Youth in Revolt: The Journals of Nick Twisp (74 page)

At least on this point I was being sincere. A week in a Mississippi motel with sexy Apurva on someone else’s nickel—the guy leads a charmed life.

After hugs all around, the happy couple bounded up the boarding ramp, and forlorn Carlotta was left to figure out how to haul herself back to Ukiah.

Five minutes later: I got the shock of my life while hailing a cab for the crosstown trip to the bus station. Parked at the airport curb was an Oakland black and white—with my evil stepdad, Lance Wescott, behind the wheel. A married man and so-called “officer of the law,” he was flagrantly checking out Carlotta’s butt.

SUNDAY, February 28—It was after 11 p.m. when my bus rolled into Ukiah and nearly midnight when my second overpriced cab ride of the night brought me to my humble abode, which turned out to be not quite as lonely as I’d anticipated. Stretched out in my bed, under Granny DeFalco’s quilt, in her preferred sleep apparel (none) was the Person I’d Most Like to Hijack to Mississippi: Sheeni Saunders.

“Hi, Nickie,” she said sleepily. “What took you so long? How’s Fuzzy?”

“Um, he’s feeling better,” I replied, hastily disrobing. “What a nice surprise, darling. I thought you were mad at me.”

“I don’t handle rejection well, Nickie. You should know that by now.”

I hopped into bed and embraced her. “I wasn’t rejecting you, darling.”

“Nick, did you floss and brush?”

I hopped out of bed. “Be right back. Don’t go away.”

Sheeni slipped on my robe and followed me into the bathroom. “Nickie, no one’s seen any sign of Apurva and Trent. All the parents are in a tizzy, including mine for some reason. Everyone’s afraid they might have done something desperate.”

I paused in my flossing. “You mean like get married?”

“No, silly. They’re much too young for that. Everyone’s worried they might do something extreme like make a suicide pact.”

“I doubt that, Sheeni. Guys as good-looking as Trent don’t off themselves. What would be the point? They’re probably holed
up in a motel in Willits or somewhere. They’ll come home when they run out of money.”

“You really think so, Nickie?”

I spat out my toothpaste and rinsed my brush. “Of course, darling. They’re two reasonably sensible kids. They’d have been fine if their parents hadn’t interfered.”

“Speaking of which, Nickie, my parents are expecting us at church tomorrow.”

“Then we’d better get cracking at the next item on the agenda.”

8:45 a.m. It’s weird. When Sheeni and I (finally) went to sleep last night, we lay on opposite sides of the bed, but when we awoke we were totally entwined—as if our limbs had been methodically and magically knit together. Sheeni threatens to make me wear latex pajamas, lest these unconscious nocturnal clinches grow too intimate and she winds up expecting our first gifted child. (My genes would be thrilled.)

The phone rang; I laboriously untangled an arm to answer it.

“Carlotta,” said Fuzzy, sounding excited. “Have you read today’s paper?”

“Not yet. I’ve been engaged in more important activities.”

“Like what?”

“I’ll give you a hint, Frank. You used to do it with Heather.”

“Is Sheeni there?”

“She’s here.”

“Damn, Carlotta. You have to find me a girlfriend!”

“I’m working on it, guy. What’s in the paper?”

“Go read it!”
Click
.

9:35 a.m. The alarming story was splashed all over the front page. A homegrown computer virus is wreaking havoc among local businesses and spreading like an infectious plague across the Internet. Most ominous, concerned officials have labeled this destructive new pest the “Geezer” virus.

“Nickie, are you or are you not taking me out to breakfast?” demanded Sheeni, freshly bathed and fully dressed to her usual pulse-quickening effect.

“In a minute, darling. I’m reading about a new computer virus.”

“Oh, I heard all about it from Vijay. It’s driving his father nuts at work. Vijay fears that it and his sister’s tumultuous love life may finally push his father over the brink.”

I flipped to where the story continued on an inside page. “Listen to this, Sheeni: ‘Experts describe this latest virus as a simple looping program devised with a brilliant and diabolical twist.’”

It wasn’t a brilliant twist, you nitwits, it was a bug in my program!

“Well, I for one needn’t worry,” remarked My Love. “No virus can infect my French-language portable typewriter. That is all the technology any serious writer requires.”

2:45 p.m. Carlotta was somewhat preoccupied throughout breakfast, our stroll to church, Rev. Glompiphel’s feverish sermon (title: “Is There a Virus in Your Soul?”), and a heavy midday meal at Sheeni’s house in the company of her Bible-thumping parents. It didn’t help that Mr. and Mrs. Saunders spent most of the meal speculating on the fate of poor Trent. They feel strongly that the town’s “most promising youth” has “gone astray” ever since he broke off his attachment to Sheeni and was “ensnared” by “that foreign girl.”

“Of course, ultimately it’s all the fault of that horrible boy Nick Twisp,” averred Sheeni’s 5,000-year-old mother, slicing Carlotta a generous wedge of lemon meringue pie. “Don’t you think so, Carlotta?”

“Er, I don’t quite see the connection, Mrs. Saunders,” I replied, polishing my fork in anticipation. The woman may be a blight on Earth, but she does have a knack for desserts.

“It’s very simple,” explained Sheeni. “If Nick hadn’t come along last summer, I would still be going out with the handsome and honorable Mr. Preston. And Apurva would be safely at home burning her incense and worshiping her pagan gods. Isn’t that right, Mother?”

“Watch your smart mouth,” she retorted.

Sheeni and I exchanged glances. We’d heard that line before.

5:12 p.m. My house was just searched by a Ukiah policeman! I’m still a nervous wreck. The Law arrived in the company of Mr. and Mrs. Joshi, who demanded to know if I was harboring their runaway daughter. I said, “Don’t be ridiculous,” and let them poke through all my cupboards and closets. It was all I could do to restrain Albert, who has nearly as much difficulty with authority figures as I do. At least the cop was polite, and Apurva’s mother did apologize on her way out for their “rude intrusion.” Snubbing Mr. Joshi, I promised I would call her immediately if I heard from her daughter.

“I’m just as concerned about Apurva as you are,” I lied. “Of course, this country is no place to try and raise children with the proper values.”

“That is exactly what I told my husband!” Mrs. Joshi exclaimed.

“You’re so right,” I agreed. “If I were you, I’d send that nice son of yours right back to India—before he’s corrupted too!”

6:25 p.m. As I was taking the garbage out to the alley I ran into Redwood High’s most celebrated gridiron mediocrity, Bruno Modjaleski, who dropped his garbage can with a deafening clang while studying Carlotta’s chest.

“’Lo, Carly,” he leered. “You’re lookin’ good, babe. Was that the cops I just saw at your house?”

“Uh-huh, Bruno. I was forced to call them. Some nosey neighbor is always spying on me!”

8:45 p.m. Enough studying for now. I don’t see why physics is so obsessed with the hydrogen atom. Seems to me it properly falls under the jurisdiction of the chemistry department.

I’ve taken the precaution of deleting all traces of the ill-fated “Geezer” program from my computer. All I can figure is Dad must have carried an infected floppy to his computer at work. The guy should stick to typewriters.

It suddenly occurred to me that Dad and Vijay’s father are employed by the same company. I don’t see how they could have avoided having some contact with each other. Do you suppose
they ever figured out that that familiar-looking co-worker was the guy they once met in Dad’s muddy driveway for hand-to-hand combat?

No call from Apurva and Trent. I wonder how they’re getting on in Dixie? I’d pay a sizeable sum to be a fly on the wall of their motel room tonight. Come to think of it, maybe Sheeni’s right. Perhaps I am a demented voyeuristic pervert.

Confession time: I’m not planning on moving or hiring a chauffeur. I expect when all the recriminations die down, Trent and Apurva will go live with his parents. God knows, I don’t want them hanging around here with Sheeni and me. They may have a special reason to sponge off Mom and Dad. Before we left for the airport, thoughtful Carlotta slipped Trent one dozen condoms—all of which I had punctured with a small pin. Not very nice, I admit, but their genes will thank me, and I need some insurance against a parental-imposed annulment.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1993, 1995 by C. D. Payne

All Rights Reserved

Published in the United States by Broadway Books, an imprint of The Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
www.crownpublishing.com

BROADWAY BOOKS
and its logo, a letter B bisected on the diagonal, are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Payne, C. D. (C. Douglas), 1949–Youth in revolt : the journals of Nick Twisp / C. D. Payne.
p.    cm.
Contents: Youth in revolt—Youth in bondage—Youth in exile.
I. Title.

[PS3566.A9358Y68  1995]
813′.54—dc20        94-39709
                            CIP

eISBN: 978-0-307-71580-7

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