We go out in the world and take our chances
Fate is just the weight of circumstances
That's the way that lady luck dances
Roll the bones

- Roll the Bones, Rush

November 18, 1961

Alright, so I know I haven't checked back in a while, but I gotta good excuse. I've been busy workin' on my motorcycle, and its commin' along great!

I ran into this joint down a couple of blocks from the soda shop that sold me some spare parts for crazy cheep. And not some old crummy dime-a-dozen clutches or anything like that, I'm talkin' some top-notch stuff. I even found a replacement motor! I can't believe I could afford it all. The place musta been goin' outta business or run into hard times or something. I dunno, but I'm not about to question a good thing.

So all weekend I've been haulin' like crazy on this bike, and the old girl's really starting to look like a real chopper, she's really some piece of work under all that grime and rust. All she really needs now is a new kickstand and muffler, and of course, a few coats of paint.

Which reminds me, I oughtta look into buying paint when I get some more dough. I'm thinkin', maybe it'll be… black. Black and silver chrome, burning rubber down the highway.

Yeah. That'll be boss.

It ain't all good news, though. The school's been watchin' me like a hawk after the lab thing, so I was stuck sitting through every one of my classes. It was the worst in Science. Since the labs are shot down, I got stuck watching filmstrips for an hour. We got to learn about shop class and the value of springs. SPRINGS, man!

Really. I could be doin' something worthwhile with my time instead of learning about springs. Besides, I've seen more springs than I ever wanna see from working on the bike through the weekend.

Who ever thought up this school system had rocks in their brain.

November 19, 1961

I was supposed to watch Poindexter's back today (I told him I would, and I am) during the lunch hour, but couldn't find him anywhere. I checked his usual haunts - study hall, library, outside his locker, inside his locker - nothin'. I even checked all the bathrooms twice, thinking maybe somebody decided to take the guy for a "swim", but it wasn't too likely to find him in there anyway. The bathrooms are down for renovations again, along with the water fountains and a buncha the lights that busted out from nowhere.

I swear, this school's falling apart.

I don't know why people keep staring at me like I did it.

I mean, sure, I was around when stuff got busted, but that don't mean I busted it, right? You'd think by now they'd pick up that I don't work like that. Stickin' around the scene ain't my style. Anyone with a brain would split soon as they got the chance.

I mean, if anything, this stuff is Wolf's style. You know Wolf, big guy, kinda fuzzy around the face, taller than an elm tree. Clumsy and easy to catch.

When I get caught, it's just because I'm in the wrong place at the wrong time, I just didn't have luck on my side, that's all. But I ain't clumsy.

In any case, since I couldn't watch the nerd's back, I figured it'd be best for me to watch my own right now. I'm not really what you'd call a popular guy, especially after the bleachers thing.

Turns out when the stands got creamed, half the football team got creamed with it. Now half the Ravens are hung up in the hospital for the rest of the season, and a good third of Casper's lookin' to take me out back for a good, long chat. Get my drift? I think you do.

Nobody's really said anything to my face yet, but people are talking. They're sayin' that even I didn't do nothin' directly, even if I didn't cause it, weird, nasty stuff still happens around me. Some of the more superstitious types are callin' me a jinx. Like I attract bad luck and junk like that.

This guy Mason, he sits behind me in Science, he tells my they're starting to call me Johnny 13.

Wow.

Real clever, guys.

November 22, 1961

Okay.

Since my reputation's gettin' tossed around like a cat through a blender, I figure it'll do me good to try and make nice with a couple of folks. Normally I'm not the social type, but you know, desperate times, desperate measures and all that jazz. I'm a loner, but I'm not an idiot. You need someone in a situation like this to watch out for you, you dig?

The lame part is, at this point the only guys I could possibly join up with now are the beats and this uppity group of bikers that call themselves the Amity Angels. That is, if you can really call 'em a gang, I mean, there's only about three of them. I've seen 'em eyeballing me since they spotted me on the motorcycle a few days ago, back when I was first testing how it ran (runs like a dream, by the way) . They've been lookin' even more now that all this weird stuff's been happening.

Only, I'm not really down with the whole biker street gang thing; I ride alone, and I know they ain't gonna sit pretty with that idea. Besides all that, the Angels' leader is Wolf, and Wolf's a serious moron. I mean, the guys goes and paints a perfectly good motorbike bright green, so everyone and his dog can see it, and then adds on these tacky red roses on the frame that get all glowey at night. It looks cool, sure, but it stands out way too much. It's like a neon sign on wheels. What's he gonna do when the cops get after him? Pull up next to a clown car and hope he blends in?

Whatever.

So, joining up with the Angels is completely out of the question, but that only leaves me with (shudder) the beatniks. And, I dunno if you're aware of this, but beatniks are insane. Completely out of it, on another planet. All they ever say is backwards half baked philosophical junk I don't even think they understand, and they talk about everything, but really, they talk about nothing because all their conversations go in circles. And for some reason, one of them, Mason, he insists on talking to be about "Catcher in the Rye" ALL THE TIME. And when I tell him I don't want to hear about it, he just says I don't get it because I haven't read it.

(Oh, for the record, I have read the book. Twice. Hated it. Twice. Geez, Holden, is anything not phony to you? What a whiner.)

So, I'm on level ground with the beats, but if I spend another minute with them, I think I might have to bash my skull in before anyone else gets the chance.

I think I might have to go this one alone.

Oh, well. It's not like I ain't used to by now.

November 23, 1961

Ya know, I've noticed something.

A lotta weird stuff's been happening lately, and a lotta bad luck's been going around, but it just happens around me. Not to me. You know?

Like the bleachers. They crashed down, but I wasn't on 'em. And the sink explodes, but I didn't get soaked or nothing (my coat got a bit singed, but I don't count that, since I dig the look anyway). Then today in front of Casper High, about four light poles started creaking and groaning, and then just collapsed in the parking lot. It took out a whole buncha cars, and one guy went for stitches because of the broken glass. But me? I was watching about ten feet away.

Perfectly fine. Not a scratch on me.

And while I was watching, I noticed the shadows started doin' that weird thing again. It wasn't as weird as the first time, when they were just going nuts, and it wasn't all that noticeable, but they were obviously still moving by themselves.

Not as spooky as the last time, being in broad daylight and all, but still pretty darn spooky.

Sill no sign of the nerd. I decided to ask around the joints he usually hides out again. Maybe he switched schools.

It's not like I'm worried about him or anything, it's just we did have a bargain, and I like to keep my end of things. I don't like stuff hangin' over my head.

Stuff that hangs over your head eventually drops.

November 25, 1961

Um… I think I'm screwed.

It went like this:

A few hours ago, I was ripping down Parkway after catching the midnight showing of "Teenage Mutant Space Zombie Queen IIV: The Revenge", right?

Now, it's been raining all of this week, and I guess it must have finally let up because the sky's clearer than crystal. It's a fine night; in fact, I think it's the best one I seen since October, with no clouds so all the stars were out, but the moon was still new. There's only a few streetlights on (cuz most of Parkway's busted up) and it's gotta be around two in the morning by the time I finally got outta the theater and hit the pavement.

I gotta tell ya, there's just nothing better than screaming down an empty street in the dead of night. It's like you own the whole world, man.

It's just a long stretch of black, smooth road, the only light around's the odd streetlamp and your own headlight cutting' through the black, and beneath you's that boss rumble of the motorcycle and the wind slapping your hair against your face.

Am I fast?

Nah, man, Fast's a snail in molasses on crutches compared to me. I'm goin' so quick not even the freaky shadows can catch up to me, I'm screamin' through the alleys so fast, not even my bad luck can catch me now. I ain't ridin', I'm flyin'.

That's what I'm thinkin' as I'm cutting' through all that night, grating the neighbors with all that beautiful engine noise.

I'm so caught up in how beyond cool this whole thing is, I almost run over the chick in front of me.

Good thing I didn't; the poor kid looked like she'd had a rough enough night already. I think she'd been walking for some time because she looked way beat.

I'm takin' a good look to make sure I didn't hurt her or nothin' when I realize I seen her somewhere around Casper. Can't pin where exactly, but I know I seen here somewhere in the building. I didn't recognize her at first 'cause of her wearing no makeup and all, but it was her alright.

If you ask me, I think she looked better that way. More real, you know? She was way too nice looking to be botherin' with something so fake. Even if it looked like she hadn't caught some Z's in a couple of days and got run over by a train, she still looked fantastic because, like I said, she just looked…real. I like that. And because I really believed that (or because I was still freaked because I almost ran her over) I told her so.

She gave me this scowl, probably thinkin' I was some slimeball out lookin' for skirts and told me to buzz off.

And normally, I would have. I mean, if a chick don't wanna bother with me, I don't wanna bother with her, you feel me? I don't need that kinda hassle.

But this was different. Or, at least, it seemed different.

So I stayed.

I tell her then that I'm not out to score or nothin' like that; I just wanted to point that out and to see if she was okay and that I really didn't mean to run her over. The whole time I got this really stupid smirk on my face that I can't get rid of. God, I musta looked like a straight square with that stupid look on my stupid face.

She didn't seem to mind, though, because after I'm done explaining she gives me this half-smile back, even though I can tell she's trying not to. She brushes her messed up bangs from her face and says to me, "You oughta watch where you park."

So I go, "Yeah, probably."

Then she goes, "You're the jinx kid, right?"

And for some reason her sayin that just… completely bummed me out. I mean, I'm not a jinx. I'm not. I know that's what it looks like, but I swear I'm not. But here just knowin' me as a jinx, as just "that bad-luck guy"… it bugged me.

So, soundin' maybe a little more hurt than I meant to, I say, "Yeah. But most call me Johnny."

"Yeah! Yeah, that's you. 'Johnny 13, keeps himself a smooth machine, brings hard luck to the scene'"

Geez, they got rhymes for me already? Boy, the crowd worked fast.

I decided to ignore the "13" thing, figuring it'd be the cool thing to let it go, and I say, "I seen you around the halls. Kitten, yeah?"

Then, oh man, she gets the same doofy look I got on a second ago, only she adds this sweet little laugh, all bouncy and stuff. It was awesome. She says, "Kitty, actually. But I don't really mind 'Kitten'."

For a while, the two of us don't really say anything else. It's just quiet, except for the rumbling of the bike and some neighbor dog yappin' in the background.

After a minute or two, I tell her that even though it ain't really my business and all, a kid like her shouldn't walkin' home this late in this part of town. I tell here there are weirdoes weirder than me out this time of night.

Kitty wants to know what I'm gonna do about it.

I think for a sec, give her a grin and go, "This." Just like that, I yank her on the bike and take off towards her place. As we're riding down Parkway, and she's givin' me directions over the sound of the engine, (she knows just the right tone of voice for it, too) and I really can't believe how good she is at turning with me around corners. I've seen a lotta girls just fall off the seat.

When we pull up to her place I ask hat a sweet thing like her was doin' on the side of the road like that in the first place. She counters by asking what I was doing on the opposite side of town. So, I tell her real cool-like how I was catchin' a flick at the theater on Fifth. Then, I give her my charming look tell her how the flick was a good one, and that I could take her along with me next time, if she wants to.

As soon as I say it, I regret it. That's just the sorta line chick don't wanna hear, if six years' experience taught me anything. I'm all ready to get a smack in the face, when instead, I just here her go, "Hmm. Why not?"

I almost fell off the bike.

Then, she walks to her door, waves before she goes in, givin' me this cute, sly little wink before the door closes on her.

Now, I'm feelin' pretty good here, but then, I notice something.

And it's then I'm rememberin' where I saw Kitty from. I remember Wolfgang's buddy Sketch tellin' a guy to lay off The Wolf's kid sister by the band hall.

There's a motorcycle in the yard. It's halfway driven into the bushes, but I can see it just enough to see the loud green paint and the two red roses glowing on the frame.

Wolf's bike.

So… yeah. I'm screwed.

Remember when I said how bad luck just happens around me, not to me?

I take it back.