You?re a whore. It was freezing outside, but nervous sweat beaded on Dan?s eyelids6, and his tongue was as dry as firewood. Dan spat7 the burning cigarette out onto the sidewalk and closed the magazine, tucking it into his black messenger bag. If he?d turned to the Contributors page, he would have seen the entry:Daniel Humphrey (Poem, p. 42) is a high-school senior in New York City. This is his first published work. But Dan couldn?t handle looking at the magazine for a moment longer, not when thousands of people were right now browsing8 through it and stopping to read his brutal9, angry poem, which he honestly wasn?t sure was any good. Dan walked down Broadway toward school, his hands shaking crazily. If only he could have pulled off some heist like sabotaging10 theThe New Yorker ?s printing presses so they couldn?t print vowels11 anymore. Then all the Valentine?s Day issues would have been recalled from the newsstands late last night. As if he could ever have pulledthat off. ?Yo, dude,? Dan heard the familiar, conceited12 voice of his least-favorite Riverside Prep classmate behind him. Dan stopped walking and turned around to see Chuck Bass13 flipping14 his signature navy blue monogrammed cashmere scarf over one shoulder and running his manicured fingers through his brown-and-blond highlighted hair. ?Nice poem inThe New Yorker , man.? He gave Dan a congratulatory clap on the shoulder, his monogrammed pinky ring glittering in the winter sunlight. ?Who knew you were such a stud?? Was there something distinctlygay about Chuck Bass these days? Or perhaps not. Just because he?d gotten blond highlights and was wearing a slim, cream-colored wool coat by Ralph Laurenand orange leather Prada sneakers didn?t mean he?d given up molesting15 defenseless, drunken girls at parties. Perhaps he was simply expressing himself. There?s certainly nothing wrong with that. ?Thanks,? Dan mumbled16 as he fiddled17 with the plastic top on his coffee cup. He wondered if Chuck was planning on walking all the way to school with him so they could discuss his poem. But then Dan?s cell phone rang, saving him from having to answer Chuck?s inane18 questions about how many chicks he?d bagged before writing the poem, or whatever Chuck Bass liked to talk about on his way to school in the mornings. Dan put the phone to his ear and Chuck clapped him on the shoulder again and kept walking. ?Hello?? ?Congratulations, Danielson!? Rufus shouted into the phone. His father never got out of bed before eight o?clock, so this was the first time Dan had spoken to him all morning. ?You?re the real banana, the genuine article!The New Yorker , the goddamnedNew Yorker !? Dan chuckled19, feeling slightly ashamed. Countless20 notebooks filled with his father?s odd, disjointed poems were stashed21 in a dusty box in the broom closet. Even though he was an editor of lesser-known Beat poets, the truth was, Rufus had never actually been published. ?And you?ll never believe?,? Rufus continued, but then his voice broke off. Dan heard the toilet flush in the background. Typical. His dad had been talking to him while he was in the can. Dan gulped22 his coffee and picked up his pace, crossing Broadway and heading down Seventy-seventh Street. He was going to be late for first-period chemistry if he didn?t hurry up. Not that that would be such a bad thing. ?Dad? You still there?? he asked. ?Hold on, kid,? Rufus replied distractedly. ?I got my hands full here.? Dan could picture his dad drying his hands on the frayed23 red towel hanging on the back of the bathroom door and then pulling his rolled-up copy ofThe New Yorker out from under his hairy arm so he could read Dan?s poem again. ?The deans of admissions from Brown and Columbia just called to tell me what a prodigy24 you are,? Rufus explained. It sounded like his mouth was full of something, and Dan could hear water running. Was he brushing his teeth? ?They were slobbering all over themselves, the greedy bastards25.? ?Brown and Columbia? Really?? Dan repeated in disbelief. Ahead of him the sidewalk, shopfronts, and pedestrians26 suddenly all blurred27 together into a slow-moving, oceanic mass. ?Are you sure it was them? Columbia and Brown?? ?As sure as my piss is still yellow,? Rufus answered blithely28. Usually Dan blanched29 at his father?s crudeness, but right now he was too preoccupied30 with his own success. Maybe being a published poet wouldn?t be such a bad thing after all. Ahead of him the black metal doors of Riverside Prep?s upper-school entrance loomed31 before him. ?Hey Dad, I have to get to class, but thanks for calling. Thank you foreverything ,? he gushed32 with a rush of affection for his belligerent33 old dad. ?That?s all right, kid. Don?t let this go to your head, though,? Rufus joked, unable to hide the pride in his gruff voice. ?Remember, poets are a humble34 bunch.? ?I?ll remember,? Dan promised earnestly. ?Thanks again, Dad.? He clicked off and pushed open the school doors, waving to Aggie35, the ancient front-desk receptionist who wore a different wig36 every day of the week, as he signed in. His cell phone beeped and he realized he?d missed a call while he?d been talking to his father. Cell phones were forbidden during school hours, but first period had already begun and the halls were empty. Trudging37 up the concrete stairs on the way to the chemistry lab, he called his voice-mail. ?Daniel Humphrey, this is Rusty38 Klein from Klein, Lowenstein & Schutt. I read your poem inThe New Yorker and, assuming you don?t have an agent yet, I?m going to represent you. I?ve got you on the guest list for the Better Than Naked show Friday night. Let?s talk then. You may not know it yet, but you?re hot shit, Daniel. The public needs a serious young poet to make them feel worthless and superficial. And now that we?ve got their attention, we?d sure as hell better keep the momentum39 going. You?re the next Keats, and we?re going to make you so famous so fast, you?ll think you were born that way. Looking forward to it. Ciao!? Dan wobbled outside the door of the chemistry lab as he listened to Rusty Klein?s loud, breathless message for a second time. He?d heard of Rusty Klein. She was the agent who?d negotiated the million-dollar book deal for the Scottish jockey who?d claimed to be Prince Charles? illegitimate son. Dan had read about it in theNew York Post . He had no idea what the Better Than Naked show was, but it was pretty cool of Rusty to put him on the guest list for it when they?d never even met. He also loved being called the next Keats. Keats was one of his major influences, and if Rusty Klein could recognizethat after reading only one of his poems, he definitely wanted her to represent him. Tucking his phone back into his bag, he pulled out his copy ofThe New Yorker again. This time he turned to the Contributors page, reading his short bio before he turned to his poem on page forty-two. He read the poem from start to finish, no longer ashamed to see his own work in print. Rusty Klein thought he was good?Rusty Klein! So maybe it was true. Maybe hewas good. He looked up and peeked40 through the little window in the chemistry lab door at the row of boys? heads, all lined up like chess pieces facing the blackboard. School suddenly seemed so trivial. He was on to phenomenally bigger and infinitely41 better things! Suddenly the lab door swung open and the bizarrely short Mr. Schindledecker stood gazing up at Dan, wearing an ugly double-breasted suit and pulling on his wiry brown mustache. ?Are you planning to join us, Mr. Humphrey, or would you rather stay out here and watch through the window?? Dan rolled up his copy ofThe New Yorker and tucked it under his arm. ?I think I?ll join you,? he replied, stepping inside the lab and walking calmly to a seat at the back of the room. How strange. Dan never did anything calmly, and he?d barely recognized his voice when he?d spoken just now, for in it was a brazen42 note of cockiness, as if something new inside of him had blossomed and was ready to be let loose. It was like that line in the Keats poem, ?Why Did I Laugh Tonight??Verse, Fame, and Beauty are intense indeed. . . . And Dan was definitely feeling it.
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1
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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3
con
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| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
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4
flipped
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| 轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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7
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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browsing
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| v.吃草( browse的现在分词 )；随意翻阅；（在商店里）随便看看；（在计算机上）浏览信息 | |
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9
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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10
sabotaging
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| 阴谋破坏（某事物）( sabotage的现在分词 ) | |
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vowels
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| n.元音，元音字母( vowel的名词复数 ) | |
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conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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13
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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flipping
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| 讨厌之极的 | |
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molesting
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| v.骚扰( molest的现在分词 )；干扰；调戏；猥亵 | |
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16
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
fiddled
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| v.伪造( fiddle的过去式和过去分词 )；篡改；骗取；修理或稍作改动 | |
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inane
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| adj.空虚的，愚蠢的，空洞的 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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21
stashed
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| v.贮藏( stash的过去式和过去分词 )；隐藏；藏匿；藏起 | |
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gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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23
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
prodigy
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| n.惊人的事物，奇迹，神童，天才，预兆 | |
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25
bastards
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| 私生子( bastard的名词复数 )； 坏蛋； 讨厌的事物； 麻烦事 （认为别人走运或不幸时说）家伙 | |
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pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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27
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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30
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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31
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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32
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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33
belligerent
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| adj.好战的，挑起战争的；n.交战国，交战者 | |
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34
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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35
aggie
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| n.农校，农科大学生 | |
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36
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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37
trudging
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的现在分词形式） | |
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38
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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39
momentum
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| n.动力，冲力，势头；动量 | |
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40
peeked
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| v.很快地看( peek的过去式和过去分词 )；偷看；窥视；微露出 | |
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41
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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42
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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