Vicious Deep Read Online Free PDF

craziness makes me feel less so.
    He shakes his head, picks up his paper plate, translucent with pizza grease, rolls it into the cylinder shape of a telescope, and puts his good eye to one opening. He points the other end toward the shore. “No, not too long. Must be quick. Vicious they is.” He smacks his lips like he’s still trying to taste the tomato sauce on them.
    I’m about to say, “Quicker than who?” but Mom and Dad walk in with a jingle. They hold hands and look from me to the old man. I shrug and stand aside, kind of wanting to hear more of what he has to say but knowing I should really go and sit down.
    The man crunches up his telescope into a little ball and throws it over his shoulder onto the floor, the way my mom does with salt. He makes for the exit. There’s a heavy thud on the ground when his wooden leg struggles to hold his weight.
    He leans in close to me and whispers, “Don’t go trustin’ them.” He points at his face. “They’ll take your eyes out, they will.”
    He looks at my mother as if he’s surprised to see her standing there, like he knows her. He straightens out his cap and smooths his face where pizza crumbs cluster at the corners of his lips. He bows a little. “My Lady,” he says, and then is down the street as fast as anyone with a wooden leg can hobble.
    â€œGotta love Brooklyn,” Dad says with a smile. He tucks his Ray-Bans into his shirt, and Mom and I follow him to where Maddy and Layla sit.
    After we decide on a meat-lover’s pizza and a Hawaiian with extra cheese, Mom takes a sip of her ice water and looks right at me with her mirror turquoise eyes. “I hope you don’t mind. We invited some of the other lifeguards and your coach for a little welcome-home celebration tomorrow.”
    I’m not really in the mood for people. I’m just glad I’m breathing. I scratch at my throat where I’m breaking out in a rash.
    Layla looks over at me. “You need a real good shower, Finn. ”
    â€œYou’re not allowed to call me that,” I say. This is good. If I argue with Layla, I’ll feel like something is still normal.
    â€œOh, you love it,” she says.
    â€œCan’t you be nice to me for one more hour before you start hating me again? Pretty please?” I grab a garlic knot and put the whole thing into my mouth.
    â€œI do not hate you” is her response. I can’t see her face, because Maddy is sitting between us. “Maybe a little, but only because you didn’t listen to me when I was screaming at you not to go into the water.”
    Maddy whispers, “I was screaming that too.” But no one addresses that.
    â€œHe’s fine,” Mom goes. “That’s what matters.”
    Two steaming pies are set in front of us. My stomach is making happy noises, and for three whole slices I sit there eating without saying anything.
    When the waiter comes around again, he looks at me and claps his hands together. “Man, you’re that guy!”
    People acting weird around me, Take 1.
    â€œMan, can I take a picture with you?” he asks, grabbing his cell phone from his pocket. “I want to show my girlfriend. She thinks you’re like awesome, man.”
    â€œBut I didn’t do anything,” I say. He doesn’t hear it, because he shouts toward the kitchen, “’Ey, Dad, it’s the Perfect Storm guy!”
    A round man in an apron stained with tomato sauce, giving him the look of an all-too-happy butcher, comes out. His thick, smiling mustache reminds me of Super Mario. “Oh, my boy!” He comes around the table, leans over Maddy, and kisses me on both cheeks. “The pizza is on the house! Brave boy.”
    Dad slaps the waiter on the arm like they’re buddies and says, “Mike, no more pictures. You understand.”
    â€œNo problem, my man.” Mike puts away his phone, and they return to the