Youth in Revolt: The Journals of Nick Twisp (62 page)

“Hi, Carlotta,” he said, poking me in the shoulder. “Guess what?”

“What?” she asked indifferently.

“I ain’t wearin’ no underwear,” he whispered.

“Good for you, Dwayne.”

“Are you comin’ by the trailer tonight?”

“Certainly not.”

“How come not?”

“I heard something troubling about you from Vijay Joshi.”

“What’d that spic say?” demanded Dwayne.

“He said some guy named Nick told him you were queer. That you forced yourself on him.”

“Liar!” hissed Dwayne, reddening.

“Take it up with Vijay,” sniffed Carlotta. “I understand he’s telling it to everyone in school.”

Next stop was clothing technology I, where Mrs. Dergeltry is teaching
24 young women, Carlotta, and a sophomore named Gary to transform raw cloth into sophisticated, fashion-forward garments. I may enjoy this class once I figure out how to adjust the tension on my sewing machine. (Carlotta is desperately behind the others, who are already up to interfacing, whatever that is.) Despite the presence of Gary (or because of it?), there seems to be considerable casual disrobing among my fellow sewers as they try things on. Even Mrs. Dergeltry removed her blouse briefly to test a dart. With a build like hers, the position and load capacity of such darts must be carefully engineered.

Lunch came next. As her customary lunch mate was away being treated by the school nurse for a cut lip and swollen eye, Sheeni was free to dine with Carlotta. We found two seats together at the Scholarly Elites’ table. Across the room, I noticed, my despised adversary Trent Preston was chowing down at the Varsity Jocks’ table.

“Vijay was just attacked by that horrible boy Dwayne,” Sheeni announced, removing the neatly wrapped contents of her bagged lunch and arranging them carefully on the scarred table. Carlotta did the same, hoping the rapidity of her movements would conceal the tremor in her hands. An intimate cafeteria lunch with Sheeni! Within the very sight of Trent! Almost more than I had ever dared hope.

“Boys are so aggressively combative,” sighed Carlotta philosophically. “It’s the testosterone, you know.”

“Speaking of elevated testosterone, Carlotta,” said Sheeni, “that boy they call Fuzzy seems to be watching you.”

Carlotta looked up and directed a cautionary glance at Fuzzy, dining at the Wanna-be Jocks’ table not far (except in the social hierarchy) from Trent and his buddies.

“Perhaps he likes you,” suggested Sheeni. “Do you know him?”

“We’ve met,” Carlotta replied noncommittally.

“No spark of passion?”

Carlotta reddened. “Hardly, Sheeni. How about you? Is Vijay your boyfriend?”

“Not exactly, Carlotta.”

What’s that supposed to mean!

Sheeni bit into her sandwich, masticated pensively, then continued. “He’s a nice boy. Very intelligent. I think he likes me. But I don’t know if I’m fully over my last boyfriend yet.”

A wave of rapture swept over me. “You mean the fellow in India?” asked Carlotta.

“Him too. I was referring to Trent Preston. He’s the godlike person over there with the blue shirt and deep tan. No, Carlotta, don’t look at him. I don’t
want him to think we’re talking about him. He’s going out now with Vijay’s sister Apurva. I feel so torn when I see them together.”

Carlotta prayed her thick layer of rouge concealed my profound emotional distress. “You’re, you’re still in love with Trent?”

“I honestly don’t know, Carlotta. I thought I was over him. Then a friend of mine visiting from school last month made a big play for him. I got insanely jealous and told her to leave.”

“Oh, who was that?” asked Carlotta casually.

“My former roommate, a girl from New York named Taggarty. I feel she betrayed our friendship. Do you think I’m being petty, Carlotta?”

“Oh no! No, Sheeni, no. Definitely not.” Carlotta was nothing if not emphatic on this point.

Another despised Nick Twisp adversary shot down in flames. Rest in peace, Taggarty!

“But you still care a little for the boy in India?” Carlotta persisted.

“His name is Nick, Carlotta. Nick Twisp. At least, I think it is. That’s what he told me, at any rate. I’ve learned with Nick never to trust entirely what he says. It was a painful lesson. For example, I learned from Vijay that he killed my dog through gross negligence, then lied to cover up his carelessness. Fortunately, darling Albert has returned in another, quite similar form. Although I wish he hadn’t parceled himself out to Apurva as well. Am I confusing you, Carlotta?”

“Er, not at all, Sheeni. And you, you never told any untruths to Nick? You were always completely honest?”

“Not exactly,” she replied, flushing slightly. “I knew for weeks last summer that I might be transferring to Santa Cruz, but never told Nick. I didn’t want to upset him. And when he got that scholarship to India, I tried to persuade him to turn it down. I knew as long as Nick remained in Ukiah my parents would have a powerful incentive to keep me in Santa Cruz. Then, there was my affair with Ed.”

“Ed?” piped Carlotta, startling her lunch mate.

“Yes. Ed Smith. A sweet guy from Iowa I met at school. You see, Carlotta, it was his first time away from Des Moines and naturally he was in sexual crisis. We were driving to a motel in Monterey to help determine his, uh, orientation when we were arrested in error. I think Nick got wind of it somehow.”

So they weren’t on an innocent sightseeing trip to the damn Aquarium! I knew it all along!

“And were you, uh, ever able to assist Ed with his, uh, difficulty?” asked Carlotta, dreading the reply.

“I did all I could, Carlotta. The boy had deep problems. I think it may have been his repressive midwestern upbringing. I concluded eventually he was polymorphous perverse. He wanted to put it in anything warm that moved. He certainly put it in every place he could find on me.”

AUUUUGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Somehow I got through lunch and the rest of the school day. I trooped through business math, study hall, art (with Trent at the next easel!), and health issues in black despair—the cool compress of boredom providing the only solace to my hemorrhaging heart. My One and Only Love has betrayed me. My last reason to live is gone.

TUESDAY, December 8
— I’m still alive. After a dismal, sleepless night, I decided to forgive Sheeni. I see now her actions were prompted by beneficence. She did what she did with Ed out of a commendable desire to help a fellow human being. The deed was unfortunate, but not strictly censurable. Nevertheless, I shall strive with unflagging vigilance to prevent a recurrence. Sheeni’s generous nature must be redirected into more positive channels—such as pining for the absent Nick Twisp.

As Carlotta sneaked into the alley this morning on her way to school, Bruno Modjaleski bounded athletically through the gate. He was wearing his varsity football jacket and carrying a wood technology textbook.

“Good morning, Carly,” he called.

“Oh, good morning, Bruno. You startled me.”

“I seen you in the halls yesterday, Carly. Are you like student teaching or something?”

“Hardly, Bruno. I am a matriculated student.”

Bruno looked impressed. “Congratulations, Carly. Would you like me to carry your books?”

“No, thank you, Bruno. I can manage.” I had enough enemies without adding a jealous Candy Pringle to the list.

“I usually ride my chopper to school,” apologized Bruno, “but I blew a head gasket last Saturday night cruisin’ down Main Street at 110 miles per hour.”

“I trust, Bruno, you were wearing a helmet at the time.”

Bruno scoffed. “A guy like me don’t need to wear no helmet, Carly. Hell, I wouldn’t wear one playin’ football, ’cept Coach makes me.”

“Oh, do you play football, Bruno?”

“Damn, Carly! I’m the quarterback!”

“Oh, then you must be that fellow they call the Fumbler Bumbler of Redwood High.”

“Who calls me that?” demanded Bruno, flexing his great hamlike hands.

“I believe he’s a freshman,” replied Carlotta. “A short Indian student named Vijay Joshi. Do you know him?”

“No,” growled Bruno. “But I’ll find him!”

In homeroom, Carlotta sat next to Fuzzy, who seemed more than usually dispirited.

“My mom stayed out all last night,” he said accusingly. “This morning I had to fix my own breakfast and pack my own lunch. Your dad is really cruising for a bruising, Carlotta.”

“Sorry, Frank. Knowing Dad, he’s probably dating your mom as a bargaining chip. I imagine he’d lay off your mom if your dad dropped his lawsuit.”

“Not a chance of that,” said Fuzzy gloomily. “I think Dad’s counting on some of that $3.5 million to help cover the strike losses. Now that damn Mr. Ferguson has got the scabs out on strike too.”

“Sorry, Frank,” Carlotta repeated. “I’m truly grateful for all you’ve done to help me out. I feel terrible about my dad and his roommate wrecking your homelife.”

“That’s OK, Carlotta. I guess it’s not your fault your dad is a repulsive creep.”

“Tell you what, Frank. Maybe I can do something about breaking them up. Would you like that?”

“Could you really, Carlotta?” he asked, brightening.

“I can try, Frank. But I may need your help.”

“You got it, Carlotta!”

“Of course, I may also need a favor or two in return.”

“Like what?” he asked suspiciously.

“I’ll let you know, Frank,” I replied coyly, “when the time comes.”

After 45 stimulating minutes in typing class, Carlotta was ready to be reunited with my love. Once again, I arrived in physics class just ahead of the loathsome alien. I claimed the choice seat behind Sheeni, forcing Vijay to settle for second best across the aisle. He scowled at Carlotta through his colorful black eye and nicely swollen lip. Pointedly ignoring him, Carlotta conversed with her special friend.

“Sheeni, I’ve made a remarkable discovery about your name.”

“What’s that, Carlotta?” she asked. Sheeni was wearing a stunning magenta outfit that coordinated nicely, I thought, with my sophisticated black ensemble.

“Can’t tell you now, Sheeni,” replied Carlotta mysteriously. “Let’s do lunch.”

“Oh, Carlotta, I can’t today. I promised I’d have lunch with Vijay.”

Vijay flashed a repellent smile in my direction.

“Er, that’s fine, Sheeni. It can wait until tomorrow.”

Lunch brought a welcome change of plans. Sheeni’s date had to cancel when he was forced to make another unscheduled trip to the nurse’s office.

“The outrages continue, Carlotta,” lamented Sheeni, opening her tidy lunch bag. We were seated again at the summit of cafeteria society; her position claimed by divine right, mine secured by our glittering friendship. I noticed Sheeni was having tuna salad for a second day. The Woman of My Dreams likes tuna fish. What an interesting fact to discover. “Vijay has been set upon by hooligans again!” she continued. “This time it was that Neanderthal Bruno Modjaleski. I am considering notifying the ACLU.”

“Such violence is deplorable,” agreed Carlotta, unfolding her black paper napkin.

“Tuna again!” complained Sheeni. “I hate tuna salad!”

“I seldom touch it myself,” replied Carlotta, revising her previous mental note. “But here. Would you like to trade? I’m having mashed garbanzo beans on pumpernickel.”

“No, thank you, Carlotta. I shall make do with my fish. Now, what did you wish to tell me about my name?”

“Sheeni, I think it was definitely propitious that you left that school in Santa Cruz. In fact, perhaps you should be grateful to your friend Nick. Rearranged, the letters in your name, Sheeni Saunders, spell
SEASIDE SHUN
NER
!”

“Oh, do you like anagrams, Carlotta? How interesting. So do I. Seaside shunner, yes, you’re correct. Of course, ‘seaside’ has the same letters as ‘disease.’ You could just as well say I’m a disease shunner, which seems the more applicable to me.”

I hope this means that Sheeni forced the confused Iowan to don a condom before submitting to his free-style orifice-probing.

“Both have a great relevance,” insisted Carlotta. “Names are cosmically significant.”

“Have you found any other anagrams in my name?” inquired Sheeni.

“Yes,” admitted Carlotta, blushing. “The letters also spell A NEEDINESS
RUSH
and
DEARNESS IN HUES.”
These discoveries had come to me at four this morning after hours of feverish paperwork. I took them as a sign from God.

“How interesting. Of course, there are many others,” said Sheeni, thinking out loud. “For example,
DUENNA’S HEIRESS
or
A SUNNED HEIRESS
or
AN HEIRESS’S NUDE
. Although, I’m hardly an heiress. Let’s see,
HE UNDRESSES IAN
. Rather cryptic, as is
AH RUE SNIDENESS
and
HERD UNEASINESS
. Of course,
there’s also
I SHUN SERENADES
and
I SHARE NUDENESS
. I suppose both could be true under the proper circumstances.”

Carlotta was flabbergasted. “Sheeni, how did you do that?”

“It’s easy, Carlotta. You just visualize the letters and shuffle them about in your head. Let’s see, Carlotta Ulansky, does Ulansky have one ‘l’ or two?”

“One.”

“Oh, too bad. If there were two, one could make
UNCLOAK’T ASTRALLY
. Interesting, don’t you think?” Carlotta nodded uneasily.

Sheeni went on. “But only one ‘l.’ OK, let’s see. There is
STARK UNLOYAL ACT
and
SOCK A TRUANT ALLY
. Rather negative, aren’t they? How about
ATTACK
ONLY A SLUR
or
OK ALL RACY TAUNTS
or
ROT KLAN CASUALTY
or
A CUR SANK
TOTALLY
. Not very flattering, Carlotta. I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right, Sheeni,” she said, marveling. “You did those in your head? You must be incredible at Scrabble.”

“I have enjoyed some small triumphs in that game,” admitted Sheeni modestly.

“I’ve thought of another anagram for your name, Carlotta,” continued Sheeni. “A particularly curious one:
OUTTASK CARNALLY
. What do you suppose is the significance of that?”