The Short Lover Boy – Episode 1

~THE SHORT LOVER BOY~

 

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By: Authoress Sharon~ Ronnie✨✨

 

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~✨Sammy may be the shortest boy in his class but he doesn’t let that stand in his way~✨. . .

 

 

 

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~CHAPTER ONE~

 

~THE MAN~

 

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~SAMMY’S POV~

 

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First off, there’s my name, Samuel Lorenzo Carducci. A real mouthful right? Sounds like something you’d order with a clam sauce, if you could just figure out how to say it. So I’ll give you a break. You can call me Sammy. Then there’s my Size — a towering four feet two. A lot of people would call that short. But hey, I don’t look at it that way. I say it’s all a state of mind. Me, I feel tall.

 

Every once in a while, somebody comes along who disagrees. “Hey, shrimp,” they might Say.

 

“That’s Mr shrimp to you,” I tell them. Then I unwrap a stick of gum and calmly slide it in my mouth. I might even offer them one, so they know they’re dealing with a class act.

 

Of course, that should already be obvious because of the way I dress. I’m the only kid in my sixth – grade class who wears a suit. I also wear a tie, and on test days, I’ll slip a red handkerchief in my pocket. I usually finish off the outfit with a pair of black high – top sneakers, just to show I haven’t lost touch with the people. Unusual? Sure it is. That’s why I dress that way. Like my brother, Nick says, it makes a statement.

 

I’m Italian, in case the name didn’t tip you off. Or at least halt Italian. My grandma and grandpa came over from Italy, only that they Call it the old country. Funny thing is when I was younger, I didn’t understand what they meant. I thought the old country was a place where where everybody was old just Like my grandparents.

 

My grandparents has lived with us ever since my Grandpa died. She may be old

 

but she’s not one of those shriveled – up grandparents you sometimes see. Her nose

 

is big and her Chin’s strong, and she’s even got a pretty good pair of shoulders on

 

her. These days, she mostly watches the soaps and makes spaghetti. I like to help

 

her in the kitchen because first of all, I’m a spaghetti freak, and second of all, she’s

 

great to talk to.

 

*

 

“You nice boy, Sammy,” She says, watching me cut up green peppers. Her accent

 

is thick, like the tomato sauce we’re making. “Just one thing I don’t understand why

 

are you wearing that suit?”

 

*

 

“I gotta look good, Grandma,” I tell her.

 

*

 

“You look crazy.”

 

*

 

“You think Nick looks crazy?”

 

*

 

Nick graduated from high school last year. He works in an insurance office and

 

dresses sharp.

 

*

 

“Nickie got to have suits,” She says. “He works at a desk.”

 

*

 

“So do i,” I shoot back, grinning.

 

*

 

She shakes her head. “What am I gonna do with you Sammy?”

 

*

 

“Make spaghetti, just like always.”

 

*

 

My Dad is Italian, but my mom isn’t. I think her people are from England or Sweden. Anyway, it’s a place where they don’t talk very loud. Her family is Amazing to watch. When they get together in a room, they just sit there. Somebody might cough and then say something in a voice you can Barely hear. Everybody nods; and then it gets quiet again.

 

Once we made the mistake of inviting them to Thanksgiving dinner with my dad’s family. To start with, they were outnumbered because there a lots of carduccis. There was a size difference, too. It got so bad that some of my mom’s smaller relatives were almost trampled. Even the ones who stayed out of the way were scared because people kept coming up and talking loud and waving their hands in the air.

 

Somehow, that stuff has never bothered my mom. In fact, I think she likes it. After all, she married my Dad, and he’s about as Carducci as they come. Which means he talks in a booming voice and has an opinion on everything.

 

My Mom, on the other hand, is short, with curly brown hair and a smile that sneaks up on you. She’s quiet most of the time, but when you get to know her, you find out there’s plenty going on inside. Besides, she’s learned to speak up when

 

she has something to say. Like the time she decided to get a job, for instance. *

 

“You what?” Says my dad when she tells him. He’s used to making most of the decisions, whether he’s home or at the construction company. *

 

“You heard me, Joe,” says my mom, knitting in front of the TV. “I’ll be doing

 

books part-time up at green’s laundry.”

 

*

 

“What about the family?”

 

*

 

“Sammy’s at school, Nick’s got a job.

 

Grandma’s got her TV set. They don’t need me at home all day.” He starts to argue with her, but something in her eyes stops him. *

 

“Joe, I’m going to do this,” She Says. And sure enough, she does.

 

*

 

My Dad doesn’t lose too many arguments. The only other big one I remember was with Nick. Come to think of it, that was about a job too. On high school graduation day, Nick told my dad he’d been hired by an insurance company. *

 

“You what?” My dad demands. It’s one of his favorite sayings.

 

*

 

“I’m going to be a sales trainee.” Answered Nick, brushing his hair In front of the

 

mirror. “In a few months I’ll be doing commission sales. That’s where the really big

 

money is.”

 

*

 

My dad puts his hand on his hips and looks away. When he looks back, he says

 

“And what about college?”

 

*

 

“Come on, pop, that’s the slow track. Four years of no salary. Besides, it’s not like we’re taking Harvard. The only school that would take me was the community college and their degree’s barely worth the paper it is printed on” *

 

“You’re wrong Nickie. You’re wrong about a lot of things.” Nick puts Down the

 

brush. “I’m so sorry, pop, but it’s my life. I withdrew my application to school and

 

took the job. I start in two weeks.”

 

*

 

There’s a lot of discussion after that, but when the dust settles, Nick goes to work, and not college. They agree he’ll live at home as long as he pays rent.

 

That way almost a year ago. A few months later, Nick pulls up to the house in a brand-new Grand Am, I figure he made the right decision as usual.

 

 

He’s a pretty smooth customer, my brother. I guess part of it is that he looks good and knows it. He’s got wavy black hair and olive colored skin, with Dark eyes that look sad the first time you see them. Women love staring into those eyes. I know because I’ve seen them do it.

 

It’s not just his looks, though. He’s got a way of talking that makes you think you’re the most important person in the world. It even comes across on the telephone. Last week, for instance, Nick is on the phone In his room, and my best friend, Gus Gaffeny, and I just happen to be in my room, right next door. Its not like we’re listening in, but the walls are sort of thin, especially around the electrical outlets.

 

“Hey, come on, its my turn,” Gus whines.

 

*

 

I’m crouched Down on the floor with my ear next to the outlet. “Ssh. I’m trying to

 

concentrate.” Gus points to his clunky black plastic watch. “You’ve been

 

concentrating for three minutes and fifty – five seconds. We are going to change

 

every two minutes.”

 

*

 

Gus has the honor of being the only kid in Mrs . McNulty’s sixth – grade with a smaller chest than mine. Not that he’s that short. He’s just unbelievably skinny. His arms and legs look like sticks, and when he pulls his belt tight, his jeans stick out in big loops around his waist. Some of the wise guys at school like to sneak up behind him and drop pennies down his pants. Gus doesn’t mind, though. He says he can use the money.

 

“You know, Cindy,” Says Nick in the next room. “Did I ever tell you how terrific you are?” I can just about feel this Cindy melting on the other end of the line. “No, I’m serious,” he goes on. “The first time I saw you I felt, like, this incredible rush.

 

It wasn’t just the way you look, which by the way is sensational. It was more of, I don’t know, a vibe, like this is a person I could really get close to.” *

 

I turn to Gus. “Is that great, or what?”

 

*

 

“What did he Say?” Asks Gus, frantically trying to push me away from the outlet.

 

*

 

“Hey, relax,” I say. I move aside, adjusting the cuffs on my shirt.

 

*

 

Gus scrambles down on his knees and plasters his ear to the wall. He listens for a

 

 

few seconds, then sits back and sighs. “He hung up. Just my luck.”

 

*

 

“The man is poetry in motion,” I say.

 

*

 

“I wouldn’t know,” says Gus, getting to his feet.

 

Just then, Nick comes out of his room and walks past my door.

 

*

 

“Hey, Nick,” I say, “How’s it going?”

 

*

 

“Great. What are you two pipsqueaks up to?”

 

*

 

“Nothing much. Hey what’s the latest with that girl you’ve been going out with?”

 

Cindy, I think it is.”

 

*

 

He looks at me kind of side ways. “I never told you her name.”

 

*

 

Nick, I’m your brother. Of course you told me her name. We got no secrets, you and me.”

 

He laughs, then bends down and ruffles my hair. “You are one strange little kid.”

 

He looks over at Gus. “Make that two strange little kids.” Gus raises his head into a

 

ruffling position, but Nick doesn’t notice.

 

*

 

“Just for your information,” Nick tells me, “Cindy and I are tight. Like this.” He

 

crosses one finger over the other and squeezes them together. Then he grins and

 

moves down the hall.

 

*

 

“Wow, he really is poetry in motion,” says Gus.

 

*

 

“Hey,” I say, he’s my brother.”

 

*

 

We wander into the kitchen, where I open a tin of Italian cookies my grandma made. I grab a couple of handfuls and set up Gus and me at the kitchen table with two glasses of milk. I’m into my third Cookie when I notice Gus hasn’t even taken a bite of his first. He’s picking off the sesame seeds, one by one, by stacking them into a neat pile in the middle of his napkin. *

 

“What is this?” I say.

 

*

 

“I don’t like sesame seeds. They taste funny.” “I have a sensitive stomach,” He tells me.

 

Finally he bites into the Cookie, then sets off to one side and starts moving the

 

seeds around on a napkin. He pushes them into lopsided square, with a pile of extra

 

seeds at each corner. I just stare at him.

 

*

 

“You gonna tell me what that is,” I ask, “Or do we have to play twenty questions?”

 

*

 

“It’s a fort,” he tells me without looking up. He takes another cookie, picks off a

 

few more sesame seeds, and sets them inside the so – fort. “These are the U.S

 

calvary officers,” He puts some other seeds over by the edge of the napkin. “These

 

are Apache Indians,”

 

*

 

I sigh and shake my head. “How long have we been friends, now Gus?”

 

*

 

“A year or so.”

 

*

 

“And you’re still playing cowboys and Indians?”

 

He sits up straight. There’s a worried look on his face, like he gets when Mrs McNulty calls on him in class. “Is something wrong with that?” *

 

“Nothing if you’re satisfied with just being a kid.”

 

*

 

“What are my other choices?”

 

*

 

“Well, there’s a manhood,” I say.

 

*

 

Gus thinks about it for a minute. “What do I have to do?”

 

*

 

“For one thing, stop building forts out of sesame seeds.”

 

*

 

He looks down at the napkin with a sad expression on his face. “Yeah? What

 

else?”

 

*

 

“You might start thinking about women.” “You mean like Mrs McNulty?”

 

*

 

“She’s a teacher, not a woman. I’m talking Annie Bowers, Lisa phipps, Janie

 

Hodges.”

 

*

 

“Janie Hodges?” Says Gus. “The girl who sits next to me in class?”

 

*

 

“That’s the one.”

 

*

 

“She gives me the creeps. She’s always drawing hearts on her notebook.”

 

*

 

“Gus,” I explain patiently, “that’s the way women are. Hearts, flowers, mushy songs – they love that stuff.”

 

*

 

“They do?”

 

*

 

“Have you ever noticed the way they act around that new teacher, Mr Lawrence?”

 

*

 

“They giggle a lot,” says Gus.

 

*

 

“They’re in love. Giggling is one of the ten early warning signs.”

 

*

 

I down another cookie, then pick up the phone directory and start thumbing through it. I find what I’m looking for in a few seconds. *

 

“What are you doing?” Asks Gus, reaching for his glass of milk.

 

*

 

I drag the phone over to the table and tap out a number. “You’ll see.”

 

*

 

There’s a ringing on the other end of the line.

 

*

 

“Hello,” says a girl’s voice.

 

*

 

“Is this Janie Hodges?” I ask.

 

*

 

Gus just about chokes on his milk. He starts choking like a maniac.

 

*

 

“Yes, it is,” she says. “Are you all right? Who is this?”

 

*

 

I cough a few times and clear my throat, waving for Gus to move away from the table. He scoots his chair backs and hurries ac

 

ross the room, where he grabs a Couple of paper towels and claps them over His

 

mouth.

 

*

 

“This is Sammy Carducci,” I tell her. “I just got something stuck in my throat. I think it might have been a piece of broccoli.” *

 

“If you want to copy my homework again, you can just forget it.”

 

*

 

“Hey, did I say anything about home work? Matter of fact, i was calling about something of a more, shall we say, personal nature.” *

 

“I don’t want to talk about anything personal with you.”

 

*

 

“Janie, ” I say, throwing Gus a wink, “did I ever tell you how terrific you are?” Gus’s eyes get big, and he starts coughing again. *

 

“There’s somebody in the room with you, isn’t there?” Says Janie. “This is getting

 

weird, Sammy. I’m going to hang up.”

 

*

 

“No, wait!” I say.

 

*

 

“I’ll give you five seconds.”

 

*

 

“The first time I saw you, I felt this incredible rush,” I tell her. I try to act cool, but

 

it’s hard when you are talking as fast as you can. “I guess it might have been what

 

you might call a vibe.”

 

*

 

She starts giggling. I figure that’s good , since giggling is one of the ten early warning signs of love. Then she bursts out laughing. That’s not good. In fact, sometimes it’s a warning sign of hate. Sure enough, there’s a click, and the line goes dead.

 

When I set down the phone, Gus sprints back across the room, wiping his mouth on a paper towel.

 

There’s still some milk on one cheek, and a couple of sesame seeds are plastered

 

on the side of his nose.

 

*

 

“Well?” He says.

 

*

 

“Not my type. She wanted to keep talking, but I figured if wouldn’t Be fair to

 

her.”

 

*

 

“So you just hung up?”

 

*

 

“I shrug. ” she’ll thank me for it some day.”

 

He looks at me like I’m some kind of movie star. “How did you think of all those

 

things to tell her?”

 

*

 

“Instinct. You get a feeling for it.”

 

*

 

“What if she had been your type, Sammy.”

 

*

 

“I was thinking of asking her to the dance,” I say, calmly studying my nails.

 

*

 

He gets an expression like he just bit into a pickle. “You mean the one they’re

 

having for the sixth grade?”

 

*

 

“Oh that’s right, you wouldn’t be interested,” I say.

 

*

 

“They aren’t playing cowboys and Indians.”

 

*

 

He straightens his shoulders. “I might be interested. I just don’t know if I want to

 

go with anybody.”

 

*

 

“So go by yourself. That’s what most people are doing.”

 

*

 

“Are you planning to ask anybody else?” Says Gus.

 

*

 

“I’ll know in a few days. I’m doing a little survey to check out my other

 

prospects.”

 

*

 

 

Actually, there is no survey. The idea has popped into my head. The more I think about it, though, the more it seems like a stroke of genius.

 

The problem with the call to Janie Hodges was lack of organisation. Obviously,

 

if I’d planned my moves better, she would have been thrilled to talk to me. What I

 

need is a new approach bases in scientific principles. A survey seems like a perfect

 

way to start.

 

*

 

“Wow,” says Gus, “do you think I could come along and help?”

 

*

 

“Sure,” I tell him. “If you keep your nose clean, I might even give you a few

 

pointers.”

 

*

 

“I’ll be good, Sammy, I promise.”

 

*

 

“No, I mean wipe off your nose. Those sesame seeds are disgusting.”

 

*

 

TBC

 

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