Page 68 of A Crazy Kind of Love
I realized she was talking to me, not asking a rhetorical question. “It’s my job.”
“You should be ashamed. Get a job waiting tables if this is all you’re good for. You’d at least make someone happy.”
And with that she turned and left. I had the entire video recorded, but now felt sick about transcribing it. Andy would love it. Maybe he’d love it so much he’d give me back my freedom to work the streets again.
I’d had enough, so I packed it in and took the subway home. I tested my blood, got some food, and then crashed on the sofa to close my eyes and get some rest.
Zion woke me in the early evening. “You feeling okay? Did you catch the has-been?”
“I’m okay. Worn out. Would you mind uploading my pictures and video? I forgot to do it.” And truthfully, I didn’t want to listen to that woman’s accusations one more time. I yawned and rolled over on my side, pulling the blanket up over my shoulders.
Zion flipped on the TV and clicked on my camera. “Everything?”
I still hadn’t deleted the pictures of the theater kid from the day before, but I didn’t want to make Zion hunt through and figure out which ones he needed to send. Andy could delete the duplicates. “Yeah. Thanks.”
We watched the evening news, and then Zion said he was going to make Jamaican jerk chicken. “But then I’ve got plans tonight. Are you sure you’re okay? Micah sent me crazy worried texts earlier today.”
“Yeah, I freaked him out pretty bad.”
“I told you you’re pushing things too hard. Stay in tonight and rest. Promise?”
It was an easy promise. I had nowhere else to be, and besides, Micah called before his show and again right after. And we talked for hours. He’d recovered from whatever awkwardness he had on phones. I wanted to know everything about him, and his curiosity about me seemed equally limitless.
When I said, “Can I ask you a question?” he answered, “Ask me anything.” And so I started the process of getting to know Micah Sinclair.
“What was your favorite thing about high school?”
He didn’t hesitate. “The parties. Yours?”
“Cheater. If you can say ‘parties,’ then I get to say ‘summer vacation.’ ”
“Fine. But do I have to lie and say I liked learning about Shakespeare? Because seriously, my fondest memories of high school involve sneaking into my house late at night and not getting caught.”
I pulled my feet under my legs. “Okay, let me ask it a different way. What was your favorite book as a kid?” I kept my voice low like we were sharing secrets.
“Don’t laugh. I wasn’t allowed to read a lot, but I readA Wrinkle in Timeuntil it fell apart. And Narnia. I was allowed to read Narnia. But not Harry Potter.”
I’d never heard of a kid being forbidden to read. “But that came out while we were in high school.”
“And? If I lived under my parents’ roof, I followed their rules. I have seen the movies.”
“Oh, but you have to read Harry Potter. Promise me you’ll download it and start reading it tomorrow.”
He laughed. “Deal. But then you have to promise to marathon some yet undecided sitcom of my choosing.”
“Okay. It’s funny. I wasn’t allowed to watch a lot of TV growing up—mostly PBS or BBC America.” A vision of my dad leading me by the hand into the public library swam in front of my eyes so powerful I had to shake my head to clear it. “But if I could manage to read a book, I was encouraged to try it. Why weren’t you allowed to read?”
“Satan.”
“Satan? What?”
“My parents worried that books might corrupt me. They worried to a lesser extent about music. Obviously, they got their priorities backward.”
“So you’re telling me you’re a devil worshipper?”
Soft laughter. “Don’t tell me you’re not.”
I recalled all the stuff Leonard had said about Micah’s parents’ mission trip, and wondered if I should mention it. I snuggled into my blanket and took a sip from my water bottle, thinking of a better question. “So are you religious?”
