Leo had been acting weird. So had Mouse. I wondered if their weirdness was connected. Leo has seemed depressed for the past week, but maybe not depressed.... worried? About what, I wondered. Mouse just seemed sick and tired. All week she had been falling asleep and she always had dark circles under her eyes, more so than usual. She had also been talking kind of weird sometimes....
I smiled as Mouse sat down at the lunch table. She looked around at us all blankly, "Wha.... Why are all these frogs at the table, Angie?"
Chris and I exchanged looks and Chris said, "I don't look like a frog, do I?" I felt his cheeks for acne and I rolled my eyes, "No, you don't look like a frog, Chris."
I was starting to get worried about Mouse. What was wrong with her?
I asked Leo about it in Study Hall. "Leo, do you know what's wrong with Mouse? She's been acting kind of.... weird... lately."
Leo's face paled and he swallowed. What was up with him? What was wrong with everyone?! "Oh, uh- Sh-she's fine! Just fine..." I raised an eyebrow at Leo and he nodded, looking away.
I hoped my therapist hadn't lost his mind yet, I really needed someone to talk to. "I just don't understand, Chris. What is going on with everyone? I mean, Mouse has been acting all weird and Leo has been acting all weird and Harold- never mind, he's always like that."
Chris nodded, clearly listening to me. That's one thing I love about my brother/therapist is I can always tell when he's listening. He cleared his throat, crossing his legs. "Well, Angela." He said in his 'professional' voice, folding his hands in his lap. "I can't say I know what's going on with Mouse... or Leo. Harold, however, there are several symptoms shown." Symptoms? Harold wasn't that weird.
"Symptoms?" I asked.
Chris nodded, "Yes, Angela. Symptoms. Symptoms that consist of nervousness, speech impediment, shortness."
"You're pretty short too, Chris." I said. He ignored me.
"Our little friend Harold could easily have," Chris paused dramatically, "paranoid schizophrenia."
"What?" I said, "Chris, now you're just being ridiculous!"
Chris said calmly, "Am I? Think about it, Angela." He started naming the symptoms off on his fingers. "Anxiety, delusions, hm, probably. Violence,"
I laughed, "Harold isn't violent!"
"What about that Una girl he's friends with?" Chris turned to me, "He picked a fight with her last quarter."
This was news to me. "Really? Is that why he was gone for so long?"
Chris nodded grimly, "Yep. He grabbed her butt and when she reacted, he hit her." I wasn't sure if I could believe this, but Chris isn't a liar.
"Really?" I said in soft disbelief. Chris nodded again, sighing as he took off his dorky reading glasses that he sometimes wears for effect when he transforms into Therapist Chris. It's like Clark Kent, only backwards.
I couldn't believe it. Why would Harold do something like that? He wouldn't, but the likelihood of Harold doing something like that is just about as likely as Chris lying, which isn't much. A few Christmases ago, Chris snuck downstairs and ate all the Christmas cookies. He would've gotten away with it too, if he hadn't told on himself. Even as a little kid, Chris was pretty much an innocent little angel. Gift, curse, take your pick.
I could've sworn that Chris then hid a grin behind his hand, but I wasn't sure.