My Kind of Crazy - Robin Reul Page 0,12

pair of denim shorts so revealing that half her ass is hanging out, and her white T-shirt is so tight and see-through that the outlines of her nipples are like two brown berries. The top’s cropped just below her boobs, revealing a bejeweled belly button ring. The ensemble’s a little distracting.

“Hey, Hank.”

I try to keep my eyes focused on her face. “Hey.”

She stops midway down the drive and frantically roots through her purse. She holds up a pair of red tassels like a victory prize. “Thank God! I thought I lost these. Gotta give ’em what they like, right? These always translate into big tips.”

“Right.” Jesus. Does anyone else have conversations like this with their father’s girlfriend? I’m pretty sure the answer is no.

She tilts her head and studies me, cracking her gum loudly. “You okay? You seem kinda out of it.”

“I have a lot on my mind, that’s all. School and stuff. It’s cool.” I shake my head to brush my bangs out of my eyes. A part of me wants to tell her about Peyton, about what I saw at her house, and ask Monica what she thinks, but she’s already fiddling the key into the lock of her piece-of-crap 1992 Dodge Shadow.

The door gives way with a loud groan, and she climbs into the driver’s seat, then pumps the gas pedal a few times before turning the key so the engine will catch and start. She always talks to it, patting the dashboard with a soothing “C’mon sweetie. You can do it,” as if that will help. With a roar, the engine engages. She smiles at me.

“Hey, listen. I know being a teenager completely blows. And with your mom gone and your dad not being the easiest person to talk to, you can totally talk to me.”

“Thanks.” I really want to, but I don’t know how to bring this up. It’s not the sort of thing you just blurt out.

“You know what I think? I think you need a little excitement. A guy your age—you need to blow off some steam. I could probably sneak you in to one of the shows and have one of the girls give you a private dance. I mean, unless that would be weird for you since I work there and all.” She cracks her gum loudly again, and I’m thinking her working at Mo’s Boobie Barn would be the least bizarre part of that scenario.

“Yeah, probably,” I tell her and shift my weight between my feet.

“Well, think about it. Just don’t tell your dad. It’ll be our little secret.” She holds her index finger to her lips. “Everybody doesn’t have to know everything about everybody’s personal business, right?”

I nod. I like Monica. There’s something about her that I feel like I can trust. She understands that people have secrets. She gets that things don’t always make sense and people have to compromise to get by.

My mind is swimming with images of everything I just saw at Peyton’s: the messed-up yard, the burning Barbies, Peyton’s mom’s drunk boyfriend grabbing her like that. If I don’t say something I’m going to explode.

“So…can I ask you something?”

“Sure, anything.” She angles her rearview mirror, checks her teeth for lipstick, and rubs blush on her cheeks.

“What if you saw something that didn’t seem right? Like, someone could be in danger, but you don’t know the whole story. Do you tell someone?”

“Well, I think the first thing you have to do is find out the whole story. Can you ask this person what’s goin’ on?”

I shake my head and dig my hands in my pockets. “I don’t actually know her that well. Plus, I don’t know if she’d even want to tell me.”

“What kind of danger exactly? Is someone trying to kill her? Is she suicidal?” Monica raises her eyebrows and her mouth hangs open a little.

“Nothing like that, just… I don’t know. Forget it. It’s probably nothing. Like I said, I don’t know the whole story, and the truth is I don’t want to get involved. But…this person involved me, so now I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Look, sometimes shit goes down between other people and the best thing you can do is stay clear. It can get messy. Trust me, I know from personal experience. I didn’t leave home and become an exotic dancer because it was my life’s dream or somethin’. But one day, I’m gonna finish gettin’ my cosmetology license and have my own salon and leave dancin’ behind. Sometimes