It's Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini Page A

sex.”
    “Jeez, Craig, no. Making out is making out.”
    “Is that the same as hooking up?”
    “Well, hooking up can mean having sex. You got confused.”
    Aaron and Nia were fully occupied now. One of his hands was hidden, exploring magical beige places.
    “You should put it on one of your cards.”
    “Heh.” I smiled.
    Julie took a step toward me. “I really want to make out with somebody right now.”
    Oh, cool.”
    “I’ve been looking and looking for someone.”
    “Um…” I eyed her. Her short blond hair framed a face that was a little wide at the bottom, and toothy, and somewhat red all around. I didn’t want to hook up with her or make out with her or whatever. The person I wanted was ten feet away. This would be my first kiss, if she were offering me. Girls loved to say that they wanted to hook up with “someone” when it was anyone but you. Julie tilted her head up, though, with her eyes closed. I looked at her lips, trying to make myself kiss them, but stopped. For my first kiss, I didn’t want to settle. Julie opened her eyes.
    “Are you okay, man?”
    “Yeah, yeah, I just . . .” Whew. I’m drunk and stoned, Julie. Give me a break.
    “It’s okay.” She left the room, and soon after, the party. I had hurt her feelings, I found out later; I didn’t know I had that power.
    I wandered over to the laptop that was supplying the music to the stereo. Next to it was Aaron’s father’s record collection, shelved in the bookshelf, of old vinyl records. I suddenly needed some discrete information to put in my brain, to push out what was there, so I pulled a record out.
    Led Zeppelin III.
    It was big—as big as the laptop—and the cover was a spiral of images: male heads with lots of hair, rainbows, blimps (I guessed those were the Zeppelins), flowers, teeth. The edge of the record stuck out a bit, like a tab on a five-subject notebook, and I grabbed it experimentally. It turned, and when it turned, the whole circle turned inside, and the images that showed through the little holes changed: rainbows into stars, blimps into planes, flowers into dragonflies. It was frickin’ awesome. One of the symbols that popped up looked just like the levels of Q-Bert, one of the best old video games—I didn’t realize Led Zeppelin had invented Q-Bert!
    I looked up—Aaron and Nia were still at it. Now he had his hand in her hair and he was pulling her toward him like a gas mask. I held the album up to hide their heads. Heh.
    I dropped the album. Aaron and Nia. I held it up. More images. It was like they were part of it.
    The house filled up. People began getting in line to go into one of Aaron’s book-filled closets. They weren’t making out or anything—a kid named John had announced that he had sprayed pepper spray in there and people were going in to see if they could handle it. Boys and a few girls stumbled out going “Aggg, my eyes!” and tearing, and running for water, but that didn’t stop the ones lined up after them. It seemed like everyone at the party went except me.
    I looked at more albums, like the Beatles’ White Album , which I never knew was actually white, and each time I looked up, Aaron and Nia were in a deeper state of entanglement. Suddenly I got really sleepy and warm, from the scotch I guess, and leaned against the album stack, just trying to rest my eyes for a minute. When I woke up I looked instinctively for Aaron and Nia; they had disappeared. I craned from behind my resting spot and looked at the clock above the TV; somehow it was 2:07 A.M.

ten
     
    The house had thinned out.
    Jeez. I got up. The laptop playlist had stopped. My night was over. All I had done was look at records and almost hook up with a girl, but somehow I felt accomplished.
    “Uh, Ronny?” I asked.
    Ronny was playing PlayStation on Aaron’s couch. The PlayStation cord stretched across the room. He looked up.
    “What?”
    “Where is everybody?”
    “Having sex with your mom.”
    Next to Ronny, a girl