"What?"

"We've got nothing to carry the papers in."

"Oh, brother," Aleah said.

I handed a bunch of papers to Aleah and said, "Do all the papers from your house on. You know, the one's you know. I'll meet you at the nursing home in fifteen minutes."

"I have to bike with one hand?"

"Can you stick them in your pants?"

"I'll figure it out, Felton."

"Sounds great!"

I had like thirty papers to deliver while Aleah delivered her small batch. I biked as fast as I could. The dull ache in my back didn't hinder me from really moving. So good to pump it. With one hand, I held the papers. With the other, I steered. My legs pumped like mighty elephant legs. At each house, I just let the Varsity drop, and I ran up to the front door. At some, old men or old ladies waited to give me the business for being so late. I didn't wait for them to say what they wanted to say; I just handed them the paper, turned, and took off.

One called after me, "I sure miss that little Mexican boy." He was talking about Gus.

"He's not Mexican," I shouted back. "He's Venezuelan. Get your facts straight!"

I'm going to email Gus about being a super baby when I get back, I thought. He'll be freaked! Then I remembered I was going to Aleah's and not my place and my laptop was at home. Crap! Maybe I can swing by the house?

In about ten minutes, I'd delivered almost all the papers. I was on fire. My back was complaining a little, but I felt good otherwise. I felt free. The truth sets you free, is what I thought (super baby).

Then as I ran up the stoop to one of the last houses, a familiar face plastered itself against the picture window, eyeballs wide, mouth open. It was one of last year's seniors from the track team, John Spencer, a bony long distance runner. I dropped the paper in the door and turned and ran. Spencer was out the door behind me in a nanosecond.

"Hey, faker," he shouted. "I heard you might be out for the whole football season. I heard your neck might be broken. How can you run?"

I moved to get onto my bike, but Spencer grabbed the handlebars.

"You're a faker!" Spencer shouted.

"What are you talking about?" I shouted back.

"Where's your broken neck?" he spat.

"I never said my neck was broken, asshole."

"Tell that to Ken. Police were on his ass yesterday."

"Get your hands off my bike."

"Apologize to Ken."

"I said, get your hands off my bike, dick. Do you understand?"

I must've spoken in an extremely threatening way because Spencer gulped air, let go, and backed away ten feet. I pulled my bike around and rode away.

"Faker!" Spencer shouted behind me.

I biked more slowly toward the nursing home, very nervous, feeling sick to my stomach. It did look bad, didn't it? Me running around the day after I was supposedly injured.

Within a couple of minutes, I could feel the buzzing of my phone in my pocket. I didn't want to look. Stupid cell phones.

As I pulled up to the nursing home, Aleah was just getting there.

"You did all those papers that fast? You're so fast, Felton."

"Well, I didn't ask to be."

"Whoa. Cranky."

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

"Goddamn it." It buzzed again. "Goddamn cell phone!" I shouted.

"Are you okay?"

"Let's deliver these stupid papers."

I handed a couple to Aleah, held on to the rest, and entered the building. Immediately, there was screaming and pandemonium. The younger crazy lady was standing in front of the door in the lobby. She saw me and went total ape shit. She screamed "Ghost! Ghost! Ghost! Leave me alone! Ahhhh! Ghost!" She pointed at me. Orderlies and nurses came running to her aid. I turned to Aleah, handed her the papers, and said, "Um, could you take care of these?"

"Yes. I'll see you out front, Felton."

I turned, punched in the dumb 1, 2, 3 security code, and left the building.

While I waited for Aleah, I looked at my jackass phone. There were five texts from five different honkies. All of them forwarded this message: squirrel nuts a faker saw him running this morning.

what about? Jason Reese asked.

faker? Jamie Dern asked.

spencer a dick, said Cody.

this going around, Abby Sauter let me know.

squirrel nut faker! an anonymous texter wrote.

It was only eight in the morning too. Most of the jerks wouldn't even be awake yet. I felt so heavy. Really heavy. You called yourself a super baby. Idiot. I had a feeling about the truth. These people weren't my friends; they were about to turn.

As I closed my phone, Aleah exited the nursing home.

"That was weird," she said.

"What was?" I replied, so tired.

"That crazy woman thinks you're her lover and you're dead."

"It's probably true," I wheezed.

"Did you do something to her, Felton? Did you touch her?"

"Are you freaking kidding me, Aleah?"

"Okay, okay. It's just weird."

"I didn't do anything to her. I wouldn't hurt anyone. I'd nevera" And the words left me because I was so heavy. So heavy. A crazy lady's loveraNo freak babyaA crazy mother who doesn't leave her house for weeks and a dead dad who murdered himself and now the honkies are calling me names, and everything is so bad.

"Aleah," I said. "I'm really messed up." Then because I'm a dork, I cried.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Felton," Aleah grabbed my hand.

As we biked home, I told Aleah all about my childhood as Squirrel Nuts and how, because I'm fast, it all seemed to have ended.

"Being fast doesn't seem like a reason someone would be your friend," she said.

"No. You're right. They don't really like me."

"That's not what I mean."

Then I told her how Ken Johnson had assaulted me and how his assault hurt my back and how Cody's dad, the cop, must've stopped by the Johnsons to scare Ken or to arrest him and how John Spencer had seen me running around with papers this morning and how (even as I was telling the story) the entire honky world was texting me.

"Did you say honky?" Aleah asked.

"That's what Gus and I call them," I responded. "They're town kids."

"Pretty gross," Aleah said.

"What?"

"Using inflammatory racial language to describe a bunch of your classmates," Aleah said.

"What do you mean?"

"My gosh." She stopped her bike. We were in front of her house. "You're an innocent child, aren't you?"

"I used to think I was retarded," I said. "I thinkaI think it's possible I am."

She stared at me and touched my cheek.

"Simple boy," she said.

I felt my heart tear (as if the other stuff weren't bad enough). My head dropped. I looked at the ground. Something drained away. Something big. I swallowed hard. Aleah called me simple. I'm simple. I'm stupid. I'm me. I looked back up to tell Aleah that she should break up with me, but she was looking away, toward her house, not paying attention to me.

"Who's giant SUV?" she asked.

It was blocking her entire driveway.

"Oh, crap," I whispered. "Grandma Berba."

CHAPTER 49: BRAIN MASH: PART IV.

As I walked toward the steps, my pocket continued to buzz. The honkiesa"or whatever they should be calleda"continued the text barrage. I was only vaguely aware of my buzzing pocket. Grandma Berba had gotten Aleah's address from me the afternoon before. I knew she was in the house. I paused outside the door and looked at Aleah.

"Do you mind going in first?" I asked.

"Will that help you?" Aleah said.

"I don't know," I told her.

Aleah opened the screen door and walked in. As she did, I peered around her and saw a woman who didn't look like a grandma hugging Andrew on the couch. She wasn't wearing old lady pants. She was wearing a business suit, and her hair was brown like Jerri's, and she was pretty, like Jerri would be if Jerri hadn't gone crazy. The woman let go of Andrew when Aleah was fully in. She stood up. She was ready for me. I pushed on the screen door and took a step in. Grandma Berba took a step toward me, opening her arms to hug me and then she stopped in her tracks. She stared at my face. She shook her head and said, "You've got to be kidding me. You've got to bea" She slapped herself on the forehead. She backed up a step and fell back on the couch and cupped her head, laughing. Andrew stared at her through his big nerd glassesa"his mouth open. Then he looked at me, eyes wide behind his lenses.

"No," Grandma Berba looked up. "Really. You have got to be joking. No wonder. No wonder," she cupped her face with her hands and laughed.

"Wow," Aleah looked at me. "You're having a bad day."

"I don't know what to do," I said.

"Come here, Felton," Grandma Berba said. "Good lord, good lord. Really." She stood. I walked to her. She reached up and hugged me and laughed and sort of cried at the same time. She wiped her nose on my chest.

"I mean, no wonder," she said. "You're the spitting image."

CHAPTER 50: I GUESS IT WAS ALL TOO MUCH.

Even if you've been awake all night long (6 a.m.), you have to stay awake for this (if you haven't sort of figured it out already).

Grandma had a lot to get off her chest right away, which she's apologized for later because maybe there was a better way to do this, a better time. While my cell buzzed in my pocket, I heard: Steven W. Reinstein, who's my dead dad, was an All-American, one-time national champion tennis player at Northwestern University. He played some pro tennis. He nearly qualified for major tournaments. He was six foot three inches tall. I, Felton Reinstein, have stretched and grown in such a fashion that I'm now an exact replica of Steven W. Reinstein. That's why Grandma Berba freaked when she saw me. (Andrew figured right.) Steven W. Reinstein got his student, Jerri, pregnant during her freshman year of college. Steven W. Reinstein married Jerri because Jerri pressured him. Grandma Berba told Jerri she should nota"absolutely nota"marry that man.

"He was just a brutal man," Grandma Berba said. Steven W. Reinstein's rich parents treated Jerri like dirt. Steven W. Reinstein didn't want to be married and continued to have girlfriends. Jerri tried to make a home. She bought our house with Steven W. Reinstein's money. Steven W. Reinstein would scream that Jerri trapped him. Jerri had Andrew to try to stabilize the situation (stupid, said Grandma). Steven W. Reinstein told Jerri flat out that he didn't have enough love, that he couldn't love. Steven W. Reinstein got another student pregnant. He got fired. Jerri hated him. She hated him. She hated him. She hated him. Jerri served him divorce papers when Andrew was three. He killed himself in our garage.