Zee's Way by Kristen Butcher Read Free Book Online

sleep left in me.
    Then the bedroom door burst open and the room started to vibrate. “Get up, you lazy slug,” Dad boomed.
    The words and volume were familiar, but the voice was way too cheerful. I cracked open an eye to make sure it was really my dad. I was still pretty groggy, but I could have sworn he was smiling.
    I rolled over and put the pillow over my head. Dad pulled it away.
    â€œCome on,” he said again, jostling the bed with his knee. “Get up. I need you to help me.”
    â€œWith what?” I mumbled into my mattress, making a last-ditch effort to hang onto sleep.
    He ripped back the blankets. “With our new TV. I need you to help me carry it in.”
    Not only had Dad bought a new television, but a VCR too. As we carted them into the house, he informed me a satellite dish would be arriving on Wednesday.
    My jaw just about hit the floor. I’d been trying to talk him into one of those for the last couple of years. “But –”
    â€œI know what you’re going to say,” he cut me off. “But that was before, when we just had the old TV. It’s different now. I mean, what’s the point of having high-tech equipment if we can’t get any channels? Right?”
    He didn’t wait for me to answer. Instead, he strode across the living room. “First thing we need to do is clear some space. Help me move this stuff out of the way.”
    Then he began dismantling Mom’s music corner—chair, stand, sheet music, CDs, symphony programs—everything. For a year that corner had practically been a shrine, and now Dad was tearing it apart like a one-man wrecking crew.
    At the risk of ruining his good mood, I said, “Are you sure you want to do that?”
    He looked up. He wasn’t smiling anymore. But when he spoke, he wasn’t yelling either. His voice was quiet and matter-of-fact. “You said it yourself, son. She’s not coming back.”
    It was true. I had said that. For a whole year I’d been telling myself she wasn’t coming back. My mother had cut me out of her life, so I had cut her out of mine.
    â€œBut what if she does?” I heard myself reply.
    It was weird how that turned out. Dad finally stopped pretending Mom wasn’t gone, and I stopped acting like she’d never been there. So suddenly we weren’t on opposite sides anymore. And that meant we didn’t have to be mad at each other all the time. The situation hadn’t really changed, but our way of looking at it had. And for some reason that seemed to make a difference.
    It made a difference in other things too. Like the mural. When I checked it out on Monday, it didn’t look the same. Don’t getme wrong—nobody had messed with it. What was there looked just like it had on Friday. It was the stuff I hadn’t painted that was causing the problem. Usually I don’t have any trouble visualizing the things I’m going to draw. But that morning everything was a blur.
    As I stood on the sidewalk trying to get my ideas to focus, Feniuk came around the corner of the building.
    Walking toward me, he called, “So what’s on the agenda today?”
    Up to that point he’d let me do whatever I wanted, so his question surprised me. Maybe he’d guessed what I was planning. I eyed him warily. “Don’t you trust me?”
    He frowned. “It has nothing to do with trust. I’m just interested.”
    â€œI haven’t decided yet,” I hedged. Since I was having trouble visualizing images in my head, it was sort of the truth.
    â€œFair enough.” He started back to the store. But then he stopped and turned around again. “Can I ask you something?”
    What was it with adults? They were always asking questions.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhen you’re done here, how are we going to make sure you won’t be buying anymore spray paint?”
    I hadn’t seen that one coming. So I