Vicious Deep by Zoraida Cordova Read Free Book Online

dead.” I suck my teeth. I need a toothbrush ASAP.
    We fall into silence. She tilts her head and combs her hair all to one side. She twirls a strand around her index finger and stares at my face. I wonder what she sees. If she sees something different from what everyone else does. I wonder if she’s thinking I’m a piece-of-shit friend and an even worse boyfriend. I wonder if she’s thought about our CPR kiss the way I have.
    Instead she whispers, “What were you dreaming about?” She hesitates. “You were really tossing.”
    I shake my head. I know how this would make me sound. If there is anyone I let myself tell anything to, it’s Layla. Well, almost anything. “Just some crazy stuff. You know, I still can’t remember anything that happened to me out there. I see this blur. Then last night I was going through the apartment, reading, Googling, pacing, trying to make myself remember, like maybe it’s memory loss. But nothing.
    â€œI mean, I wasn’t expecting an instant replay. But when I fell asleep, my dream was so impossible and it still felt so real. More real than this—” I pinch her and she squeals. “What if something happened to me down there? It would explain how I got this—” I pull my T-shirt at the collar so she can see the red scratches on my chest.
    â€œYes, Tristan, you have pecs of steel. The guys are outside. You really don’t have to do that with me—”
    â€œNo, dumbass. I mean, I do, but look—” I really don’t want to get up for fear of the pillow shifting. “Scratches.”
    â€œThere’s nothing there, Tristan.” There’s a sort of pity in her eyes.
    She’s right. I rub my hands on my chest and can’t feel anything. Not even the impression of scabs.
    â€œIs he awake yet?” My mom is standing at the door.
    â€œJust now,” I say, as Layla stands and pulls at where her dress clings to her thighs.
    Mom lingers at the doorway. She stands half in and half out. There’s something about the way she’s looking at me. It’s not exactly wonder, but similar to it. I mean, I can’t even imagine what it must’ve been like to think I was dead.
    â€œHurry up and get dressed, honey. People are on their way.”
    â€œYeah, I’ll be ready in just a minute.” Though I don’t feel ready for anything at all.
    â€¢â€¢â€¢
    While my mom spared me a Welcome Home sign, my friends—if I’d even call them that after what they’re holding up—have made a crude sign on white cardboard. It reads: “IT'S ALIVE!” With thunderbolts on the side.
    Jerry, Angelo, Bertie, Ryan, and some other lifeguards and members of the swim team hang around the living room. They pat me on the back and tell me they’ve never seen anything like this. They can’t believe it. I’m a miracle. I’m the coolest dude that ever lived on Planet Cool. They show me my mug on three newspapers, an awkward picture that I recognize from Mike’s camera phone at the pizzeria, and one that looks like a girl was edited out of the left half. I’m halfway between a smile and a grimace, and my eyes don’t really come out right in black-and-white. They almost look colorless.
    Jerry polishes off his can of root beer and burps. From somewhere in the kitchen, Layla’s mother scolds him, and he sinks into the chair, which makes him look like a grasshopper retracting his limbs. He’s so tall that watching him swim reminds me of a log with branches flailing down a stream. “My mom was going to send flowers from her flower shop, you know? But half the girls in school were already buying them and sending them to your hospital room.”
    â€œTell her thanks anyway.”
    Angelo sits up on the ottoman. “Bro, that nurse.” He makes the symbol of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, then kisses his fingertips. I’ve seen