Blues for Zoey Read Free

agreed. “She tries coming in he re with that thing,” he said to me, “you don’t let her. Understand?”
    I nodded in silence.
    â€œ Bad for business.” He turned back to the boxes of Tide, sprucing them into rows for the gazillionth time. “Soon as someone like that walks in, you’r e losing money.”
    Maybe so, but for some reason, I was curious. Maybe it was her legs, straining under the w eight of the cross. In my head, I still saw the streaks of lean muscle flashing up and down her thighs with each ste p. I went to the window, trying to get a look at her again, but she was gone.
    â€œGet back here,” Mr. Rodolfo said. “ You’re not finished folding. Leaving a pile like this out on the counter— no way . Bad for business.”
    Before I went back to folding, we all heard the pitter-pounding of tiny feet. They were coming down the back stairs. They were never supposed to come down the back stairs.
    It was Nomi.

7
    B-L-O-O-D
    My sister burst in through the back door.
    â€œUse the front!” I shouted at her. “You know that!”
    It was a rule in our house, mostly directed at Nomi: whene ver you go down to Kaz’s wo rk, don’t go down the back way . The p roblem was the rear stairs off our kitchen spat you straight into the alley behind the laundromat. Drivers were always speeding through there to avoid the lights at Steinway and Emerson. (And yes, it meant the three of us—Mom, Nomi, and me—lived directly above my work.)
    â€œI’m sorry,” Nomi whimpered, “but … ”
    â€œForget about that,” I said, sensing something was wrong. “What happened?”
    â€œIt’s Mom.”
    Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Becky covering her mouth. Only three people outside our family knew about M om’s illness: Calen, Mr. Rodolfo, and Becky. Calen knew because I had known him forever; Mr. R odolfo knew because we needed to borrow his car whenever Mom went up to Olsten for her therapy; Becky knew because I was dumb enough to tell her when she agreed to ha ve sex with me. (Afterward, I made her p romise she’d never tell anyone or else I’d start a rumor that she gave me chlamydia. She pointed out that, if I did, then everyone would think I had chlamydia too. I told her yeah, that’s how badly I wanted her to keep it to herself.)
    I didn’t tell people because that’s what Mom wanted. She was extremely self-conscious about her illness. She doesn’t like anyone knowing about it. Probably because of how weird and rare it is.
    â€œTell me what happened,” I said to Nomi.
    â€œMom told me she was taking a nap! She said that’s all it was! Just a nap! But then, I couldn’t wake her up, so … so I … ”
    â€œTake a deep breath.”
    My sister tried. She opened her mouth but as soon as she inhaled, she started crying. “I tried to pull her out of bed! I just wanted to wake her up, that’s all! But she was right on the edge and then I pulled too hard and she hit her head and there’s … there ’s … Kaz, I’m sorry! There’s blood! ”
    I had to steady myself. I have this problem with blood. H emophobia , they call it. It means the runny red stuff that keeps us alive is basically my kryptonite. When I see blood, I pass out. The sudden image in my head—Mom’s pale face and a red stain soaking into the carpet—made the world turn gr ay. I shut my eyes tight. I flexed my stomach muscles. I clenched my jaw. (Sometimes that helps.)
    When I opened my eyes, Mr. Rodolfo had his phone out, looking annoyed—p robably with my lack of action.
    â€œI’ll call the ambulance,” he said.

8
    The Swelling of Sleep
    You’ve heard of appendicitis, right? That itis part means to get larger, to swell. My mother has something else entirely . Somnitis . It’s a rare neurological disease named after Somnus,