I hop to the next roof and look around. No criminals sneaking around wearing black
and white striped jumpsuits or carrying around bulging bags with big dollar
signs on them. No bloodied college preppy
gasping and pointing down a dark alley, shouting about two men who just stole
his wallet. Nothing. When someone parallel parks and walks across
the street I’m tempted to jump him for jaywalking. Instead, I sit down on the edge of the roof
and let my feet dangle out over the abyss, my heels smacking against the
brick. I hear cars wheeze and rumble and
hum by on the streets nearby. Windows light
up from the inside while others extinguish themselves. The sharp bite of exhaust fumes has faded now
that the only consistent traffic is coming from a few streets over. I look up and see a faint light pulsing and
shimmering across the sky in lieu of actual stars. It would probably be soothing if it wasn’t so
freaking boring. It’s times like this
that I’m glad I don’t have awesome powers like Spiderman. If I did, I probably would’ve webbed that jaywalker’s
ankle and dangled him from the streetlight.
As it is, I just sit and kick my feet and wonder if I’ve
been out long enough to call it quits for the night. My phone tells me I’ve been out for almost
two hours without catching even the faintest whiff of crime. I swear to God, at this point I’d settle for
lecturing a little kid about the merits of sharing.
Of all the weeks for the city to go crime-free, why
now? The first spring thaw is upon us. It’s still not warm, but it’s not cold enough
for snow anymore. Criminals should be
flocking to the streets to revel in the joyous departure of winter’s cruel
embrace. Pillage! Plunder!
Do something!
When an older woman drops her purse and a young kid in dark
clothes with her hood up actually returns the purse instead of just
running off, I decide I’ve had enough.
Maybe if I leave now I can make out with Anna a bit. Gotta find a way to salvage this night.
****
I get home and no one’s in the living room. The kitchen’s empty too. Not terribly unusual. It’s past Paul and Susan’s bedtime and the
magic of the internet can make any room in the house a living room for
teenagers, but without all the pesky social interaction that living rooms bring
with them. I trot up the stairs just as
Boone starts shambling down them bundled up in horribly mismatched blue and
black flannel shirt and bright red sweats.
“How’s it going, Hero?”
I flip him off. He
laughs.
“That well, huh? What’s
that? Three empty trips in a row?”
I debate just shouldering past him but that would be
admitting I’m frustrated and it’s never a good idea to show weakness in front
of Boone. I grunt.
“Something like that.”
I’ve actually gone out four times this week and haven’t
found a damn thing. He laughs again and
walks past me.
“Must be cuz you’re so goddamn good at this. Criminals are too scared to go out at night.”
I wish I had something to throw at him. But I don’t, so I settle for sending Anna a
text asking what she’s doing. I get a
quick response: tv in the basement by myself.
I drop my superheroing bag in the closet and turn right back around,
stopping long enough to let her know I’ll be over in a second, then I'm down the stairs
and out the kitchen door. I cross the
street and circle around the back of Anna’s house, shuffling down the thick
cement steps to her basement door. I
send another text—knock, knock—and
wait. She fusses with the bolt for a
second (because they refuse to accept that their can of WD-40 is lost and just
buy a new one) before opening the door, face freshly scrubbed of make-up and
slightly pink. She’s wearing black
sweats and a comically oversized gray hoodie.
I make a sad face.
“Boone was being mean to me and tonight sucked; can I hang
out with you?”
Anna rolls her eyes and turns away to hide her smile, but
leaves the door open for me to walk through.
After I close it behind us, I give her ass a quick squeeze. She spins around and smacks the holy hell out
of my hand. Mind you, I’m quick. Like, really
quick. So I could’ve pulled my hand
away, but what fun is dating if you don’t play the game? She grabs a handful of my shirt and pulls me
toward her—play the game. She has to look up at me a little to make eye
contact.
“Is that all I am to you?
A toy to play with?”
I hang my head and give her my best chastised look. “No ma’am, but I am more than willing to just
be a toy for you to play with.”
She struggles to keep her frown from crying mutiny and
flipping upside down. Right as the
battle looks completely lost she bounces up onto her tiptoes and gives me a
quick kiss. My heart does that stupid
swoopy, flippy thing it does around Anna.
If I listened to it, there’d be no game.
Just me puking up everything I feel all the time. Stupid fucking emotive stomach. Returning to the soles of her feet, Anna
grabs my hand and leads me over to the couch.
She plops down and waves at the TV.
“I was watching Psych for
awhile before bed. Care to
join me?”
Honestly, it barely matters what the first sentence
was. I sit down next to her and drag a
blanket over us.
“Haven’t you already seen all the episodes like seven times?”
She nods cheerily. “Yup.
Still funny.”
She’s halfway through the episode, so Shawn’s
already launched into a nonsensical rant about shark toast. When Gus starts translating, I loop an arm
around Anna’s shoulder and she scoots closer.
She props her head against the hollow beneath my collarbone and I rub my
thumb over her arm. That’s amore.
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