My Kind of Crazy - Robin Reul Page 0,44

it was, is over. Just like that.

She cracks a half smile. “That’s good, right? That’s what you wanted.”

I shrug as we walk back toward the gate. “I guess. Let’s be serious. It’s not like she won’t be disappointed if she finds out it’s me and not Clay Kimball or one of those other jockstraps. Everybody wants Cinderella to end up with the handsome prince, not the stable hand.”

“Clay Kimball? Please. You’re so much better looking than he is.”

“You’re right. Girls are so busy looking at me that they hardly notice him these days.”

“Are you kidding? Plenty of girls look at you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re so completely oblivious. It would be charming if it wasn’t kind of annoying.” She shakes her head and lets out a loud sigh. “Besides, Clay Kimball is a walking steroid. Not to mention he has a thing for Miles Pederson.”

I start cracking up. “What? Where the hell did you hear that?”

“I know things. I saw them once.”

“What? When?”

“I was at the park over on Crescent. I’d had a crappy day but had found this pack of matches on the ground so I decided to go burn some old leaves. Nothing that I couldn’t stamp out or anything. I was just worked up and needed a release. When I turned the corner, there they were.”

“You really should consider yoga instead. Far less potential for jail time.”

She elbows me and says, “Do you want to hear my utterly scandalous story or not?”

“Definitely.” Although I’m not much for gossip, I admit that having top-secret insider dirt on one of the most popular guys in school is pretty amusing. My interest is piqued.

“Okay then. So Clay had Miles pinned against a tree, and they were playing serious tonsil hockey. I hid and watched them for a while. It got pretty intense. They seemed really into each other. There’s more to everyone if you get below the surface. Even Clay Kimball. Or you.”

I love how Peyton tells shit like it is. No judgment or beating around the bush. She gets right to the heart of it. I’ve never talked to a girl like her before.

We slip back through the gates onto the school grounds as Nick is making his way toward us. Seeing us together seems to catch him off guard. His eyes dart back and forth between us, assessing the situation. He stiffens, keeping his gaze on me and trying to ascertain if I’ve made the moves on the girl he likes, but Peyton answers that by stepping between us and saying, “Hey, Nick. We should hang out again soon. Maybe this weekend or something?”

He relaxes. “Yeah, sure,” he replies, rubbing at the stubble on his chin, trying to be cool. “What do you guys want to do?”

“Oh, I meant just you and me.”

Nick looks at me and I say, “Yeah, I have some stuff I gotta do. You guys hang without me.”

He nods his head, trying to mask his delight that I will not be joining them. “Sweet. I mean…some other time, Hank.”

“Excellent. I’m really looking forward to it.” Peyton stares at me when she says it though.

I smile to look happy for them. I mean, I am happy for them. I have no reason not to be. They seem happy, so it’s all good. Not to mention that I’m closer than I’ve ever been to having a date with Amanda, and two people saw Freeze Frame and actually thought it was decent. As far as days go, this one is borderline epic. In fact, life is all rainbows and smiley faces.

There’s only one thing that can kill this buzz, and it’s waiting for me when I get home.

14

I can practically smell the booze from the street, and the TV is cranked up much too loud. Dad’s yelling in a booming voice, though I can’t make out the specific words. He’s on a bender. My body immediately tenses. There’s only one reason my dad would be home, plastered, in the middle of a Monday afternoon, and it isn’t to make me an after-school snack. This can’t be good.

“Hank!” he says, trying to focus on me as I pull the front door closed behind me. “Have a seat.” He pats the sofa cushion next to him and nearly falls over in the process.

“Dad, what are you doing home?”

Monica comes out of the kitchen, dressed for work in a skimpy tube top and cutoff shorts. She is visibly stressed, and mascara trails down her cheeks. Why has she been crying?

She jiggles her keys in