Revolting Youth: The Further Journals of Nick Twisp by C. D. Payne Page A

I hear that my father has been released and all charges against him dropped.”
    “Why should I trust you? How can I be certain you know where she is?”
    “Right before Apurva left home she was reading The Diary of Anne Frank. She hopes your wife returned it to the library.”
    He gasped. I hung up.
    Sure, it might spring Dad from jail. Big deal. But what happens when Vijay blabs to Sheeni that Nick Twisp is involved in Apurva and Trent’s disappearance?
    2:45 p.m. Flying through wintry turbulence. When you buy an airline ticket at the last minute, you not only get to pay full fare, they sadistically assign you to a middle seat. Presently Carlotta is squeezed between two businessmen, who from their size and girth might be traveling donut salesmen. The bulkier of the two is wearing a Wart Watch. My business partners (Kimberly and Mario) and I appreciate the business, but don’t adults realize they look ridiculous wearing a novelty product professionally marketed to disaffected teenagers?
    With each bounce and jolt, meaty elbows tenderize my well-bruised flesh. So much for trying to type on my laptop. In case the plane ices up and carries us all to a fiery death, let me note a few final words: Sheeni darling, I did it all for you. See you in heaven (I hope they don’t speak French). Love always, Nick.
    P.S. I sneaked a closer look at the man’s Wart Watch. It’s a goddam knock-off!
    6:30 p.m. Blizzards in Mississippi? Apparently so. I hope theboll weevils have their parkas on. Memphis was snowed-in, so our flight was diverted to Jackson. Miraculously, the plane did not crash, though I almost wish it had just to see the look of terror on my fat seatmates’ faces. Now the airline is busing us north to Tennessee in whiteout conditions on an ice-slicked Interstate. I slipped $50 to the driver to drop me off in Oxford, should we make it that far in the unrelenting storm. Carlotta needless to say had packed for the tropics. At least it’s a torrid 95 degrees in this overheated bus. I’m trying to store up excess heat in case I actually have to step out into the frigid, driving snow.
    9:10 p.m. Never have I been happier to see two silent, estranged, unmarried teens. The last four miles of the journey I made squeezed in beside the driver of one of the all-too-few snowplows in Mississippi. The good news is I have nearly regained sensation in my hands and my feet are beginning to thaw. The bad news is the motel is jammed with stranded travelers, so Carlotta will be bunking with her pals. Perhaps if Apurva ever comes out of the bathroom where she has locked herself, we can figure out the sleeping accommodations. I for one am exhausted!
    FRIDAY, March 5 — I slept as a buffer between Apurva and Trent in the king-size bed. Of course, Carlotta had to retire in her robe, wig, bra, and full makeup. My roommates were similarly well-swaddled for enforced blizzard bundling. G-spot hunting was off the agenda, though several times during the night I found myself with a fairly spectacular T.E. from sudden Apurva proximity. If I’d never met Sheeni, I’m sure I’d be panting to marry Apurva myself right now. Maybe Trent should get his thyroid checked.
    The snow finally stopped sometime during the night. When we awoke, I got my first real view of Oxford, Mississippi. The icy vista outside our window looked just like those postcards you see of wintry Vermont.
    Inside, the atmosphere was even frostier. Carlotta invitedmorose Trent to dine with her in the crowded motel coffee shop, while miserable Apurva drank her lonely cup of motel tea back in the room.
    “This whole trip was a mistake,” sighed Trent, neglecting his grits and ignoring our waitress’s blatant eyelash fluttering. “I should never have come here.”
    I sipped my coffee. “So what’s the problem, guy?”
    “I just don’t know this person, Carlotta. This person I’m supposed to be marrying. And she doesn’t know me. I realized it yesterday while writing a love