The Problem With Crazy by Lauren McKellar

I knew the type; moralistic, optimistic and incredibly annoying, all rolled into the one Disney-movie package. Next he’d break out into a chorus of “Don’t Stop Believing.”
    “Do you have a list of things you need to try for the first time ?” My voice was laced with sarcasm.
    “Nope.”
    “Then how do you remember what you’ve done, and what you need to do?”
    The boy pulled something out of the back pocket of his jeans, a small pad of white paper. He waved it in my direction like it was of great importance.
    “I capture the image of the best part of the new thing I tried.” He waggled the notebook enthusiastically. “And the way the drawing goes, the way it looks—if it’s rushed or delicate, soft lines or hard—then I remember the experience, and if I regretted it or loved it.”
    Right. Because that was normal.
    “Well, I hope you don’t regret smoking while jogging,” I said as I walked away. I didn’t look back, but I couldn’t hear any sounds that would indicate he’d moved from his grassy bed.
    “I won’t,” he yelled. He sounded like he was smiling.
    He was cute—seriously cute—but I had just been dumped, and wasn’t interested, anyway. I thought about my lack of career, my new title of single late-teen lady, my weird family situation and my potential time-bomb-till-diseased future status.
    I didn’t look back.



Chapter Eight
    W HEN I arrived at the airport, the first thing I saw was Stacey’s blonde ponytail, bobbing amongst the crowds of other teenagers with their oversized bags and print-out tickets. The Coal tour manager had chosen the most popular time of year for our visit to the Gold Coast, an area famed for being Australia’s version of Cancun.
    Not ‘our.’
    Their.
    A few of the girls were wearing matching hot-pink or black velour tracksuits with diamantés on their bums, spelling out words like princess or bitch . I shuddered. Thank God I’d never felt the slightest urge to wear one of those.
    “Stace,” I called out, and pulled my wheelie bag over in her direction. She was leaning against the flight-information desk talking to a very cute male flight attendant. She looked gorgeous as ever in her simple white tank and denim shorts combo.
    “Kate.” She threw her arms around me, as if we hadn’t seen each other in months, instead of days. “It is so good to see you. I was just telling my new friend Alex here about your stressful day at graduation, what with your dad and all. And about your loser ex-boyfriend.” Stacey’s face turned sombre as she shook her head in Alex’s direction. “Dave & the Glories: never listen to them.”
    Now that I knew the truth about Dad’s little outburst, I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. At least, certainly not with Qantas-employee Alex, who looked a little like he thought Stacey’s eyes were located somewhere between her shoulders and her waist. And I’m not talking about her bellybutton.
    “Stace, let’s go check in.” I grabbed her arm, hoping to pull her away before the parent talk escalated.
    “No! Alex is going to help us with that. He was just saying he wants us to have the best possible start to our trip, especially after—well, you know.” Stacey’s eyes softened as she looked at me. “It’s been a big week for you.”
    “Which is why it’s my pleasure to upgrade you two ladies to first class.” Alex hit a final button on the computer and flashed us a giant smile. The guy must have had a whitening treatment; his teeth were so bright, they could have burnt ants if the sun reflected off them at the wrong angle.
    “Eek! That’s so exciting.” Stacey gave three tiny jumps up and down and clapped her hands, thanking Alex as she took the two tickets from him.
    “My pleasure. I hope you have a lovely flight, and I look forward to seeing you on your return to Sydney.” The words were barely out of his mouth before Stacey had turned and started charging her way through the throngs of people to the