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  The Black Book

  [DIARY OF A TEENAGE STUD]

  VOL. I

  Girls, Girls, Girls

  JONAH BLACK

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  THE BLACK BOOK [DIARY OF A TEENAGE STUD], VOL. I: GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS. Copyright © 2001 by 17th Street Productions, an Alloy Online, Inc. company. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  ePub edition. October 2001 ISBN 9780061756238

  Print edition first published in 2001 by HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Contents

  Sept. 5

  Sophie and I sneak out of her parents’ house...

  (About twenty minutes later.)

  Remain calm, that’s the important thing. Freaking out is not...

  (Still in the cafeteria, but I better make this fast.)

  Just as I was writing that, this amazing girl...

  (Later that afternoon. Miss von Esse’s classroom.)

  Okay, so here I am, in my eleventh grade remedial German class...

  (Still Sept. 5, after school.)

  When I got home, Honey’s Jeep was already in the driveway...

  Sept. 6

  I’m sitting in First Amendment Pizza, waiting...

  (Still Sept. 6, after work.)

  I wrote that whole last part while I was waiting to see the Swedes....

  (Still Sept. 6, A.M. almost midnight)

  I’m lying in bed but I can’t sleep. I wanted to write about...

  Sept. 7

  I can’t think of anything to write. I’m so tired of this.

  Sept. 8, 2:37 A.M.

  I’m writing this in the middle of the night when I should be...

  Sept. 11

  After writing practically a whole book in the first few days...

  (Still Sept. 11, after school.)

  When I got home from school, Mom was out, and there was a note...

  Sept. 12

  I’m in Miss von Esse’s class and she’s going through the list...

  Sept. 13

  Mom and I had a little talk after school today. She came into...

  Sept.14

  After school I walked down to the beach to watch Posie surf...

  Sept. 15

  I went to work at First Amendment today and I knew something...

  Sept. 18

  I’m sitting in Miss von Esse’s homeroom, waiting for the day...

  Sept. 19

  We had another preseason practice today.

  Sept. 20

  I’m lying in bed writing by the light of my crappy bedside...

  Sept. 21

  Today was my second session at Amerishrinks.

  Sept. 22, 9:15 P.M.

  I’m lying here waiting for Honey to finish putting on her makeup...

  Sept. 23, 2:32 A.M.

  We’re back. Now Honey is in the bathroom again...

  (Still Sept. 23, 9:30 A.M.)

  Saturday morning and no school. I’m eating breakfast out...

  (Still Sept. 23, a few hours later)

  Okay, I’m back. Mom and Honey are at the Coral Springs Mall...

  Sept. 27

  Okay, I had a totally wack session with Dr. LaRue today...

  Sept. 28

  Something happened at swim practice today...

  Oct. 1

  This weird thing just happened. Honey was sitting in the backyard...

  Oct. 2

  Thorne caught up with me after my workout today.

  Oct. 3, 12:35 A.M.

  I’m about to go to bed but I have to write this down because Honey...

  Oct 7, Saturday

  Well, today was pretty fun. Thorne and I were like Sherlock Holmes...

  Oct. 8

  I went to the mall today to get Honey a birthday present.

  Oct. 9, 11:45 A.M.

  I’m sitting in history class listening to Miss Tenuda talk...

  (Still Oct. 5, 4:15 P.M.)

  I’m just about to head over to First Amendment for work...

  Oct. 10

  I went online to see if I could chat with Northgirl but...

  Oct. 11

  Well, here it is the night before Honey’s birthday...

  Oct. 12

  Honey’s birthday. I just took the German test, and I think...

  (Still Oct.12, later.)

  Now I’m in Miss Tenuda’s class, still trying to catch up...

  (Still Oct.12, midnight.)

  Mom forgot Honey’s birthday completely.

  Oct. 15

  We got the German tests back. B minus. Scheiss. I’m a junior.

  Oct. 16

  I’m waiting to go in and see Dr. LaRue. The girl...

  (Still Oct.16, 11 P.M.)

  My fourth session with Dr. LaRue was interesting.

  Oct. 17

  I’m sitting here at First Amendment Pizza, waiting...

  (Still Oct. 17, 9:15 P.M.)

  I’m back in my room with a pile of homework...

  (Still Oct. 17, midnight.)

  I was just wondering if I should burn this journal like I burned the others.

  Oct.18

  Today was the first preseason swim meet of the year....

  About the Author

  Credits

  About the Publisher

  Girls, Girls, Girls

  Sept. 11

  After writing practically a whole book in the first few days of school I’ve been avoiding this journal because it’s too depressing. I’m still a junior and no one will listen to me. I asked Miss von Esse about it and all she said was if Mrs. Perella’s made a “policy decision” there’s nothing she can do about it. Mom and Honey don’t even care, so I’m on my own. I’m beginning to get seriously worried because if I don’t get put back in the senior class soon, it’ll be too late. I’ve got to write to somebody in charge, like the principal, or the board of education.

  Today was the first day of diving practice. The pool at Don Shula is actually pretty decent. A guy named Norton, from the Swimming Hall of Fame down in Ft. Lauderdale, donated all this money to build it and it’s Olympic sized, with a three-meter board and a separate pool for the divers. Even Masthead didn’t have that. This pool is so fancy they don’t even call it the pool. They call it the natatorium, which is my new favorite word. Whenever I see Thorne I tell him I can’t hang out, I have to do some serious time in the natatorium.

  I think I’m going to like the men’s swim coach, too, Mr. Davis. He actually got in the water and swam with us for a few laps. I’ve never seen a coach do that before. Usually the coach just stands there at the edge of the pool in a sweatshirt with a whistle and a clipboard, yelling at us. Mr. Davis told us for the first day he wanted us to just get in and have fun. Do laps, practice dives, whatever.

  He said, “Remember, whatever else happens, sport is supposed to be fun. Jump in and mess around in the water, get yourselves reacclimated. There’s going to be plenty of time this season for hard-core workouts. Today I want you to enjoy the pool a
nd be glad you’re here.”

  Then Mr. Davis whipped off his sweatshirt and his whistle and we all dove in and he dove in after us and we spent the whole practice just messing around. It was crazy. Of course, some of the guys did all these laps anyway, trying to break world records. But Mr. Davis didn’t look all that impressed. After a couple of laps he got out and dried off and stood around watching us. Then he even went up to the high board and did two truly amazing dives. One of them was a double flip into a gainer. I guess it wasn’t that big of a big deal, but it makes a huge difference knowing that our coach is at least as good a swimmer as the rest of us.

  He also kept the divers and the lap swimmers together, which is a good idea. Usually coaches separate the divers from the swimmers like we’re another team altogether and we do a whole different workout. But not Mr. Davis. This means that from the first day we’re all working as a team, which is smart, I think.

  Something else happened at practice. This girl I’ve never seen before, with straight black hair and really tan skin, a Native American maybe, was sitting in the bleachers. It sounds crazy, but I’m pretty sure she was watching me. I tried not to think about her, but every time I looked up, there she was, looking right at me with these big, dark eyes. I even made up an Indian name for her—Watches Boys Dive.

  After practice I was going to go over and say hello, but she wasn’t there anymore.

  (Still Sept. 11, after school.)

  When I got home from school, Mom was out, and there was a note from her on the table. Read Chapter 11, the note said. I love you, Jonah! Next to the note was the copy of Mom’s book.

  I opened the book. Chapter eleven was titled “Self-Esteem Is Sexy.”

  “Jesus,” I said out loud.

  Honey came into the room. “Hey, Nutly. Looks like Mom is trying to give you a few pointers. It must be hard for her, talking to all those kids who are having sex like crazy, while her own son is like, a nun.”

  “Shut up,” I said.

  Honey got out a box of Ring Dings and stuffed one into her mouth. She was still wearing that dog collar thing around her neck.

  “So are you all fine with Mom and this book?” I asked her.

  “Sure. Why not?” Honey said.

  “But aren’t you like, embarrassed for her? What if she’s exposed for being this sex-obsessed hippie freak who isn’t even a Ph.D.?” I asked.

  “Hey, she’s got her own radio show,” Honey said. “She’s got a paperback deal. Sub rights. Ancillary products. Seems like she’s doing pretty well for a freak.”

  “Ancillary products? What the hell are ancillary products?” I said.

  “You know, like shampoo and popcorn with her name on the label,” Honey explained. “Maybe Kmart’ll come out with a Dr. Judith line of teen sex toys. They might even make her a spokesperson for Wendy’s. I’d drink a Frosty out of a cup with Mom’s face on it. Wouldn’t you?”

  She went to the refrigerator and got out a gallon bottle of Jolt cola, unscrewed the top, and guzzled it, her pale throat rippling. Then she wiped her mouth, screwed the cap back on, and put the Jolt back in the refrigerator.

  “So you think it’s fine that she’s pretending to be some big sex expert?” I asked.

  “I think that’s called a sexpert,” Honey said.

  “Whatever.”

  “I don’t care what she does,” Honey explained. “I’m out of here in ten months. Once I’m in college, she can call herself a plumber for all I care.”

  “But this is worse than pretending to be a plumber,” I said. “She could get in trouble.”

  “Oh, what’s the big deal?” said Honey. “What do you care? Let Mom have a career. It’s better than her sitting around the house doing yoga. You should have seen what it was like before she did this book. All these tripped-out divorced women sitting around the living room chanting “Ommmmm.”

  “But what does Mom know about teen sex?” I asked.

  Honey reached into her pocket and pulled out a hard pack of Camel Lights. She stuck one in her mouth, and lit it with a lighter.

  “She doesn’t have to know anything,” said Honey. “Not much, anyway.”

  “But what if she’s giving people like, bad information? She might be telling them the wrong things.”

  Honey smiled. “Don’t worry, I checked the pages before the book went to press. I fixed all the mistakes.”

  It didn’t sound like Honey was talking about spelling mistakes.

  “You rewrote Hello Penis! Hello Vagina!?”

  “Just the parts that were totally ignorant.”

  “Does Mom know?” I couldn’t believe it. I guess Honey’s the one who should have her own talk show.

  She shrugged. “Beats me.”

  I just stared at her for a moment.

  “Hey, Honey. Since when do you smoke?” I asked.

  “I don’t,” she said, blowing a smoke ring at me.

  “You know Mom is going to freak when she comes home and smells cigarettes. She’s going to give you a big lecture on how you’re not valuing your personhood or whatever.”

  “Not me,” Honey said. “You’re the one smoking.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. I’m in the genius section. She isn’t going to think I’m dumb enough to be smoking Camels right in the kitchen.”

  “You’re really evil, you know that?” I said.

  “Yeah,” said Honey. “But you love me anyway.”

  Now I’m thinking of actually reading Mom’s book. Oh, my God, I can’t believe I even wrote that. Forget it.

  Sept. 12

  I’m in Miss von Esse’s class and she’s going through the list of modal auxiliaries in German—can, must, like to, allowed to, should, would. This is one of the few things I definitely know how to do in this stupid language. Sometimes I wish I’d taken something other than German, I mean especially at Don Shula, where you can take Portuguese or Japanese if you want to. I mean, why German?

  Well, I know why. I took German here freshman year, and at the time I was pretty good at it. Then at Masthead the only alternatives were French or Latin, and I’ve never been very good at them. It kind of figures I’m no good at Romance languages. Anyway, my German teacher there was this real hardass. Plus, Sophie O’Brien was in the class with me, so it was kind of hard to concentrate.

  Thorne said something kind of weird to me this morning. He was walking to homeroom with Luna Hayes and he saw me and came over, while Luna went on to the Zoo.

  “Hey, Luna’s been asking about you,” Thorne said.

  “Yeah?” I said. “How come?”

  “She wants to know if you’d ever want to visit the firehouse with her.”

  “The firehouse?”

  “Yeah. She’s totally into it. You let me know, I can get you guys in there, okay?” Thorne said, his face totally serious.

  I just kind of laughed and Thorne said, “Later,” and walked off.

  I still don’t know if he was serious or not, but it definitely sounded like he was.

  See, the whole time I was at Masthead, Thorne and I wrote all these stupid e-mails about our sexual encounters. Like I’d write about being in an apple orchard doing it on the ground with this farm girl and every time she made a sound like ooh, another apple would fall to the ground. And then Thorne would write about doing it with the girl who feeds the seals at the Miami Zoo and when she orgasmed the seals all went up on their hind legs and started slapping their flippers together and barking. The e-mails kept getting wilder and dumber and dirtier. And they were all a bunch of lies. At least I thought they were.

  But one of the e-mails Thorne sent me was about Luna Hayes and how she liked to have sex on the fire trucks at the Pompano Beach Fire Station. Thorne said the chief of police owed his dad a favor because of something he’d been caught doing at Thorne’s dad’s motel, so whenever Thorne wanted he could go into the volunteer fire station after hours and do it with Luna.

  I had always thought this was another big lie. I mea
n, Thorne’s stories were so dumb and farfetched it never occurred to me to take them seriously. And Luna was always this skinny little kid, not the babe he described, so it seemed totally bogus. But guess what? I think I’m wrong about all of it. Luna really does like to do it in the fire station. And Thorne really did have sex with all those girls in all those crazy places while I didn’t do anything. I was lying my ass off the whole time.

  So I wonder if Thorne believed what I was writing. Does he think I’m like, this big stud?

  Sept. 13

  Mom and I had a little talk after school today. She came into my room while I was doing homework, and said, “Jonah, honey, we need to talk.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “I know you want people to accept you,” she said. “It’s an important thing for a boy. Especially one with your . . . issues.”

  “Mom!” I was worried she was going to bring up the underwear thing.

  “Bup, bup,” she said, holding out her hand. “But you must follow the rules of this house, and respect them. Respecting the rules of the house means you’re respecting yourself. You do want to respect yourself, don’t you?”

  I sighed. It was easier not to argue. “I do,” I said.

  “All right then. There is to be no more smoking in this house. Do you understand?”

  “Smoking?” I said. “Mom, I’m not—”

  “Bup, bup, bup,” she said. “Let’s not play the Honesty Game. Okay? I won’t have it.”

  “All right,” I said. “We won’t play the Honesty Game.”

  “When you smoke, you are saying that your body is a manure pile. A trash heap. And I won’t have you disrespecting yourself. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mom,” I said. “I understand.”

  She took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled. Then she came over and hugged me. “You’re a special person, Jonah,” she said.

  Honey came to the door. “What’s happening?” she asked.

  “Nothing, Pumpkin,” Mom said. “Jonah and I were talking. Weren’t we?”

  “We were,” I said.

  “I need for Jonah to know his body isn’t a garbage dump. Will you help him, Honey? Make sure he doesn’t smoke in the house and send out a signal to everyone that he’s not valuable?”