Stupid Fast by Geoff Herbach Read Free Book Online Page B

can’t see the keys very well because his hair wad is in his face. He bangs and shouts and makes me laugh until I have a headache and want him to stop.
    This girl, who I now know so well, is not even slightly terrible. She’s got great rhythm and knows how melodies should sound. In fact, she is completely amazing.
    Stop. Listen to me. Completely utterly amazing.
    I watched. She paused, drew in a deep breath, then just exploded onto the keys, exploded into this classical music thing, which I would not normally like, but oh my holy shit.
    I stood there sort of tingling, I’m sure with my mouth hanging open, just staring at her like a total dork while she played. I recognized something in her. Maybe genius? The music was like a wave that hit me in Florida when we were visiting Dad’s parents right before he died. The music made me kind of cry. I’m sort of crying now. Seriously. What a dork I am. This girl, who I love, used every bit of the length of both her arms going up and down the keys. Then I heard this deep voice say “Can I help you?”
    I looked up, and there was this huge dad staring at me (Ronald).
    “Um, yes. Paperboy,” I mumbled.
    “Aleah plays well, doesn’t she?”
    “Holy crap,” I replied.
    “Well put,” he said.
    And then I nodded, handed him the paper, turned, and took off like a stupid-ass jackrabbit.
    She’s so good. She’s so good. She’s so good.
    I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl in her nightie and her dad and being caught staring at her and how I was alone and how I can’t play piano or anything.
    You’re just jumpy. That’s all you are. Jumpy, jumpy, jumpy.
    I tore through the rest of the route, hurtling off my bike, dropping papers off at houses, then to the nursing home. Inside, old ladies were out of their rooms, heading to breakfast because I was late, and they called to me: “Help!”
    “Shut up, old ladies,” I told them. “I’ve got nothing. You’re just old.”

CHAPTER 11: I FELT BETTER UNTIL JERRI DROPPED THE F-BOMB
    When I got home, Jerri was drinking coffee and reading an old magazine on the front stoop. It was already too hot out there, and she was sweating. It was obvious she was waiting for me. I tried to walk right past her, but she grabbed my arm and looked up into my eyes.
    “You’re getting home late,” she said.
    “Why did you make me take this stupid job?” I asked.
    “Did it feel good to listen to your dad’s music yesterday, Felton?”
    I didn’t answer immediately. I looked at her face, which was pale.
    “Yes, it did.”
    “Sure brought back some memories for me,” she said. “Not good memories.”
    “Oh, yeah?”
    “You were listening to some pretty angry music.”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you ever wish you were with him, Felton?”
    “With him? What are you talking about?”
    “Somewhere not here?”
    “Jesus, Jerri.”
    I didn’t know what she meant at all, of course. So I tried to tell her what was up.
    “Listen. Jerri. I feel like a…Sometimes, I feel like a trapped squirrel, okay? I’m a damn friendless squirrel nut that doesn’t know how to do anything.”
    “Squirrel nut?” Jerri raised her eyebrows for a moment. Stared at me. “What do you mean?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Do you want to talk about it?”
    “There’s nothing to say really,” I told her.
    “Can I help you, Felton?”
    “I’m hungry.”
    “You wouldn’t eat dinner.”
    “I know that.”
    Jerri stared at me, squinted, then let go of my arm.
    “Go inside. I’ll make you a big omelet, okay?”
    “Okay.” I opened the door to go in.
    “You know I’m really trying,” she said.
    “Why?” I asked, stopping. “Why are you trying?” Why do honkies laugh? Why does Jerri need to try? Why can’t I do anything well?
    “You know I’m going to a therapist, Felton?” Jerri said.
    “No.”
    “That’s where I went on Friday. She’s worried about you too.”
    Oh. Oh. “Who? Who’s worried, Jerri?”
    “My therapist.”
    “Your