Read Online The Reluctant Journal of Henry K. Larsen by Susin Nielsen - Free Book Online
Authors: Susin Nielsen
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nickname Scott had given Jesse. I knew Jesse hadn’t had a great first year in high school. But until that day, I didn’t understand how bad it was.
“Hey, it’s Jodie’s brother,” I said.
Jesse’s face went blank. He grabbed my hand and started walking faster. “Don’t make eye contact,” he said.
The car slowed down. Then Scott yelled out the passenger window, “Hey, Jesse! Ya ’tard!” Something came sailing out the window. It was a half-full can of Coke, aimed at Jesse’s head.
The can just missed its target. It landed on the sidewalk in front of us. Coke splashed onto Jesse’s pants as the car squealed away.
We didn’t go for ice cream. We just walked straight home. I remember that Jesse was really embarrassed. And I remember that I was embarrassed, too, because I suddenlyknew with total certainty that my brother was not cool. My brother was the kid the other kids made fun of.
I think that was the day I stopped looking up to him. I think that was the day I started to feel a little bit ashamed of him.
It was hard to write those last two sentences.
Anyway.
I’d buried that memory really deep. So the fact that it was playing itself out in my head all of a sudden, in full Technicolor, really knocked the wind out of me, and maybe that’s why I didn’t try to stop what happened next. Troy grabbed Farley and got his buddy, the one named Mike, to hold open Farley’s locker door. “You ever touch me again, Slant-Eyes, you are dead.” Farley was squirming and shouting, “It was an accident! I swear!”
Troy shoved Farley into his locker. Mike slammed the door shut. Farley kept shouting; it was just a little more muffled. The one named Josh clicked Farley’s lock into place. Then the three of them sauntered away, laughing.
I’ve seen kids get stuffed into lockers on TV shows and in movies, but never in real life. It didn’t look as funny in real life.
“99-10-12!” Farley yelled through the slats in the door. “99-10-12!”
It took me a few seconds to realize he was shouting his locker combination. I finally unfroze and spun his lock around. I yanked open the door. Farley stepped out, adjusting his glasses.
“He’s a psycho,” said Farley.
“A racist psycho,” I added.
“He tried to kill Ambrose once.”
“Get out.”
“It’s true. They went to the same elementary school. Troy and his friends slipped a peanut into Ambrose’s sandwich, even though they knew he was allergic. He almost died.”
The warning bell rang. “That’s awful,” I said.
“Aw, fudge.” Farley was looking down at his button-up shirt. The pocket was torn almost completely off, exposing the plastic pocket protector and pens underneath. “He tore my shirt.”
His glasses fogged up, and I realized he was fighting tears.
“Do you want to go tell the principal?” I asked.
Farley looked at me like I was mental. He didn’t have to say a word; I knew exactly what he meant. Going to the principal might make things better; or it might make things worse.
Jesse went to the principal once. The principal spoke to Scott. And do you know what happened? Scott just gotbetter at covering his tracks. And Jesse got branded as a snitch.
Farley took a cloth handkerchief out of his pants pocket and blew into it loudly. He sounded like a Canada goose.
“C’mon,” he said. “I don’t want to break my perfect attendance record.” He stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket, and we headed to class.
What I like most about Farley is that he’s like a rubber ball. No matter how hard you throw him, he bounces right back.
What I hate most about Farley is that he’s like a rubber ball. No matter how hard you throw him, he bounces right back.
“So listen,” he said the moment class got out, “talk to your dad. See if he’ll take us to Seattle – because my parents can’t, obviously, they’re in Hong Kong. And Maria doesn’t have her license. We could drive down and back the same day. Plus,” he
“Hey, it’s Jodie’s brother,” I said.
Jesse’s face went blank. He grabbed my hand and started walking faster. “Don’t make eye contact,” he said.
The car slowed down. Then Scott yelled out the passenger window, “Hey, Jesse! Ya ’tard!” Something came sailing out the window. It was a half-full can of Coke, aimed at Jesse’s head.
The can just missed its target. It landed on the sidewalk in front of us. Coke splashed onto Jesse’s pants as the car squealed away.
We didn’t go for ice cream. We just walked straight home. I remember that Jesse was really embarrassed. And I remember that I was embarrassed, too, because I suddenlyknew with total certainty that my brother was not cool. My brother was the kid the other kids made fun of.
I think that was the day I stopped looking up to him. I think that was the day I started to feel a little bit ashamed of him.
It was hard to write those last two sentences.
Anyway.
I’d buried that memory really deep. So the fact that it was playing itself out in my head all of a sudden, in full Technicolor, really knocked the wind out of me, and maybe that’s why I didn’t try to stop what happened next. Troy grabbed Farley and got his buddy, the one named Mike, to hold open Farley’s locker door. “You ever touch me again, Slant-Eyes, you are dead.” Farley was squirming and shouting, “It was an accident! I swear!”
Troy shoved Farley into his locker. Mike slammed the door shut. Farley kept shouting; it was just a little more muffled. The one named Josh clicked Farley’s lock into place. Then the three of them sauntered away, laughing.
I’ve seen kids get stuffed into lockers on TV shows and in movies, but never in real life. It didn’t look as funny in real life.
“99-10-12!” Farley yelled through the slats in the door. “99-10-12!”
It took me a few seconds to realize he was shouting his locker combination. I finally unfroze and spun his lock around. I yanked open the door. Farley stepped out, adjusting his glasses.
“He’s a psycho,” said Farley.
“A racist psycho,” I added.
“He tried to kill Ambrose once.”
“Get out.”
“It’s true. They went to the same elementary school. Troy and his friends slipped a peanut into Ambrose’s sandwich, even though they knew he was allergic. He almost died.”
The warning bell rang. “That’s awful,” I said.
“Aw, fudge.” Farley was looking down at his button-up shirt. The pocket was torn almost completely off, exposing the plastic pocket protector and pens underneath. “He tore my shirt.”
His glasses fogged up, and I realized he was fighting tears.
“Do you want to go tell the principal?” I asked.
Farley looked at me like I was mental. He didn’t have to say a word; I knew exactly what he meant. Going to the principal might make things better; or it might make things worse.
Jesse went to the principal once. The principal spoke to Scott. And do you know what happened? Scott just gotbetter at covering his tracks. And Jesse got branded as a snitch.
Farley took a cloth handkerchief out of his pants pocket and blew into it loudly. He sounded like a Canada goose.
“C’mon,” he said. “I don’t want to break my perfect attendance record.” He stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket, and we headed to class.
What I like most about Farley is that he’s like a rubber ball. No matter how hard you throw him, he bounces right back.
What I hate most about Farley is that he’s like a rubber ball. No matter how hard you throw him, he bounces right back.
“So listen,” he said the moment class got out, “talk to your dad. See if he’ll take us to Seattle – because my parents can’t, obviously, they’re in Hong Kong. And Maria doesn’t have her license. We could drive down and back the same day. Plus,” he
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