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Must be some kind of technique. I wouldn’t know.

I SHOULD know. It is TOTALLY WEIRD to be 16 and never kissed like that.

It is TOTALLY WEIRD to hang out with 13-year-olds.

It is TOTALLY WEIRD to live alone in a big house with your brother and your companioned filth.

Isn’t it?

Maybe that’s the answer to “WHAT AM I?”

TOTALLY WEIRD.

[Skies darken. The mirror becomes bluish. Ducky’s face sinks. He looks himself in the eyes.]

DUCKY: But really, I don’t know what I am.

Feb. 13

I Don’t Even Want to Look at the Clock

Hate this journal.

Who was Ms. Newell trying to kid back in 8th grade when she said journal writing was good therapy?

It’s not.

I feel worse than ever.

LAST ENTRY.

END OF JOURNAL.

Feb. 14, Sat. Morning

I Lied

Two phone calls today. Your social calendar is just filling up, McCrae.

Sunny wants to go to the beach. Actually, she demanded you drive her (and Maggie and Dawn).

And …

JAY called.

He wants to talk. He STILL feels bad about what he said yesterday morning. Even after his

“apology,” he thinks you’re mad at him. (I WONDER where he gets THAT idea?) So you’re supposed to meet him at the Palo City Diner at 6.

You said you’d get back to him.

What if it’s a trick? What if he plans to bring along a gang of Cro Mags? He’s VERY tight with them.

Would he do that?

People don’t change THAT much, do they?

Whoa. Ease up.

You know, McCrae, you are one harsh creature. He DID apologize. He is reaching out to you.

He is TRYING to be friends again.

You scribble away in your journal, trashing one of your best friends, calling him a Cro Mag, making fun of him when he tries to say he’s sorry, and what’s he doing?

Planning ways to make you feel better.

So Jay’s crude. Big deal. You’ve always known that about him. BUT he’s always had that big heart too. Imagine if he hadn’t stood up for you back in 7th grade when Sal Mignona was beating you to a pulp. You’d be dead by now.

Face it. He hasn’t really changed. He’s the same guy you used to like. So what if he’s discovered girls. And hair gel. And cologne. And free weights.

He’ll get over it.

Thought of the day: Jay is the opposite of Alex. One has faded. The other has intensified.

De-Alexation. Ultra-Jasification.

Too bad they can’t rub off on each other.

Anyway, you have to stay friends with both of them. It’s not like the whole sophomore class is breaking down your door to be friends.

So call Jay back. Tell him you’ll meet him at the diner.

Besides, consider the alternative. Ted brought home a can of Spam and a loaf of day-old Wonder Bread for dinner.

It’s a no-brainer.

Sur La Plage

DUCKY YOU ARE SO PRETENSUOUS! LOVE, SUNNY

I think the word is “pretentious.”

IT TAKES 1 TO KNOW 1, MAGGIE.

It’s just French. Okay, here, in English:

At the Beach

Are you happy now?

Dawn wuz here

That’s a sunset!

DEPENDS ON THE WAY YOU LOOK AT IT!

You girls are wild.

Please keep your suntan oil OFF the page. And your fruit juice!

I should NOT have brought this PRIVATE! journal to the beach!

I GET NO RESPECT.

NEITHER DO I!

10:00

Home Alone Again

I guess Ted ate the Spam. It’s gone and so is he.

Too bad. I’m hungry.

I did not eat a thing at the diner. I was too shocked by Jay’s STUPID stunt!

I knew I shouldn’t have gone. I had a bad feeling about it.

I had the BEST time at the beach AND I NEVER SHOULD HAVE LEFT!

What kind of “friend” invites you to dinner, making you think you’re going to have a 1-on-1 talk, and then shows up with 2 extra people to make it suddenly 1 on 3, but they’re both girls, 1 of which is Lisa and the other is all dressed up and made up, so it dawns on you (DUH) that it’s really supposed to be 2 on 2 and you’ve been trapped in a blind double date and now there’s no way out?

WHAT KIND OF SNEAKY JERK OF A FRIEND WOULD DO THAT?

The Friend Formerly Known as Jason, that’s who.

And he doesn’t have the decency to let you KNOW IN ADVANCE, so you don’t feel

AMBUSHED!

Emergency. Fight or flight. THAT’S how you feel. And you can’t do either one. You just have to sit there and smile and laugh and nod and wish you were home with Ted and the Spam

because anything would be better than this, and Jay is running his fingers through his gelled hair all night as if he were plowing a crop, while he talks and talks and talks and talks about — what else? — HIMSELF.

Until he gets around to talking about YOU and saying what a great guy the Duckster is, really, a natural athlete who doesn’t even know his own strength, not to mention a real brain too, don’t be fooled by the wimpy haircut and Hawaiian shirt har-har.

You wanted to kill him.

What could you say? He wouldn’t stop talking. You told a few dumb jokes. Some stuff about software and TV commercials and whatever, and you could tell you sounded like a total fool because the girl was just staring at you, her smile tightening by the second, and you KNOW she was thinking, “How did I get roped into a date with this turkey?” and afterward you had to drive her home because Jay hinted loudly that he and Lisa were going off in a different direction, so she and you rode silently to her house and you could tell she couldn’t wait to get out of the car AND YOU DON’T EVEN REMEMBER HER NAME!

I WILL kill him.

Feb. 15

The Morning After

The Night Before

How could he do it?

I can’t figure it out.

A day later, a whole night’s sleep, and I’m supposed to be calmer and more rational but my teeth are still gritted so hard I haven’t tried eating breakfast and I’m not hungry anyway because I AM

STILL FURIOUS.

Did he think I’d LIKE to be surprised like that? Is he that stupid?

Or was I wrong about him? Has he REALLY gone Cro Mag on me? Maybe the other goons

were watching the whole scene behind the jukebox. Taking pictures. Videotaping. “The Humiliation of Ducky, as choreographed by Jay Adams.” Order your copies now, folks!

Or is it ME? Maybe this is NORMAL. Maybe guys DO this kind of thing for other guys.

Maybe you’re supposed to like it.

So now what?

Are you supposed to call the girl and ask her on another date? Hold hands in the hallway and walk to classes together and save seats for each other at the lunch table?

How can you do ANY of that when you can barely remember what she looks like and what you REALLY need to do is talk to your traitor friend and ask him WHAT IS IN HIS TWISTED

MIND. Which you can’t even do because your fingers get to 555-836 and then — FREEZE —

you feel all tongue-tied. What can you SAY when your mind is so full of anger you want to scream and you’re afraid that’s just what you’ll do, which will cause your ex-best friend to hang up and never hear your side of the story at all?

You put down the phone and leave, that’s what.

You spend some time alone.

Part 2 of the Continuing Saga:

How Not to Choose Your Friends

What you do is, you fly through town on your bike to Las Palmas County Park and hit the trail so fast you nearly run over a hiker who calls you nasty names and makes you feel even worse, if that’s possible. So you slow down and you remember the place where you used to hide when you were a kid and you needed to be alone, the place hidden in the reeds by the bank of the creek near the old bridge. And you smile, remembering the summer days you and Alex used to spend there — just talking — and as you’re gliding across that bridge you see a mass of black pants and a flannel shirt hidden in the same spot and you tense up, figuring you’re going to be sneak-attacked by a Cro Mag, or maybe he’s strung fishing wire across the bridge at neck level — and the pants and shirt turn out to be Alex.

So you skid to a stop, jump off the bike, and walk around the bridge. And you have a

conversation that goes something like this:

Ducky: “Hey, Alex!” [Pause, pause, pause …] “Uh, Alex, hi! What’s up?”

Alex: [Looks up. Expression hardly changes.] “Oh. Yo. Nothing much.”

D: “Waiting for somebody?”

A: “Nahh.”

D: “Just, like, sitting?”

A: “Yup.”

D: “Wow. Just like the old days, huh?” [Pause, pause, pause.] “Well, nice day for sitting.”

A: [Nods. Pulls grass from the ground and tosses it aside.]

D: “Are you okay?”

A: “Yup.”

D: “Okay, well, ‘bye.” [Walks away.]

A: “Hey, Ducky. That Valentine’s Day flower? That was cool.”

D: “Yeah?”

A: “Nicest thing anyone’s given me in months.”

BONNNNG, rings a bell in the cuckoo clock of your brain. And out comes a little bird that says,

“Déjà VU. Déjà VU. Déjà VU.”

Here’s where you see, for the first time on this stage in many a year, folks, the Person That Was Once Alex.

Because you knew — somehow YOU JUST KNEW — that he was going to say that. And

maybe you just knew he’d be near the bridge. And you haven’t had those ESP-ish feelings in a million years.

But you’re not exactly sure how to take what he said. THE nicest thing? Your stupid little Cupid carnation that you gave to everybody? He must be joking. In which case it’s the first hint of humor you’ve heard from the New Alex.

But he’s not smiling. The expression on his face is very Old Alex, and it tells you he’s speaking the truth.

And that’s about the saddest thing you’ve heard all day.

D: “Are you serious?”

A: “Why shouldn’t I be?”

D: “Well, it’s just that … you know, not everybody felt that way. Jay didn’t.”

A: “He’s an ape.”

D: “He’s just going through a stage. He’s okay.”

A: “If you say so.”

Conversation fizzles. Home you go.

What a day. You start it off ready to strangle one ex-best friend, then you end up DEFENDING

him to your other ex-best friend, who is slowly flickering away like a doused campfire that isn’t quite out yet.

So maybe you should talk to Alex again. REALLY talk. Maybe divorces DO have a delayed effect on some kids. Imagine how YOU would feel if YOUR parents were divorced.

Of course, if your parents divorced, you might not even know about it.

Do they have divorces in Ghana?

A Phone Conversation

In Which

Sunny’s Law of Gender Conduct

Is Discussed

Sunny says, call Jay.

I say she’s nuts. He should call ME!

Sunny says I’m a guy. He’s a guy. Guys TALK TO EACH OTHER after they fight. They argue and explode and say things girls would never think of saying to each other, and then it all blows over and they play basketball.

I tell her I hate basketball.

She doesn’t find that funny. She yells at me. She insists she’s just using common sense.

I tell her I’ll think about it.

Not good enough. She threatens to call me back in a half hour. If I haven’t phoned Jay, if I don’t pick up, I am in the doghouse.

I bark.

She hangs up.

Okay, McCrae, now what?

Department of Twist and Turns

I did it.

I reached Jay’s answering machine.

The reason I got the answering machine was that Jay was out on his bike.

The place he was biking to was my house.

He rang the doorbell.

I didn’t answer.

Half-past Anger

Quarter to Crisis

Love makes the world go round? Wrong.

Guilt does.

You do something like not answer the door and suddenly you feel like a criminal, and you worry that your friend actually saw you or heard your breathing while he was at the door, and you picture him storming away angrily and knowing finally beyond the shadow of a doubt that you are chicken.

So you feel guilty. And you drive around town in your car, pretending to yourself that you’re just going for a drive, but your eyes are constantly looking for him, and you figure if you see him you can casually say, “Hey, what’s up?” and it’ll seem like a coincidence.

But you don’t see him. And that makes you feel worse.

So you finally drive to his house.

He’s here. And he’s all smiles.

“It’s the Duckster! Duckopolis! Duckman! Duckorama!”

Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. That’s what each of those stupid names feels like.

He says right out: He was just over at your house, and you were out — which makes you gulp.

Then he says he has to show you something.

So he takes you around back, where there used to be an old, rusted basketball hoop on the garage. But now there’s a new one, and the driveway has been widened and painted to look like a basketball court.

Jay is obviously very proud of this. And he makes you play basketball. He is bouncing or dribbling or whatever you call that, and you’re hopping along beside him the way they teach you in gym class, even though you don’t know why in the WORLD you’re doing it, and you feel about as athletic as a turnip. And on top of that, you have to listen to Jay Adams’s [sic] running commentary on himself: “He fakes … he drives to the baseline … he shoots … off the rim …