Highly Illogical Behavior - John Corey Whaley Page 0,26

so focused on the board that he hadn’t looked up in fifteen minutes. Maybe it was working, she thought. Maybe now was as good a time as ever for her to play therapist.

“So, aside from losing this game, what’s your biggest fear?”

“Being buried alive,” he answered with little pause.

“That’s reasonable.”

“Yours?”

“Tornados. Don’t ask me why. I’ve never even been close to one.”

“They’re giant wind vortexes that destroy whole towns,” he said. “Respect.”

“And, I don’t know . . . I guess being stuck in Upland forever, too.”

“And that is where we differ,” he said, moving a pawn. “Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere,” she said. “Somewhere bigger. A big city. The suburbs bore the hell out of me.”

“But they’re full of old people and little kids and crazy guys like me,” he said. “What’s not to love?”

“Do you do that a lot?” she asked. “Call yourself crazy?”

“Only when it’s funny or gets me out of chores.”

“So, your biggest fear is being buried alive. Okay. What about something that could actually happen to you?”

“Like being asked repeatedly what my biggest fears are when I’m trying to beat you at chess?”

“Sorry,” she said. “The mystery will have to stay a mystery I guess.”

He looked up from the board and right into her eyes, like he was asking her what she thought she was doing without saying anything. She answered by looking down and capturing one of his bishops with her queen.

When the game was over, Lisa followed him back to his bedroom, where he dug through some boxes in his closet before finally pulling out a small stack of comic books.

“Here,” he said. “Give these to Clark. I’ve read them a hundred times.”

“For real?” she said, flipping through the one on top. “Thanks.”

“No worries. My one stipulation is that he can’t hide them. They must be displayed proudly in his home for all to see. It’s the only way.”

“I’ll relay the message,” she said. “Who knows, maybe you two can meet someday.”

“Maybe,” he said. “If you think he’d want to.”

“You kidding? It’s all he talks about. I think he’s jealous.”

“Jealous of the crazy gay kid. That doesn’t sound right.”

“Hey, Sol,” she said, her tone getting serious for a second. “Those are two things about you out of a million. Don’t box yourself in.”

“Too late for that,” he said, looking all around the room with an unconvincing smirk. “Much too late.”

THIRTEEN

SOLOMON REED

Solomon’s grandma always brought a gift. Always. She’d come over every other week or so and, without a word, hand Solomon a nicely wrapped box or a gift bag overflowing with tissue paper. Then she’d look on with big, excited eyes while he unwrapped it, always snapping a photo with her phone. He liked to imagine a big wall in her house that was covered with hundreds of these nearly identical pictures of him holding video games or DVDs and being forced to smile.

But when she came over on that Monday in April to celebrate his new social life, Grandma walked in with her hands full of pool toys instead. Bright-colored floating noodles flopped around in the air above her, bumping into the walls as she started showing off each gift to Solomon and his parents.

“For diving,” she said excitedly, letting five yellow plastic rings slide down one arm and onto the floor. “Goggles. Even some floaties, you know, in case you forgot how to swim!”

Solomon stepped forward and started helping her—finding more diving rings, three more pairs of goggles, some swim trunks, and even a Speedo. He held the bright orange bikini up and gave his grandmother a puzzled look.

“You never know,” she said. “You could train for the Olympics with all the time you have.”

Solomon took the Speedo and rubber band–style shot it at his dad, who caught it midair and then held it up to his waist.

“Oh yeah, I’m going to look good in this puppy.”

“Grandma, cancel the pool,” Solomon said.

“Fine,” she said. “You all make fun, but in Europe, that’s what they wear. A little culture wouldn’t hurt anyone around here.”

“Noted,” said Solomon’s dad, grabbing one of the pool noodles and hitting his son on top of the head with it.

“Thanks, Grandma,” Solomon said, putting a pair of goggles on. “How do I look?”

“Perfect.”

And since it looked like maybe she’d cry, he pretended he was swimming through the air toward her and gave her a quick hug.

Later, Solomon inflated a large bright green inner tube on the living room floor while his parents and grandma chatted over coffee and dessert