My Kind of Crazy - Robin Reul Page 0,39

have to pick up at this hour?”

I think fast. “Um, I have to get to the pharmacy before it closes. I gotta pick up some cream. My dad’s got this rash… It’s pretty nasty actually. On his feet. Been going on for a while now and I keep telling him he’s gotta get it checked, because he’s…um…always scratching and it’s spreading.”

Everybody seems thoroughly repulsed, so that’s my exit. Mr. and Mrs. Giuliani shake my hand, and Peyton and Nick walk me to the door. Nick is all smiles.

All the way home, I imagine the two of them together. I wonder if he’ll make out with her. If she’ll sneak him into her room, maybe take a picture of him standing there gazing up at those forty-fives. Her hanging a photo of him on her wall.

What if she tells him things she doesn’t tell me? That’s cool, I guess. She’s entitled. It’s not like I’m her shrink. Hell, it’s not like I asked to hear half the stuff I know about her.

I’m not jealous or interested in her. I just like it when all three of us are equally miserable. And for some reason, the two of them being happy together without me pisses me off.

At home, I intend to unwind and work on Freeze Frame, but I’m too distracted. I can’t stop thinking about Peyton.

Peyton, with her hair pulled back like it was tonight, her skin so white it’s practically glowing, lying back on her bed, her lips slightly parted.

Peyton, who for all I know is making out with Nick Giuliani right now.

Peyton, who probably thinks Nick is all that because his dad drives a Mercedes and doesn’t come stumbling home drunk, calling him names. He lives in a fancy house and doesn’t have to worry if there’s anything in the refrigerator that doesn’t have an alcoholic content of at least five percent.

Meanwhile, a year from now—ten years from now—I’ll still be here, bagging groceries at the Shop ’n Save. If I’m lucky, I’ll have moved up to produce manager. Then I’ll get to wear one of those green aprons instead of my black one. Something to aspire to.

I pull out my sketchbook and try to push it all aside. For the next few hours, I lose myself drawing my superhero Freeze Frame as he frantically searches for his love interest, Rowena. She’s been kidnapped and the Dark Overlord has hidden her somewhere in the bowels of the city. She dropped her timekeeper talisman so he can’t track her, but based on where he’s picked up the signal, he believes she’s left him a clue.

When I’m done with the final panel, it’s two forty-five in the morning. I look over the pages. They’re good. Really good. Maybe some of the best stuff I’ve done. I wish I could show the comic to someone.

The truth is, I want to show it to Peyton. Other than Victor, she’s the only person who knows about Freeze Frame. She gets how personal my art is to me, how when I’m drawing Freeze Frame, I feel most like myself. It’s weird, but I don’t mind being vulnerable with her. I trust her. And now I just hope that won’t get awkward with things taking a romantic turn between her and Nick. I can’t let it.

I steal another look at the clock. I can’t wait until tomorrow.

I pull on my jeans and grab my Batman hoodie and my sketches, because I don’t give a flaming fuck what time it is. I crack my door. Dad’s snores carve through the silence, loud and guttural, like he’s under deep and won’t be getting up for a long while. He’s in his room this time thankfully, so I sneak downstairs, hop on my bike, and ride in the direction of Peyton’s neighborhood.

Her house is dark and quiet. Her window is open.

I make out her silhouette lying in her bed, the covers curled around her. There’s no sign of Nick, for which I am relieved. I open my mouth to wake her up but stop. I don’t want her to get scared and scream. Pete’s frightening enough during the day. No need to incur his wrath in the middle of the night. Instead, I lean in and stretch my arm to gently lay the sketches next to her.

Seeing Peyton now almost feels more normal than seeing her during the day. I swear, since I met Peyton, I haven’t had a full night’s sleep, and yet I’m not tired. In fact,

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