Highly Illogical Behavior (12 page)

“You can adopt me,” Clark said. “My mom hates sports and my dad didn't even teach me to throw a football.”

“That's . . . well, that's just sad, son,” Solomon's dad said, looking at Clark and shaking his head.

“Don't fall for that,” Lisa said. “He's got like twenty older brothers. But they all moved away.”

“It's really three, but it may as well be twenty,” Clark added.

“Holy crap,” Solomon said. “That's a lot of dudes.”

“Are they all in college?” Solomon's mom asked.

“Two of them are,” Clark answered. “And one's a tattoo artist in Hollywood.”

“I always wanted a tattoo,” Solomon said.

“Oh yeah? What would you get?” Lisa asked.

“The starship
Enterprise
.”

“Yes,” Clark said. “I bet my brother could come to you.”

“Nope,” Solomon's dad said. “Not till you're eighteen.”

“What's it matter?” Solomon asked.

Jason just looked at him and, without a word of protest, Solomon dropped it and moved on. Lisa was simultaneously appalled and in awe of his restraint. Or maybe some families just don't fight. She'd probably never know, but she couldn't imagine these people ever raising their voices over anything more than a foul ball.

•   •   •

That Sunday night was the first of many nights like it. Lisa and Clark quickly became fixtures in the Reed home, showing up after school and staying for hours, sometimes into the early morning, even on school nights. With each new visit, Clark and Solomon would discover some shared interest—whether it was a B-movie Lisa had never heard of or some fan site she wouldn't be caught dead on. There always seemed to be something bringing the two of them closer together, and even though she wished it could just be her and Clark sometimes, she knew the sacrifice was worth it.

Plus, all that time as the third wheel had allowed her to very closely observe Solomon, probably much closer than she could have without Clark. She became a master at
reading his mood, and she was always ready to step in and help in case the anxiety kicked in. His tells were subtle, but by that point, she knew them well. If something or someone was too loud or noisy, his left eye would twitch a little. This would also happen if he felt particularly unnerved or worked up about something he'd said or done. It was like he was reacting to actual physical pain sometimes. But most of the time, that's all it was—just a little twitch in one eye and then it was over.

She only worried when he left the room. No one needed to use the bathroom that often, and Lisa was betting, every time, that this was his way of catching his breath or grounding himself enough to avoid letting the anxiety take over. It would've been easy to forget sometimes that he was like that. Clark seemed to put it out of his mind completely. Which was good, Lisa thought. He treated Solomon just the way she'd hoped—like he was normal. And maybe that was part of getting him better. Maybe if someone like Clark could ignore Solomon's problems, then other people out there could, too.

But then, of course, Solomon had a full-blown meltdown in front of Clark. It was as surprising as it was quick. The three of them were sitting around the computer when he suddenly put his head down on the desk and started tapping his fingers quickly on the keyboard. Clark looked over at Lisa and shrugged, backing away and eyeing her like she should know what the hell they were supposed to do. She did. This would only be her second time witnessing one, but she sprung into action without hesitation. She took a deep breath, bent down so her face was right
next to Solomon's, and she started to talk in the calmest tone possible.

“Sol, can you take some deep breaths with me?”

“Yes,” he said. It sounded like he was crying, but she wasn't sure.

“Okay. I'm going to count to ten. Inhale slowly till five then exhale slowly.”

So she counted and he breathed. Then she counted again. And Clark, not knowing what to say or do, took his phone out and stared at it, pretending that something was on the screen.

“Can you guys give me a minute?” Solomon asked, sitting back up but with his eyes closed.

She stood up and grabbed Clark's hand, leading him out into the hallway. With the door shut behind her, she put her arms around Clark's torso and squeezed tightly.

“Is he okay?” he whispered.

“I think so. Embarrassed, maybe.”

“What should I say?”

“Just pretend it didn't happen unless he brings it up.”

When Solomon opened the door, he looked a little better. Lisa could tell he'd wiped away a few tears, but he didn't look especially sad or ashamed or anything. Maybe a bit tired, but with as little sunlight as he got, he always kind of looked that way. He told them to come back in and then sat down at his desk again.

“Sorry,” he said in a defeated tone.

“For what?” Clark asked.

“You don't have to do that,” he said. “It actually helps me to not ignore it. It's weird.”

“Are you okay?” Lisa asked.

“I'm fine. It was a fast one.”

“How often does it happen?” Clark asked.

“Depends. That was the first one in a couple weeks.”

“Damn,” Clark said.

“It's okay, though,” Solomon added. “I can handle that. Before, it was every day. Every day. At school. On the bus. In fountains from time to time.”

“I never asked you,” Lisa said. “Why the fountain?”

“It's the water,” he said. “Calms me down.”

“Is that why you want a pool?” Clark asked.

“That's some of it, I guess. I also just miss it. I miss going out there.”

“I would too,” Clark said. “So, you've got
two
good reasons to make it work.”

“What if I can't, though?” he asked. “What if they go to all this trouble and have their hopes built up, and I can't take one step out there?”

“They'll be disappointed,” Lisa said. “But they'll understand. Do you think they're betting on this being a sure thing?”

“Probably not.”

“Then wait and see what happens before you accept defeat,” Clark said. “Either way, you'll be okay. And, when the time comes, if you need us to help you, we will.”

“You just want to swim in my pool,” Solomon said with a big smile.

“You bet I do, whether you're out there or not, buddy,” Clark said. “I was thinking of volunteering to be the pool boy. Build myself a little shack in the backyard maybe.”

“Sol, if you don't want Clark in your house anymore, just say the word.”

“He can stay. Look, until I can't go out there, let's just hold out hope, okay?”

“There you go,” Clark said, leaning forward to give him a high five. “Just wait, man. We're gonna have sunburns all summer.”

“Not me,” Lisa said. “Melanoma is real and you're never too young to be vulnerable.”

“She's chief of the sunscreen police, by the way.”

“I didn't choose to be this person,” Lisa defended. “It chose me.”

“Good,” Solomon added, standing up. “I knew the second I met you that you'd save my life someday.”

S
ummer didn't mean much to Solomon. He still did the same amount of schoolwork, a plan he'd discovered would save him an entire year of high school. If he worked all through each summer, he'd have the credits to get his diploma just after he turned seventeen. But, since meeting Clark and Lisa, he'd started slacking off a bit. It was an easy thing, being distracted by the two of them. And they made it easier by showing up nearly every day.

It wasn't always both of them, either. Lisa, being in Student Council
and
on the yearbook staff, was suddenly swamped at the end of the school year. So Clark started coming over without her. At first, Lisa made a big deal out of it—calling Solomon one afternoon, using that calm voice of hers, and explaining how busy she'd be over the following weeks. Eventually, Solomon just had to cut her off.

“Of course Clark can come over without you.”

“I know, but I had to make sure. What if you secretly hate him and you've just been hanging out with him for me or something?”

“Is that the impression you get?”

“Yesterday, you guys spent two hours writing a theme song for a board game. I think you're probably the best friend he's ever had.”

“It's a great song.”

It seemed a little strange at first, but things weren't too different with Lisa gone. Solomon noticed, though, that every time she did have a chance to come over, she seemed distracted, always sitting quietly and watching as he and Clark talked about all the things she thought were stupid. Sometimes Solomon wondered if she was filming a Teenage Boys in their Natural Habitats documentary in her head.

It was good that they'd gotten used to her absence, because as soon as school was out for summer, Lisa had to go to Camp Elizabeth. It sounded like Solomon's own personal hell, complete with knot-tying classes and wilderness survival training. And the few times Lisa talked about it, she hadn't seemed all that thrilled either. Apparently she'd been guilted into it by her friend Janis, who Solomon was forbidden to meet.

“She'll try to pour holy water on you.”

“Never mind.”

Clark worked summers as a lifeguard at the Upland Community Center Pool. He hated it because his shift was from six a.m. to eleven a.m., five days a week. Sometimes, when he'd come over to Solomon's after work, he'd fall asleep on the couch. There were even a few afternoons when he'd be right in the middle of a sentence and doze off completely. So, Solomon would just read a book or watch TV until he woke up.

“I want to quit so bad,” Clark said one day. “I feel like a zombie.”

“So just hang out here. All the food and Netflix you can stand and a swimming pool on the way.”

“Mom won't let me,” he said.

“Well, if you don't spend money, you don't need it, right?”

“Yeah. It's not just that, though. She wants me to learn responsibility or something. And it's good for college applications.”

“Lisa's worried you won't go.”

“To college?” Clark asked. “I
may
not. I don't know yet.”

“What else would you do?”

“That is also something I don't know yet.”

“So, what's something you're good at? Aside from speaking made-up languages?”

“Swimming,” he said. “But I'm not good enough to make a career out of it.”

“That sucks. Are you sure?”

“It would be a very short career. And then what?”

“Maybe you can get paid to play video games or something. Don't they need people for that?”

“Oh no,” he said. “I don't want my favorite thing to be my job. That would be a nightmare. No thank you.”

“But you'd get paid to do what you love,” Solomon argued.

“And what if that makes me stop loving it? I can't take the risk, man.”

“My dad loves building things and he loves movies, so he builds movie sets. That's badass, right?”

“He
does
seem happy,” Clark said. “But, like, what are the chances someone would just hire me to play games all day? I wish that were realistic but I'm sure it's a tough job to land.”

“I wonder if I'll ever have a job,” Solomon said.

“You could work online I guess.”

“If I never get better, you mean?”

“Oh. No . . . I just . . .”

“Hey, I've accepted it. Maybe it sounds crazy to you, but that backyard may be the farthest I ever go.”

“Do you ever think about being out there again? Like all the way out there?”

“I didn't use to,” he said. “Not much anyway. Just the thought of it would give me a panic attack.”

“And now?”

“It's still terrifying. But I can at least talk about it without crying, so that's a win.”

“Well, maybe you could just picture being with us, huh? Like if we're out there with you, then it won't be so scary.”

Solomon had good days and he had bad days, but the good had far outnumbered the bad since Lisa and Clark had started coming around. Sometimes, though, they'd show up and he'd look completely exhausted, drained of all his charm and moving in slow motion. They could do that to him—the attacks. Something about the physical response to panic can drain all the energy out of a person, and it doesn't matter what causes it or how long it lasts. What Solomon had was unforgiving and sneaky and as smart as any other illness. It was like a virus or cancer that would hide just long enough to fool him into thinking
it was gone. And because it showed up when it damn well pleased, he'd learned to be honest about it, knowing that embarrassment only made it worse.

“Clark,” he'd say. “Feeling loopy.”

It was the best way to describe it.
Loopy
. Anxiety works a little differently for everyone, but it certainly always comes with cycling thoughts. Looping images that you can't control or stop, not easily anyway. Sometimes Solomon would start thinking about one of his parents dying. And then it would turn into both of them dying. And before he knew it, thoughts of something tragic happening to them—a car wreck, a random shooting, an earthquake—would swirl around in his mind so fast and so heavy that the only thing he could do was clench his fists and try to breathe as slowly as possible to not let it get to him, to not lose control the way he had so many times before.

Clark's way of dealing with it was to become a master at distraction therapy, which didn't work every time, but was always appreciated. When Solomon seemed particularly anxious, he'd try his best to keep his friend busy and over time, it seemed to be working.

“We need a project,” Clark suggested the day Lisa left for camp.

“You're right. I can't play one more card game or I'll freak out.”

“You know anything about cars?”

“What do you think?”

“I think that was a dumb question,” he said. “Does your dad?”

“I don't know. Probably. Yours doesn't?”

“I've been asking him to help me fix up that van for six months and he still hasn't done it. So, I give up.”

“What's wrong with it?”

“Well, it's a total piece of shit. I paid three hundred bucks for it last November and, honestly, I can't believe it hasn't blown up yet. I'm too scared to take it on the freeway because sometimes when I go over fifty, it starts smoking.”

“That can't be good.”

“I need to clean it out, too. It smells like wet socks and I think there's something dead in the back, but I'm too afraid to look. Lisa won't even ride in it anymore.”

Solomon walked over to the kitchen window to look at Clark's van in the driveway. It was painted dark green, not professionally, and just on the side facing him, it had two hubcaps that didn't match and what looked like a mostly flat tire.

“Can you back it into the garage?”

“You mean the holodeck?” Clark asked, sounding offended.

“It won't hurt anything,” Solomon said. “I can't help you fix it, but I can help you clean it out. And then maybe my dad can have a look at the engine when he gets home.”

A few minutes later, with just the one single, dingy lightbulb casting its faint glow all over the garage, Clark climbed into the back of the van. It was disgusting, to say the least, so Solomon stood just outside of it, holding open a large black garbage bag with his face turned away.

“You okay?” Clark asked, amused.

“Just make it quick and don't throw any dead body parts at me.”

“What about live body parts?”

Half an hour in, Solomon was tying up the first trash bag and walking into the house to get a second. He ran into his dad in the kitchen and nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Holy shit!” he yelled.

“Watch your mouth,” his dad said. “Who are you, your mother? What're you up to anyway?”

“We're cleaning out Clark's van.”

“Clark's here?”

“He's in the garage.”

His dad followed him back and helped hold the trash bag while Clark tossed in soda cans, crumpled fast-food bags, and weird random things like a ripped pair of blue jean shorts and a deflated basketball.

“Are you teen wolf, Clark?” Solomon's dad asked.

“Only on the weekends.”

They eventually took a break to have dinner, something Clark stayed for most nights of the week now. Valerie loved it, feeling like she had two fully functioning sons instead of one that just got by. Of course she didn't say it aloud like that, but Solomon was smart enough to see it on her face. And he saw it on his dad's, too. They hadn't made it to dessert before Clark had convinced him to take a look at the van. By midnight, Jason was covered in oil and grease from his elbows to his fingertips. He'd been picking around the motor and listing things they needed
to get it running right. Solomon jotted down everything his dad said, contributing the only way he knew how. But, mostly, he watched Clark as he nodded his head to these very technical things Jason was describing and pretended not to be clueless.

“You may need a new carburetor,” his dad said.

“Right, right,” Clark agreed. “Totally.”

And maybe it was because Lisa had been gone for so long or because fumes were leaking from the van's potentially toxic motor, but that was the night Solomon realized how he really felt about Clark Robbins. He'd ignored it for weeks—that feeling he got in his stomach when Clark was around, that rushing in his chest that he'd mistaken for panic so many times, but had actually been something else, something he hadn't felt before. Clark didn't care where he was or where he was going. And even though Solomon was afraid to call it love, what else could it be? It was there. It was real. And if he didn't watch out, it would eventually find a way to ruin everything.