Two Parties, One Tux, and a Very Short Film about The Grapes of Wrath Read Online Free

humor about his lunch. I often try to convince him that there is some deep-seated pathology in his rigidly limited sandwich selection. But my efforts usually fail because I am always trying to convince him to trade lunches, and I have the world’s worst lunches. My lunches consist of whatever happens to be in the fridge when we wake up in the morning. Cold lasagna. Pickles and cream cheese. Meat-loaf and mashed potato sandwiches. Once, a jar of capers, a package of crackers, and my aunt Ann’s red pepper jelly. Roast beef starts to look really good.
    â€œYou don’t even look anymore, do you?” It’s an accusation, not a question.
    â€œSometimes I can finish it before I figure out what it is. If I eat fast enough, sometimes,” I say, still chewing, “I can eat the whole thing without really tasting it.”
    I peel back the top layer of bread. The brown spread is most likely peanut butter. The red chunks are probably peppers. The little white squares have to be tofu. My mother thinks adding peanut butter to anything makes itauthentically Thai. I don’t believe that anyone in Thailand eats peanut butter, pepper, and tofu sandwiches. At least not on white bread.
    â€œYou could make your own lunch,” David suggests, handing me a half of one half of his sandwich. I’ve noticed that he is more willing to share the ham sandwiches than the roast beef. Not sure what to make of this fact. I’d feel worse about my mother still packing my lunch for me if she did a better job at it.
    School
    There is nothing about history that requires me to do anything other than look alert, which I can do without paying any attention at all. The same five people answer all of Ms. Kalikowski’s questions, and she prefers a lively class of five with twelve onlookers to trying to get the rest of us to participate. Sometimes I surprise her by raising my hand. She always looks pleased—partly, I think, because when I do say something it is relevant.
    School
    â€œDo you need a ride home today?”
    â€œAlways.”
    I follow David to the parking lot, the way I have for most of the last year, as if nothing at all was different.

CHAPTER 5
Godless, Homosexual, Vegetarian Communists
    Will she skip ski trips if he slips tongue tricks?
    Over the last six months, David has become our taxi service. Since about October, he’s been giving me, Carrie, and Carrie’s best friend, M.C., a ride home several times a week, and he still does on days when he doesn’t have baseball practice. We don’t even ask anymore. Carrie and M.C. wait for us in the parking lot so they won’t be too identified with us. We are not the cool juniors, but Carrie decided that the bus is way too ninth-grade and David has a car.
    David doesn’t seem to mind. At least he doesn’t say he minds. I’m not sure what he gets out of the deal.
    Sometimes Carrie makes us stop on the way home. We need french fries, we need gum, we need some shade of lip stuff, and the world always depends on us having it before we get home. Home is clearly some form of dungeon. David shrugs, we stop. David shrugs a lot. It took me a while to realize that the shrugs mean something.
    A short list of David’s non-verbal vocabulary:
    1) Shrug = okay. It is used to indicate that he is willing to go along, but only because you asked. It’s a sort of “I don’t care either way.”
    2) Pulling glasses = not so okay, but also a sign that he probably doesn’t have any choice, so he will go along with it anyway.
    3) Rubbing the top of his nose. He uses his whole hand for this maneuver. It means “I am really uncomfortable with this suggestion,” but unless there is an easy way out, he will go along with it anyway.
    4) Staring at his feet. If he is driving, the same effect is accomplished by staring robotically ahead and not responding. This is an attempt to convince you not to ask whatever you are about to