Caring Is Creepy Read Online Free Page B

it.
    “I’m not sure that’s something to be proud of.”
    “Fuck you,” I said in my joking voice, which was higher and came out of my nose. She laughed, and so did I, but inside I kind of meant it. I knew she meant what she’d said about my nose.
    “But the reason I brought it over was so I could show you my new section.” She flipped to the back of the book where the construction paper was gray. “I started it on Tuesday when I was watching
E!
It’s the dream man section. I’m trying to make pictures of all the variations of my types. When I get enough, I’m going to start a new collection book just for them.”
    The pictures in this new section reminded me of the paper dolls I used to play with as a little kid. The kind where you color the clothes with crayons and then cut them out. The clothes have tabs on the sides, so your paper doll can change outfits. Dani had taken rock stars and actors and cut them into pieces and then put them back together. She didn’t mess much with their faces, but she’d given them other people’s hairstyles and arms and legs, and in one case, a different neck. They creeped me out a little bit.
    “They look weird,” I said, risking Dani’s bitchiness.
    “I’m still getting the hang of it,” she said, with an expression a couple of face muscles away from a pout. “If you want me to, I’ll see if I can figure out what your type would be.” She squinted at me carefully. “Maybe a blond. Your hair’s really almost brown. Like something brown that’s been left out in the sun too long.”
    “Thanks,” I said.
    “I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” she said.

A Tupperware Box Full of Fresh-Sucked Pills
    I woke up in my living room at twilight the following day. I’d left a puddle of drool shaped like a dog’s head on the armrest of the couch. Dani and me had played The Game the night before until the little window above her bed went from black to pink to orange. I only dozed for an hour or two at the most before Dani’s mom woke us up so she could take Dani to her dental appointment. The last thing I remembered after coming home was turning on the tube. It was still on. A woman with hair the color of a tongue explained that the juice of several carrots and a handful of what looked like yard clippings would remove any and all blockage from your large intestine, up to and including the mouth of the anus. She actually said that. The mouth of the anus.
    I clicked off the TV and heard three distinct thuds over in the other condo in the duplex. Or at least it sounded like next door, but maybe—nah, I thought, our house was empty when I got here. Nobody could sneak by while I was sleeping, could they? I wondered what Mr. Cannon, our hundred-year-old bachelor neighbor, was up to over there.
    Then something fell over and crashed. This time I knew for certain the sound wasn’t coming from Mr. Cannon’s side. Did whoever it was that made that sound hear me click the TV off? Shit. I looked around for something heavy. An old wine bottle with a candle stuck in it sat beside me on the end table. I hefted it once and tiptoed down the side hall, flipping open my cell phone as Iwent and dialing 911, so all I’d have to do was press send. The glow from its screen made the darkened hallway blue. I paused next to the squeaky spot in the flooring beside the water-heater closet when I heard another bang. This one sounded like somebody slapping the bottom of an empty metal trash can, and this time I knew without a doubt it came from my mom’s room. The door was ajar. A shadow moved across the crack. Four steps more. I put my thumb on the send button. Someone snuffled his nose and hummed a broken piece of a song. I knelt and peeked through the doorway. The dark shape of a hunched-over back sat at my mom’s vanity. An arm moved up and down with slow, deliberate jerks. And each jerk ended with a soft crunch, like somebody grinding broken glass into pavement with his heel. When the shadow