When Perfect Meets Crazy novel Chapter 6

“So,” I smirked, revelling in the completely bored and put out expression on his face, “shift’s over. You proficient in pottery yet?”

After re-shelving and updating the log, I spent the rest of my shift scrolling through my phone while pretending to be studying a really boring book on ancient Chinese civilisations so my coworker wouldn’t ask about Masked Idiot. It was obvious she was dying to but for the time being, I didn’t have a proper explanation for his presence. Oh, he’s just a criminal who’s stalking me, ignore him wouldn’t have worked for obvious reasons. Until I had a workable reason, the plan was to avoid any such questions.

He grunted an unintelligible sound, snapping the book shut as he lazily forced himself to his feet.

“Where to now?” he inquired.

“Home but first, I have to see a few friends.”

“Fine.”

I would never admit it out loud but I was decidedly the worst person to stalk. Not in the ‘she’s so spontaneous it’s hard to keep track of her’ way but in the ‘she’s so routine it’s unbelievably boring’ way. My life was the definition of mundane. Boring. If there was an award for most boring lifestyle, I’d win it. My after school jobs comprised of tutoring, working at the library, volunteering at an elderly home -though I said my goodbyes to them a few days ago-, and the highlight, writing articles for a family owned digital magazine. The magazine was the only remotely fun job I had and even then, all I had to do was write my articles and send them to my aunt, the editor-in-chief.

The magazine started out as a childhood project between my mom and her sister but it ended up getting a lot more popular than they expected so they expanded, and expanded, and expanded. Until it grew so big it became my aunt’s full time job. My mom contributed for as long as she could but, as a high powered attorney, she wasn’t exactly swimming in free time. She was no longer actively involved in running in the magazine thanks to her tasking job. It was, in many ways, a blessing in disguise. As soon as I was old enough, I got roped into writing for the younger audience and I didn’t want to imagine how much harder that would be if my hard-to-please mother had to sign off on my articles too. Olly also got roped in a few years after I did but unlike when I started out, she got to choose her own topics and theme right off the bat. I was kind of jealous. She got to write on most of the interesting things. Tattoos. Biker jackets. Piercings. The grunge wave. I was stuck with the more mundane topics like hair care, how best to style plaid, wedding dos and don’ts. You get the picture. Anyway, the point was, Masked Idiot was going to be bored out of his mind following me around. My life was as interesting as a senile eighty year old with five cats. He’ll figure it out soon enough.

“My car is out back. Did you drive here?”

“Bike,” he muttered.

“Tail me.”

I didn’t wait for a reply or nod of agreement. If he couldn’t, that was his problem and honestly, I’d prefer it that way. I wasn’t exactly leaping with joy at the prospect of being stalked so I definitely wasn’t going to make it easier for him. I was being stalked. Stalked. S. T. A. L. K. E. D. By a criminal. A legit criminal. A criminal who I knew was a criminal. The kind that under normal circumstances I would’ve turned over to the cops. The kind I normally would never be associated with. Not that I would normally be associated with any type of criminal. I was the poster child for all things good. The ace of good kids all over the world. Well, I used to be. Now, I was covering for a criminal. Harboring one. There was something really wrong somewhere. This was not how my senior year was supposed to end. This was nowhere close to how it was meant to go. It was meant to be smooth sailing with no surprises whatsoever. I hated surprises. Olly and I were supposed to go to the arena, watch a couple of matches, get boxing out of Olly’s system and move on. Never look back. Never be reminded of the escapade. I was not supposed get lost, get home late and to top it off, get my own personal criminal/stalker.

With a wave at the guy taking over from me, I exited through the backroom.

It wasn’t until I was in my ‘respectable’ sedan that I realized how wound up I was.

I didn’t need this. I couldn’t afford Masked Idiot and all the trouble he came with. I didn’t sign up for this. This was not part of any plan whatsoever. If my mom, with her millions of spies that a select group of mothers seem to have, found out...

I shuddered, cutting off that line of thought.

“Shit,” I hissed quietly, slapping my palm against the steering wheel. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!”

Each word that left my lips was accompanied by a slap on the steering wheel. Needless to say, my hands were now smarting.

“Okay.” I exhaled optimally. “Stop it.”

I steeled my spine and straightened my shoulders. Time to move on. Then, as though three seconds ago I wasn’t exhibiting less than sane behaviour, I started the engine and backed out of the parking lot. I could do this. I could totally do this. I had to. There was no other choice. I had to roll with the situation and hopefully, find my way around it in time. Bring an end to it. I could do it. I was me after all. I was smart, a fixer. I would fix this soon enough. For now, I just had to breathe. And think. Think, Avy. What now?

Leverage! I needed leverage. Something to hold over his head. Something strong enough to get him to back off because if it wasn’t good enough, a failed blackmail attempt would only make him more suspicious and more determined to stick with me. Until I had something of that calibre, the only thing I could do was keep my plan under wraps and let him have his way. Show him I was in no way a threat. That the last thing I wanted was to be involved in anything even remotely sketchy. Let him think he was in control.

I hated my options. Option blackmail didn’t suck so much but I had nothing on him besides the fact that he was a criminal. I couldn’t use that without implicating myself. Besides, that particular info had already proved to be useless on the blackmailing front when I tried to get him to leave with the threat of calling the cops. I needed better, more concrete material before going down that road again. Option two, on the other hand, sucked for all the obvious reasons. It involved me opening my life to a criminal, basically welcoming him with open arms.  Giving him way too much sensitive information about me. While I didn’t think he was a murderer, one could never really tell. He beat people up for a living. Killing them was only a step away.

I sighed wearily.

Nothing was going my way these days. I needed to play it safe for the meantime and subtly fish for any information I could use against him. I had no other choice.

I was meeting two friends at a diner to finalize our plans for an upcoming debate. I was to be the main speaker, obviously. Unfortunately, Masked Idiot managed to follow me despite the traffic and my sharp turns. I watched as he parked, eyeing his bike with both curiosity and disdain. Daredevils and delinquents rode bikes. The exact opposite of the type of people my parents would approve of. He really was tailor made to ruin my life.

I sighed, wiping my face clean of the disapproving expression as he walked up to me. Without a word, I spun on my heel and walked into the establishment where the two girls were already waiting at a table.

“Hey.” I slid into the only free seat at the table and gestured for Masked Idiot to pull up a chair.

“Hi.”

“You’re right on time.”

“Is it ready?” I asked, getting straight to business.

Even though I was asking, in my mind it was a forgone conclusion that it was ready. Sure, I only made the corrections earlier today and gave it back but it had been a few hours since then. More than enough time for them to rework it. I’d have them replaced if it wasn’t ready. They knew that.

With a curious appraising glance directed at Masked Idiot, the two girls wordlessly slid two printouts to me. In my mind’s eye, I pictured what they were seeing; his tousled ‘I styled it at some point but it won’t stay put’ hair, the expensive looking jacket, the plain white tee shirt he had on underneath, the not aesthetically unpleasing face and his light shadow of a beard. It was clear when their expectant gazes turned to me, practically salivating for an introduction, that where I saw ‘criminal’ in big bold block letters, they saw a relatively cute boy with passable fashion sense. Yes, I was that petty.

I ignored their gazes, pointedly scanning the words on the printout while they tensely waited.

“Better.” I gave my verdict, sliding the printouts back to the respective owners. “Based on what I’ve read, Emily should go second. Martha, you’re last.”

They shared a look that was both relieved and worried.

“I’m usually last,” Emily ventured tentatively.

“I’m aware.” I nodded. The ‘so?’ was wordlessly but loudly implied.

“We’re... It’s our... system. It’s the way we work,” she voiced, an unsure smile on her face.

I rarely ever participated in internal debates. Everyone in the club liked to joke that it was because I was proud and it probably was true but also, I didn’t really see the point. I was only taking part in this one as a favor to the teacher in charge of the team. It was to be the last debate for the session and he claimed really wanted to see me in action one last time before I jetted off to college. Emily and Martha, on the other hand, most likely only ever got to see the light of day during internal debates so they have a ‘system’.

“Worked,” I corrected. “Past tense. Eric is gunning for us. It’s flattering. He’s never beaten me before but now that he has Ralph on his team, he’s convinced it’s his chance.” I met their gazes squarely. “We’re better off with my arrangement.”

“You’re the boss,” Martha acquiesced, struggling to wipe the dissatisfaction off her face.

“Okay. If you say so.” Emily nodded slowly.

I allowed myself a small smirk. There was one reason they didn’t contest my judgment. One reason they didn’t argue to vote despite outnumbering me. One reason everyone always deferred to me. Because I was always right. I always won. I was Avyanna Johnson. I was just that good. At least, I still had that going for me now that my other superpower had failed.