My Kind of Crazy - Robin Reul Page 0,67
we might even be able to save up to find a place together.
The idea gets my heart pumping. I want to time travel so we can be there already, just us, away from all the bullshit. Safe. If only she would show up so I can tell her my idea.
Instead, I get a very different visitor.
I’m extracting a cart that wound up in a hedge beside the building rather than the cart roundup, which is a mere three feet away, when a car pulls in next to me. The driver cuts the stereo, and I turn as the door to a white Honda opens and out steps Amanda Carlisle. Seeing Amanda instantly takes me back to my misguided promposal, which started this whole mess.
“Hey, I thought it might be harder to track you down,” she says. She smiles, and her teeth are all white and shiny, like in a toothpaste commercial.
I look over my shoulder because frankly, I can’t imagine she’s actually talking to me, but there’s no one else around except for a homeless guy talking to a pigeon at the far end of the parking lot. When I turn back to her, she’s still smiling. She tugs at the hem of her light-pink Abercrombie tee and kicks absently at the concrete curb in front of her car with her matching pink flats.
“You mean me?”
“Yeah, you. Got a minute?”
Why the hell does Amanda need to talk to me? I tell her I need to bring the carts back to the front of the store, but then I can take my break. She seems cool with waiting, so I go through the motions, and when I return, she’s sitting in her car playing music with the engine off. She motions for me to get in. Her car smells like vanilla air freshener and about six different types of scented hand lotion, all competing for first place—sort of what I’d imagine it would smell like if Bath & Body Works exploded.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here,” she starts off.
“You were out of eggs?” I offer.
She giggles. “It’s so typical that you would say something funny like that.”
My brow knots in confusion, and I wonder how the hell she’d know what’s typical about me. “So this isn’t about eggs?”
“No.” She angles herself in the driver’s seat and lowers the music, then says, “I know Nick Giuliani didn’t set the fire. I had my doubts once we started talking after I chose him.”
I swallow. “Oh yeah?”
“I mean, the truth is, the website was a dumb idea. Anyone could figure out the right answers, really.”
“Wow. You don’t say.” I’m uncomfortable, like I can’t get enough air. At any previous time in my personal history, the small space between our bodies would be enough to send me over the edge, but now it’s just stifling.
“I thought I’d never find out who was there on my lawn that night. I know the fire was accidental, and I know from the evidence that those sparklers spelled Prom. And I felt bad that the person who went to all that trouble to ask me out disappeared when it turned into this big disaster, probably thinking I was mad or he would get in trouble, you know?”
I’m pretty sure I can see where this is going. I roll down the window.
“You okay?” she asks.
“I’m fine, just a little stuffy in here,” I say.
“You know how I know Nick lied?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Because I had one final question to ask in person. A question I knew the answer to because it was the only detail I could make out in the dark that night. I wanted to know how he was able to leave the scene so quickly. Nick said he drove away, that he was parked down the block. But I saw the person ride away on a bike. Kind of like the bike you were riding that day when it was raining and we were talking in front of my house.”
I swallow hard and wipe my palms on my fashionably challenged yellow Shop ’n Save polo. I’m starting to sweat bullets. Clearly not too many people, given the choice, buy a bike the color of a Cheeto. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because I wanted you to know that I know, Hank. I know everything. I know it was you.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “And I want you to know that I think it’s super sweet. You’re a