"I Have No Idea" by Jinie Lee, 21st Waver

Catcher in the Rye (Fanfiction)

10m1 Jinie Lee

Considering the circumstances, tried to make this as short and simple as possible. Failed. But the storyline itself is pretty simple.

 

So I was there in the rain, looking at old Phoebe going around and around on that carousel. She seemed so damn happy, reaching out for the gold ring and not caring one bit about the rain drops splattering on her hands. It killed me to see her like that, just another kid playing around. Made me glad that I made the decision to come back home. It seemed so long ago, the day I was standing on that goddamn hill, looking down at the twin buildings that the teachers always fawned over.

Phony as hell, those teachers. Droning on and on about studying for the sake of learning itself and tomorrow’s bright fatherland, I called it bullshit. But that was nothing compared to the students there.

Well, there was ole’ Ackley, for instance. Every time I went into the dorms, he’d be hunched over his desk. Damn bastard wouldn’t even talk to me. Not that I wanted him to. He thought ‘talking in the dorms’ was a waste of time. But unless you shared a room with him, you’d never know. Outside, he’d be gushing over other people’s work and acting all swell, just your typical golden boy. The way he groveled in front of the teachers, came in and acted like he was above everyone else, and the way he promptly went to academies every weekend was the sheer epitome of phoniness. Studying for the sake of learning itself, hah. Never knew you had to dump money by the bucketful to do that. Should prance around waving a gold spoon, that bastard.

Or dear, dear Stradlater. He was a lot like Ackley in many ways, like when he acted all nice and jolly. But on the other hand, he does talk. And that’s the goddamn problem. The last time he spoke to me in the dorms, the conversation trickled off into another ‘behind-the-back talk’.

“Stradlater! Stop cutting your crumby nails all over the place!”

And then he looked up and was all “’kay Holden, just let it go.” And continued to cut his filthy toenails. I was about to snatch the damn clippers away when he blurted out, “You won’t believe what the school president said today.”

I rolled my eyes. It was kinda obvious what he was about to say. “I’ll listen if you stop cutting your nails. Or at least do it over the table, for Chrissake.”

He glared at me, but went on to say “Well, he had another fu-“

“Stradlater!”

“Another goddamn fit about campus dating. Pretty obvious he was referring to David’s Facebook profile.”

“What about his profile picture?”

He looked at me as if I was stupid. “The selfie he took with Sally at the Midsummer Party, idiot. The one that’s kinda clear that they aren’t dating. It’s frickin’ hypocritical, the phony bastard.”

Hilarious, how old Stradlater had the nerve to call someone else phony.

“Not only does he always overreact, he’s always so damn hypocritical. I bet he’s already dating the vice president behind our backs.”

And this is only one of the countless examples of Stradlater’s pointless rants.

Christ. Is anyone sane in this phony hellhole?

Glad. I’m glad that I dropped out. I don’t have to listen to the headmaster’s phony lectures about college, to the resident snobs in this helluva school, anyone. Standing here in the rain, with my red cap, my poetry books, and Allie’s baseball mitt in my backpack, I couldn’t be happier to get the hell out of Pencey.

Dear old Allie. He used to scribble stuff on his baseball mitt with that green pen of his, and then have a fit when I tried to read it. That always sent Phoebe laughing like there was no tomorrow, and soon after Allie would do the same. That always-

“Holden?”

It was Phoebe. She’d gotten off the carousel and now she was looking at me with those wide gray eyes of hers.

“You’re getting all wet,” she whined. She then asked me to walk her home. It might have been because I was so damn happy to see her, or maybe because I didn’t want her to catch pneumonia in the rain, or maybe because I was thinking of Allie, but I said sure.

Now what she did was she started twirling. We were walking home and she started twirling around in the rain.

“Christ, Phoebs, what’re ya doing?”

“Holden, will you come home?” I looked at her funny.

“We are going home, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but I want you to stay.” Her face damn near killed me. She was giving that pouty look that kids do and you can’t say no because they’re giving you that look.

“I guess.” Phoebe was probably satisfied, because she started walking along with me again.

I was looking down at my feet when I noticed the puddles. It reminded me of the lake.

“Phoebe?”

She looked at me with an inquiring gaze.

“Did you figure out where the ducks go? The ones in Central Park?”

“They migrate. The ducks leave in winter, but come back in the spring.” She said all smart-like.

“What do you mean they come back?”

“I learned it in school, Holden. It’s true.”

 

It’s funny how the ducks can come back, but some things can’t. Kills me, really.