The Face Read Free Page A

us honked.
    â€œJust joking,” Ivan muttered. He tapped the wheel with both hands.
    â€œHow is Adriana?” I asked, eager to change the subject. Ivan seemed really tense, really wound up. “Has she been sleeping any better?”
    The light changed. He lowered his foot on the gas pedal, and the car shot forward with a squeal. “I don’t know. Ask her.”
    He sounded so bitter.
    â€œI’m worried about her,” I confessed. “She told me she hasn’t been sleeping. Or eating.”
    â€œBoo-hoo.” He scowled.
    I shot him an angry look. But his eyes were on the road. It was about five-thirty—rush hour—and the streets were jammed with cars.
    â€œYou’re her brother. Don’t you worry about her?” My question burst out more shrill than I had planned.
    He shrugged again. He seemed to talk mainly with his shoulders. “She’s okay,” he replied in a low, flat tone. “She went to a doctor last week. She taught her self-hypnosis or something.”
    â€œExcuse me?” A truck roared past. I wasn’t sure I’d heard correctly.
    â€œYou know,” Ivan said, shouting over the truck noise. “She hypnotizes herself. To help her sleep.”
    â€œWow,” I replied. Dumb. I know. But I wasn’t sure what to say. “Is it safe?” I asked finally.
    Ivan didn’t seem to hear me. He made a left onto Park Drive.
    The sky darkened nearly to black. Only five-thirty, and it already looked like the middle of the night. I hate February.
    â€œAdriana’s grades—” I started.
    But Ivan interrupted with a hoarse cry. “It isn’t easy to sleep at my house, Martha!” he shouted, slapping the steering wheel. “Nothing is easy at my house these days.”
    I knew that Ivan’s parents weren’t getting along. The rumor was that Mr. Petrakis had threatened to move out.
    â€œYour parents—?” I asked meekly. I didn’t really want to get into it. I mean, it really wasn’t my business.
    â€œIt’s a war zone,” Ivan declared, shaking his head. Even in the dim light I could see his dull eyes, see the bitter scowl on his face. Bitter, yet mixed with fear.
    â€œLast night they started throwing things at each other,” he said, keeping his eyes straight ahead on the road.
    â€œOh, no,” I murmured.
    â€œLike babies. They started heaving plates and glasses at each other. Broken china all over the kitchen. I—I tried to stop them. It was so stupid. I—” Ivan’s voice broke.
    I let out a long sigh. “How awful,” I murmured. “Then what happened?”
    â€œMom went running into the bedroom, crying and shrieking her head off. Dad stormed out. Slammed the door. I don’t think he came back last night. At least, I didn’t hear him.”
    â€œIs your mom okay?” I asked, squeezing the door handle.
    Ivan swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I heard her sobbing all night. Their bedroom is right next to mine.” He lowered his voice to keep it from cracking again. “Bad break for me, huh?”
    I didn’t know what to say. Ivan’s parents had been battling for months. Adriana gave me reports almost daily. They fought and fought, but neither would move out.
    No wonder Adriana and Ivan were so nervous and crazy.
    I peered out the window at the dark trees and houses whirring past us. Whirring past so rapidly.
    A blur of black shadows against blackness.
    I realized Ivan was driving too fast.
    â€œIvan, please—” I started.
    We bolted through the stop sign at Canyon Drive. He didn’t seem to notice.
    â€œIvan—slow down!” I cried.
    â€œI—I just can’t take it anymore!” Ivan shrieked. His eyes were wild. He gripped the top of the wheel with both hands. “It’s too much, Martha! Too much!”
    â€œIvan—no!”
    I gasped in horror as he let out another cry.
    And