The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie

Author:Sherman Alexie
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Publisher: Hachette Digital, Inc.
Published: 2009-04-02T04:00:00+00:00

That sounded pretty good to me. I needed friends more than I needed my lust-filled

dreams.

"Is your Dad really coming to pick you up?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Are you telling the truth?"

"No," I said.

"How will you get home?" she asked.

"Most nights, I walk home. I hitchhike. Somebody usually picks me up. I've only had to walk the whole way a few times."

She started to cry.

FOR ME!

Who knew that tears of sympathy could be so sexy?

"Oh, my God, Arnold, you can't do that," she said. "I won't let you do that. You'll freeze.

Roger will drive you home. He'll he happy to drive you home."

I tried to stop her, but Penelope ran over to Roger's car and told him the truth.

And Roger, being of kind heart and generous pocket, and a little bit racist, drove me

home that night.

And he drove me home plenty of other nights, too.

If you let people into your life a little bit, they can be pretty damn amazing.

Don't Trust Your Computer

Today at school, I was really missing Rowdy, so I walked over to the computer lab, took a digital photo of my smiling face, and e-mailed it to him.

A few minutes later, he e-mailed me a digital photo of his bare ass. I don't know when he snapped that pic.

It made me laugh.

And it made me depressed, too.

Rowdy could be so crazy-funny-disgusting. The Reardan kids were so worried about

grades and sports and THEIR FUTURES that they sometimes acted like repressed middle-aged business dudes with cell phones stuck in their small intestines.

Rowdy was the opposite of repressed. He was exactly the kind of kid who would e-mail

his bare ass (and bare everything else) to the world.

"Hey," Gordy said. "Is that somebody's posterior?"

Posterior! Did he just say "posterior"?

"Gordy, my man," I said. "That is most definitely NOT a posterior. That is a stinky ass.

You can smell the thing, even though the computer."

"Whose butt is that?" he asked.

"Ah, it's my best friend, Rowdy. Well, he used to be my best friend. He hates me now."

"How come he hates you?" he asked.

"Because I left the rez," I said.

"But you still live there, don't you? You're just going to school here."

"I know, I know, but some Indians think you have to act white to make your life better.

Some Indians think you become white if you try to make your life better, if you become

successful."

"If that were true, then wouldn't all white people be successful?"

Man, Gordy was smart. I wished I could take him to the rez and let him educate Rowdy.

Of course, Rowdy would probably punch Gordy until he was brain-dead. Or maybe Rowdy,

Gordy, and I could become a superhero trio, fighting for truth, justice, and the Native American way. Well, okay, Gordy was white, but anybody can start to act like an Indian if he hangs around us long enough.

"The people at home," I said. "A lot of them call me an apple."

"Do they think you're a fruit or something?" he asked.

"No, no," I said. "They call me an apple because they think I'm red on the outside and white on the inside.

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