My Kind of Crazy (19 page)

“Can't ignore the signs,” I say. I bite into the bacon. It makes the eggs suddenly seem delicious by comparison.

“You really can't.” She smiles, then asks, “So where's Peyton?”

I shake my head and tell her about what happened yesterday.

She refills her mug, grabs the milk from the fridge, and adds a splash, stirring it with her spoon as she says, “Wow, that's rough. It sounds as if you need to lay low for a while. It's not like they have her chained there, so if she were really in some sort of danger, she'd run away again, right? Maybe there is more to the story. Peyton knows how to reach you. I'd let it sort itself out.”

I shovel another bite of eggs in my mouth. They're terrible, but I appreciate that she's here and that she made it for me. “That doesn't feel like much of a solution.”

“This is real life, Hank, not some movie. Every problem doesn't necessarily have a solution.”

That might actually be the first thing anyone has said in the last eighteen hours that makes any sense.

The warning bell rings for first period, and I begin to worry that Peyton isn't going to show up, but then she emerges from behind a pack of shaggy-haired skateboarders, her backpack slung low over her shoulder, her eyes cast down. As soon as I see her, it makes me smile and I breathe a sigh of relief. She seems okay. Now that she's home and has access to her stuff, she's back to wearing an oversize Stones tee and ripped jeans. She looks like Peyton again.

She doesn't see me standing there, so for a minute I watch her: how she self-consciously keeps trying to tuck her hair behind her ears, though there isn't much of it left to tuck, the way her Converse scuff the ground as she walks.

As she's about to head inside, I pop in front of her. “Hey!”

“Hey,” she says coolly and reaches around me to open the door to the school. She heads down the main corridor, and I follow her.

“That was pretty off the rails yesterday. Your mother scares the shit out of me.”

“She has that effect on people.” The most she'll give me is half a smile, and she keeps walking.

I move to keep up with her. I'm unsettled by her greeting or lack thereof, so I launch right into the verbal diarrhea. “I wanted to come by and check on you, but I was nervous that it might get you in trouble. I kept hoping maybe you'd sneak out, you know, to let me know what's happening. Because I gotta be honest—I have no frickin' idea what's going on.” I rake my hands through my hair, reliving all the anxiety. “Christ, I was so worried, Peyton. I didn't know what to do. I'm just so glad to see you and that you're okay. I mean, you seem okay. Are you okay?”

She turns on her heel and looks me in the eye.

“Are you kidding? Everything is so completely
not
okay.” She shakes her head at me. “And the worst part is, you don't even understand why.”

She turns the corner toward her first-period class. It's not that far from mine so I walk with her since there's no way I'm letting her get away without explaining what she means. “What don't I understand? Your mother shows up, puts on a big act for the school, and because you're under eighteen, she's legally allowed to force you to go back home. And I couldn't do a damn thing about it. I spent half the night wondering what she might do to you. You have to tell someone what happened, Peyton. The authorities won't make you stay there.”

She seems agitated, shifting her backpack from one shoulder to the other. “And go where? I'm sure as hell not going into some foster home, and I have a short list of other options.” She stops short and lets out a loud sigh. “I'm just saying that the situation is what it is. I appreciate all you've done for me, Hank. I really do. But you should probably walk away. I won't hold it against you.”

“Why would I walk away? Jesus, Peyton, what's going on?”

She shakes her head and focuses somewhere over my left shoulder. “Look, there's a lot you don't understand.”

“Well, I
want
to understand, so tell me.” I move into her line of sight, forcing her to look at me. “Seriously, you're freaking me out.”

She stands there not saying anything as people push past us to get to class.

“I am definitely missing something here.” I search her face for answers but she's unyielding. Her lip quivers and I glance at the clock in the hallway. I'm running out of time. “Can we, like, go somewhere and talk after school? My shift doesn't start until eight tonight, and then I'm stuck there until midnight.”

She shakes her head. “I can't. I'm supposed to go straight home.”

“Well, that's a new one. Since when does Peyton Breedlove follow the rules?”

“Since I'm not looking for any new trouble.” Then she relents and says, “Look, meet me by the science labs at lunch, okay? We can sneak out to the park and be back in time for fifth period. I have something I need to tell you.”

She skitters down the hall, and I have to hustle it double time to avoid getting marked tardy myself.

I have something I need to tell you.
In movies and novels, when someone says they have something to tell someone, it is rarely good news. It usually means “I have six days to live” or “I met someone else” or “I thought you should know I have a raging case of gonorrhea.” I'm seriously hoping it's not number three. Not like one and two would exactly be kick-ass options either.

What the hell is going on?

The morning couldn't move any slower if it were tied to a tortoise's shell. I swear some of my teachers are even talking in slow motion, like the whole world is trying to torture me.

At lunch, I book it to the science labs. Peyton's there waiting for me, but she's not alone. She's chatting up Nick Giuliani. I'm hoping he is not part of the reason we need to talk. I don't think I could deal if they're getting back together or something shittastical like that. But frankly, if there's one thing I've learned these past couple of months, it's that anything can happen. In fact, the less logical, the more likely it is.

I cautiously move toward them.

“Nick,” I say.

“Hank,” he replies. His jaw tenses.

“Well, now that we've all established who we are,” Peyton says. Nobody laughs.

Nick bobs his head in Peyton's direction and says, “Well, I'll see ya.” He hightails it out of there in a hurry, but not before giving me a look that implies
I'm
the asshat for hooking up with Peyton after he decided to jump ship for the Amanda Express. Of course, he has no clue how I saved him from some potentially epic public humiliation.

“Okay, see ya,” Peyton says and pops the tab on a can of soda, taking a big sip.

“What was that about?” I ask as we make our way to the back gate.

“Why, are you jealous?”

“Of Nick? Absolutely. Who wouldn't be jealous of a guy who can wax a car and shine a pair of shoes with his frickin' hair?”

“He actually came over to apologize about the whole Amanda Carlisle thing. He was hoping we could all hang out again like we used to and not have it be weird or whatever.”

“Don't kid yourself. He probably didn't recognize you and thought you were a new girl he could hit on.”

We slip through the opening in the gate and walk down the parking ramp toward Walter Reed Park. Most people actually call it Walter Weed Park because it's where all the stoners hang out after school.

“Are you still mad at him?” Peyton asks.

“Sort of. What he did was shitty.” I take a shortcut down a grassy slope that leads to the park.

“Sometimes people make mistakes,” she says as she follows me.

“I don't really want to talk about Nick Giuliani.”

“Neither do I.”

The park is empty except for a mom with her toddler over by the merry-go-round. We each take a seat on a swing, side by side, and Peyton takes a deep breath.

Here we go.

“So what's up?” I ask her.

She hesitates and sighs. “Sorry, this is really hard.”

“Just say it.” I brace myself, not sure what the heck is coming.

“I really like you, Hank. I mean,
really, really
like you.”

“I really like you too. I'm not sure that's a problem though.” I smile and lean into her with my swing playfully, but she shakes her head.

“You're the best friend I've ever had. In fact, you might be the
only
friend I've ever had, and I'm truly sorry. I don't expect you to understand, but please know that everything I'm about to tell you I did because I genuinely care about you. Being with you is just about the best feeling there is, and I wanted to do whatever I could to make sure I never stopped feeling that.”

My heart starts pounding faster. I realize I've been holding my breath, and I let it out. “Why would that have to stop? It's not like I'm going anywhere.”

She digs her fingernails into her arm, leaving little red, indented crescents. She won't look at me. “I didn't tell you the whole truth about that night. In fact, I haven't told you the whole truth about a lot of things.”

“Like what? Are you in the witness protection program or something? Because if you are, it's totally cool. I won't tell.”

“I'm trying to be serious.” She doesn't even crack a smile. “You sent me all these mixed signals, Hank. You filled out the questionnaire on Amanda's website, and it seemed like you were pushing Nick and me together. But then I started staying at your house. It felt like this connection was growing between us, and I hoped you'd forget all about Amanda. But then you showed up in the courtyard for her announcement. You looked nervous, as if you were still hoping you had a shot. Even if she didn't choose you, I knew she was bound to discover sooner or later that you set the fire. I was worried that if she found out what a great guy you are, maybe she'd actually be interested. I felt really confused.”

“You shouldn't have been confused, because I told you, I don't care about Amanda.”

Her eyes cast downward as she digs the tips of her shoes into the sand. She bends her knees, rocking herself on the swing. “That night, when I came to your door a total mess…my mother didn't do that to me.”

“Then who did?” I feel anger building inside me as I say, “Was it Pete? Because I'm not scared of him. I swear I will kick his ass if he laid a finger on you.”

“Pete would never lay a hand on me. He wouldn't want to risk losing the free rent.” She faces me as tears start spilling down her cheeks. “I did it to myself.”

Her voice is so quiet I have to strain to hear her, and even then I'm sure I've heard her wrong because that doesn't even remotely make sense. “What are you talking about?”

She takes another deep breath and lets it out. Her hands are shaking. “That night, after my mother found out I stole her money, she
did
fly into a rage. She
did
say all those hateful things. And when I blamed Pete, she
did
accuse me of trying to break them up and make her life miserable. That's all true.

“But it was like she pressed this button inside me and I snapped. I knew I'd pushed her too far this time, and I couldn't deal with the fact that you might still have feelings for Amanda. I locked myself in the bathroom, and the scissors were in the drawer. I just started cutting. I hated myself so much. I wanted to disappear.”

It feels like someone has punched me in the stomach. I start to feel sick. Peyton is speaking, but the words aren't registering. “I don't understand.”

Her voice begins to catch in her throat as the tears start streaming down her face. She goes on. “After I'd cut off my hair, I started banging my face against the wall, because even though it hurt like hell, at least when I hurt myself I
feel
something. I didn't even want to try to hide it like I usually do. I
wanted
to hurt. I
deserved
it. It's like my mom said, I always screw up, and I was scared I'd screw everything up with you too.”

She really starts crying now. Guttural, chest-heaving sobs. I just sit there dumbfounded, not knowing what the hell to say. Because what exactly
do
you say when your girlfriend tells you that she went off the deep end and beat herself up? I shake my head in disbelief, blindsided by her lack of faith in me. “So…you basically lied to me so I'd be sympathetic? Because you assumed I wouldn't be otherwise. Because I'm an insensitive asshole.”

She reaches out for my arm but I jerk it away. I lean forward, creating distance between our bodies, and grip my head in my hands. “I didn't
want
to lie to you, Hank. But I didn't know how you'd react and if you'd think I was just disgusting or crazy. I didn't want to lose you, but I knew I probably would anyway once you found out what I'd done. I was so ashamed. I'd messed up. I decided to tell Amanda about you and what really happened that night because you deserve to be happy, even if I can't be the one who makes you feel that way. I owe you that. I swear you are everything to me at this point, Hank. In my whole life, no one ever cared where I was, and you actually came looking for me.”

She turns her body toward me, but I'm having trouble looking at her right now. I don't know the truth about anything between us anymore. I feel numb.

Her tone is urgent and high-pitched. “Mom was so angry, saying all these horrible things, threatening to send me back to my dad or, worse, to that awful hospital. I can't go back to either one, Hank. I can't. I wouldn't be able to see you anymore. There was only one place where I knew I would feel safe, and that was with you.”

I can't keep sitting here like this. I abruptly stand up and start walking, trying to get my bearings and process everything I've just heard—most of all, how she could have hurt herself like that. Pebbles on the path go skittering in all directions as she races to fall into step beside me. “Wait… What do you mean, send you back to your dad? I thought he left when you were a baby.”

“He did. He lives in California. But my mother sent me to live with him and his new wife and baby a couple of years ago because she couldn't deal with me. My dad didn't want me there, and his wife wanted me even less. They had a perfect new family and I was this screwed-up kid who ruined it. They ignored me. That's when I began setting stuff on fire. I started with little things—a random baby toy, one of my dad's ties, an expensive scarf that belonged to my stepmother. Stupid stuff. It made me feel powerful. Until things got out of control.”

Despite the fact that it's about seventy degrees, a chill goes down my spine. “What do you mean?”

“They have these winds in California. They call them the Santa Anas, and when they blow, they can be like forty to fifty miles an hour. I was in the backyard while my dad was still at work and my stepmother was trying to put the baby down for a nap. I was lonesome and bored, so I started burning a stack of her stupid fashion magazines, when this big gust of wind came out of nowhere. It carried the embers, which were really beautiful actually, these glowing orange specks that just flew everywhere in the wind, and they landed on the roof of the old gardening shed. It was basically kindling, and the next thing I knew, the whole shed was on fire.”