Eye Candy by R.L. Stine Page A

our way to the ladies’ room. “Shelly seems sweet,” she said. “Like him?”
    â€œI haven’t decided,” I said. “He’s cute enough and very funny. But then sometimes he’s kind of . . . disturbing.”
    When we returned, Lou and Shelly were watching a platinum blonde with enormous boobs dancing in what appeared to be a tiny, blue bikini top over matching blue short-shorts. The two guys were practically drooling.
    â€œWhat do you think she does during the day?” Ann-Marie asked me.
    â€œSupreme Court justice?”
    Ann-Marie grabbed the sides of Lou’s head and turned it away from the platinum blonde. “Time to go.”
    We said our goodbyes and nice-to-meet-yous. Ann-Marie led Lou across the dance floor.
    Shelly was still staring at the bouncing blonde.
    â€œDo you want to go, too?” I asked, shouting over the beat, beat, beat.
    He finished his beer. “No way. It’s still early.” He took my hand and led me back onto the dance floor. We danced a long time, drank a few beers, then danced some more.
    When we finally stepped out of the club, it was nearly two in the morning. A cold spring rain poured down hard. West Twelfth Street was shiny with water running in the curbs like rivers. Rain pattered the tin roofs of the meat-market warehouses.
    â€œIt must have been raining a long time,” I said, grabbing his arm. “Maybe we can get a cab on Tenth.”
    Shelly laughed and raised his face to the rain. “Cab? Why do we need a cab?” He pulled me onto the sidewalk.
    â€œWe don’t have umbrellas. I don’t have a raincoat or anything,” I complained. “What do you think you’re doing?”
    A taxi rolled up to the restaurant across the street, and a couple climbed into it.
    Shelly pulled off his blazer and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Don’t you love rain? It’s so fresh and . . . and . . . wet.”
    How many beers did he drink? I wasn’t counting, but . . .
    â€œShelly, we’re getting drenched! Let’s jog to Tenth and find a cab.”
    â€œBut, Lindy, doesn’t the rain make you want to sing?”
    â€œSing? Hel-lo. We’re drowning here.”
    He began belting out “Singing in the Rain” at the top of his lungs.
    I heard laughter and saw a couple under a black umbrella, arms around each other, laughing as they hurried past.
    How lame is this? I thought, watching him do a splashy tap dance as he sang.
    Sorry, Shelly. You’re pushing it with the Gene Kelly act.
    â€œHey, don’t you like that song?” Shelly asked, grabbing my arm. Water soaked through his shirt. His hair was matted to his forehead.
    â€œNo way!” Laughing, I pulled him down the block, his blazer over my head.
    A taxi appeared at the corner, windshield wipers sending up a spray of water. It had its OFF-DUTY sign lit, but the driver pulled over and asked where we were going. When I told him Seventy-ninth and Amsterdam, he said, “Jump in.”
    I climbed in and slid across the seat. Shelly stood at the car door, shaking water off like a dog. Then he lowered himself into the cab. The driver grumbled something. I couldn’t hear him through the Plexiglas divider. The taxi took off, wheels whirring on the rain-slicked street.
    Breathing hard, raindrops clinging to his dark eyebrows, running down his cheeks, Shelly pretended to pout. “I didn’t get to finish the song.” He hummed a few more bars.
    â€œYou’re totally crazy,” I said.
    He wiped water from his forehead. “Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.”
    â€œYou look normal, but you’re not,” I teased.
    â€œSometimes I lose it a little,” he said solemnly, lowering his eyes. “Therapy doesn’t help. I’m thinking of joining an Ashram.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œNo.”
    I leaned close and kissed his cheek. It felt cold and wet, like a fish.
    He