It's Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini

Author:Ned Vizzini [Vizzini, Ned]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: b_mobi
ISBN: 9781423141082
Publisher: Hyperion
Published: 2010-09-23T22:00:00+00:00

twenty-five

I’m afraid of making phone calls. The phone on Six North is a hubbub of activity, with Bobby and the blond burned-out-type, who I learn is named Johnny, fielding calls from, I assume, their respective female counterparts. Bobby starts off his calls happy and says “Baby” a lot, but then he gets angry and slams the phone down saying “bitch"; Smitty tells him not to do that; Bobby walks away leaning back with a particularly potent aura of not caring. Five minutes later, another call comes in for him, and he’s back to “Baby.” He doesn’t ever answer the phone, though; President Armelio has that job. When he answers, he always says “Joe’s Pub,” and then finds whoever the call’s for.

In a rare moment when Johnny and Bobby leave the phone open, I walk up to it with the phone card that Mom brought me twenty minutes after she left with Dad and Sarah. I pick up and hear the dial tone, dial the 800 number for the phone card . . . and then stop. I can’t do it. I just don’t want to deal with it.

People on the outside world don’t know what’s happened to me—I’m in a sort of stasis right now. Things are under control. But the dam will break. Even if I’m here just through Monday, the rumors will start flying, and the homework will pile up.

Where’s Craig?

He’s sick.

He’s not sick, he got alcohol poisoning because he can’t handle real liquor.

I heard he took someone’s pills and freaked out.

I heard he realized he’s gay and he’s coming to grips with it.

I heard his parents are sending him to a different school.

He couldn’t handle it here, anyway. He was always such a loser.

He’s freaking out in front of his computer. He can’t move or anything. He’s catatonic.

He woke up and thinks he’s a horse.

Well, whatever, what’s question three?

There were two messages on my phone when I came in, and now there are probably more, each one necessitating a call back, and the call back possibly necessitating another call back—Tentacles— leading me right back to where I was last night. I can’t go there, so I wait. I can wait five minutes. But then Bobby’s on the line. And then I wait another five minutes. And the messages are piling up. And this isn’t even counting e-mail. What sort of hellish assignments have my teachers e-mailed out?

“Excuse me, are you using the phone?” the giant black woman with the cane asks as I stare at it.

“Yeah, uh.” I pick up the receiver in my hands. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“Okay.” She smiles, rolling her gums, not showing teeth. I start dialing, enter my PIN, enter my own number.

“Please enter your password, then press the pound sign.”

I obey.

“You have—three—new messages. “

One more than before. Not so bad.

“First new message: message marked urgent.”

Uh-oh.

“Hey, Craig, it’s Nia, I just, um … we talked and you were sounding really bad. I just wanted to make sure you were doing all right, and since you’re not answering—it’s like two A.

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