Vicious Deep Read Online Free PDF Page A

absurd.”
    Dad laughs. “I’ve already given them a check for the estimated bill. Good thing you were only there a day.” He pulls into the Brooklyn traffic. With his ash-blond hair and freckly Irish nose, he and I look nothing alike. My hair comes down just to the bottom of my neck in brown waves. It looks curlier when I just get out of water, though. He’s five-foot-eight to my six-foot-two-and-still-growing. Dad wears round glasses under his blue-framed Ray-Bans when he drives in the summer. When he was my age, he was a Long Beach surfer who just happened to be a computer whiz in the early ’80s. But I think I’m like him in the way that matters. We love the beach, old rock, fried food, and driving my mother crazy.
    Mom turns in her seat and pulls down the sun visor. Her red hair blows all over her face. Viking red, she calls it, though we’ve never met any of her family, not even her parents, to compare.
    â€œYou should know that there are going to be a few people acting strangely around you,” Dad adds.
    I think of the old lady in the elevator, the white of her eyes, and try to shake it off by staring at other things. There’s the Real Taj Mahal restaurant and the DVD store that never has any new releases. And the grocery store with all the expired canned food but with the best illegal fireworks China can make.
    â€œI had to unplug the house phone, because somehow every reporter in New York City has our number.”
    â€œYeah,” I go. “Layla said the Brooklyn Star is all over it. Maybe we should charge them a dollar every time they call.”
    â€œIt’s not worth the invasion of privacy,” Dad says.
    â€œOr the government people who’ll want to take you away,” Mom says, which makes everyone laugh. Except I think she’s really serious.
    Maddy runs a hand over the length of her braid, something she does when she feels uncomfortable and awkward, which is pretty much all the time. She’s painted her nails black, which is surprising since her mother doesn’t even let her own makeup.
    â€œYou got lucky,” she says to me, but keeps her eyes on the road ahead. “I don’t know how you got so lucky, but someone out there is madly in love with you.”
    I want to shrink into my seat at that. That was the last thing she said to me the night before the storm. The night of the bonfire at the beach when she saw me kissing another girl right after she said the words, “Tristan, I am madly in love with you.”
    â€œHow does pizza sound?” my dad asks.
    â€œGood,” the three of us say in unison.
    The sky rumbles, and the staticky radio station has completely gone into white noise. Dad pulls over in front of Dominick’s Pizza on the corner of our street. Lightning crashes in the distance. The streets are uncommonly empty. Layla and Maddy volunteer to get us a table and run inside, even though it doesn’t look necessary. I walk a little slower behind them as they whisper hand in hand and turn only once to look at me over their shoulders. Girls.
    There is only one man sitting in the pizzeria at the counter in front of the window. The man’s skin is sunburn-leather brown, and he wears a blue cap with the words “Save the Whales” stitched in white. There’s something funny about one of his eyes. It’s coated with a yellow film. The other one is perfect. He rests his chin on his knuckles. I push the door and it jingles. The men behind the counter are already showering the girls with attention, getting the booth ready for five as if we’re the only customers they’ve seen all day. With the exception of the “Save the Whales” guy.
    When the man sees me, he sets his bad eye in my direction and points out the window.
    â€œCan’t be long now,” he says.
    â€œFor what?” I’m born and raised in Brooklyn. I know better than to engage with the crazies. But his