Highly Illogical Behavior (6 page)

A
nd he was. The holodeck garage wasn't a place for him to imagine elaborate settings and interact with fictional people or anything. It was a garage painted to look like something he loved. And
that
, in and of itself, was all he needed it to be. Just a place to escape when closing his eyes wasn't enough. Sometimes, like after the panic attack he'd had a few days before, it was the only way he could block it all out and try to reset his thoughts.

“That's not funny,” she said, holding back a nervous laugh.

“The grid's actually yellow tape,” he said. “Took forever.”

“Oh wow,” she said, feeling the tape with her fingertips. “You bring every girl you meet to this creepy room?”

“
That
is funny,” he said, hopping up from the floor and reaching a hand down to hoist her up.

“Thanks.”

“Sorry,” he said.

Solomon and his family had a shorthand way of showing their affection for one another and it usually involved poking fun at even the most serious things. Just the week
before, he called his dad a “dork” and was met with a simple and quick “recluse” and thought nothing of it. They were just like this—smart enough to make fun of themselves before anyone could beat them to it.

“No worries,” she said, nudging his arm.

It was only her elbow and only for a quick second, but it still felt foreign and strange and exciting to him. And, without even realizing it, he gently held the spot on his arm where she'd done it as they walked out into the living room.

“Thanks for the tour,” she said.

“Please stop by the gift shop on your way out.”

“You sound like Clark.”

“I guess that's your boyfriend?” he asked.

“Yeah. Been together a while now.”

“I didn't think I could remind anyone of anyone.”

Lisa laughed and shook her head. “It's a compliment, of course.”

“What's he like? I'm betting he doesn't have a holodeck.”

“Well, he's a water polo player. Smart but not a know-it-all. His mom's a nightmare, but his dad's cool. They're divorced. He's tall, but just a little shorter than you, I think. The season just ended and he's depressed about it or something because he's been, like, flaking a lot lately . . . with everyone but me. I tried talking to him about it, but he doesn't like to get too serious. It's a problem, really, but I'm working on it.”

“Okay . . . that was a
lot
of information on Clark. Got it.”

“Also, he hides his comic books under his bed when his friends come over. How stupid is that?”

Lisa clicked around on her phone and handed it to him. It was a picture of her and Clark, in formal wear, taken at some school dance or something.

“Tell me why someone who looks like
that
would ever be embarrassed of anything.”

“No clue,” Solomon said quickly, barely glancing at the screen. “Looks like the king of high school to me. I'd die there, wouldn't I?”

“You watch too much TV,” she said. “High school isn't what you think it is.”

“Isn't it a little, though? He hides his comics.”

“So, maybe a little,” she said. “But you'd be okay at it, I bet.”

“Is there a fountain?” he asked with a half-serious expression.

“You're very different from what I expected, Solomon Reed.”

“I hope that's a good thing.”

“Absolutely.”

He was glad she didn't stay too much longer because, despite having had a good time, all that talking and trying to come up with new things to say or questions to ask was making his head hurt. Then, as soon as he shut the door behind her, he started to feel like he couldn't catch his breath. He leaned against the wall for a second, trying to breathe through it, hoping he could shake it off. But he couldn't. Now hyperventilating, he stumbled down the hallway and into his bedroom, where he crawled under the covers and rode it out, his body shaking from side to side, his eyes closed so tightly they were starting to hurt. It
was brief but intense, and afterward Solomon just lay there listening to his breath as it leveled out. Sometimes that's all you can do when it happens—hold on just long enough for the world to stop shaking. There's a reason people mistake them for heart attacks and every time it happened to Solomon, a little part of him wondered if maybe his chest would explode. Other times, he wondered if that would make it all better.

“So . . . how'd it go?” his mom asked when she got home from work.

“Good,” he answered. “She's nice.”

“Solomon,” she said sternly, “use your words. It's all I could think about today. I should've just stayed home. How you talked us into leaving you alone for this, I will never . . .”

“Sorry,” he interrupted. “Yeah . . . she came over and I showed her around. We just talked a little. No biggie, Mom.”

“Did you show her the garage?”

“Maybe.”

“That may be something you want to ease your friends into.”

“
Friends?
Mom, don't blow this out of proportion. Who knows if I'll ever even see her again?”

“I don't care about that,” she said. “What's important is whether or not you
want
to see her again.”

Solomon thought about that for the rest of the night. He'd already given his parents so much more hope than they'd had in a long time just by seeing Lisa. So now he had two choices: He could refuse to see her again and
break their hearts, or he could keep going along with this whole
friend
thing and see what would happen.

•   •   •

The next morning, he woke up to what he thought was the world ending. He'd imagined it before—watching from his window as flames fell from the sky with the news on loud in the background and neighbors screaming, maybe even his parents running into the room to hug him one last time. But he'd never imagined it to be quite so loud, with a roaring coming from all directions. Maybe it was an earthquake, he decided, jumping out of bed and running over to stand in the doorway. He waited there for a minute, the adrenaline waking him up with every nervous blink of his eyes, and eventually realized that the house wasn't even shaking.

He ran out to the living room and before he could even get to the sliding glass doors leading to the backyard, he could see what was going on. There was a bulldozer digging a very large hole behind his house.

“No way,” he said aloud.

There was no going back now, was there? He had very few surprises in his life and this one hit him hard. He took a seat on the edge of the couch and leaned forward, letting his head hang between his legs. He covered his ears and closed his eyes and let himself sway a little on the balls of his feet. Maybe there wasn't an earthquake, but the world still vibrated and shook all around him. His thoughts stabbed him like knives and suddenly his shoulders were so heavy he could hardly keep from falling all the way down to the floor. He gasped for air, his lungs
never getting full enough to satisfy him. If someone had been home, they would've heard it, the sound of someone suffocating on his own breath. It sounded like he was dying, and it felt that way, too.

He composed himself after a few minutes, grabbing a glass of water in the kitchen and taking a seat at the counter. His thoughts still spiraled, and his body ached with a lack of energy that only came after a sudden attack like this. Could he go out there for them? Would he be able to go outside without freaking out? Would it kill him?

Then he thought about Lisa. She had no idea what she meant to them, did she? She probably felt like some stranger invading their personal space and she definitely
was
, but she could very well end up saving them all. And what the hell was he supposed to do if she didn't want to come back? What if just a little over an hour with him was enough to satisfy her curiosity? He wouldn't be surprised one bit if she never showed up again, and now he felt bad about
that,
too.

Around lunchtime, Solomon was doing his schoolwork at the kitchen counter and watching the backyard with one eye. A couple of times, he made eye contact with a few of the crew guys and immediately put his head down like it had never happened. He didn't like these strangers walking around in his backyard, right there where he could see them from all angles of the living room and kitchen. This was his inner sanctum, and it was being violated by loud machines and strangers in work boots.

He thought about going to the garage, but the one little dim lightbulb wasn't enough to solve matrices under.
He settled on his dad's office, figuring it would be quiet enough if he shut the door. Then, as soon as he got started, he was interrupted by the telephone. He only ever answered it if his parents were calling or if he recognized the number. But, despite that not being the case, Solomon had a feeling that it was Lisa Praytor. So he picked up.

“Hello.”

“Solomon!” Lisa said with a burst of enthusiasm.

“Hello,” he repeated.

“What's up? Me? I'm currently skipping study hall to make photocopies for a Student Council fund-raiser.
This
is my life.”

“Oh,” he said. “I'm just . . . doing homework actually.”

“Oh, yeah? I didn't even think about that. I guess it's all homework for you, right?”

“Right,” he said.

“Look, umm, what're your plans on Saturday night?”

“Lisa, we've been over this.”

“Right,” she chuckled. “So, you want some company?”

“Are you serious? Yeah, sure. I mean . . . there's not much to do around here.”

“There are no boring places, only boring people,” she said with confidence.

“All right,” he said.

“Great. Be there around six if that works for you.”

“Of course,” he said.

“Great. See you then, Solomon Reed.”

“Bye.”

So she wanted to come back. A real-live teenage girl who could've spent her time doing all sorts of normal
teenage things with other normal teenagers wanted to come hang out with Solomon Reed on a Saturday night. It was enough to make his stomach start gurgling and his head get a little woozy. There was no denying it. Now he knew it to be absolutely true: He had a friend. And he was terrified of her.

A
s a freshman, Lisa had taken and passed the only AP psychology course at Upland High School. In fact, she scored higher on the exam than anyone else in the class of mostly juniors and seniors. But, it was simply an introduction to the field of psychology and not nearly enough to qualify Lisa as any sort of psychological expert. She was only seventeen by a few months. But, she believed in herself maybe more than other people believed in God or the devil or Heaven or Hell. She knew she was right. And she didn't need a textbook to prove it. Now, with her second session with Solomon on the books, she was feeling more confident than ever that she could get him out of that house and get herself out of Upland.

After school on Friday, she ran home to change clothes and grab a snack before heading over to Clark's. She didn't expect to see her mother, but her car was in the driveway when she pulled up. Her mom worked a lot, and when she wasn't working, she tried to spend as little time as possible at home. Lisa figured she either hated her or hated Ron the
stepdad. Either way, she was there today, on a weekday afternoon before five, and it was weird. When Lisa walked in, she saw dirty dishes on the counter by the sink and heard the television at an ungodly volume coming from the den. She tried to sneak through without being heard, but her mom was yelling her name by the time she got to the refrigerator.

“Lisa!” she shouted from the living room. “Is that you?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Come here, honey!”

She walked around the corner to find her mother lying on the couch, a big fluffy quilt covering her all the way to the chin. Lisa couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her mom during a workday.

“Are you okay?” she asked her, picking up the remote and muting the TV.

“Just nursing a cold, sweetie,” she said. “Talk to me. I'm lonely.”

Lisa took a seat across from her on the recliner that was usually reserved for Ron the stepdad. Ron hadn't been around for days though, so Lisa wasn't sure what was going on. They
did
fight a lot and it wouldn't surprise her to find out that he'd left for good this time. Just like Tim the stepdad did two years before. And Lisa could tell the difference between sick and sad.

“A cold, huh?”

“Don't talk back, Lisa.”

“That wasn't talking back,” she defended. “Where's Ron?”

“Business trip. At least that's what he told me.”

“Do you think he's lying or something?” Lisa asked.

“I just don't know anymore.”

Then she started crying. She always cried when she talked about Ron. Lisa had stopped feeling sorry for her a long time ago. But she still sat there and listened as her mom went on and on about a fight they'd had the night before. It was over money this time, which didn't surprise Lisa one bit. Her mom worked eighty hours a week and Ron had been changing jobs a lot lately, which wasn't a good sign. Do phlebotomists even take business trips?

“I'm sure everything will be fine,” Lisa said.

“I know, honey. You know how emotional I get sometimes. I just need a good cry and then I'll be back to normal.”

But Lisa wondered whose definition of
normal
her mother was going by. Things with her mom had always been weird. And she didn't have the world's best track record for maintaining healthy relationships, either. In fact, that was the longest conversation she'd had with her daughter in months.

Eventually, Lisa was able to go change clothes and when she got back downstairs, her mom was asleep. She cleaned the dishes and took out the trash. She wrote a note saying she'd be at Clark's. And then she set a glass of water and two aspirins on the coffee table next to her mom on her way out.

When she got to Clark's, he was in the driveway playing basketball with his little sister. Drew was only thirteen to
Clark's seventeen, but she was nearly as tall and a much better basketball player.

“Why even bother, Drew?” Lisa asked once out of her car.

“Right?” she said, shooting the ball.

“Hey, hey,” Clark said. “I'm letting her win.”

He walked over to hug Lisa and she held on for a little longer than usual, despite how playing basketball in the spring made him smell.

“Better save him, Lisa,” Drew said. “This game's getting ugly.”

They went upstairs to Clark's room and, as soon as the door was shut, Lisa started kissing him. It was pretty much the same every time. He would kiss her like they were filming a scene in a movie or something, all passion and no restraint. And then as soon as things started to heat up, he'd ease off and kiss her like they were at a middle school dance in the fifties. And God forbid Lisa tried to put her hands below his waist. He would, in the nicest and most subtle way possible, move her hands right back up to his stomach or chest every single time. And his stomach and chest, while quite impressive, could only do so much for Lisa.

“I love you,” he said before a long kiss.

“I love you, too,” she said back, again with her hands moving down.

“Come on, quit it.”

“You quit,” she said, trying again.

“Lisa!” he yelled, jumping up.

She was too embarrassed to say anything, so she just
fell back onto the bed, grabbed a pillow, and held it over her face. She thought she might cry, but she didn't do that often and it always took more out of her than it was worth.

“Lisa? Babe?” Clark said gently, sitting beside her and rubbing her arm. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to act like that.”

“Do you need to tell me something, Clark? Is there something I'm doing wrong?” she asked, her voice muffled by the pillow.

“No. No, not at all. Look, it's just . . . I can't
wait
to do this with you. But I told you I'm not ready. And I'm trying not to let the embarrassment kill me.”

She sat up, letting the pillow fall to one side. It looked like he'd been crying, or close to it anyway. She'd never made him cry before, never even seen it. She'd seen her stepdad cry though. It was something her mom had a strange talent for—turning a fight into a shame-fest that always ended with Ron getting emotional. Lisa didn't remind herself of her mother very often, so this made her squirm and sent a sharp pain shooting through her stomach.

“Clark . . . I . . .” she said with a sad smile. “It's okay. I'm sorry.”

She leaned forward to hug him, and he let his forehead rest on her shoulder. He was breathing so hard. She let the tip of her nose touch his and then she closed her eyes.

“What're you doing?” he asked.

“Ancient meditation ritual,” she whispered. “Repeat after me.”

“Okay,” he whispered back.

“Lisa is the only thing that matters,” she said in an almost chant. “Lisa is my life. She is queen of all that is good.”

“You say this to yourself?” he asked, holding in a laugh.

“Self-esteem is very important.”

“Let's take a nap,” Clark said, holding her tightly. “The queen must rest.”

•   •   •

She wasn't sure how long they'd been asleep, but it was definitely dark out and Clark's family was definitely home. She could hear his mom's voice downstairs, probably talking to Drew.

“Clark,” she whispered. “Wake up.”

“What time is it?” he asked.

She got her phone off the bedside table, and the light from the screen nearly blinded them both. Seven thirteen p.m.

“Shit,” she said. “Your
mom
. Get up. Shit shit shit.”

“It's okay. Maybe she's not home yet.”

“I can hear her. Now
get up
and help me sneak out.”

“She doesn't care,” he said. “I promise.”

Out of all the times Lisa had come over after school like this, she'd never stayed long enough to see Patty Robbins home from work. She'd always just assumed that they'd both get into big trouble if they were caught upstairs in his room with the door shut. His mom was a churchgoer, after all, and Lisa figured teenage sex wasn't high on her list of Jesus-approved activities.

“Oh my God.” She walked over to the window, looking down into the backyard.

“Your car's out front, Lisa,” he said. “She already knows you're here anyway.”

“Shit.”

She gave him a blank stare and started putting her socks and shoes on. Then she tied her hair up and tried to compose herself.

“This is so embarrassing,” she said. “What do we do?”

“MOM!” Clark shouted.

“What the hell?” Lisa whispered.

She could feel her cheeks turning a warm red. A few seconds later, Patty Robbins poked her head through the door. “Yeah, hon?”

“Lisa's here. We took a nap.”

“Oh. Hi, Lisa. Great. Stay for dinner?”

“S . . . sure,” she managed.

“Taco Thursday!” she said loudly, vanishing from sight.

“I told her it's supposed to be Taco Tuesday, but she won't listen,” Clark said.

Lisa took a seat on the bed and started laughing.

“I was so scared,” she said, slapping Clark on the arm.

“We work under complete transparency here.”

“What do you mean?”

“She trusts me,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders.

And why wouldn't she? He's had his girlfriend in his bedroom alone countless times now and had, every single time, failed to seal the deal. Lisa shook her head and looked at him. He was too nice to be mad at, which
sometimes drove her absolutely insane. But not tonight. She didn't want to fight. She just wanted to have dinner with his nice little normal family.

Lisa stayed for a while after, watching TV with Clark and Drew and wondering how late she'd have to stay out to avoid running into her mother again. Around eleven o'clock, she decided she'd better head home, so Clark walked her out to her car.

“So, movie this Saturday? Something scary?” he asked, leaning down outside of her car window.

“Oh,” she said. “Umm . . . I sort of have plans, actually.”

“Plans? What kind of plans?”

“Solomon,” she said with her teeth clenched.

“Solomon . . .” he said slowly.

“Seriously? Are you upset because I . . .”

“I'm just . . . I guess I'm not really sure what to do with myself now.”

“Now? Clark, this isn't going to be every weekend. I promise.”

“I want you to be up front with me,” he said.

“Of course.”

“Anything I need to worry about with this guy? Because you say it's for your essay thing, but it seems weird that you're already going back over there.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” she said. “I don't think he swings my way, if you know what I mean.”

“Convenient.”

“Don't be like that,” she said. “I've told him all about you. Nothing to worry about.”

“Try to see it from my side, Lisa.”

“Well, maybe you can meet him eventually,” she said. “He's into
Star Trek
. Did I tell you that?”

“No,” he said, turning her way, excitement in his eyes.
“Next Generation?”

“Yep.”

“I take it all back,” he said. “This guy sounds amazing.”

“He's . . . interesting. But, nice. And funny, too. I didn't think he'd be funny.”

“Do you think
I'm
funny?” Clark asked.

“Funny looking,” she said.

“Please. I bet you dream about this face at night.”

“Yep,” she played along. “My dreams are just your face with lasers shooting out of the eyes.”

“Awesome.”

“Anyway, let me make sure he isn't a complete psychopath first and I'll figure out a good time to introduce you guys.”

“He hasn't left his house in three years, Lisa. He's not crazy. He's a genius. Just TV and video games twenty-four/seven. I think he's my new hero.”

“Who was your old one?”

“Well, there's this old guy at the Vons on Foothill who greets you when you walk in. I think he was probably the one to beat until now.”

“You're so weird. The grocery store greeter is your hero?”

“
Was
my hero. Pay attention.”

It struck her on the way home that maybe she could use Clark's jealousy to her benefit. She figured most of it
was playful enough, but if she could get him over there, it would only raise her chances of getting Solomon better—and it may even speed up the process. His therapy, after all, was about showing him that the world wasn't the scary, chaotic place he remembered it being. And Lisa knew introducing him to Clark Robbins was maybe the best way to prove that not everything out here is so bad.