Hero by Mike Lupica Read Free Book Online Page A

he could have made her understand better what he was doing and why he had to do it. Only here was the person who said she knew him better than anybody, and probably did, saying he was nuts to think that somebody had knocked his dad out of the sky video-game style.
    He needed to go out.
    Needed to do something more than turn on his computer, even though it was past nine o’clock. Needed to move. Needed not to be here. Zach walked back into his room, grabbed his Knicks hoodie off a hanger in his closet, hoping that Kate and Alba were in their rooms at the back end of the first floor, knowing Alba would never let him go out alone at this time of night if he asked her for permission.
    But Zach wasn’t asking.
    All that dark stuff he was carrying around, maybe it belonged outside in the night.
     
    He didn’t push the elevator button, didn’t want to take the chance Kate or Alba would hear it opening and closing. He went out the back door to the kitchen instead, willing to take the stairs all the way down to the lobby.
    He knew that he didn’t have all night, that Alba would check on him eventually, around what was supposed to be lights-out time at eleven. But it wasn’t close to eleven yet. So he had time.
    Time to do what?
    That was a pretty solid question right there.
    He had remembered to take his cell phone with him. If Kate or Alba came up looking for him before eleven and realized he was gone, he knew the first thing they were going to do was call his cell. So he had a cover story ready, that he just had to run to the drugstore for a printer cartridge so he could print the English paper that was due tomorrow. Even though he’d finished the paper two days ago.
    So that meant bringing money with him also, in case they called and he did need to run over to the twenty-four-hour Duane Reade on Lexington Avenue and actually buy a new printer cartridge.
    Zach Harriman, feeling like the new troubleshooter in the family. Except the only trouble tonight was the kind he was making for himself if he got caught.
    Pat, one of the night doormen, with his big belly and big Irish accent, was at the security desk when Zach came through the lobby.
    “No elevator for ya, young Mr. H.?” he said.
    “Getting in shape for b-ball, Pat.”
    “And where might you be rushin’ off to, since I never see ya out by your lonesome at this time a night?”
    Zach said, “Homework emergency. Homework 911, Pat. Need to run over to the drugstore and get some school stuff or my English teacher is gonna kill me tomorrow.”
    Pat said, “You want me to walk with you? I can get Mickey at the back to cover for me a little while.”
    Zach made himself smile. “Pat,” he said. “I’m fourteen, not four.”
    “Just make sure you’re comin’ right back, boy-o,” Pat said. “I don’t want that Alba of yours readin’ me the riot act if she calls down wantin’ to know if I seen ya.”
    Zach banged him some fist.
    He walked for a long time, north on Fifth, knowing he had walked a mile when he came up on the Metropolitan Museum of Art—twenty blocks equaling roughly a mile in Manhattan.
    Zach crossed over to the west side of Fifth now, walked past the incredible entrance to the Met, lit like some kind of movie set.
    Zach found himself standing alone at an entrance to Central Park.
    He’d never even thought about going in there at night.
    Until this night.
    Until right now.
    And it was real night in there, not some movie set. There was the usual traffic noise behind him, because you got that in New York day or night. People weren’t kidding in the song when they said this was the city that never sleeps. But for Zach it was very quiet now, as quiet as the park in front of him.
    In or not?
    Yes or no?
    He felt like there was this fight going on inside him, Zach against Zach.
    He took a deep breath, let it out.
    And walked away. Turned and walked back across Fifth, not feeling as if he’d wimped out, just feeling as if he wasn’t ready. Which