The Symptoms of My Insanity (36 page)

“I heard there were three silent bids on your ice cream painting! Woo!” she shouts, before bounding out the door. I look back at the auction table but can’t really make out anyone in the crowd. I continue scanning the room, catching sight of Blake.

I stare at him standing against the flickering brick wall with Nate and Jacob and can’t believe I ever felt sorry for him about what a rough time he was having with basketball hazing, or for being such a “nice guy” stuck with such immature, obnoxious friends. Ha. Maybe some of Blake’s friends and all those senior guys think it was a pretty awesome thing for him to do—completing his task and taking that picture. But they didn’t see the way he acted in the art room yesterday, or come to think of it, how weird and uneasy he was in the Rap Room, and even at the museum. If he really didn’t want to do it, if he knew it was wrong, then the fact that he went through with it actually only makes it worse.

I know I might not have a whole basketball team full of friends, but at least I have one or two who care about me enough to defend me, and stand up for me, and risk getting in trouble for me. Which is more than I can say for Blake.

I spot Jenna on the dance floor with Meredith and Cara
and make my way over to them, grabbing one of Mrs. Freel’s cardboard brownies on the way and deciding to avoid the bowl of festive pink punch.

No one on the dance floor is really dancing, just kind of standing around talking and occasionally moving to the beat.

“Where’s your ‘date’?” I ask Meredith, making quotes with my fingers since technically they came as group. Meredith turns to me, still giggling with Cara over the fact that Ray Ray the DJ keeps looking over at them and winking.

“I think he went looking for you.” She smiles, and then on cue Marcus walks up to us and says, “Hey, I was just looking for you,” which makes us all, well, except Marcus, crack up.

Then Ray Ray the DJ says he’s going to “slow down this joy ride” and Cara drags Meredith over to stand closer to the DJ booth. Soon everyone starts coupling off. Even Jenna, who’s dancing with Ryan Paulson and sort of adorably stooped over his shoulder, not seeming to mind their height difference.

“Hi,” Marcus says from behind me.

“Hi,” I reply, turning around so we’re face-to-face and I’m seeing again—wow—how great Marcus looks in a suit.

“So … did you hear about that really cool exhibit that’s opening in Detroit next week.
Body Parts
?”

“Oh yeah, heard about that! It’s supposed to have like over three hundred specimens, and dissected organs and stuff.”

“Yeah, they put the body parts in this vacuum chamber to preserve them and— Wait, why are we slow dancing by
ourselves?” He laughs, and I realize that we’re both standing across from each other swaying to the music.

“I don’t know!” I start laughing too, but then stop when he steps closer and puts his arms around my waist. I can feel his chest moving up and down as I lean against it and relax my arms around his neck, swaying with him to the music.

“So …” he says now, but kind of more in my ear, “you want to go see it sometime?”

“What?”

“Body Parts,”
he says, and I feel the warmth of his palms pressing against the back of my sweatshirt. “Or is that a weird thing to do for a date?”

“Oh.” I turn my head in. “Yeah. I mean … no, it’s not.” I shake my head, which is so close to his now our lips are practically touching. “It’s not a weird thing to do for a—” and then our lips
are
touching. He crisscrosses his arms around my waist and pulls me into him closer. I close my eyes, and breathe him in as my head just naturally tilts to the side and everything inside me loses density.

I don’t know how long we kiss, but I think about three whole spinning century-seconds go by before we pull away a little. Marcus laughs. It’s a nice laugh. “Okay, good.”

“Good.” I smile and let my head rest on his shoulder.

•   •   •

Two slow songs later and I’m practically floating out of the cafeteria. I didn’t see Mom by the donation table and I’m heading to the bathrooms, wanting to make sure she’s okay.

Then I spot her back where I left her, staring at my display.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hello, sweetie.” She remains staring up at my
Viral
canvas. Then she turns to me. “Look at you,” she says almost more to herself than to me.

“I know, I look awful.”

“Oh, no, no. You look very pretty,” she says.

“Right.” I shake my head. “I doubt that’s what you think.”

“No … I—listen I know I’m not the easiest to please regarding … presentation and well … perhaps … perhaps I do need to broaden my scope when it comes to thinking I know the way you girls should look, and … I just don’t want you to ever think that I’m truly unhappy with how you … I mean, even now sweetie, right now … I think you do look …
very pretty
.” She smiles, and leans closer to brush one of my paint strands up and behind my ear with her good hand.

“Thanks.” I smile back at her.

I stay close to her side, both of us now looking up at my
Viral
painting, tilting our heads at the same angle.

“You know, my range of motion and strength are getting pretty good now,” Mom says, keeping her eyes on the canvas.

“Oh … well, that’s great, Mom.”

“I couldn’t even use both arms for carrying the other day, but just this morning I was actually able to open the dryer, empty it, and everything.”

“See, I told you if you just did those stretches gently, you’d—”

“Such a pretty shade of green,” she cuts in breezily, pointing at the canvas. “Which reminds me, you shrunk some clothes.”

“Oh … Oops.”

“No, it’s okay. It was mostly your things, and nothing that nice really. Might have to throw out a couple of your sweaters, them being so tiny now and all. Especially that green sweater. Such a pretty shade of green.” She looks at me and then back at the green in the canvas. “But I think we should definitely throw that one out, yes?”

“Oh. Um … yeah.” I smile, staring at Mom still fixated on
Viral.
“I really … I hate that sweater now anyway.”

“I thought so,” Mom says, nodding her head. “So … my Izzy might be going all the way to Italy, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

The truth is, I don’t know if now’s the best time to go off to Italy for a whole summer. I don’t even know if I got the scholarship anyway, but it’s just that I have the whole rest of my life to be off, traveling on my own. But how many more summers will I get to spend here with my mom?

“Well … I’m very proud of you. And I think this piece I splurged on”—she gestures back to the
Viral
canvas—“is going to look great in my new office.”

I turn to her, feeling my eyes widen and soften as I smile and say, “Yeah, I think it will too.”

Mom shuffles in closer and wraps her free arm around my waist.

I know she’s waiting for me to pull away and give her my
“please stop embarrassing me on school grounds” look, but instead I turn in and wrap both my arms around her waist. I think she’s surprised at first, me hugging her like this in public, and in the middle of my high school. But then she loosens up and wheels her pole forward so she can partially wrap her other arm around my back. I press into her gently so as not to hurt her stitches, and she squeezes me back tightly with her good arm.

I’m wishing everything could pause somehow and we could stay together like this for a long, long time. I don’t focus on taking a really good mental snapshot of the moment, though, because I know as soon as I do, it will be too late, it will be over already. And really, no mental snapshot will ever be good enough. It’s like tracksuit man said—moment to moment is as far as you can go sometimes. And I’m thinking right now, it’s the best place to be.

Many, many thanks—in no particular order …

To Jessica Garrison, for her indispensable insight, guidance, answers, questions, and patience. Thank you for finding me and then letting me find my story; to Lauri Hornik for believing in Izzy from day one; to Maggie Olson, Greg Stadnyk, Jason Mercier, and Kristin Smith for their jacket design and art expertise; and to Kathy Dawson, Sarah Creech, Regina Castillo, and everyone at Penguin Young Readers for their hard work and enthusiasm.

To my NYC comedy family, the stand-ups, the storytellers, the improvisers, the music makers, the wig-wearing character slayers—for letting me belong, and always inspiring me to create and play.

To all my New York offices (diners, coffee shops, bars with outlets): specifically Galaxy Diner, Carroll Gardens Classic Diner, and Fortunato Brothers for letting me stay and refilling my coffee.

To Benson Barr for his much needed guidance at the start; to my agents, Kelly Harms Wimmer, who got this Izzy car running; and Christina Hogrebe, whose patience, support, gentle prodding, and know-how got it to the finish line; and to everyone at Jane Rotrosen.

To Marc Pattini, for giving great pep talks, listening to my symptoms, putting his headphones on when I asked him
to, and letting me ramble it out; and my Pittsburgh second family for so many years, Art, Nancy, Dana, and Dave.

To my crazy posse of loving Jewish relatives spread throughout fourteen states, specifically Suki and Dewey Loselle, for giving me a Connecticut home away from home and constantly keeping my belly full; and my partners in Raf-crime, Stacey Graff and Brian Raf, and my Raf-in-laws Jon Graff and Kelly Raf—thank you for keeping your Chicago and Portland doors open.

To my dad, for his wisdom, for worrying but never doubting, and for continuing to tell me to do what I love; and my mom, for singing to her kugel, banging on pots and pans, and for being classy, witty, selfless, brave, and full of love right to the end.

Mindy Raf
is a writer, comedy performer, and musician based in Brooklyn, New York. She is a graduate of the University of Michigan, and grew up in a suburb of Detroit right around here (visualize the bottom of your left thumb). Mindy has written for CollegeHumor, VH1, TNT, The Daily Comedy Network, and was a contributor to the
My Parents Were Awesome
anthology. She continues to perform stand-up and music across the country.

Visit Mindy at www.mindyraf.com