The Misfits: Chapters 15–20

DuShawn: No. I mean, I know there are bigots out there, okay. And maybe I’m just lucky, but I’ve never had to deal with it.

I don’t know why he's being so sensitive. He said himself that the color of his skin is just a fact.

“It just kind of came out? How lame is that? I can’t believe you told them, Skeezie. You promised.”

She glances down at FREAK and meticulously circles it.

“Morons!” goes the Skeeze. “That’s one we forgot!”
"Cretins!” says Joe. “Numbskulls!”
“Idiots!” I yell, “jerks!”
Addie can’t help herself. She forgets her anger and joins in. “Birdbrains!” she hollers.

“Now those are really foul names!” Skeezie says, and before you know it we’re all whooping it up and running to the computer to add these names to all the others.

"We can’t talk about this here!” Addie admonishes the three of us.

Her words make me think she is maybe going into her business exec mode, but it turns out she’s got more on her mind than the No-Name Party.

From here the conversation plummets as we start heaving truly gross made-up letters at Skeezie and he tosses back replies that are in such bad taste we have no choice but to make barf noises, when all of a sudden we stop talking altogether and get to listening with all our ears because there is this sort of buzz going on around us.

We listen to hear if anybody’s figured out who put them on the walls, and to our surprise most of what we hear is conjecture that it's the school itself that’s behind it.

To which we all nod as she disappears into the ogre’s lair.

“I had my first girlfriend when I was ten,” he tells me.
I am shocked to hear this. “Ten?” I go. “What were you? Some kind of fiend?”

“I hope you realize I am humiliated,” I tell him.

“I know she doesn't like me. Well, what I mean is, I’m not so sure she doesn't like me, but I am sure she likes somebody else. But the somebody else doesn’t like her, I mean, not as a girlfriend, he only likes her as a friend, so how do I let her know that I like her as, like, girlfriend material, and then what do I do if she laughs in my face, which I don’t think this particular girl will do, but you never know, she might get hysterical.”

My dad shoves a slice of pizza in his mouth, and I bet anything he is doing it to stifle a laugh.

Look, kiddo, the direct approach is best. Hard as it is, just go up to the girl and tell her you like her.

“Right, two minutes ago I was asking advice about how to talk to girls. But why should I listen to you, when you’re too scared to ask a girl out yourself?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Addie goes. One career option I rule out for her is diplomat.

You know perfectly well that you are behind those signs that were put up around school yesterday. There is no use denying it. You were seen by a teacher, who reported you to Mr. Kiley.

I am not here to debate the worthiness of the message. I am here to remind you that you were told there is no need for a third party and therefore there is no third party.

“It’s true that the signs have to do with a third party,” I tell her, fast, so she can’t get another word in and, besides, I am hoping the truth will disarm her.

I’m sorry we didn't get permission to put the signs up. We know we should have. Sometimes kids just act impulsively, but it’s because we have strong feelings, not because we’re trying to make trouble.

And you’re very convincing in your sincerity as well as your words.

The problem with the Freedom Party was that it wasn’t specific enough. Even saying we represented minorities didn’t mean a whole lot. But saying we want to put an end to kids being called names, well, that does have meaning.

I wish I could say that school policy had put an end to the kind of name-calling you’re talking about, but it hasn’t. I’m sure Ms. Wyman would agree with me—knowing how much she cares about self-esteem—that anything you can do among your peers would be of great help.

“You’ve presented a very compelling argument,” she says to me.

You might figure—we did, anyway—that putting our names out there like that, especially with certain choice epithets right underneath them, would make us sitting targets for ridicule.

He thinks he is doing some kind of community service or something when he turns to me and says, “And if you’re there, Bobby, you can walk her home and console her and then maybe she’ll decide she likes you."

He squints at me as if he has never seen a twelve-year-old tie salesman before, which I venture to say he has not, and when I ask if I may be of assistance, as per page something-or-other of the six stapled pages, he looks around as if trying to spot the spaceship in which I arrived.

“You’re awfully young,” he goes. I acknowledge the truth of what he is saying, but tell him that I am trained and ready to be of service.

As we walk in silence, he finally blurts out, “I want to apologize for my behavior today.”

I have behaved badly toward you since you began working at Awkworth & Ames and today was the worst. I have been under a great deal of stress, but that is no excuse for incivility.

I never thought they had much of a marriage, to be quite frank with you, but my mother was beside herself with grief.

It is very distracting, having to pee this bad when you are listening to somebody pour out their life's story.

It’s quite peculiar. You know how a moment ago I said I never understood my father? Well, here’s something, Bobby. I have never truly understood myself. Isn’t that a terrible thing to say?

I have always listened to other voices telling me who I am and how I should live. I believed those voices telling me I was a sissy and a mama’s boy. I believed my father when he told me I should go away and I believed my mother when she said I should come back. I believed Alice when she said I was a coward and not worthy of her love.

I think maybe I am spouting a foreign language all the time these days, except that it is really my own language and I am just learning to speak it.

“We have both lost our mothers,” he sighs. “And do you know? We have something else in common. Our names.”

“I just want to shake hands, Bobby,” he says, “a gesture that I hope will signify a new beginning.

I regret my anger toward you and I thank you for walking home with me and listening.