My Pastiche of Catcher in The Rye.

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Pastiche of Catcher in The Rye

I sat next to her once in the bus from Agerstown and we sort of struck up a conversation.”She wasn't exactly amazing to look at, but she was a nice enough girl. Someone who you could have intelligent conversation with, one of the very few people I met during my time at Pencey who wasn't a phony. You could tell she was a pretty nervous kid though, she barely made eye contact when she spoke to you, and was always twiddling her fingers in that uncomfortable sort of way. Anyway, she was sat next to me on the bus, and I figured I should probably introduce myself. “Hi, I’m Holden.” She smiled a shy sort of smile and said,

        “Hi, I’m Selma,” then she held out her hand for me to shake. That killed me. Shaking hands is just about the most phony thing a person can do. But I shook it anyway, just to be polite and all.

        “Selma Thurman, right?”

        “Yeah, that’s right,” she said with another shy smile. In a funny way, she kind of reminded me of Jane. She had that same distinctive smile that would light up any room, a genuine smile. Not one of those phony ones. You can always tell when someone is genuine. “You go to Pencey right?” she asked

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        “That’s right,”

        “Then you know my father.” Boy! did I know her father. He damn near would have killed me if he had the chance. He hated my guts. He’d called my parents on several occasions expressing his ‘concerns’ about my progress and my lack of motivation at school. You could just tell he hated me. He was one of those hot-shots who thought they were better than everyone else. Even though he was the most phony slob you’d ever meet.

        “Yeah I know him” I didn’t feel like talking about school.. or her father. So I got ...

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