Highly Illogical Behavior (5 page)

“Oh no. I'm freaking you out
right now
, aren't I? I guess I just get too excited about things sometimes. Clark says I get too excited about everything. Even the things that piss me off. What sort of things piss you off, Solomon?”

“Umm . . . I don't know . . .”

“You know what? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called. I have obviously caught you at a bad time. Would you like to call me later or . . .”

“Can you come over Wednesday?” he interrupted.

“This Wednesday? Of course I can.”

“Great. So, the address is 125 Redding Way.”

“Got it. How's after three p.m.? Are you free around then?”

“I'm always free,” he answered. “So, yeah.”

“Awesome. Thank you, Solomon. I promise this won't be weird. Just fun. Maybe a little weird, but weird in a fun way.
Fun
. Focus on the fun part.”

“The fun part, right,” he said. “I will.”

“Until Wednesday then,” she said.

“Okay. Bye.”

He hung up and ran into the bathroom across the hall. He knelt down on the cold linoleum and stared into the toilet bowl. He could see his face in there, staring back at him as he drew in slow, deep breaths. Seeing himself in toilet water was
not
the way to feel confident about his decision to invite Lisa over. But, what could he do about that now anyway?

He didn't lose his lunch, but he came close. So he had to count and breathe and sit on the bathroom floor just in case it got worse. But it didn't. His heartbeat settled. The air got thicker. And he stood up. He walked over to the sink, splashed some water on his face, and then walked out into the hallway, letting it drip down his cheeks and neck, some of his hair stuck to his forehead.

Just before he stepped around the corner to the living room, he overheard his grandma spilling the beans about the pool, just like he knew she would. And as soon as he stepped into view, they all looked over at him in unison. Then he gave them an affirmative nod and they all smiled.

“Better buy this kid a bathing suit,” Grandma said.

S
olomon didn't sound as wounded and frail as Lisa had expected. He sounded a little nervous, but no more so than anyone getting a phone call from a complete stranger would. Her first thought was relief—maybe this kid would be easier to help than she'd expected. But, she knew she couldn't assume too much before she'd even met him. And he said yes. She had no idea why anyone would get a phone call like that and actually agree to see her, but he had and he did and now she was well on her way to being the best thing that ever happened to him.

She wanted to share her good news with Clark, who was at his dad's apartment in Rancho Cucamonga where he spent a court-ordered fifty percent of his time. Harold Robbins was a tax attorney and he was just as boring as that sounds. But, he'd do anything for his kids and Lisa adored him. She called Clark and he picked up on the first ring.

“Clark Robbins, at your service.”

“I'm in,” she said.

“In what?”

“Solomon said yes. I'm going over Wednesday.”

“Oh, wow. That's great.”

“Yeah. I waited around all day for him to call, but then I decided I couldn't make it any longer.”

“Wait . . . you called
him
? Lisa, the guy obviously wants to be left alone.”

“Well, he took my call. And I figure he'd have hung up on me if he didn't want to hear what I had to say.”

“Good point, I guess. Well, how'd he sound?”

“Normal,” she said. “A little caught off guard, but why wouldn't he be?”

“So then you invited yourself over there?”

“No. Can you have a little more faith in 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 used one foot to gently kick it shut, and Lisa wondered if that was as close as he'd get to the outside.

“So . . . umm . . .” Solomon attempted. “I don't really . . .”

“Give me a tour?” she interrupted. “That'd be a good place to start maybe.”

“Right, right,” he said. “Uh . . . this is the foyer, I guess.”

“It's lovely,” she said.

He showed her the living room, dining room, kitchen, and den without saying much more. She asked lots of questions though, and he gave the shortest answers he could muster.

“Do you cook much?” she asked.

“Not really.”

“Is that your Xbox?”

“No, it's my dad's.”

“Can I see your room?”

“Sure.”

In his room, with its bright white, empty walls, Solomon took a seat on the edge of the bed and watched as Lisa walked around, inspecting his bookshelves and the tchotchkes he had scattered around on his desk. She was trying to be nonchalant, but it was hard to do with him watching her like that.

“You like to read I see.”

“Passes the time.”

“Yeah. I guess it would.”

“Lisa,” he said, “can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” She sat down in his desk chair.

“Why are you here?”

“You know the answer to that,” she said. “To be your friend. But you're going to have to be a little more talkative to keep up with me.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I'm not really sure what to talk about.”

“You wanna start by explaining these walls? It looks like a hospital room in here.”

He laughed. And
when
he laughed, Lisa took her first full breath since walking through the door.

“I just like it that way, I guess.”

“Minimalist.”

“Huh?”

“
Minimalist
,” she repeated. “Very trendy right now, actually.”

“Oh,” he said with a shrug. “Lots of stuff makes me feel closed in.”

“You'd hate my house,” she said. “My mom can't stand an empty wall. If she had good taste in art, that might be okay. But it's all roosters and cheap landscapes from
Wal-Mart. She had a cow print phase a few years ago that I almost didn't survive.”

Another laugh. She was definitely sensing that he was starting to appreciate her humor. And he seemed a little less anxious than when she'd arrived. Complete sentences were a good sign.

“I think maybe it's because I'm inside so much,” he said. “I guess I like the idea of my room seeming endless or something.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I like that. Or maybe you could just imagine whatever you want in here.”

“No,” he said. “That's what the garage is for.”

“Oh. Okay.”

A few minutes later, as he opened the door that led from the laundry room into the garage, he looked at Lisa with a very serious expression and then let the door slowly open and stood to one side. She stepped through the threshold, and he watched her without saying another word.

The entire garage had been painted a deep, solid black and was covered with a bright yellow grid. It was one of the strangest things Lisa had ever seen, and she had no idea what she was looking at.

“Have you ever seen
Star Trek: The Next Generation
?” he asked, walking to the center of the room.

“A couple times,” she said. “My boyfriend watches it. I sort of wish everyone on earth had Patrick Stewart's voice.”

“Your lips to God's ears.”

She shut the door behind her to find that even
it
had been painted to match the pattern of the room. Square
after square of blackness, highlighted with these intersecting beams that covered not just the floor and walls, but also the ceiling.

“This is my version of a holodeck,” he said. “On the show. Well, on several versions of
Star Trek
, they use a room like this for simulated reality. Training, to solve puzzles, things like that. It's nice, right?”

She was a little caught off guard that he was suddenly speaking to her so casually, the nerves in his voice barely noticeable anymore. As someone who worked very hard to get the things she wanted in life, this was a level of devotion that Lisa could appreciate. And all she could think about was how much Clark would love it.

“So, then, what do you do in here?”

“Well, I come in here, I sit down in the middle of the floor, and I just think stuff up to entertain myself. They say using your imagination makes you live longer.”

“They
do
say that,” she agreed. “So, you just think stuff up and picture it happening all around you?”

“Sure,” he said. “You don't ever do that? Imagine being somewhere else?”

“I think about being in college,” she said. “All the time, actually. Far away from Upland.”

“Yeah, so, it's like that. Except the college part. I don't think that's in my future.”

“You never know.”

“Yes you do,” he confirmed. “What do you want to study?”

“Medicine,” she answered. “Not sure what kind yet, but being Dr. Praytor is definitely part of the dream.”

“No wonder my mom likes you so much.”

“Can I try?” she asked, walking over to the center of the room and sitting down.

“Oh . . . umm . . . sure.”

“What do I do?” she asked.

He walked over and sat down beside her. This was the closest they'd gotten, their knees nearly touching, and she could tell it made him tense up a little.

“Okay. Close your eyes,” he said. “I mean, if you want to.”

So she closed her eyes, and it was so quiet in the room that she could hear his breathing.

“Okay. Now open them,” he said. And she did. And she saw a black room with yellow squares covering it and a teenage boy staring at her in the dark with a grin on his face.

“What?” she asked.

“Do you see it?”

“See what?”

“We're in a field. It's so green. All around us. And there's a kite in the air. You see it?” He pointed up toward the ceiling.

She looked up, seeing nothing but the same yellow squares from corner to corner and then looked his way. He was mesmerized by the room around them. His expression like Heaven had opened up to swallow the Earth. Was this guy for real? Kites? She wasn't scared of him, not at all. She was just suddenly realizing that maybe she couldn't help him.

“Lisa?”

“Yeah,” she answered.

“I'm just fucking with you.”