My Kind of Crazy - Robin Reul Page 0,6
was shorter and skinnier.”
“He was a midget?” Jenny crinkles her nose.
Jesus, I’m five foot ten. It’s not like I’m a pygmy.
“No, not exactly. Just…not tall. And his eyes were sort of beady, but that could have been from the heat of the flames. He might have been squinting.”
They all nod in agreement. I cringe and bite down on my tongue to keep from responding. Then Amanda closes her locker and adds in an extra-dramatic voice, “What if he’s totally hot and he’s scared to talk to me now that my house nearly burned down and I almost died?”
More like part of her lawn and a tree caught fire—and the firemen were right on it—but the girl certainly knows how to tell a compelling story. Her power of exaggeration only adds to her charm, and I smile to myself, knowing she’s talking about me, which is six kinds of crazy, even if she did just describe me as short and unathletic with beady eyes.
The girls collectively suck in their breath, and Hannah tells her, “If it’s meant to be, he’ll find you. He obviously went to a lot of trouble to get your attention, so he’s not going to simply disappear, right? Not if he really loves you.”
Love? Who said anything about love?
“You think so?”
“Of course!” Jenny squeals with absolute authority. “But are you mad about what happened? I mean, like you said, he could have killed you.”
Amanda shakes her head, hugging her notebook to her chest. “No. I just want to know who he is and what he wanted to say last night.”
Becca nods and tilts her head, letting out a wistful sigh. “It’s so totally romantic, like a Cinderella story. I wish stuff like that happened to me.”
Now this is the reaction I was hoping for when I started researching promposals online. It’s the perfect opener. I get a blast of courage and I turn to Amanda. My mouth is open, ready to tell her everything and hoping we can both laugh about it, but the words hang there in my throat. This is a terrible idea.
Hannah glares at me, her eyes forming little slits. “Can we help you?” Now all of them are staring at me.
“Uh…” I panic and say the first thing that comes to mind. “Do you have a pen?”
Amanda smiles at me and extracts a blue pen that is wedged in the spiral of one of her notebooks. “You can keep it,” she says.
“Thanks,” I say. They’re all looking at me, seemingly waiting for me to say something else since I’m still standing there. I clear my throat, which makes me cough. And once I start coughing, I can’t stop. And then they’re all laughing and walking away, weaving through the crowd to first period while I’m practically bringing up a lung. Smooth, genius.
• • •
By noon, I realize that I flew out of the house without grabbing a lunch, and I haven’t eaten since this time yesterday. All I have is fifty-two cents rattling around in my pocket. My stomach makes a deep, hollow, growly sound. I hover at the entrance to the cafeteria, hoping I will see someone I know to borrow a few bucks.
A moment or two after the bell, Nick Giuliani approaches, his black, greasy hair slicked back, loping along in his untied Dr. Martens. His red flannel shirt flaps open as he walks. His jeans hang just low enough on his hips that you can see the waistband of his black plaid boxers. Most kids are scared of him because, rumor has it, his dad has Mafia connections. It could also be because Nick has a lazy eye. When it’s really bad, he wears an eye patch, which makes him look like a pirate of the frickin’ Caribbean. They say that makes him a good lookout when his dad has business going down, because his eye’s always moving around.
Nick doesn’t scare me. In fact, he’s pretty funny once you get him going, and he’s always got great stories. For the most part, like me, he keeps to himself, but sometimes we hang out after school and grab a burger or go to the comic shop and look at the new issues. He’s pretty cool, even if he does like DC better than Marvel.
“Yo, Hank. What’s up, my man?” His right eye is looking at me, but his left eye wanders off to take in the quad.
I look him square in his good eye. “Hey, Nick. I forgot to bring a