Read Online Not As Crazy As I Seem by George Harrar - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: George Harrar
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It's as if we're underground, and the whole world above us has disappeared. Maybe if we were the last two kids alive on earth, I'd try the marijuana. But seeing his saliva on the end of the cigarette makes me feel sick. It's also a little exciting, thoughâme, Devon the Straight, Devon the Quiet, Devon the Polite, doing something totally wrong right under the feet of the teachers.
CHAPTER 13
I hate my name. "Devon" sounds like a stuck-up WASP rich kid, which I'm notâat least the stuck-up part. I don't feel rich, either. I'm pretty sure my parents are, though, because they have two jobs and only one kid. They bought a big Colonial house in Belford, which is a fancier town than Amherst, and our new place sits high on "The Hill," as everyone calls it, which is obviously the rich part of town since it looks down on everywhere else.
After school on Friday I went to the Belford Free Library and checked out a book called
How to Change Your Name to Anything You Want.
From what I can figure, I could change my name in Massachusetts for less than a hundred dollars. Of course, Mom and Dad would have to give me permission to do it since I'm not eighteen, and that could be a problem because I'm not thinking of changing to Jeremy or Jesse or Josh or Jason or any other
stupid J name. I want something different.
Mozambique
sounds good to me. I like the way it looks in big black letters on the cover of an old
National Geographic
we have at home. Except people would probably just shorten that to Mo or Moe. I could accept Mow as a nickname, but you can't count on people spelling your name like you want. There are other possibilities, such as SandwichâSandy for shortâor maybe Asphalt, Fur, Soap, Rivet...
Dr. W. taps his desk with his pen. "Devon, can I have your attention?"
"Sure, take it. I'm not using it."
"That's very funny."
"Really? I wasn't even trying to be funny. I'm never funny if I try."
"Well, today I'd like to start with a game."
I figure he means Connect Four or Stratego, like I played with Dr. Castelli, but he takes out a deck of cards. "I want you to pick a card and then talk for one minute about the statement written on it."
"Why do I have to do that?"
"Because it's the game."
"You mean I lose if I talk for fifty-five seconds ... or two minutes?"
"No. There's no winning or losing."
"So it's not really a game."
"Think of it as an exercise."
"That's good, 'cause my dad says I don't get enough of that."
Dr. W. spreads the deck, and I take a card from the middle, exactly between his hands. I turn it over and read
to myself:
Imagine you are taking over as principal of your school. What would you do first?
This is easy. "I'd shoot myself."
Dr. W. leans forward to see what's written on my card. I look at my watch. It only took me two seconds to say this. I still have fifty-eight seconds to go.
I'd shoot myself.
That's all I can think of. I hate this game, because why should I have to talk more than I need to? Once you shoot yourself, time stops for you, doesn't it? So why does it keep on going in this stupid game?
Dr. W. looks at
his
watch. "You have a lot of time left."
"I'd shoot myself. Shoot myself. Shoot myself. Shoot myself. Shoot myself."
"Okay, Devon. I get the idea."
Maybe he gets the idea, but my minute isn't over and I'm going to play this game exactly by the rules. "Shoot myself. Shoot myself. Shoot myself. Shoot myself..."
My sixty seconds are up. Dr. W. takes the card from me and puts the deck back in his desk. I guess he doesn't want to play this game anymore.
"We haven't talked much about your new school, Devon. How do you like it?"
"It's like regular school, only the kids are smarter."
"How are you doing making friends?"
"I don't know. How many am I supposed to have after a month?"
"There's no set number. Some people have lots of friends, others need just one good friend."
"I don't need friends."
"Do you
want
friends?"
"Yes ... no ... I don't think about it."
"Everybody
CHAPTER 13
I hate my name. "Devon" sounds like a stuck-up WASP rich kid, which I'm notâat least the stuck-up part. I don't feel rich, either. I'm pretty sure my parents are, though, because they have two jobs and only one kid. They bought a big Colonial house in Belford, which is a fancier town than Amherst, and our new place sits high on "The Hill," as everyone calls it, which is obviously the rich part of town since it looks down on everywhere else.
After school on Friday I went to the Belford Free Library and checked out a book called
How to Change Your Name to Anything You Want.
From what I can figure, I could change my name in Massachusetts for less than a hundred dollars. Of course, Mom and Dad would have to give me permission to do it since I'm not eighteen, and that could be a problem because I'm not thinking of changing to Jeremy or Jesse or Josh or Jason or any other
stupid J name. I want something different.
Mozambique
sounds good to me. I like the way it looks in big black letters on the cover of an old
National Geographic
we have at home. Except people would probably just shorten that to Mo or Moe. I could accept Mow as a nickname, but you can't count on people spelling your name like you want. There are other possibilities, such as SandwichâSandy for shortâor maybe Asphalt, Fur, Soap, Rivet...
Dr. W. taps his desk with his pen. "Devon, can I have your attention?"
"Sure, take it. I'm not using it."
"That's very funny."
"Really? I wasn't even trying to be funny. I'm never funny if I try."
"Well, today I'd like to start with a game."
I figure he means Connect Four or Stratego, like I played with Dr. Castelli, but he takes out a deck of cards. "I want you to pick a card and then talk for one minute about the statement written on it."
"Why do I have to do that?"
"Because it's the game."
"You mean I lose if I talk for fifty-five seconds ... or two minutes?"
"No. There's no winning or losing."
"So it's not really a game."
"Think of it as an exercise."
"That's good, 'cause my dad says I don't get enough of that."
Dr. W. spreads the deck, and I take a card from the middle, exactly between his hands. I turn it over and read
to myself:
Imagine you are taking over as principal of your school. What would you do first?
This is easy. "I'd shoot myself."
Dr. W. leans forward to see what's written on my card. I look at my watch. It only took me two seconds to say this. I still have fifty-eight seconds to go.
I'd shoot myself.
That's all I can think of. I hate this game, because why should I have to talk more than I need to? Once you shoot yourself, time stops for you, doesn't it? So why does it keep on going in this stupid game?
Dr. W. looks at
his
watch. "You have a lot of time left."
"I'd shoot myself. Shoot myself. Shoot myself. Shoot myself. Shoot myself."
"Okay, Devon. I get the idea."
Maybe he gets the idea, but my minute isn't over and I'm going to play this game exactly by the rules. "Shoot myself. Shoot myself. Shoot myself. Shoot myself..."
My sixty seconds are up. Dr. W. takes the card from me and puts the deck back in his desk. I guess he doesn't want to play this game anymore.
"We haven't talked much about your new school, Devon. How do you like it?"
"It's like regular school, only the kids are smarter."
"How are you doing making friends?"
"I don't know. How many am I supposed to have after a month?"
"There's no set number. Some people have lots of friends, others need just one good friend."
"I don't need friends."
"Do you
want
friends?"
"Yes ... no ... I don't think about it."
"Everybody
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