Highly Illogical Behavior - John Corey Whaley Page 0,14

me? It was his idea.”

“So I’m supposed to feel better that another guy invited you over to his house?”

“Hmm . . . we’re both making good points today.”

“I’m serious, Lisa. You need to be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

“You want to come over?” he asked, a little defeat in his voice. “You can spend some time with me before you meet your new boyfriend.”

“Definitely. I need to study for a calculus test tomorrow, but I’d love an excuse to procrastinate.”

“Sweet. We’ve got popcorn and Netflix. Bring candy.”

“I’m not watching a war movie,” she said firmly. “Otherwise, I’m headed over.”

• • •

The next morning, after acing another test and being the first one in class to finish, Lisa spent her free period in the school library reading up on agoraphobia. She knew a little already—how it’s pretty much just a result of panic disorder. And she knew Solomon would try to defend his choices, maybe argue that it’s best for him, that reducing the stress of the outside world kept him healthy. And that was fine with her. But she believed there was a thin line between accepting one’s fears and giving in to them altogether. And she was determined to help him overcome his. It wouldn’t be easy, especially pretending to be his friend instead of his counselor, but she knew he’d thank her in the end, secret or no secret.

She also knew she couldn’t go in and start cognitive behavioral therapy on the first day. She had to be subtle. This was a new kind of therapy anyway. It wasn’t about counseling him back to health through endless conversations and waiting for tiny emotional breakthroughs. This was about giving him a friend who would, hopefully, make him want to try harder to get better. Her essay was about her experience with mental illness, after all, and if she could prove that her inventiveness, compassion, and patience were enough to help someone like Solomon, then maybe the people at Woodlawn would pick her. She was certain she’d be the only candidate smart enough to pull something like this off. Who knows, maybe they’d just hand her a degree and let her start grad school early.

“What’re you doing?” Janis said, sneaking up behind her.

“Oh, hey. Just some research for my history paper.”

To avoid being talked out of it, and to respect his privacy, Lisa wasn’t going to tell Janis about Solomon. Did she feel a little guilty for being secretive? Maybe. But she was way too determined to make this essay thing work to listen to another one of Janis’s lectures on morality.

“Boring,” Janis said. “You want to hang out after school?”

“Can’t. I’m helping Clark’s sister with her geometry homework.”

“Is she paying you?”

“Clark’s dad is. Ten bucks an hour.”

“Damn,” Janis said. “I mean, darn.”

Lisa knew helping Solomon would probably put a strain on her friendship with Janis. She knew it would eat up time with Clark, too, not to mention all the hours she needed for studying, working on the yearbook layout, and presiding over Student Council meetings once, sometimes twice, a week. But it was worth it. Some people sign on for the impossible. And they’re the ones everybody remembers.

• • •

She’d seen his house before—not because she was stalking him or anything—but because she’d been to a birthday party across the street once as a kid. When she got out of her car, an orange cat darted across the driveway and made her jump a little, almost dropping the cookies she’d baked for Solomon in the process. Yes, she’d baked him cookies.

“Look!” she blurted out nervously as soon as he opened the door, presenting the plastic-wrapped plate with her arms outstretched. “Cookies!”

“Hi,” he said.

He was standing several feet back, but he leaned forward to take the cookies and she got her first good look at him. He was handsome. His dark hair was slicked back to one side and he had big brown eyes—the kind that look a little green sometimes in the right light. He was tall, too, much taller than she’d expected. At least 6’1”. He smiled at her after he spoke, but she could immediately see how unnerved he was by all of this.

“That your cat?” she asked, still standing outside.

“Oh, no. That’s Fred. He’s the neighbors’.”

“Ah. I’m allergic.”

“Same here.” He nodded his head a little.

“Solomon? Am I going to get to come inside?”

“Yeah . . . yeah . . . sorry. God. Come on in.”

He stepped back away from the door and let her enter. Then he