little? Can’t you just be calm and in control?”
    I swallowed. I thought. “No. That’s not me.”
    â€œReally? And who are you?” Gus asked. “Why does everything rattle you? You’re rattled about liking Stanford, aren’t you?”
    I thought about it. “Well. Yeah. Sort of. I have a chicken…”
    â€œWhat chicken?”
    â€œNever mind.”
    â€œWhere are you heading in life?”
    I began to get a little hot, a little mad. “Why does that matter?”
    Gus looked around, then whispered, “Stanford. It’s great, right?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œIf you understood why Stanford’s the best choice for you, if it was part of the larger plan, wouldn’t you be calm?”
    Larger plan. Justify your existence. “Maybe.”
    â€œAs it stands, even this good news shakes the shit out of you and you walk around lying to people, acting like an idiot, causing trouble for your future because you know you’ll have to justify your decision when you announce it and you can’t justify it because you have no idea why you make any decision.” Gus’s face had turned totally red.
    I whispered, “Oh.” I sort of hated it when Gus acted like my dad, but he was generally right.
    â€œGo home and write a list of the reasons why you