B00B9FX0F2 EBOK by Ruth Baron Read Free Book Online Page B

immediately. It seemed silly — or more insane than anything else. What was he hoping would happen? That she’d answer the phone? And he’d ask her out? The idea was laughable. His hands were shaking when he looked down at them. He couldn’t be alone for another minute. He silently pleaded Rakesh was not in a crowded car with LMFAO turned up too loud to hear his phone, but there was barely any noise in the background when he answered.
    “Talk to me.”
    “What am I doing?”
    “Um, playing board games with Blake Lively?”
    “I’m being serious.”
    “Yeah, I knew Blake Lively would never talk to you.”
    “Rakesh.”
    “What do you want me to say, man?”
    There was that question again. What did Jason want?
    “I just called her house. Lacey’s house.”
    “You what ? What did you say?”
    “I hung up.”
    “Of course you did. Wuss.”
    “What was I supposed to do?”
    “Tell them their daughter’s not dead. Even though she’s probably dead.”
    “She’s not dead.” Jason surprised himself with the hard edge in his voice.
    “Dude, do you really even believe that?”
    He didn’t answer. Belief was beside the point, he needed Lacey to be alive.
    “Do you want me to come over?” Rakesh adopted a baby voice. “Do you want Daddy to make it better? I can rock you back and forth until you forget all about your lady trouble.”
    “Screw you.”
    “Hey, you called me.”
    Jason knew he was right, but he still refused to answer.
    “Well, can I at least come over and play Xbox? My dad is watching some documentary about Nazis on the History Channel, and my mom is driving me crazy.”
    “Fine,” he said sullenly. Another person in the house was better than the alternative, which was moving on to the really dark Mountain Goats songs. “How long will it take you to bike here?”
    “How soon can you pick me up?”
     
    They played video games long past midnight, and then Rakesh passed out on the sofa in the den, and Jason went up to his room and got in bed. Exhausted, he slept soundly, no haunting nightmares involving writer’s block and bad wardrobe choices. When he woke late in the morning, he came downstairs in his sweats to find Rakesh cracking his mom up as she cracked eggs into a bowl. Jason rubbed his eyes.
    “Hi, pookie,” she said when she saw him, “I’m making Rakesh pancakes. Do you want any?”
    “I can’t even remember the last time you made me pancakes,” he grumbled.
    “You know that’s because I’m her favorite son,” Rakesh said, beaming at Mrs. Moreland.
    She laughed. “It’s true, Rocky, you are.” No one had called him Rocky since elementary school, and he wouldn’t answer when his own mother used it, but he tolerated it from Jason’s.
    Jason turned to Rakesh. “You’re awfully chipper this morning.”
    “Dude, your mom’s making me pancakes. My mom barely even buys enough Cheerios to get me through the week.”
    Jason plopped down at the kitchen table while rolling his eyes. “Yeah, it’s a regular famine over at the Adams household.”
    “Hey, poor starving Oliver Twist,” his mom chimed in, “blueberries or chocolate chips?”
    “Chocolate chips,” the boys said in unison.
    She shook her head. “Why does that not surprise me?”
    Jason relaxed as they ate breakfast. His mom asked about their teachers and then entertained them with stories of gross things she’d seen at the hospital. Jason couldn’t count thenumber of times he’d sat at this table with Rakesh and his mom chatting easily while eating eggs or pancakes. It felt good to be normal.
    After Rakesh left, he carried their dishes to the sink and began washing up. He felt better than he had the night before. It was going to be a good Saturday. Mark would be at the driving range until nightfall. He’d call his dad when his mom left for her yoga class, and then he’d catch up on his homework. He hadn’t read Pitchfork all week — he could see if there was any new music worth caring about, and he