Because It Is My Blood by Gabrielle Zevin Read Free Book Online Page A

don’t think she’s going to live.”
    Simon leaned over me to examine the scene. “Oh dear,” he whispered just before he passed out.
    *   *   *
    At the hospital, I waited while they examined Simon Green. The doctors determined that, aside from blood loss, there was nothing seriously wrong with him. They stitched up the gash on his temple. Because he had passed out, they were making him stay the night for observation.
    I had called Mr. Kipling, who assured me he was on his way. Simon Green and I watched the news on his slate while we waited for Mr. Kipling to arrive. The lead story was about the bus accident. “In Midtown today, several were injured when a city bus bearing a Charles Delacroix campaign advertisement struck a pedestrian.”
    “Ooh,” Simon Green said, “bad publicity. The Delacroix people must be furious.”
    The news cut to a man-on-the-street interview. “The girl—she must have been sixteen, seventeen—she was crossing in the middle of the street when boom . And next I know, she’s lying there on the ground with her head nearly cut off. Poor thing. You can’t help but feel for the parents in cases like this.”
    The reporter broke in. “The teenager was pronounced dead at the scene. The other injured passengers were taken to Mount Sinai Hospital. In an unusual coincidence, Anya Balanchine, the daughter of notorious crime boss Leonyd Balanchine, was also a passenger on the bus and is believed to be seriously injured.”
    “That is so annoying!” I yelled at the screen. “I’m not injured. I’m fine!”
    Simon Green shrugged.
    “They have no right releasing my name,” I grumbled.
    “Last spring, Anya Balanchine was arrested for the shooting of her own cousin, who had been trying to shoot Anya Balanchine’s boyfriend at the time, William Delacroix, the son of acting District Attorney Charles Delacroix.”
    “His name is Win!” I objected.
    “Although Charles Delacroix initially led in the polls, in the last month his major challenger, the Independent Party candidate, Bertha Sinclair, has narrowed the gap to five points. It’s too early to see how this latest incident will impact voters.”
    “Like it’s his fault a bus with his picture on it hit that girl,” Simon Green commented.
    A nurse knocked on the doorframe. “There’s a man here for you,” she said to me. “Is it okay if I let him in?”
    “Yes, we’re expecting him.”
    The nurse went to fetch Mr. Kipling.
    I sat down on the side of Simon Green’s hospital bed. This whole day had been ridiculously frustrating and yet, I had to count my blessings. That girl had been my age and I’m sure she hadn’t woken up this morning thinking she was going to die. Blessing number nine: At least I haven’t been hit by a bus and decapitated. Despite everything, I started to laugh.
    “What’s funny?” Simon Green asked.
    “I’m just glad—” I started to say, and then Simon Green cut me off.
    “Hey, that’s not Mr. Kipling!” he said.
    I turned. Through the window in Simon Green’s hospital room, I saw Win. He was wearing his Trinity uniform. Win waved at me.
    “I’ll only be a moment,” I said to Simon Green. I stood up, straightened my skirt, and went out to the hallway.
    “You look pretty good for a gal who’s seriously injured,” Win greeted me. His voice was casual. “You wore that to your cousin’s wedding.”
    I looked down at my jacket, which was stained with Simon Green’s blood. “I’ll never be able to wear it again.” It would not be the first (or the last) of my clothing to meet such an end. I offered him my hand to shake but he embraced me instead. It was a hard embrace, one that hurt my still sore neck, one that lasted too long. “I was on the bus but they got everything else wrong,” I said.
    “I can see that.”
    “Why are you here?” I asked.
    Win shook his head. “I was nearby when I heard about the accident. And I wanted to make sure you weren’t dying. We’re still friends,