Highly Illogical Behavior

“Can we go inside now? I think the lidocaine’s making me woozy.”


In her room, Lisa finished her homework while Clark flipped through a magazine and kept her company. He had homework, too, but he was more the kind of guy to say he’d wake up early the next morning and do it and then botch the whole plan and get the answers from one of his classmates instead. He was smart, but not as smart as he was handsome. And not near as smart as he was athletic. Water polo was his life, mostly, but the season was over now so he spent most of his free time with Lisa—so much of it that she was starting to wonder where the hell all of his friends were.

“Where the hell are all of your friends?” she asked, slurring a little.

“The guys from the team? I don’t know. Probably with their girlfriends.”

“It just seems like you haven’t hung out with them lately.”

“I’m sure I haven’t missed much,” he said. “They pretty much drink beer and talk about sex. It’s exactly what you’d imagine.”

So, Clark was bored with his friends. That would make a lot of sense, seeing as most of them were fairly boring. Lisa was more of a one-close-friend type of person and had always had trouble fitting in with Clark’s teammates and their girlfriends. But this was her first time realizing that maybe Clark felt the same way.

“How’s the college essay?” he asked.

“Slow,” she said.

“Are you still going to write about your cousin?”

Lisa needed to tell him about Solomon. She knew she could keep lying, but she’d already cleared her spring and summer to spend time helping Solomon get better, to make sure she’d actually have something to write about, something groundbreaking enough to get her that scholarship. Plus, Clark trusted Lisa and even if he did think her plan was unethical, he’d never try to talk her out of it. Or, at least, he’d never succeed at it.

“Hey, do you remember me telling you about that kid who jumped in the fountain in eighth grade?” she asked.

“I do,” he answered. “What about him?”

“I found him.”

“I didn’t know you were looking for him.”

“I wasn’t. It’s the weirdest thing. My new dentist is his mom. I didn’t piece it together until I saw a picture of him in her office. Crazy, right?”

“Totally. Where’s he been?”

“Home.”

“Oh. That’s kind of boring. I was hoping for something more dramatic.”

“He’s only been home,” she says. “Nowhere else.”

“Since eighth grade?”

“Yep.”

“Weird. What do you think’s wrong with him?”

“Well, lots of things, probably. You don’t become homebound for no reason. His mom said he had panic attacks, like at the fountain, so I’m guessing they kept getting worse and worse. So, preliminarily, I’d say he’s got severe anxiety disorder that’s contributed to a very persistent case of agoraphobia. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got some obsessive compulsive tendencies as well.”

“That’s sad.”

“I’m going to ask you something and I want you to promise to be completely honest with me. Okay?”

“Okay. . . .”

“I want to meet Solomon Reed. I don’t know why I need to do it, but I do. And I think maybe I can make that happen.”

“Okay.” He laughed. “This is . . . unexpected.”

“It’s just . . . you know . . . I’ve thought about him so much and wondered if he was okay and maybe it sounds crazy, but I just need to see for myself.”

“Lisa, you didn’t even know the guy.”

“I know. But what if I can help him, Clark? This is what I want to do with my life and I feel like passing up an opportunity like this is . . .”

“I’m not stupid,” he interrupted. “This is for the essay, right?”

She didn’t say anything, but she nodded her head with her eyes lowered, afraid to see the disapproval on his face.

“How long have you been planning this?” he asked.

“Weeks,” she confessed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make it a big deal if it wasn’t going to come to anything. But his mom’s giving him a letter I wrote. Hopefully he’ll respond.”

“A letter? You wrote him a letter? Who are you, Lisa? My God.”

“It’s important to me, Clark. I can help him.”

“You never wrote me a letter.”

“Oh come on. You’re jealous? Lock yourself away inside a house for three years and I’ll write one up.”

“That’s not funny,” he said.

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