Revolting Youth: The Further Journals of Nick Twisp by C. D. Payne Read Free Book Online

sensationalist accounts of the further depredations of the “Geezer” virus. All over the world irate computer users are being mooned and their valuable files scrambled. Yesterday’s banner headline in the New York Daily News: “Thanks a pantsful, Geezer hacker!”
    I suppose I should worry about this, but I have far too much on my plate already. People should just learn to back-up theirfiles and avoid promiscuous network coupling. Abstinence: you preach it to your kids, now try it with your computer.
    Only two weeks to go until Sheeni’s fifteenth birthday. While Carlotta was cutting clothing technology class to wire money at my bank, she also transferred a large wad to her checking account in preparation for Sheeni’s costly natal-day celebrations. It should come as no surprise to anyone that My One and Only Love is a Pisces.
    At lunchtime Candy Pringle and other do-gooder senior girls passed out lengths of yellow plastic ribbon for students to tie to their lockers, backpacks, and cars to demonstrate their concern for Trent’s safe return. I was not pleased to see that Sheeni and Vijay were wearing matching yellow armbands as they dined together. All of Trent’s swim team buddies have shaved their heads (and reportedly their pubic hair as well) in solidarity with their missing pal. As you might expect, the school is abuzz with Trent and Apurva rumors—some of the more improbable ones having been initiated by Carlotta herself.
    In business math class Carlotta chatted up friendly Lana Baldwin, who said, “Heck, they all talk like this back in Nitro, West Virginia.” She confessed she doesn’t have a boyfriend. It’s no wonder, considering the way she dresses. The average male student in the school simply has no idea what’s going on under her dowdy tweed jumpers and sloppy pullovers.
    After that class Carlotta’s Ossifidusbrittalus syndrome flared up again, and Nurse Filmore excused her from the balance of the school day. I hope her cheerful presence was not missed in the girls’ locker room.
    8:10 p.m. I just had another long phone conversation with Apurva. She reports they have purchased their wedding rings, which they are now wearing to get a feel for married life. So far so good. Today they toured Rowan Oak, Nobel laureate William Faulkner’s lavish 1840s-era home set on 21 magnolia-strewnacres. They admired his antique Underwood portable typewriter, inspected a small stable he built with his own hands, and peered into the smokehouse where he cured his own bacon. I wonder if the Nobel Prize selection committee is impressed by these sorts of extracurricular author activities? Should I be nominated, I must remember to show them Carlotta’s recently completed black A-line skirt.
    This proximity to Great Literature evidently excited Trent’s poetic imagination. Apurva was eager to share his latest work, titled “Diet of Worms.”
    Bitter memories
Compose my breakfast,
Sprinkled lightly with
Longing and regret.
    Lost friends
Nourish at midday
With their absence
And neglect.
    Faded dreams
Sustain at night—
A solemn feasting on
Ambitions deferred.
    Somewhat more intelligible than his previous “futurist percussion” efforts, but not pointing to a very positive state of mind as marriage looms. And what, I wondered, was on his dessert menu—angst a la mode? Carlotta politely agreed with Apurva that it was a “brilliant effort,” but suggested—as one girl to another—that she splash on a little more perfume before retiring this evening.
    “And how are things going in that department?” Carlotta couldn’t help but ask.
    I could sense Apurva’s blush from 2,500 miles away. “Verywell, Carlotta. Somehow I feel I can discuss these things with you. We’ve been reading more books on the topic. My darling Trent has been hunting for my G-spot.”
    “Any luck?” I asked, intrigued.
    “Not so far,” she admitted. “But the search has been most stimulating.”
    WEDNESDAY, March 3 — I nearly gagged on