Little Boy Read Online Free PDF Page A

black Cavaricci jeans outlined an unbelievably cute ass.
She was about five-foot one or two, but was artificially elevated
by red patent leather high heeled shoes. Basically, Maria was a
fashion faux pas explosion. But, to my untrained and horny
adolescent eye, she was a bombshell. I wanted to fuck her right
there on the cold, generic secondary school, vomit-colored tiled
floor.
     
    But I felt so lousy, I couldn’t even think of
a comeback after she dissed me. Not only had I spent the night
dancing with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle Dum, not only had I eluded
contact with every pretty girl there, but to top it all off I was
insulted by this stranger, this bitch. I was in the shithouse that
night. Totally depressed. Lower than dirt.
     
    I used to get like that sometimes, when
things didn’t go my way. It was a nasty routine, and once I sank
in, it took days to climb out. I’d think: Things aren’t going my
way…things aren’t going my way. And I’d kept thinking about it
and thinking about it. Sooner or later, this feeling would diminish
and transform into euphoria. Then I’d be happy again. And I’d be
like that, maybe, for a few hours, sometimes a few days. And then
I’d go and dance with a fat girl, and get insulted by her sexy
friend, and almost immediately, it’d start anew.
     
    Since I couldn’t fuck her, perhaps punching
Maria in the nose right then and there would have boosted my
spirits. She had no right to embarrass me like that. But it wasn’t
the embarrassment that pissed me off. The tragic part of it all was
that I didn’t even have a comeback. I just stood there like a clown
without an act and didn’t say a word while everyone laughed.
There’s nothing worse than that feeling of being shit on, and not
having the strength to pull it away from your eyes and react
whimsically. I’m usually pretty sharp with comebacks. Generally, I
can dish it out as well as I can take it. But when I can’t think of
something to dish out, well, I guess I become furious. And totally
depressed like I was that night.
     
    You’re fly’s open . Those were the only
three words Maria said to me at that dance. Depressing, huh?
Maria’s group continued to descend the stairs as me and Jeff and
his sister pushed our way through the crowd toward the coatroom.
Before me and Jeff said goodbye, I asked him for his sister’s phone
number. I whipped out my wallet and hastily wrote on my bus pass.
When he told his sister later on, she was probably wet with
anticipation to see me again. I had spoken less than two words to
her that whole night. I knew she liked me, but I certainly didn’t
like her.
     
    Fighting these truths off, I smiled boyishly
in her direction. God forbid I end the night without some girl’s
goddamn phone number.
    ***
    That’s really all I remember about the dance.
Other than “hello,” I didn’t say a word to Maria that night, but I
told all my friends that I got a girl’s phone number. I didn’t say
it was from Jeff’s sister, though, because I knew they’d all laugh
at me since she was so unappealing.
     
    The first guy I told was one of my best
friends, Paul. Paul and I had met the summer before high school at
this guy Kevin’s eighth grade graduation party. Kevin and Paul had
met at some nerd camp the summer before eighth. It was held at this
all-boys prep school that specialized in training young guys to
become priests. That’s the way those priests are—they get you when
you’re young, before you know too much, and brainwash you into
thinking you should devote your life to Jesus.
     
    But Kevin and Paul didn’t want to become
priests; they just wanted to learn how to speed-read and do some
high school-level math even before they graduated from elementary
school. I thought it was so pathetic. I made fun of Kevin about it
for months before the program even started. I think I called it
Geek Camp or something like that. When Kevin introduced me to Paul,
I immediately mentioned the Geek Camp and