The Reluctant Journal of Henry K. Larsen Read Online Free PDF Page A

loneliness. It’s the kind you feel, even when you’re with someone else, because you know something, or someone, is missing.
    Other lonely people can’t fill that emptiness.
    Other lonely people only remind you how alone you already are.
    Other lonely people only make it worse.

F RIDAY , F EBRUARY 1
    I managed to avoid Farley and the Reach For The Top practice on Tuesday by hiding out in a study carrel in the library. But today, I wasn’t so lucky. We had gym together before lunch, and when it was over, Farley followed me out of the change room.
    “C’mon, the team really needs you,” Farley said for the fiftieth time as we got our lunches out of our lockers. “Please, please, pretty please.”
    “Fine,” I said. “But I have to pee. I’ll meet you there.” This was a lie. Not the
pee
part – the other part.
    But when I came out of the washroom, Farley was standing right outside the door, bouncing up and down on his heels.
    “Let’s go.” He grabbed my hand, just as Troy and his friends walked past.
    Honestly, Farley’s timing sucks.
    Troy made loud kissing sounds. “Aw, what a cute couple!” he said. “Fatty and Skinny!” Then he grabbed Farley’s nipple through his shirt and twisted it, hard. “Purple nurple,” he said as he walked away.
    I wanted to give Troy a Body Splash, followed by a Testicular Claw.
    “Ow,”
Farley murmured, letting go of my hand to rubhis chest. “C’mon, we’re going to be late.” Then he tried to grab my hand again.
    I shook my hand free. “No! I’m not going.”
    Farley looked kind of hurt, but so what? “Fine,” he said. “Your loss. If you change your mind, it’s room 341.”
    Then he walked away, tilting to the left.
    I went to the cafeteria, but it was packed and I didn’t know anyone. So I headed to the library and sat at a study carrel far away from the librarian, who’d posted a big NO FOOD OR DRINK sign at the entrance. I pulled out my lunch – day-old pizza and two bags of chips that Dad buys in bulk from the Superstore.
    The librarian must have a bloodhound’s sense of smell because she swooped down on me before I’d taken one bite. “Can’t you read?” she hissed.
    So I packed up my stuff and went outside. It was drizzling, and the stoners had already taken shelter under the closest tree.
    Suddenly, out of nowhere, a wave of homesickness washed over me. In Port Salish, I never, ever had to eat lunch alone. Me and Jodie would always eat together, and a whole bunch of other kids would eat with us, too. It was just the way it was at our elementary school. It hadn’t dawned on us yet to divvy up into stupid little cliques.
    In Port Salish, my mom made our lunches every day,before she left for work. A sandwich on whole wheat bread, even though we begged for white. Homemade cookies. A Baggie with mini-carrots or some other vegetable or fruit. A juice box. She made sure we ate pretty healthy. She made sure I didn’t get wobblies.
    Sometimes we’d find little notes tucked into our lunch bags. Like if I had Math, she might write
Mmm, I love pi!
Or if Jesse had Science, she might write
Why do chemists like nitrates so much? Because they’re cheaper than day rates!
Once in a while, Dad would toss in a note too, like
Ask Mr. Tomlinson where he bought his hairpiece
, or,
Remember to count Mrs. Stanley’s nose hairs today
.
    And then I started thinking about how often I’d complained about Mom’s lunches, and I felt furious with myself because what I wouldn’t give to have her making my lunches again. So I bolted away from stupid Trafalgar Secondary and walked the ten blocks to my stupid new apartment. I could feel my jeans cutting into my stupid wobblies, and I was hating myself so much that I didn’t see stupid Mr. Atapattu in the lobby until it was too late.
    “Hi, Henry,” he said, smiling and showing off his crooked yellow teeth. He must’ve seen my expression because he added, “Is everything okay?”
    I couldn’t even pretend to be