Page 29 of Cry Baby
“I usually am.”
Melodie sighed and shook her head, exasperated. “Not anymore, baby boy! Now, shoulders back.”
I exaggerated it so hard my chest puffed out like a damn peacock, and I set my glare on her. “Happy?”
“You look constipated.”
“I contain multitudes.”
She reached over, shoved one of my shoulders down, fussed with my hair, and then nudged my chin upward again.
The reflection in the bar mirror looked strange to me, staring back at us.
“There. A sex god in the making.”
People kept walking up behind us, staring at us like we were meat slabs, and the discomfort made me squirm, but Melodie had a special look for each person—a catered beauty tailored for each gaze.
She was a master of her art.
Every perfume that passed me smelled different, and it made me nauseous.
Someone’s keys jingled near my ear, and I swiveled my head around.
Jingle.
Clink.
Jingle.
Clink.
The bartender dropped another glass in front of Melodie, and Melodie downed it like the one before, sitting down on the barstool and gesturing for me to do the same.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
I swallowed.
“You’re counting.”
“No.”
“You just counted.”
“I absolutely didn’t.”
“Cry Baby. You aren’t the only lie detector. Natalie put me on the case because we’re a lot alike. I have autism, and my ‘tism can recognize your OCD.”
My what?
“What’s autism?”
