The Non-Conformist Club

The Non-Conformist Club Part 4

Chapter 7—Stella

Wait just a goddamn minute. Is that boy hitting on Iver? Who the hell is this kid? What the fuck is going on?

Chapter 8--Roland

Iver bristled and looked over at Dave, but Dave wasn't giving him any help. He looked to the couch but they were just watching, slightly bemused. He scowled and said, "A funny guy huh? Well maybe we should get the funny guy a beer."

Non-conformist club huh? Well how's this for non-conforming? "Naw, I don't drink beer, what else you got?"

"Initiates don't get anything but beer."

"Well I can't drink, it gives me the shits." I punctuated this sentence with a fart I'd been saving for a minute or so. The couch began to giggle at this. Farts are always funny. I looked over and smiled at them. I could see that they weren't thrilled with Iver's plan anyway, and this distraction was perhaps more interesting. OK, play to them then.

Iver said, "Well we don't hang out with babies who don't drink."

Ooooh, you're getting desperate now. I put on a phony, bad actor voice, "Hey man, you can't pressure me into doing anything I don't want to do. That's called peer pressure." I put my hand to the side of my mouth and stage whispered to the three on the couch and Buck, still standing by the pool table. "I learned all about this on a very special episode of Drake and Josh once." Now the couch watchers began to laugh out loud.

Iver made one last ditch effort. "Let's start the first test. LET THE INITIATION BEGIN!" he exclaimed in as deep a voice as he could muster.

I put on a manic, frantic, voice. "Do we get to use the chair? Do we huh? Huh? The Chair! The Chair! THE CHAIRRRRRRRRRR!" I ran over to the folding chair, straddled it, and tried to look like I was humping it. "Please let me use the chair!" I slapped myself on the butt. "Thank you sir may I have another!"

I fell off the chair and began to crawl after Iver. I turned my voice low and quick, trying to sound like a junkie I saw on Law and Order. "Comeon, gimmee some chair...please! I can't take it, I need some chair, gotta have it, gotta have it. Gimmie some more chair, please man...I need it!" Iver started to back away, so I crawled over to Dave. "Dave, you got some chair for me right...please! Please! I neeeeeed it now! Please! Gotta have some chair! CHAIRRRRRRRRRRR!"

Dave began to pat my head and stroke my hair. "It's OK man, it's OK." He didn't even hesitate. We couldn't have planned it any better. He got down on the floor and I snuggled into him.

Iver looked at the others on the couch, but they didn't know what to make of it either. He said, "What is this, a joke?"

Dave looked at him soberly, "Andrew, I'm surprised at you! Chair addiction is no laughing matter. Sure, it starts with a folding chair, or a footstool, but eventually it grows to ottomans, and even couches." On cue I leapt from the floor, screamed, and jumped on the couch, twitching all over it and anything on it. The guy in cammo, and the girl were quick enough to get off in time; Tank was not so lucky. He quickly shoved me off him.

The goth girl was the first of them to figure out what was going on. She screamed over the top of my thrashing on the couch, "There's only one cure! I'll prepare the shotgun! Hold him!" She pushed the cammo guy over to me and he grabbed one of my arms, Dave grabbed the other, the football player and Tank grabbed my legs.