Blow My House Down

Chapter 11

I looked at Micky, and both of us started laughing. As I went to pick up his notepad, Micky laughed, "Wow, when you gave him that death stare, he looked like he was about to piss his pants. So did his friends. Apparently, with you, looks can kill."

The notepad surprised me though: I was expecting shorthand of our dialogue, or even our argument written down word for word if he was quick enough, but no. In this notepad, there were caricatures of us, with little notes on the sides with certain lines from our conversation, all precise and neat.

"I sorta regret doing that now. Take a look at this." I said, studying them. Big heads, wide mouths screaming, and he couldn't get Micky's nose right. He took two strides to me and looked over my shoulder. "He's an art major, not a journalism major like I thought."

"These are incredible." Micky gasped, taking the notepad from me and flipping through the multiple pages. Turns out we weren't the only arguing pair in the travel size notepad. "Kat, we've gotta get this back to him! What if these drawings are a part of his final portfolio or something?"

"What would you know about college?" I asked in confusion.

He grinned sheepishly. "Well, before the auditions, I was in college."

"Oh, so you are smarter than you appear to be, Circus Boy." I teased, and he glared at me.

"Ha ha.. you're so funny, Lennox. There's only one thing I don't like about these caricatures though." he stated, narrowing his eyes at them. I looked at him expectantly. "He just can't get my nose right!"

"That's exactly what I thought." I replied, snatching the notepad out of his hands. "Let's go find him. And then we can go to the ocean."

Micky's face lit up, and he grasped my wrist, pulling me after him as he sprinted the way the boy had disappeared. I kept a tight grip on the notepad, and Micky ran faster, only slowing down when I tripped over my feet. Somehow, he managed not to run anyone down in the Saturday crowd. "Keep your eyes peeled! I don't wanna miss them, alright?"

I searched as we flew by strangers who shot us curious glances. And then I saw the five college kids, looking quite breathless and horror-stricken. The artist was still pale. "Micky, over there! Across the street!"

He nodded and took off into the middle of the traffic; a car screeched to a stop, the horn blaring at us. I shot the driver an apologetic smile and turned to scold Micky as we made onto the sidewalk, surprisingly in one piece, but he had already approached the group of five. I followed after him, and when they noticed us walking toward them, they froze and glanced nervously at each other. Micky strode over to the artist and shook his hand; the artist looked at him in disbelief.

"We have your notepad." I said, handing it to him. His eyes brightened as I returned it. "He figured it was important."

"Thank you so much!" the artist finally spluttered out, and his friends relaxed a little, still eying us cautiously to make sure this wasn't a trick. "This was for my final portfolio: I'm sophomore; this is my fifth notepad since freshmen year. I draw caricatures of arguing couples in Los Angeles. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, especially since you seemed so displeased and a little frightening when you called us out!"

He glanced at me, and Micky laughed. I shrugged, "It's the only thing I'm good at."

"Being an asshole?" Micky suggested.

"No," I snapped, and the college kids flinched. "Being intimidating."

Micky rolled his eyes and looked over at the artist. "We're glad we could help. What's your name?"