Crazy by Benjamin Lebert Read Free Book Online

stuff. Unbeatable experiences. The old guys are right. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have a crush on somebody. I thought girls were great even way back in kindergarten. But I also can’t remember a time when I went out with anyone. I’m too weird, as Isabel would put it. So what the hell is
weird,
anyhow? Is it weird to set off on your friend’s back on a night pilgrimage to the girls? Not to mention up the fire escape. Not to mention with Troy. And Florian a.k.a. Girl. Is it weird for Fat Felix to be wearing a clothespin so his pajama pants don’t fall down? Is Janosch just weird, or is he some kind of weird hero? I wish I didn’t give a shit, and then I could go back to thinking about superheroes again. They’re simpler. It’s hard to figure out girls.
They’re
the weird ones.
    The other five guys come to a halt at the end of the corridor. There’s a big window in front of them. Skinny Felix opens it. “We’re here.”
    “The fire escape?” I ask.
    “Fire escape,” says Janosch.
    He bends over to let me down and wobbles a little. Seems about to lose his balance. But he makes it. I can dismount. I have a funny feeling in my legs. As if I hadn’t walked in ages. My back is cold. My pants are sticking to my rear end. I go over to the window and take a look. Janosch, Florian, and the two Felixes join me. They stare out and smoke. Points of red light glow in the darkness. Troy’s behind them. You can hardly see him. His face is in deep shadow. I turn my attention back to the window. It’s more of a glass door. At least one man can get through there. Which is what’s supposed to be the case, since it’s an emergency exit. The casement window moves in the wind. Seems to be blowing like crazy out there. Skinny Felix shouldn’t have opened it yet. The others are still smoking. It’s cold. I’m not smoking; I can do that upstairs. Besides which I have to take care that I don’t start overdoing it. I smoke quite a lot for a sixteen-year-old. Marlboros, of course. Only idiots smoke Camels, says Janosch. And we’re not idiots. My parents always maintain I don’t smoke. They’d keel over if they knew, my mother in particular. She’s in alternative medicine. She says even one cigarette can cause terrifying damage. And she smokes herself. I don’t get it. But that’s how it is with my parents. They keep forbidding me things they either do themselves or used to. Maybe that’s why they fight so often. It’s been getting really bad recently. As the son, you just feel helpless. Empty. It hurts. I often wish they’d separate, then I wouldn’t have to deal with all the shit. But I’m also glad I’ve got them both as support. And as friends. As family, in fact. It’s all so much crap, but it gets to me; I can’t shake it. Doesn’t matter where I am. I love my parents. As a couple, not apart. Holidays together. Good times. Christmas. And fights. More and more fights. Sometimes it’s about my upbringing. Sometimes it’s about their own upbringing. And sometimes it’s just about who should take the goddamn empties back to the supermarket. According to my sister that’s the only reason I got sent off to boarding school: to spare me the fights. Now she’s the one who has to put up with them. All on her own.
    I haven’t called home so far. Probably because I’m afraid of my weeping mother. My sister’s at her wits’ end. My worried father. When I was still at home, I always tried to look on the bright side. Nice weather. Good TV program. Being together. I often just swallowed the fights. I still catch myself tuning them out.
    Perhaps that’s a good thing. But it gets harder and harder. The whole thing’s for shit. And now I’ve got to climb a fire escape. When I stick my head out the window, the wind blasts into my face and whips my short hair around. The inner courtyard is lit by a small lamp. It’s always on at night, according to Florian. To help the tutors when they’re