Highly Illogical Behavior(3)

“Homeschool him?”

“It was our only option. Open wide.”

As soon as Dr. Reed was done, Lisa picked right back up where she’d left off, not even waiting for her chair to be all the way upright again.

“When was the last time he left the house?”

“You sure are inquisitive, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry. Gosh, I’m so sorry. I never meant to be nosy. I’ve just thought a lot about him over the last few years and when I realized you were his mom, I guess I got too excited.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m just glad somebody remembers him. It’s been three years. A little over, actually.”

“Is he okay?”

“Mostly, yeah. We make it work.”

“Must get lonely,” Lisa said.

“You’d think that, yes.”

“Does he have any friends?”

“Not anymore. Used to though. You guys all grow up so fast. He just couldn’t keep up.”

“Can you tell him I say hello? I doubt he’ll know who I am, but just, you know, if it’s not weird.”

“I’ll tell him, Lisa. And I’ll see you next Tuesday to get this cavity fixed up.”

Lying to adults was a little easier for Lisa than lying to her peers. Just like herself, none of her friends or classmates really trusted anyone, so lying was hard to get away with. But take someone like Valerie Reed, DDS, probably born in the late seventies to Southern California liberals, and you’ve got an easy target—someone who wants to trust everyone so much that they don’t see a lie when it’s slapping them right in the face.

In the grand scheme of things, Lisa knew it was harmless, a necessary step in taking her master plan from concept to actuality. And what a plan it was.

She was going to fix Solomon Reed.

Her life depended on it.





THREE


    SOLOMON REED


Therapy didn’t really work on Solomon because he didn’t want it to. They tried taking him to someone when he was twelve, after realizing his tantrums and crying fits were more than just being a spoiled suburban kid. But he wouldn’t talk to the therapist. Not a single word. And what were Jason and Valerie supposed to do? How do you discipline someone who wants to spend all day in his room? If they grounded him from the computer or TV, he’d just read books all day. And neither of them was going to start taking his books away.

He’d been a quiet, shy kid at school. The kid slumping in his desk in the back of the room that still managed to get A’s and B’s. There, he’d perfected the art of invisibility. But, at home, he laughed and joked around with his parents. He even listened to music too loud sometimes and sang made-up songs while he helped do dishes or set the table.

He was still in therapy when he had his meltdown at school, and so Jason and Valerie decided to try a new therapist—one who charged twice as much. Solomon went and, like always, said nothing. But he listened. He listened very well and as soon as his first session was over, he’d figured out a way to quit seeing this therapist, too. And he wouldn’t even have to lie about it.

“She thinks you guys are abusing me or something.”

“She said that?” his dad asked.

“Didn’t have to,” he answered. “Asked me all about your work schedules and whether or not you guys fight or yell. She’s out for blood. I’m not going back.”

And he didn’t. Who were they to argue against it, either? When he was home, he was better. He was calm and happy and easy to get along with. The panic attacks were few and far between, and even though they’d never admit it, it actually made their lives much easier. No parent-teacher conferences, no driving him to school in the mornings and picking him up in the afternoons. At just thirteen years old, he needed very little from his parents and even less from the world. He wasn’t bored or lonely or sad. He was safe. He could breathe. He could relax.

Solomon never had a lot of friends in school, just kids he’d say hi to or trade homework answers with from time to time. But, somehow he’d always end up having lunch with this kid named Grant Larsen. Grant was that sort to constantly talk about hot girls and action movies and which teachers he hated most. That is, when he wasn’t bragging about his dad’s “cool job” for an electric car company.

“Then why don’t you guys have one?” Solomon would ask him.

“We don’t have any way to charge it at home yet. But, soon, man. Real soon.”

Grant didn’t mind so much that Solomon never talked about girls or bragged about his dad’s cool job. He just liked being listened to and that happened to be one of Solomon’s strong suits. He’d nod and respond with one or two word answers. It was the only way he could sit there surrounded by hundreds of loud kids without freaking out. He would focus on Grant and keep quiet. Any more attention than that, and he risked having a panic attack right there in front of everyone. Like the one that eventually sealed his fate as the crazy kid.

To his credit, Grant did come to see Solomon after the fountain. But, at home, Solomon wasn’t the muted listener he’d been at school. He was himself. And that was someone who Grant didn’t seem to like very much.

“You want to play a game or something?” Solomon asked one day, just a few weeks after leaving school.