My Kind of Crazy - Robin Reul Page 0,66
Monica.”
Now he looks wicked confused. “Monica? What the hell for?”
“I thought she could help her. You know, even out her hair, make it look better. Monica is going to beauty school. She knows about that kind of stuff.”
Dad nods. He doesn’t even question where we went to find Monica. “She help her?”
“Yup. She did.”
His stern expression gives way, and he rakes his hands through his hair. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s okay. She asked about you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I told her she should come by.”
“What’d she say?” he asks tentatively.
“She said maybe.” His expression brightens momentarily as that sinks in, and then he snaps out of his reverie, remembering he was in the middle of ripping me a new one.
“I mean it, Hank. I’m as serious as a goddamn heart attack. You go to school and you keep your nose clean. I don’t know who this girl is, but the minute her problems become my problems, I will not be as understanding. Be careful. You get me?”
“Got it.” This is going better than I anticipated. He’s actually looking out for me and is so distracted by my mention of Monica that he seems to be letting the missed school thing slide with little more than a reprimand. I’ll take it.
“If you really want to help her, we should call the friggin’ cops on whoever did that to her.”
“NO!” There’re thumping footsteps behind us as Peyton takes the stairs two at a time, making her way to the front door. She’s obviously heard everything. “I’m so sorry. I’ll leave. This is all my fault.”
She bounces her teary gaze between my dad and me, and before we can say anything, she’s out the door and down the driveway.
I don’t even think; I just react. I leave Dad sitting there slack-jawed on the couch as I bolt out the door after her. Peyton’s already halfway down the street, and I’m thinking maybe she wasn’t bullshitting about the whole early-morning jogging routine, because when she wants to, this girl can run like a cheetah. I curse myself for not being more in shape as I struggle to keep up with her. I call her name, but she ignores me and keeps running. I can hear my pulse in my ears, boxing at my eardrums, and there’s a stitch in my side. I never was very good at the track unit in gym.
“Jesus, Peyton! Hold on!” I yell after her, but she abruptly veers to the left, cutting through someone’s yard.
By the time I reach where she peeled away, there is absolutely no sign of her and I have no damn clue where she might have gone. I panic. What if she does something stupid? I spin in circles in the middle of the street, silently willing her to appear. Wherever she’s going, she doesn’t want me with her.
• • •
I visit every place I can think of looking for her, but she’s not at any of them and I can’t call her because she doesn’t own a cell phone. I can barely piece together what to do next because my brain is so jacked, worrying about what may have happened to her. Dad even lets me borrow the car to drive around looking for her, but she’s nowhere to be found.
I want to call the police, file a missing person report, something—anything. But doing so will open a whole other can of worms, and Peyton didn’t want that. I don’t know what the right thing to do is except simply wait and have faith that she’ll send some sign that she’s all right. She always does. This isn’t the first time she’s gone off the radar only to reemerge.
She has to, because the idea that I might not see her again is too much.
I spend the weekend stocking shelves at Shop ’n Save, hoping she’ll show up, loudly asking for condoms or lubricant, so we can laugh and pretend none of this shit ever happened. Then we’ll both sit down with Dad and explain everything so he’ll chill. As I corral the carts in the parking lot, I decide I’ll talk to O’Callaghan about giving her a job too.
Peyton once mentioned that she’d be eighteen by the start of summer. Which means she’ll be an adult in the eyes of the law; she can legally vote, be drafted, and get a tattoo. I’m pretty sure it also means she can live wherever she wants and no one can stop her. If we both work a ton of shifts,