Grasshopper Jungle by Andrew Smith Page A

“How long are we going to talk about sperm?”
    I answered, “I don’t know. Talking about sperm is something that people just don’t do enough of. It does make me feel a little weird, though.”
    Robby took off the mask. His face was pink and damp with sweat.
    We looked at each other. Robby smiled and nodded. I knew everything between us was okay. He stuck his hand out, and I took it.
    It was a real Lutheran-minister-kind-of-awkward-and-sweaty Iowa handshake.
    â€œWhat is this shit?” I said, “We are shaking hands. We never shake hands.”
    Robby said, “I know. Well, I just, um, wanted to tell you . . .”
    â€œYou don’t need to say anything, Rob.”
    I patted his shoulder.
    â€œI guess not,” Robby said. I took out one of the packs of cigarettes Ollie Jungfrau sold me, and Robby added, “I think it is always appropriate to end a conversation about sperm with a sweaty handshake.”
    â€œYeah,” I said.
    We sat down on our skateboards right next to each other and smoked.
    Every Saturday, Robby asked me how many donuts Ollie Jungfrau ate. I could not be certain, but that day I think I counted nine. Robby asked me to swear I would take pictures with my cell phone if Ollie Jungfrau ever exploded.
    Then I told Robby about going back inside Johnny McKeon’s office, and how scared I was because I believed I saw the two-headed boy inside the jar twitch his fingers at me when I talked to him.
    Robby shook his head dismissively. “Last night, after all the shit that happened, we are both probably traumatized. You were seeing things.”
    â€œI don’t think I’m traumatized, Robby,” I said.
    â€œI think the inside of this lemur mask made my face stink,” Robby said. He blew out a big gaseous cloud of smoke.
    â€œYou’re still wearing the T-shirt I loaned you,” I said.
    â€œI’ll give it back after I wash it.”
    â€œOh. Sure thing, Rob.” I asked, “How’s the flamingo?”
    â€œFine. Just fine.” Robby rocked sideways on his board. “On Monday night, my mom’s working a double shift. You should come over and get drunk with me.”
    â€œMaybe we should do that,” I said. “I was thinking. Have you ever popped one of your mom’s little blue relaxers?”
    â€œZannies?” Robby asked.
    â€œYeah. Ever taken one?” I said, “I was just wondering. They look like little boats, don’t they? Kayaks. I just figured they make you all calm and shit. Sailing away. Like you don’t have any problems and everything is figured out.”
    Robby said, “I never tried one. Anyway, you don’t have any problems, or anything to figure out, either.”
    â€œSure. Sure I don’t,” I said.
    â€œLike what?” Robby asked.
    â€œOkay,” I said.
    Okay , at times,can effectively serve as the closing curtain to difficult teenage conversations.
    Then I said, “I will come over on Monday and get drunk with you.”
    â€œI’ll let you wear the lemur mask.”
    â€œI don’t want my face to stink.”
    â€œYeah. Probably not.”
    By the time we’d gotten on to our second cigarette, I worked up the nerve to tell Robby about the date I made with Shann. Feeling awkward and guilty about it was stupid, too, but it was just another element of my confusion about things. Robby didn’t seem to mind. I was more confused. I thought he’d feel left out, like we were ditching him.
    He offered to drive me to Shann’s house so I wouldn’t have to skate all the way out there. Robby said it would give me B.O., and I probably did not want to have B.O. on a date with Shann.
    â€œYou’re right,” I said. “I don’t want to have B.O.”
    Robby said, “If you have B.O., you might as well have messed-up sperm, too.”
    â€œI’ll shake to that,” I said.
    Robby picked up the