Adam Levin - The Instructions

And that is exactly what I was just about to do. I’d let go of June’s hand and planted mine on my chair-arms, but no sooner had I started leaning forward to rise than Josh Berman chinned air and winked at me , undermining my resolve, my whole sense of what was called for.

I leaned back, puzzled.

Berman opened his coat like a stranger-danger flasher to show me the pennygun riding at his flank — it was held to his fleece by a strip of velcro.

The unspoken subject at hand shifted quickly.

I shrugged and made my lips fat = Glad you have a weapon, but why not hide it in your pocket?

He clicked his tongue against his teeth = “Clever, my holster, I know.”

Then he closed up the coat and said, “Finally we meet.” He was acting as if we’d never laid eyes on each other. It didn’t seem possible that he wouldn’t remember — we were in the same place where we’d met the first time — but maybe he hadn’t noticed me there. Or maybe he was embarrassed for how he’d acted toward Ruth. He deserved to be embarrassed, and that was punishment itself, so I didn’t say anything; I channeled Ally Kravitz, attempted to give Berman the benefit of the doubt. My face must have, despite that, betrayed what I remembered.

“Wait a second!” said Berman. “I think I saw you right here on Tuesday. Crazy. Wow. No idea. I had no idea.”

That’s something, I said.

I didn’t like being so casual about it. Benefit of the doubt, I thought, benefit of the doubt… But he should have either said something, or he should have said nothing. He shouldn’t have said nothing and then said something, much less with fake surprise… Or maybe he should have? Maybe he was being just as human as anyone? Maybe I wanted to think he did something he shouldn’t have done because that would make it easier for me to believe I disliked him for being, in some objective way, a dickhead, rather than because he used to date June and I was petty and jealous? What worried me more? Not liking an Israelite for my own petty reasons, or liking a dislikable Israelite because he was an Israelite? I couldn’t tell. Meow meow, meow meow. I squeezed my own hand.

That’s something, I said.

He said, “ Something is right. I got set straight . You saw it yourself.”

Yeah? I said.

“About the blankspot, I mean. That really got to me.”

Right, I said. I said, Ruth’s smart.

“Yeah,” he said. “She’s pretty smart.”

No, I said. Ruth’s really smart.

“I guess, you know, I don’t know. I guess I must not have come off so — you know, she and my brother had a really ugly break-up.” Was he being sincere? Was he truly apologetic? What did that even mean, truly apologetic ? He was saying all the right things, things I didn’t want to hear. “I’m real tight with my brother and—”

I said, None of my business.

“I’m just saying,” Berman said.

Yeah, it’s none of anyone’s business, really, right? Not even your friends’.

“I totally agree. Believe you me. I got seriously burned for bringing it up, didn’t I?”

Scorched, I said. I said, I wouldn’t mess with Ruth.

“Believe you me,” he said.

Berman had been shaking my hand since “No idea.” Here he finally let go. Then he clicked, and flashed the gun again. “So wuddup, June Dub?” he said. “Long time no—”

“Joshua Berman, get to class,” Miss Pinge interrupted. “The rest of you. ISS starts in about ninety seconds. I suggest you choose a desk.”

They all did as they were told, Berman chopping air near his temple as he left.

“What a dentist,” June said.

Yeah? I said. Yeah, I said.

June squeezed my hand.

You guys know June? I said to the Five.

“Nice to meet you, June!” said The Levinson. “I’m Mr. Goldblum,” said Mr. Goldblum. “You can call me Shpritzy,” said Shpritzy. “This boy right here is Glassman,” said Pinker. “And this young soul who so kindly just introduced me is a fellow known affectionately as Pinker,” said Glassman.

By the time they got to Shpritzy, June was laughing her face off, and I loved her so much. Everything was fine.

They’re best buddies, I told her.

She balled fists around her hair and pulled toward her shoulders, her freckles all fading in the flush of her face as she began to squeak and hyperventilate.

“June’s laughing.” “At us or with us?” “Who cares? She’s pretty.” “Still, I hope it’s with us.” “Ask her.” “She can’t talk right now.” “Is it with us, Gurion?”

She likes you guys, I said.

“Who is she, anyway?” they said.

We’re getting married, I said.

“Mazel tov!” they shouted in unison. Then they started to clap. The sound was slightly muted by their batting-gloves, but their celebration brought me joy nonetheless.

Soon the clapping gave way to high-fives, and a roll of pennies fell from Pinker’s pants pocket. Mr. Goldblum kicked it to Shpritzy. Shpritzy rolled it with his hand to The Levinson, and The Levinson swooped the roll up and over, onto the lap of Glassman. Glassman stuck it in the pocket of Pinker’s that was opposite the one it had fallen from.

Miss Pinge cleared her throat, looking dizzy.

She said, “You’re cute, but the clowning stops after the tone, under-stood?”

“You’re really nice, Miss Pinge. Isn’t Miss Pinge really nice?” “She’s so nice.” “She’s so nice, she should be the spokeswoman for an important charity because she’d raise millions.” “Probably even billions.” “She should go on Oprah.”

Brodsky’s door opened.

Maholtz, the Co-Captain, and a mangled Shlomo Cohen exited. Eyes on their shoes, they adjusted their ties, but none took a seat at the open ISS desk.

I said, Tattle and asskiss your way outta trouble?

“I can’t waint til Bam seends what you did,” said Maholtz.

And what’s that? I said.

I really didn’t know.

Maholtz said, “Tch.” Shlomo Cohen and the Co-Captain echoed it.

Then Pinker honked his dickhorn at them, and soon the other four honked their dickhorns at them, too. I thought honking my dickhorn might ick June, but I wanted to back the Five, so I just said, Honk, and kept both my hands far away from my wang.

Out came the gym teacher, stiff in his suit. As soon as he saw me, he glared.

“Don’t vibe at boo,” said June.

“Don’t what at who ?”

Don’t rhyme with wifey, I told him.

“You don’t even speak correct English,” said Desormie, “and that is a testament.”

“A testament?” said The Levinson. “Testament’s like testicles,” said Mr. Goldblum. “Patriarchs grab the ones on their sons when they’re making a promise,” said Pinker. “Patriarchs grab thighs,” submitted Shpritzy. “Thigh’s a euphemism,” retorted Glassman. “How do you know?” “Cause it’s called a testimony, not a thighamony.” “Their dads touch their shvontzes?” “Their bollocks.” “Their yarbles.” “Still, that’s pervasive.” “ Pervy .” “Right. Pervy.” “Except it didn’t used to be in the old days.” “These days, though, to touch your son on the nutbag—” “These days it’s total pervasion.” “Perversion.”

Desormiation, I said.

“What?” said Desormie.

I showed him my palm and pointed at it.

Delivered, I said.

That was the last word that I would ever say to him.

“Come on,” he told his basketballers.

They followed him into Main Hall, away from ISS.

The Five got up in arms.

“They just get to leave? Where’s the justice?” said Pinker. “This is a testament.” “Balls!” “Why do they get to leave, Miss Pinge?”