The Gospel According to Larry by Janet Tashjian

said.
    â€œWhy didn’t you say that at the meeting? That would have made a great poster.”
    She then proceeded to throw me a giant curve ball. “You’re not going, are you?” she asked.
    â€œWhere? To the mall? What are you talking about?”
    She swung her arms by her side. “No, to the prom next week.”
    â€œOf course not.” We walked in silence. “Are you?”
    â€œSomeone told me Todd was going to ask me, but I would have said no. Proms are so fake,” she said.
    â€œGruesome,” I added. “Not that either of us would know.”

    Her smile was so off-kilter, so vulnerable, that I burst out laughing. She did too.
    â€œTwo outsiders completely skeeved at the thought of being ‘in’—even for just one night.” I said it to ease the awkwardness, but deep down I knew both of us would kill to be able to walk in that world if we wanted to. Beth’s entrance to that place of parties and homecomings had only happened with the guys she occasionally dated; mine, through Larry. I guess all along our truest connection came from feeling disconnected.
    When I got home and checked the Web site, I realized lots of other kids must have been feeling oppressed by advertising too, because the number of pseudo ads continued to increase. Some of the concepts were unbelievably creative. 38
    People from around the world were swapping ideas, making plans to plaster their towns with the various messages. U2 had not hurt Larry’s site by spreading the word. The group had empowered it. It was anti-apathy at its best. I upgraded my server, with pleasure.

    Unfortunately, I had left my handouts near the coffee machine on my way into the house. The horrendous noise I heard in the background was the sound of my stepfather hitting the roof.
    He laid out the pseudo ads on the counter as if he were retiling it. “Where did you get these?”
    I told him the Larry site.
    He pointed to the vodka parody. “Do you know how many people worked on this account? Doing research, design, printing, marketing? Hundreds of people putting dinner on the table because of this ad.”
    â€œProbably not as many people as the alcoholic population,” I said. “Now there’s a big group.” I waited for him to mention my real father, who died of alcohol poisoning before I was born. 39 Thankfully he didn’t.
    I tried to listen to his opinion, rein in my growing anger.
    He pointed to another ad. “And this one. Easy for some kid on the Internet to complain about starving children in Africa when he’s working on a high-end iMac.”

    â€œHe’s not,” I said.
    â€œOh? And how do you know?”
    â€œHe posted a photo of his laptop,” I stammered. “It wasn’t an Apple.”
    â€œWell, maybe he should start bashing Apple now. Microsoft too. Wait until this Larry guy gets exposed for the nobody he is, then we’ll see what all the fuss is about.”
    â€œHe won’t get exposed.”
    Peter smirked. “Katherine’s been doing a lot of research on him. She says it’s a matter of time.” He gathered the papers off the counter as if they were a bad hand he’d been dealt at cards. “And I don’t want to see any more of this crap in my house unless it’s in the trash.”
    I couldn’t understand why he was angry. “Why are you so threatened by this?”
    It was the wrong thing to ask.
    The next thing I knew, an alien must have inhabited my cool and calm stepfather, because he shoved me against the refrigerator.
    â€œNo more of this nonsense, you understand? You don’t want to go to graduation, I said okay. But this? I won’t stand for it!”
    I made sure my voice was completely calm before I spoke. “Let go of me.”

    It was almost as if Peter’s spirit flew back into his body. “I … I’m sorry.” He straightened his tie. “That was