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“He’s more awkward than a vegetarian in a meat factory!”
“He’s more awkward than a democrat lowering taxes!”
“He’s more awkward than a lactose-intolerant ice cream driver!”
“He’s more awkward than a sumo wrestler trying to ice skate!”
“He’s more awkward than Tim Ryder trying out for the football team!”
I put my fingers to my chin thoughtfully, striving to look pensive. As I pretended to think over my decision, my friends began arguing about whose answer was the best.
“Come on, Dinger, mine’s perfect!”
“No way, Poncey! Can you just imagine how hard it would be to be allergic to what you’re selling?”
“Jason, being lactose-intolerant isn’t the same as being allergic. Gosh, you are just dumb sometimes ... ”
Finally I spoke up. (The moment of truth ... ) “All right, guys. Simon, sadly, has a valid point. I’m going to go with his answer.”
As the rest of my friends let out the last of their chuckles and/or groans, I smirked in satisfy action. “Good one, Simon!” I reached out a fist bump, and my humble sap of a friend vied for it like Olympic gold. “It’s a great description for Apollo City’s new mayor.”
It was more than appropriate, too. Mayor Stefano Mills had taken office only a few days before and already he’d been hailed as a “Politician’s Politician” by already going back on his campaign promises and seeking a lot of bipartisan agreements—or “settlements,” depending on which news network I happened to be overhearing.
I felt sorry for Mayor Mills more than anything else, to be honest. Our last mayor, under increasing pressure, had resigned and no one really wanted to take his place. The town council had instated Mills after a lengthy debate followed by a quick election.
“I knew you’d like mine, Dinger,” Simon grinned knowingly.
“Yeah, you probably spent all week thinking of it,” my sidekick, Evan von Ponce (more affectionately known as “Poncey” to us), spoke up, the teasing evident in his tone.
“Come on, mine was much better,” my friend Drew McGill harped. “Can’t you just see a sumo wrestler slapping the ice over and over ... ”
Aw. Jealousy can be so cute.
I sighed happily to myself. “Come on guys, let’s start a new round. Simon’s the judge this time.”
While Simon tried to think of a topic for the next round of the Awkward Game, I surveyed the room much like I imagined the president did when he walked into the Oval Office. After all, it was all because of me more or less that people were here, at Gwen Kessler’s surprise Sweet Sixteen.
True, my best friend Mikey Salyards had volunteered his house, since his grandma and mother were out of town for the weekend, and all my friends had invited pretty much anyone who was even decently popular. But I’d been the one who had thought of having the party in the first place.
The familiar faces of my friends and frenemies were paired around poor Mikey’s house, looking like some sort of bizarre clique collection, laid out in no particular order. With the mountains of pizza boxes, the music of our favorite video games, TV shows, and movies, and the rush of getting together outside of school hours, it was like being in a second sort of home. A home I didn’t have to worry about cleaning after everyone left.
Yes, I decided. It had been much too long since our last blowout.
There were good reasons for that, surprisingly none of which involved my parents. The sad lack of parties was mostly due to the last time I was at a party, when my life had inexplicably and irrevocably changed for the worst.
But I wasn’t really going to think of that while I was at this party—I had much more pressing concerns, as usual. I was focusing all my brainpower, all my available skills, on winning the next round of the Awkward Game.
The Awkward Game is where a bunch of friends get together and make fun of people or ideas in a more intelligent way than just saying they’re stupid, dumb, or ugly.
Here’s how it works: One person is the judge, and the judge will call out a familiar topic. And you can pretty much call out whatever you want, whether it’s the drama nerd you wish you’d never met last fall, the latest bill passed or passed over by Congress, or the latest celebrity who’d walked out of their house “accidentally” wearing leeches. Then everyone goes around and makes an awkward comparison. For example, if you pick your school librarian, you could say she is more awkward than a fruit bat sucking blood or a bald man trying to get a haircut. Finally, after everyone puts in their answers, the judge makes the decision on who has given the best response. After so many rounds, you tally up who has the most wins and that person is the winner.
I won the game a lot, needless to say. But I also relished being the judge.
Simon looked thoughtful for a moment. “Okay! I got one!” he cheered. “How awkward is Wingdinger?”
The rest of the guys laughed as I felt the fun flerb out of me. I faked a grin as the guys all began to snigger at the mention of Apollo City’s “superhero.”
Of course he’d go with Wingdinger. And of course, I have to sit here and take it. Nothing is going to save me from this unless by some miracle—
Splintering pain slipped around my right arm like a shackle.
Ah, there it is. Supernatural calling. I grimaced.
“Hey guys,” I spoke up. “I’m gonna duck out this round. Gwen’s over there and I want to give her my present.” A round of “Oohs” and “Awws” and “Go HD!” and other unintelligible comments ensued.
Oh, what I would’ve given to be telling the truth.
I headed out of Mikey’s house as quickly as I could. I didn’t have a lot of time before Gwen headed home, and I hadn’t actually had a chance to give her my present.
But my other problem, still winding its way up my right arm, had more serious potential consequences at the moment.
Keeping this at the forefront of my mind, I slipped around corner of the stairs and tiptoed towards the front door.
Why did I, the great Hamilton Dinger, the pride of Apollo City Central High, suddenly have to leave? What reason called me to sneak out away from the only bright spot of my life since winter vacation ended, jumble my way through the backstreets of the city, and head off in the direction of certain unpleasantness?
The same reason I didn’t like to think of Wingdinger as awkward.
For one thing, he’s me.
For another, I had a monster of some demonic nature to battle.
And then there was—
“Hammy?” There was a hand on my shoulder.
I turned around to see none other than Gwen Kessler staring at me, looking so pretty it just made the ugliness of my situation even more awful. “Gwen!” My voice went up at least an octave pitch, as if I’d swallowed Mickey Mouse and he suddenly wanted to pop up and say hi. I cleared my throat hastily. “Gwen. There you are. I was just ... ”
Gwen’s honey brown eyes warmed and I felt part of me melt. “Looking for me?” she ventured a lure, and I grabbed onto it.
“Yes! I was just looking for you,” I agreed. “I have to ... ” I have to distract her. “You look amazing tonight,” I said.
She giggled. “Thanks.”
I laughed easily, trying to force my body to relax. Get a grip, Dinger!
“I was just going out ... side. For a moment. It’s warm in here. Don’t you think it’s warm in here?”
Gwen’s eyes lost their sparkle. “Are you going home already, Hammy?”
I wish. “Oh. No, I just forgot to bring your present, and I wanted to go get it really quick,” I assured her.
“But you’re not going home? Where is it then?” Gwen looked charmingly confused.
I was getting there myself, frankly. “Oh, uh, it’s at Rachel’s Café,” I lied. “I was there this afternoon, and I must’ve left my backpack there, and that’s where I put your present earlier.”
Gwen’s brow wrinkled. “Are you doing okay, Ham? You’ve been acting weird lately.”
“Weird? Huh. Doesn’t sound like me.”
“Really?” Gwen held up her hand and began counting off on her fingers. “First, you miss meeting me at Christmas, and call up the next day with some strange excuse of getting lost. Second, at New Year’s, you and Mikey come over on your way to Jason’s, and you leave me and Mikey hanging as you suddenly have to run home for your homework?” She giggled a bit. “I heard you’ve been sick during swim practice a lot too, to the point where even Coach Uzziah is getting on your back. And then, you’re just so forgetful lately, it’s almost like you’ve been avoiding me.”
“Um ... ” I guess Gwen had noticed my rather poor run of excuses.
Ugh. I mentally slumped over in some kind of defeat. If it had been possible for time to stop for several moments, I would’ve spent all of it complaining about how irritating it was to be running constantly from battle to battle. ‘Wingdinger’ might have been needed on the interdimensional frontlines, but ‘Hamilton’ had a string of present obligations to fulfill. And I could only get so sick, forget so many things, or have my grandmother die so many times before people caught on.
Pain bit through my arm again, like a shackle shrinking around my wrist. I looked down to see the familiar mark on my wrist glowing. Trouble was brewing. I had to go. A cringing shudder went through me. I had to go, and that meant I had to leave Gwen.
“I’m sorry, Gwen, I just have to go. Sorry,” I stammered. “I’ll be right back soon!” Dreading the thought of the accusing look on her face, I intentionally turned away from her as I scooted out the door, nearly tripped down the porch stairs, cursed Mikey’s grandmother for needing so many safety railings, and ran away as fast as I could.
As I approached the end of the driveway, I looked to see Gwen being pulled back into the party by her best friend, Laura Nelson. The music blared out one last time, seeming to give me an extra push as I hurried away. The comforting lights of the fun-filled house diminished with distance, as did any control over my burning anger.
Awkward games indeed, I thought bitterly to myself.
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