Linas Alsenas Amulet Books New York
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Linas Alsenas Amulet Books New York
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress. ISBN: 978-1-4197-1496-2 Text copyright © 2015 Linas Alsenas Book design by Alyssa Nassner Act I Opening – Part 1 Hello Little Girl I Know Things Now Your Fault from INTO THE WOODS Words and Music by Stephen Sondheim © 1988 RILTING MUSIC, INC. All Rights Administered by WB MUSIC CORP. All Rights Reserved Used by Permission Reprinted with Permission of Hal Leonard Corporation
Dedication TK
Published in 2015 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc. Printed and bound in USA 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialsales@abramsbooks.com or the address below.
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1 artha. Wake up!” My eyelids pressed down hard onto my eyeballs, feeling like lead blankets at an X-ray. Slowly I managed to pry the lids open. Derek’s face, full of concern, hovered above me. “Wh-wh-what’s—” I stammered. He shushed me. “It’s OK, it’s OK. You fainted.” I was having trouble focusing. Fainted . . . fainted. Me? I fainted? Inside my skull, it felt like my brain was expanding, pushing against my ears in the same rhythm as my heartbeat. I turned my head left to look around the room, and— Urinals? Reality came rushing back at me, at full force. I suddenly understood that my head was resting on the gross tile floor of the men’s bathroom. I gasped, struggling for air, despite the sharp smell of disinfectant. About two feet away from my face was a moist clump of dust, dirt, and hair that shivered with my every breath. Eww. Do not hurl, Marty. Do not hurl . . . again. I turned back to look at the ceiling. Then I slowly became 1
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1 artha. Wake up!” My eyelids pressed down hard onto my eyeballs, feeling like lead blankets at an X-ray. Slowly I managed to pry the lids open. Derek’s face, full of concern, hovered above me. “Wh-wh-what’s—” I stammered. He shushed me. “It’s OK, it’s OK. You fainted.” I was having trouble focusing. Fainted . . . fainted. Me? I fainted? Inside my skull, it felt like my brain was expanding, pushing against my ears in the same rhythm as my heartbeat. I turned my head left to look around the room, and— Urinals? Reality came rushing back at me, at full force. I suddenly understood that my head was resting on the gross tile floor of the men’s bathroom. I gasped, struggling for air, despite the sharp smell of disinfectant. About two feet away from my face was a moist clump of dust, dirt, and hair that shivered with my every breath. Eww. Do not hurl, Marty. Do not hurl . . . again. I turned back to look at the ceiling. Then I slowly became 1
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Linas Alsenas
Beyond Clueless
aware that I was crying, makeup streaking across my face
if we ended up doing ring toss or relays or whatever instead,
and pooling in my ears.
kids would actually get their parents to call the school to complain. I’m not lying. Really.
Basically, I was a hot mess. It wasn’t just the throwing up and the fainting. In the
OK, so there’s me and Jimmy, trying to lie as low as possi-
past half hour I had literally stumbled across a series of in-
ble while our classmates worked out whatever deep-seated
sane surprises that still sent my brain into a tailspin.
aggressions they had on a purple rubber ball. We were al-
Ohhh. Oh, yes. It was all coming back to me now. And all
ways picked last, of course—not because we were the worst athletes, but because the team captains were always afraid
my friends hated me. I think it’s pretty safe to say that this, this moment here, was a truly low point for me. And on this, the most terrible day of my life, I just could not understand: How had I ever
that our attitudes would infect the rest of the teams’ spirit and, therefore, oh, my God, cause them to lose. But since we were always the last ones picked, Jimmy and I were never on the same team. We had never spoken
gotten here? What had I ever done to deserve all this?
to each other before—Jimmy had moved to Bracksville from Michigan at the beginning of the year—but as the only Kick-
Well, for the sake of context, I guess the most logical place
ball Infidels, we obviously each knew who the other was.
to start is at the very, very beginning, four years ago, at
He was the skinny kid with short black hair and really blue
Chippewa Elementary, where I met Jimmy Caradonna in
eyes, and I was the blond dork who was obsessed with mu-
fifth-grade phys ed. There are three different classes within
sicals, especially Rent and Assassins at the time.
the grade, but they had to combine two classes at a time for
But after all the fifth graders were required to learn the
phys ed because the gym was also the cafeteria, and there
American Sign Language alphabet during Difficulty Appre-
weren’t enough periods in the day to let every class in the
ciation Week, Jimmy and I started commiserating across
school have its own gym period.
the kickball diamond by sneaking hand gestures. When one
So, imagine fifty eleven-year-olds going nuts playing
of the team captains caught on to what we were doing, she
kickball. Horrific, isn’t it? Well, at least that’s how Jimmy
complained to the teacher that we were plotting to ruin the
and I felt about it, and for some reason we were the only
game. Then Jimmy communicated his feelings toward the
ones who did. Everyone else thought kickball was God’s
captain in a different kind of sign language—and got us both
greatest gift to humanity. I kid you not, there would be ru-
sent to the principal’s office.
mors about whether we’d play kickball later in the day. And
2
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We’ve been inseparable ever since.
3
3/27/15 2:01 PM
Linas Alsenas
Beyond Clueless
aware that I was crying, makeup streaking across my face
if we ended up doing ring toss or relays or whatever instead,
and pooling in my ears.
kids would actually get their parents to call the school to complain. I’m not lying. Really.
Basically, I was a hot mess. It wasn’t just the throwing up and the fainting. In the
OK, so there’s me and Jimmy, trying to lie as low as possi-
past half hour I had literally stumbled across a series of in-
ble while our classmates worked out whatever deep-seated
sane surprises that still sent my brain into a tailspin.
aggressions they had on a purple rubber ball. We were al-
Ohhh. Oh, yes. It was all coming back to me now. And all
ways picked last, of course—not because we were the worst athletes, but because the team captains were always afraid
my friends hated me. I think it’s pretty safe to say that this, this moment here, was a truly low point for me. And on this, the most terrible day of my life, I just could not understand: How had I ever
that our attitudes would infect the rest of the teams’ spirit and, therefore, oh, my God, cause them to lose. But since we were always the last ones picked, Jimmy and I were never on the same team. We had never spoken
gotten here? What had I ever done to deserve all this?
to each other before—Jimmy had moved to Bracksville from Michigan at the beginning of the year—but as the only Kick-
Well, for the sake of context, I guess the most logical place
ball Infidels, we obviously each knew who the other was.
to start is at the very, very beginning, four years ago, at
He was the skinny kid with short black hair and really blue
Chippewa Elementary, where I met Jimmy Caradonna in
eyes, and I was the blond dork who was obsessed with mu-
fifth-grade phys ed. There are three different classes within
sicals, especially Rent and Assassins at the time.
the grade, but they had to combine two classes at a time for
But after all the fifth graders were required to learn the
phys ed because the gym was also the cafeteria, and there
American Sign Language alphabet during Difficulty Appre-
weren’t enough periods in the day to let every class in the
ciation Week, Jimmy and I started commiserating across
school have its own gym period.
the kickball diamond by sneaking hand gestures. When one
So, imagine fifty eleven-year-olds going nuts playing
of the team captains caught on to what we were doing, she
kickball. Horrific, isn’t it? Well, at least that’s how Jimmy
complained to the teacher that we were plotting to ruin the
and I felt about it, and for some reason we were the only
game. Then Jimmy communicated his feelings toward the
ones who did. Everyone else thought kickball was God’s
captain in a different kind of sign language—and got us both
greatest gift to humanity. I kid you not, there would be ru-
sent to the principal’s office.
mors about whether we’d play kickball later in the day. And
2
BeyondClueless_TX.indd 2-3
We’ve been inseparable ever since.
3
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Linas Alsenas
Well, sort of. Until a few months ago. Which, by the way, was after four blissful years of best-friendship. Dozens of
Beyond Clueless
old corkboard. A musty old corkboard called Our Lady of the Freakin’ Oaks.
slumber parties, hundreds of nicknames, and thousands of
Let me give you a visual, just so you understand the true
inside jokes later, Jimmy, like all normal human beings in
depths of my suffering. To get to Our Lady from Bracks-
Bracksville, started school at Bracksville High. I, on the oth-
ville, you have to drive twenty-five minutes in the oppo-
er hand, was shipped off to Our Lady of the Oaks School for
site direction of the city. Mind you, Bracksville is already a
Girls. Yup: Oaks. Girls. Our Lady of. No, this is not 1953, as
thirty-minute commute to Cleveland—you do the math. The
the name might suggest, but the school definitely still thinks
school itself is on about two acres in the middle of millions
it is.
of acres of corn. Not the pretty rolling hills of corn on the
You see, my family is Catholic, and my parents both went
labels of vegetable shortening, but the flat, dry, cricket-
to Catholic schools, so they “firmly believe, based on expe-
ridden cornfields of Ohio. Field of dreams this was not. In
rience, that a single-sex high school education in a Catholic
fact, when the school was built in the mid-1950s in that oh-
setting is the most fertile ground for a budding intellect that
so-pretty style of beige brick and turquoise metal panels,
[they] can provide.” Did you get that? Single-sex. Fertile
they realized how sadly ironic Our Lady of the Oaks would
budding. Needless to say, I wasn’t going to submit to the ma-
be without any trees. So they planted about fifty oaks around
licious will of two religious zealots without a struggle. But
the lot. Thanks to some fungus that causes “oak wilt,” there
after a number of shrieking fights, two hunger strikes, and
is now one remaining oak that gets sprayed down with DDT
more than a few calls to Social Services later, I was forced
(or something equally deadly) once a week by Sister Joan.
to accept the tragic reality that every fourteen-year-old in
And, thanks to the fact that it’s the tallest thing around for
this land of so-called freedom has, in fact, none. I was going
miles, it has become the county lightning rod, which means
to Our Lady of the Oaks, and there was nothing I could do
there are only about seven leaves left on the poor thing. This is where my parents believed I would find fertile
about it. So the end of last year was a time of tearful good-byes,
ground.
hysterically scribbled yearbook notes, and desperate prom-
OK, so maybe there is one redeeming thing about the
ises to keep in touch. OK, maybe I took it a little far—most
school. About ten years ago, one of its alumnae died and left
people assumed I was getting shipped off to a Romanian or-
a ton of money to the school—her family fortune had come
phanage or something. But the pain of separation was real: I
from a certain well-known floor wax. She had earmarked
was like a monarch butterfly about to be pinned to a musty
the money to be used for a theater, which would be named
4
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Linas Alsenas
Well, sort of. Until a few months ago. Which, by the way, was after four blissful years of best-friendship. Dozens of
Beyond Clueless
old corkboard. A musty old corkboard called Our Lady of the Freakin’ Oaks.
slumber parties, hundreds of nicknames, and thousands of
Let me give you a visual, just so you understand the true
inside jokes later, Jimmy, like all normal human beings in
depths of my suffering. To get to Our Lady from Bracks-
Bracksville, started school at Bracksville High. I, on the oth-
ville, you have to drive twenty-five minutes in the oppo-
er hand, was shipped off to Our Lady of the Oaks School for
site direction of the city. Mind you, Bracksville is already a
Girls. Yup: Oaks. Girls. Our Lady of. No, this is not 1953, as
thirty-minute commute to Cleveland—you do the math. The
the name might suggest, but the school definitely still thinks
school itself is on about two acres in the middle of millions
it is.
of acres of corn. Not the pretty rolling hills of corn on the
You see, my family is Catholic, and my parents both went
labels of vegetable shortening, but the flat, dry, cricket-
to Catholic schools, so they “firmly believe, based on expe-
ridden cornfields of Ohio. Field of dreams this was not. In
rience, that a single-sex high school education in a Catholic
fact, when the school was built in the mid-1950s in that oh-
setting is the most fertile ground for a budding intellect that
so-pretty style of beige brick and turquoise metal panels,
[they] can provide.” Did you get that? Single-sex. Fertile
they realized how sadly ironic Our Lady of the Oaks would
budding. Needless to say, I wasn’t going to submit to the ma-
be without any trees. So they planted about fifty oaks around
licious will of two religious zealots without a struggle. But
the lot. Thanks to some fungus that causes “oak wilt,” there
after a number of shrieking fights, two hunger strikes, and
is now one remaining oak that gets sprayed down with DDT
more than a few calls to Social Services later, I was forced
(or something equally deadly) once a week by Sister Joan.
to accept the tragic reality that every fourteen-year-old in
And, thanks to the fact that it’s the tallest thing around for
this land of so-called freedom has, in fact, none. I was going
miles, it has become the county lightning rod, which means
to Our Lady of the Oaks, and there was nothing I could do
there are only about seven leaves left on the poor thing. This is where my parents believed I would find fertile
about it. So the end of last year was a time of tearful good-byes,
ground.
hysterically scribbled yearbook notes, and desperate prom-
OK, so maybe there is one redeeming thing about the
ises to keep in touch. OK, maybe I took it a little far—most
school. About ten years ago, one of its alumnae died and left
people assumed I was getting shipped off to a Romanian or-
a ton of money to the school—her family fortune had come
phanage or something. But the pain of separation was real: I
from a certain well-known floor wax. She had earmarked
was like a monarch butterfly about to be pinned to a musty
the money to be used for a theater, which would be named
4
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Linas Alsenas
Beyond Clueless
after her, Maureen Jerry. The amount of money she left was
end up living with our parents and working at Pizza Hut for
clearly more than the school had ever seen, because Jerry
fifteen years until we finally drink a bottle of bleach to end
Hall is by far the nicest part of campus. (Completely coinci-
the misery into which our lives have devolved. But I said I
dentally, Jerry Hall is also the name of rocker Mick Jagger’s
wouldn’t get started, so I won’t. Anyway, our weekends became that much more important.
second wife.) The building is actually kind of amazing. It has fly space for at least ten different backdrops (who would ever need
Then Jimmy met Derek. The End.
more than five in any one show?), and the stage is forty feet across and fifty feet deep—with, like, sixteen trapdoors! Also, the dressing room has a snack machine with Twix bars. Speaking. Of. Which. I love Twix bars. I mean, I am completely obsessed with them. If the Mars candy company ever needs someone to pledge their eternal, undying love for them in a commercial, I am so there. Twix bars are truly— oh, words fail me—ambrosia from the gods! Manna from the heavens! I’ve already written Mars, Inc., more than a few letters over the years, volunteering my services, but still, if you ever hear they are looking for someone . . . Sorry, I’m getting way off track. Where was I? Oh, yeah, so Jimmy’s settling into life at Bracksville, while I’m in rural exile. We made a pact that we would see each other at least every other day, no matter what. That lasted about five minutes after school began, until we realized how much work high school was going to be. Don’t get me started on the crazy craploads of homework I get at Our dear Lady. I swear to God I’m going to die from sleep deprivation, and still we’re supposed to be involved in every extracurricular activity under the sun or we won’t get into college and we’ll
6
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Linas Alsenas
Beyond Clueless
after her, Maureen Jerry. The amount of money she left was
end up living with our parents and working at Pizza Hut for
clearly more than the school had ever seen, because Jerry
fifteen years until we finally drink a bottle of bleach to end
Hall is by far the nicest part of campus. (Completely coinci-
the misery into which our lives have devolved. But I said I
dentally, Jerry Hall is also the name of rocker Mick Jagger’s
wouldn’t get started, so I won’t. Anyway, our weekends became that much more important.
second wife.) The building is actually kind of amazing. It has fly space for at least ten different backdrops (who would ever need
Then Jimmy met Derek. The End.
more than five in any one show?), and the stage is forty feet across and fifty feet deep—with, like, sixteen trapdoors! Also, the dressing room has a snack machine with Twix bars. Speaking. Of. Which. I love Twix bars. I mean, I am completely obsessed with them. If the Mars candy company ever needs someone to pledge their eternal, undying love for them in a commercial, I am so there. Twix bars are truly— oh, words fail me—ambrosia from the gods! Manna from the heavens! I’ve already written Mars, Inc., more than a few letters over the years, volunteering my services, but still, if you ever hear they are looking for someone . . . Sorry, I’m getting way off track. Where was I? Oh, yeah, so Jimmy’s settling into life at Bracksville, while I’m in rural exile. We made a pact that we would see each other at least every other day, no matter what. That lasted about five minutes after school began, until we realized how much work high school was going to be. Don’t get me started on the crazy craploads of homework I get at Our dear Lady. I swear to God I’m going to die from sleep deprivation, and still we’re supposed to be involved in every extracurricular activity under the sun or we won’t get into college and we’ll
6
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