Doll Bones Read Free

favored his left foot. The restaurant he worked at closed around three in the morning, but checking the stock and reorders and getting a meal with the rest of the crew meant he came home much later than closing time most days.
    “Bad blisters,” Dad grunted, by way of explanation for the limping. His dad was a big guy with a mess of short curly hair the same burnt-toast color as Zach’s, the same beach-glass blue eyes, and a nose that had been broken twice. “And then, like an idiot, I splashed oil on myself. But we were slammed, so that’s something.”
    Slammed was good. Slammed meant that people were eating at the restaurant, and that meant Zach’s dad wasn’t going to lose this job.
    Mom got out a mug, poured coffee into it wordlessly, and set it down on the table. Zach grabbed his backpack, heading for the door. He felt bad, but it sometimes still surprised him to see his father in the house. His dad had moved out three years ago and moved back in three months ago. Zach couldn’t get used to him being around.
    “Tear up that court today,” his dad said, tousling Zach’s hair as though he was a little kid.
    His father loved that Zach was on the basketball team. Sometimes that seemed as if it was the only thing about Zach he liked. He didn’t like that Zach played with girls after school instead of shooting hoops with the older kids a couple of blocks over. He didn’t like that Zach daydreamed all the time. And sometimes it seemed to Zach that his father didn’t even like that Zach had gotten really good at basketball, since it meant that he couldn’t scold Zach about how all that other stuff was getting in the way of his performance on the court.
    Mostly, Zach didn’t care what his dad thought. Every time his dad gave him a disapproving look or asked a question that was supposed to make him defensive, Zach would pretend not to notice. Zach and his mom had been fine before his father moved back in, and they’d be fine when he left again, too.
    With a sigh, Zach started toward school. Usually, he met up with some of the other walkers, but today the only other kid he saw walking was Kevin Lord. Kevin told Zach a long story about seeing deer when he was riding his dirt bike through the woods and ate a toaster pastry thing, raw, right out of the wrapping.
    Zach got to Mr. Lockwood’s class just after the buses. Alex Rios leaned back in his chair to bring his fist down on top of Zach’s. Then they both slapped their hands together and dragged them until they were hooked by the ends of their fingers. It was a handshake taught to everyone on the basketball team, and every time that Zach did it, he felt the warm buzz of belonging.
    “You think we’re going to win against Edison next Sunday?” Alex asked in a way that wasn’t really asking. It was part of the ritual, like the handshake.
    “We’re going to wreck them,” said Zach, “so long as you keep passing me the ball.”
    Alex snorted, and then Mr. Lockwood started to take attendance, so they turned toward the SMART board. Zach tried to stop smiling and appear to be paying attention.
    After lunch Poppy pressed a triangle-shaped note into his hand as she passed him in the hall. He didn’t need to unfold it to know what it was. Questions. He couldn’t remember which one of them had come up with the idea, or when, but Questions existed as a strange private thing outside the game. He and Poppy and Alice had to answer any in-game question they were asked, on paper, but the answers were only for the questioner. Characters didn’t get to know.
    They passed notes back and forth, especially if one of them was about to get grounded or before someone went on a trip. He always felt a flush of excitement—and a little bit of dread—when he got a folded-up paper. It was a part of the game that felt particularly risky. If a teacher got ahold of the note or Alex saw it—just thinking about the possibility made the back of Zach’s neck burn with