The Borders of Bluffton Don’t Contain This Guy
When Abby drove me home, she said, “I think people were staring at us at Walmart. Am I totally paranoid?”
“They were staring. Old ladies.”
She nodded.
When Abby dropped me off at my house, she said, “Please don’t tell anyone what I told you.”
“Of course not.”
“Thanks, Felton. Call me after you talk to Gus.”
When I’d answered the phone from Walmart, Gus had shouted, “We’re going viral, man!” Then he’d asked me to call him back in a half hour. He had to get off the phone because he was clicking at his computer and sort of hyperventilating.
I went inside the house. Jerri wasn’t there. I made myself dinner (stuffed bread in my mouth and then a whole package of Buddig ham), went downstairs, and called Gus back.
When he answered, he said, “Okay. Okay. Really, you’re going viral.”
“No. I’m here. I’m not viral,” I said.
“Yeah, but somebody on YouTube figured out that you’re the Polish Fist,” Gus said.
“Everybody knows that’s me. We weren’t trying to hide it or anything.”
“Not Bluffton, man. It can’t go viral in Bluffton, right? If I’m tracking it correctly, an ESPN reporter is the one.”
The word ESPN sent a shock up my spine. “The one who what?”
“The one who sent it out to like 200,000 Twitter followers, and a bunch of them retweeted that crap to a shit ton of other Twitter freaks. It’s…man…it’s everywhere! Just this afternoon and tonight! Everywhere, Felton. Because of you, do you get it? Jesus. Who have you become?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Felton Reinstein sells tickets! This is crazy!”
“Yeah. Can you take the video down?” I asked. “I don’t want it blasting off all over.”
“It wouldn’t matter if I did take it down,” Gus said. “It’s been copied and reposted about thirty times today. People are titling it ‘Reinstein Dickinski.’ This is seriously amazing. I’ve never been part of…”
“But, Jesus, it’s an inside joke about Karpinski’s dad! Why do they care?”
“No. It’s legitimately hilarious. Haven’t you watched it?”
“No. And I’m not going to.”
“You’re going to see it. It’s everywhere,” Gus said.
“I’m not interested.”
“This is not the response I expected, man. You’re a comedy hit. That’s what you used to want. Remember? Remember when you tried stand-up in seventh grade?”
Picture me in a cheap blue suit telling jokes while kids boo.
“I have to go,” I said. “Need to sleep.”
“Come on, Felton. This is cool.”
“It’s cool. Okay. Except maybe not for Karpinski.”
“There are already Dickinski tribute videos going up.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Get ready, Felton. School’s going to be crazy tomorrow.”
He hung up.
I shook my head, tried to shake out the news. Tribute videos?
Yeah, I sort of felt like Karpinski had it coming in school. But I wasn’t from Bluffton High anymore, was I? Bluffton didn’t remotely contain me. People from everywhere knew me, and I was bringing the whole freaking world down on Karpinski?
Shit. He didn’t deserve that.
Abby texted: wow. we are everywhere.
Poor Karpinski.
Hamlet kills his old friends, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Cody Frederick and Karpinski.