Chapter 9: Living Hell (Part 1)

Then he said the three words that reverberated in my head and made me go dizzy with fury. As he said them I thought I was going to explode into a million unhappy pieces.

"You what?" my father yelled during dinner after I told him I lost his racket.

"Well, it's not exactly lost. I just don't have it."

"Then get it back if you know where it is."

"That would be impossible right now."

"But I have a game tomorrow!"

"I know, Dad, but you have other rackets." I tried to deflate the power of that one particular racket. Big mistake!

"Others? It's that easy for you? just go buy another Prince Precision OS racket?"

"I didn't mean that--"

"It's bad enough you deface property at school!"

"I'm sorry, but--"

"Sorry's not good enough this time. Sorry's not going to win me my game tomorrow. My racket is. I can't believe I let you take it out of here in the first place!"

"But, Dad, I'm sure you made mistakes when you were a hippie teenager!"

"And I paid for them! Like you're going to pay for my racket."

My bank account had about five dollars in it, the remains of my Sweet Sixteenth birthday money. And I still owed Premiere Video twenty-five dollars in late fees. I quickly did the math in my head. Dad was going to have to keep my allowance until I was thirty.

Then he said the three words that reverberated in my head and made me go dizzy with fury. As he said them I thought I was going to explode into a million unhappy pieces.

"Get a job!" he proclaimed.

"It's about time, too. Maybe that'll teach you some responsibility!"

"Can't you just spank me?

Or ground me?

Or not speak to me for years like parents do on those talk shows? Please, Dad!"

"It's final! End of story!

I'll help you find a job if you can't on your own. But you'll have to do the work yourself."

I ran to my room, wailing like baby Nerd Boy, screaming at the top of my lungs,

"You people just don't understand the pressure of being a teenager in my generation!"

As I cried on my bed, I fantasized about sneaking into the Mansion like I did with Jack Patterson when I was twelve and retrieving the racket.

But I also knew I was a little bigger in the hips now and that the window we'd used had been replaced. I'm sure the new owners also had a security system and, in any case, where would I look for the racket with so many rooms and closets? And while I was searching frantically, I was sure to be caught by Creepy Man wielding a gun or some medieval torture device. A part-time job was a less menacing scenario, but not by much. At this point I really wished I were a vampire--I'd never heard of Dracula's having a job.