Paranoid Park by Blake Nelson Page A

you guys want to buy a skateboard, go to that place at the mall.”
    “But that’s why we wanted to ask you. Isn’t there a better place downtown? That’s what everyone says.”
    “I don’t know what’s downtown,” I lied, pulling into a parking space. “I never go there.”
    “I thought you did. Everyone said you would know.”
    “It’s not true,” I said. I turned off the car.
    Macy unclicked her seat belt. “So you won’t even come?”
    “No,” I said. “And don’t give me that look.”
    “What look?”
    “Like I’m being an asshole about it.”
    “I’m not looking like that.”
    I got out and slammed my door. “You kinda are.” Macy got out and slammed hers. “Well you kinda are being an asshole about it.”
    I walked away from her, toward the junior/senior wing. It was so ridiculous about girls. They get these schoolgirl crushes on you, and you can do no wrong. Then they stop liking you and they want to boss you around, like you were once their boyfriend, which you never were. You never even liked them.

    I went to class. I went to my locker. I went to the cafeteria for first lunch. Parker and James were sitting in their usual spot, but Parker stood up the minute I sat down. He had vocab to study. James left a few minutes later.
    So I ate by myself. I stabbed at my green beans with my fork. I remembered freshman year when we’d kid around and eat “prison-style.” It was a game where you kept your forearm in front of your tray, to guard your food. Then the other guys tried to stab your fish sticks, or sneak their hand under your armpit and steal your Crunch bar or whatever. Just stupid frosh stuff. Games you play. And now, here I was, barely able to eat I was so scared. Eating “prison-style” wasn’t so funny anymore.
    Macy and Rachel walked by; they had first lunch, too. They sat at the end of my table with some other sophomores. They talked for a minute, and then Rachel came down the table to where I was.
    “So Macy said you won’t come downtown with us,” she said, smiling, trying to put on the charm.
    “I told her, you can’t buy a guy a skateboard.”
    “Could you at least tell us where to go?”
    “I don’t know where to go. I told her to go to the mall.”
    “But there’s a better place downtown. I know there is. Why won’t you help us?”
    “Because!” I said. “It’s a bad idea!”
    She became alarmed and went back to the other end of the table.
    What the hell am I doing? I thought. I’ve got to calm down.

    One thing I’d learned, though. When you think you’re about to totally lose it, if you can just hang on a few more minutes, a few more seconds, things turn normal again.
    That’s what happened. I finished lunch and went to AP history. We watched the second half of Doctor Zhivago, and I sat in back and managed to sleep for almost an hour. That felt a lot better. Then for sixth period I had math, and Mr. Minter was in a good mood and gave everyone a “pass” grade on our last quiz because his computer screwed up.
    I even felt bad about Macy and Rachel, and when I saw them after school, I yelled to them and waved them over to my car. I drew them a map to the skate shop downtown.
    “But won’t you come with us?” they pleaded. “We won’t know which things are good.”
    I thought about it and realized if I didn’t go with them I had nothing to do but worry and obsess all afternoon, so I said yes. We all got in my mom’s car.

    Downtown, we parked and walked to the skate shop. Rachel was serious about buying a skateboard. Her boyfriend was this boring guy named Dustin, who as far as I could tell never skated, or did much of anything. He sucked at basketball—I knew that because I’d seen him play rat-ball in the back parking lot.
    Rachel studied all the decks carefully. She wanted to know about the different trucks and wheels and all that. It was kind of fun actually, playing Mr. Expert for an hour. I had bought my first board there. The board that