登陆注册
10432500000004

第4章

The good thing was, when you puked often enough, you learned where in the toilet bowl to aim in order to minimize splatter.

The bad thing was, you automatically shut your eyes in the process. In Nolan's case, that meant switching between feeling his knees on cool tiles and acid in his throat to witnessing Amara and Maart in the alcove bed, leaving him with mental whiplash and voyeur guilt and-in short-terrible aim.

"Nolan?" Pat thumped a fist on the bathroom door. "You, uh, need anything?"

Nolan wiped his mouth with too-thin toilet paper. Then he yanked off some extra sheets, slammed his hand to the roll to keep it from spinning endlessly, and wiped the toilet seat, too. "Did Mom send you up?" He sounded pathetic. If it'd been Mom out there, he'd have cleared his throat and aimed for a laugh, but he didn't need to with Pat-

-Maart was kissing Amara, slick lips on her neck, the dip of her collarbone-

"-texted me to check on you." Nolan could almost hear Pat frown. "But if I can help…"

"Probably not." He crawled upright. His legs tingled with numbness from the knees down. He barely kept his balance as he leaned in to flush, then half stumbled, half hopped to the sink, using a single, sleeping foot and no crutches. They were still downstairs. Idiot. At least the bathroom was small. He ended up crash-landing on the sink with both elbows. Stuck between dry-heaving and panting, he stared at the mirror. He looked pale. Not pale-pale, like Mom, but paler than his normal, even brown, which made those bags under his eyes stand out even more.

Another surge of nausea hit. He pressed a fist to his sternum to quell it. The movement reminded him of before, in the Walgreens back room, and a phantom burn flared in his hands and faded straightaway. He ought to just shut his eyes until the nausea passed. If he had to deal with Amara's pain, shouldn't he be allowed the good parts, as well, no matter the guilt-

-Amara's hand ran down Maart's side, heat spreading across his skin and hers, and she hardly felt the wall patterns pressing into her back or-

-Pat shoved open the door. Probably a good thing. Whenever Nolan wanted to get sucked into Amara's world, it took forever to wake up.

"I heard you flush," Pat said by way of justification.

"I hate these pills." Nolan stuck his head under the tap. Cold water. For more reasons than just cleaning up. Puking and sex-two surefire ways of feeling awkward around your thirteen-year-old sister. Not that she looked thirteen. Pat took after Dad, tall and unapologetic and dark, and with Nolan bent over like this, they were almost the same height.

"Weren't you feeling better?" she said. "I thought you got used to those pills weeks ago." She fiddled with her gloves. Summer in Arizona, and she wore gloves. Leather ones, with cut-off fingers and metal spikes across the back. Nolan didn't know how she managed.

"I messed up the timing. Took two doses too close together." The taste of acid coated the back of his throat. He rinsed his mouth again.

"Are these pills better than the old ones, at least?"

"Which old ones? There's plenty to choose from." Nolan managed a laugh-a little-sister laugh, a big-brother laugh-but not much of one, and apparently he wasn't the only one feeling awkward, since Pat was still twisting the spikes on her gloves one by one. Pat didn't hesitate often. Then again, they didn't talk about his condition often, either. Nolan preferred it that way. She shouldn't have to worry about her screwed-up brother's supposed epilepsy.

That was the diagnosis: epilepsy. To be specific, a rare type of photosensitive epilepsy that triggered absence seizures on blinking. Seizures that came with hallucinations. The EEGs were works of art, the symptoms didn't add up, and the so-called seizures never responded to medication-but it explained everything, from the overstimulation to the flares of pain and the worthless attention span. It had also explained why a five-year-old Nolan would mention flashes of noise, people who didn't exist, visuals he couldn't explain. He claimed those had gone away years ago, but the pain was harder to hide.

The numbness from kneeling so long had now shifted into full-on pins and needles, assaulting his leg with every twitch of movement. Eyes open, he told himself. He was almost relieved when Pat pointed at the inside of his arm. "What's that?"

He glanced at the faded ballpoint scribbles that stretched across his flesh. Dit letters. He'd practiced writing them the other night at the same time Amara had, and he'd forgotten to scrub them off. The letters along his arm aligned in a firm grid. His ballpoint couldn't vary line thickness properly, so the lines weren't as neat as Cilla's or even Amara's meticulous attempts and ended up looking cheap, almost fake.

Nolan didn't want to linger on them, though. Pat should be more important than some distant girl he'd never meet, no matter how much that distant girl slathered herself across his eyelids and pushed between this thought and that. "Nothing. Doodles."

"Huh. Didn't you draw those in your journals, too?"

Nolan froze. He tried not to sound upset: "You-read my journals?"

"How could I? I can't open your cabinet." Pat shrugged. "I walked past once while you were writing. I don't want to read about your sexcapades, anyway."

Pat had that fake casual air, as though she said the word every day and it wasn't just something she'd read online and thought was funny, but Nolan didn't call her on it. If she'd read his notebooks, she'd be asking different questions entirely. Who's Amara? And Who's Cilla? And How come you're not more heavily medicated, Nolan?

"OK," he said, still leaning against the sink, the counter pressing a straight line into his elbows. He cleared his throat. "OK. Sorry."

"Anyway, Mom said she'd be home by five, so we'll eat early. We're having leftovers."

"I thought we finished those yesterday."

"That was Grandma Pérez's carnitas. We're having the Thai now."

From three days ago? Nolan swallowed the words. The rule was that you didn't toss out food until it turned suspicious colors. "Sounds good," he replied, and managed a halfway genuine smile.

"Patli, do you really need those gloves during dinner?" Mom said wearily.

"Yeah?" Pat shoveled more rice into her mouth. "If I only wore them at school, it wouldn't be authentic. And I take them off during rehearsals for the play. Sometimes. My drama teacher said we need volunteers, by the way."

Nolan rolled a piece of corn around the rim of his plate. As long as he played with it, he didn't have to consider the horrifying notion of actually eating it. His stomach rebelled at the thought. The spicy smell from Mom's beef was bad enough already-

-Amara rushed to clean up after lunch, scrubbing the plates, the cups. Next to her, Maart's legs stuck out from the nearest alcove as he made Cilla's bed. Amara was doing fine, Nolan thought, Nolan hoped-

-throughout Mom and Pat's conversation, Dad's wide grin stretched even wider. All Pat's weird choices in fashion and music and friends just seemed to amuse him. When his eyes fell on Nolan, all he said was, "Don't forget to mention that nausea to Dr. Campbell tomorrow."

"Do you feel up to swimming yet?" Mom asked. "I'm working tonight. I'm leaving in twenty minutes, if you need a ride."

Nolan had almost forgotten: Sunday was his standard swimming day. He'd missed going that afternoon, but the pool closed late. He smiled a Mom-smile. "I'm much better"-such a lie-"but I think I'll skip today." Swimming would take his mind off things, but after what he'd found out about Mom, he had other plans. "I appreciate the offer, though."

Pat gave a roll of her eyes and-

-downstairs, the nonstop raucousness of the inn's pub increased. Jorn was down there, which meant Cilla was, too. They never left her alone-

"-he's just being polite, Patli." Mom tucked some hair from Nolan's forehead behind his ear. He flinched at her hand entering his view unannounced. He was seventeen, and still she did this-she'd even check the gel in his hair before school, and some mornings she barged into his room to wake him up, and, before he knew it, she'd be rummaging through his closet and tossing slacks and a shirt onto his bed as if he was five years old. She wouldn't dare do that to Pat.

Mom probably felt she needed to take care of him. Nolan didn't know if it was his leg or his seizures or something else. He'd complained about it once, two years ago. Then he'd seen the look on her face. Ever since, he'd let her baby him. If she needed this, he refused to cause more hurt-

-a sharp noise-

-Nolan closed his eyes. Noise meant bad things. Jorn's temper. Cilla getting hurt-

-Amara and Maart went dead still, alert for further sounds. "I should check on Cilla," Amara signed. A second later, the pub crowd downstairs burst into cheers. Relief washed over her-

"-Nolan? Polite? I'm shocked." Pat laughed.

Nolan took a second to replay her words. His parents would be waiting-hoping-for a smart-ass big-brother response. Pat knew better. Her eyes only met his briefly before she gave her plate her full attention again.

It wasn't as if he didn't try. He laughed, which seemed to please Dad, but when he racked his brain for a response, nothing came.

This act used to be easier. He'd always been the good big brother and the ideal son, who might be aloof but at least didn't do drugs or smoke or hang with the wrong crowd. At least he didn't splurge on video games or stay out all night. At least he no longer had those hallucinations.

But lately, people wanted more than tailor-made smiles, and he didn't know what to give them.

Whenever Nolan read, he lost his spot on the page, every page. Music interrupted and paused but was low-key enough to be bearable, unlike TV, which had him zoning out within minutes.

Homework? Out of the damn question.

What Nolan could do was this: open his journals and report on every blink without thinking. The Dunelands took up five dozen notebooks and counting.

He wanted more than that. Something that was his.

Without the money for a running leg, sports were out, whether it was disabled sports two hours away in Mesa or regular sports here in tiny Farview, Arizona. He'd get too distracted, anyway, and anything involving running or jumping was too dangerous with the Dunelands catching him off guard at any moment. What'd happened ten years ago proved that: Cilla had tripped and skinned her palms. Blood welled up in tiny drops. The curse awoke, sending ripples through the earth; they had only seconds before it would strike.

By then, Amara had been with Jorn and Cilla for a year. She'd lost track of how often she'd had to cheat the curse, but she knew her script and everyone else's.

It didn't make her shake any less when Jorn grabbed his knife. He slashed open Cilla's skin further, then thrust Amara's hand into the cut and dragged her arm along it. Then, pushing her out of reach, he helped Cilla wrap up, shielding her palms from the air so her blood couldn't call louder than the fresh smears on Amara's skin.

The earth drew open. Roots wrapped around Amara's ankles. They dragged her down, slicing her legs through the thick fabric of her winterwear. When she stumbled to all fours, the next root coiled around her arms, up to her throat. One wormed its way between her lips. Pushed into an empty mouth, past the remains of a sliced-up tongue, and beyond.

All in all, it might've taken five minutes. When the roots drew enough of Amara's blood to block out the final whispers of Cilla's dried streaks, the curse backed off, leaving Amara to cough and choke and claw and heal.

She must've been seven. She was thinking: I don't want to heal anymore I don't I don't

Nolan was seven, too. Five minutes was more than enough for him to lurch off his bike on his way to school and fall to the street, groping to free himself from roots that weren't there. He barely saw the Jeep in time. Adrenaline flooded him. He crab-walked out of reach, but too slowly, leaving his left foot and a child-sized bicycle for the Jeep's tire to crush.

The good part was that Nolan passed out from the pain. The bad part was that Amara's world offered him just as much pain as his.

So he avoided sports. Even a regular fall with only half a leg was a pain in the neck.

Just as Nolan's family couldn't afford a running leg, they couldn't afford a swimming leg. What they could afford-or would make sacrifices for, anyway-was a season's membership to the nearest pool and an adjusted flipper. It wrapped around the stump of his shin, allowing him to push off and keep afloat.

So he swam under the lifeguard's watchful eye, reducing the world to kids' screams and the kick of his legs and chlorine in his nose. Swimming meant moving on autopilot, making it ten times easier to deal with the back-and-forth between worlds. It made his parents happy, too. They thought he had a hobby.

Right now, Nolan really wished he was swimming.

Instead, he'd gone upstairs after abandoning his meal, leaving Pat to her Nahuatl studies and Dad to sort through bills and write angry letters about banned books at Nolan's school. Nolan made a beeline for the bathroom, where dirty laundry was stacked knee-high in one corner despite the quick load Dad had run yesterday. Mom normally handled the laundry. Working two jobs probably explained the size of the pile.

How had Nolan not noticed? When had she started at the Walgreens anyway-and why?

Nolan suspected he knew. Dad's insurance from his hospital administrator job covered only part of the cost of the latest pills. Nolan had known they were in a bad situation, just not how bad.

Three jobs to pay for anti-seizure meds when he didn't even have seizures, and all Nolan did was fill up one notebook after another and go swimming three times a week. If Amara wouldn't leave him be long enough for him to help himself, he should at least help others.

"How difficult can a washing machine be, right?" The words came out angrily. He lowered himself to the ground and started sorting through the pile.

同类推荐
  • H Is for Hawk
  • 10th Muse: Blade of Medusa

    10th Muse: Blade of Medusa

    In Greek mythology there were 9 Muses, the daughters of Zeus, but history forgot one - The 10th Muse - the Muse of Justice, Emma Sonnet's birthright! Emma Sonnet is on the debate team, a cheerleader and popular. Everyone in high school has their secrets, hers being a superhero. This is a tale of one girl that will make a difference. When students on the swim team are missing, the 10th Muse must solve the puzzle of the Minotaur in time to save them.
  • Craved (Book #10 in the Vampire Journals)
  • 执迷(龙人日志系列 #12)

    执迷(龙人日志系列 #12)

    《执迷》是最佳畅销系列小说《龙人日志》的第十二本也是最后一本书。这个系列开始的第一部为《转变》——本书可免费下载并已获得超过900个的五星评论!在《执迷》中,十六岁的斯嘉丽·潘恩全速飞行,以在她的挚爱——塞奇被永生不死族杀害之前,去救他。在被朋友和家人疏远——而且塞奇离离被杀害只还剩下一个晚上的时候——斯嘉丽被迫要选择是否为了他牺牲一切。凯特琳和迦勒不顾一切飞奔去救他们的女儿,仍然决定要找到一种可以治疗斯嘉丽和永远终结龙人瘟疫的方法。他们的寻找带着他们发现一个又一个惊人的秘密,他们寻找着古老、遗失、深深隐藏在埃及狮身人面像下的龙人城市。他们所找到的东西也许将永远改变龙人种族的命运。然而,一切仍然可能太晚了。永生不死族的人意图杀死斯嘉丽和塞奇,同时,凯尔也处在谋杀的暴怒中,转变了薇薇安和整个高中学校,将他们转变成自己的龙人军队,正要毁灭整座镇子。在《执迷》——十二本书系列《龙人日志》的惊天结局中,斯嘉丽和凯特琳将被迫面临一个致命的抉择——一个将永远改变世界的选择。斯嘉丽会不会做出最后牺牲以拯救塞奇的生命?凯特琳会不会不顾一切拯救女儿?他们会不会为了爱冒一切危险?
  • 复活 (龙人日志系列#9)

    复活 (龙人日志系列#9)

    在《复活》(《龙人日志》#9中),十六岁的斯嘉丽·潘恩发现自己发生了不可思议的变化。她变得对光敏感,可以读出他人的想法,并比任何时候都更迅速更强壮。她不明白自己发生了什么,并试着不去理会这些。但是她对这些的不加理会只能到此为止了。她的妈妈,凯特琳·潘恩,太了解自己的女儿发生了什么事情。多个世纪以前,她曾经遭遇过同样的转变为龙人的过程。但是,如今,作为一个纯粹的人类,她已经完全不记得了。她所有可以了解的来自于那本她在阁楼上发现的日记本——她神秘的龙人日记——讲述着她在另外的时代和地方里的经历,以及讲述着龙人种族被抹去的事实。但是规则之外是否有特例?她的女儿,斯嘉丽,可不可能是地球上最后一个幸存的龙人?当斯嘉丽竭力与自己正在发生的改变做斗争时,她也在极力与自己对布雷克——一个与她同级的她深深迷恋的人——的强烈情感做斗争。然而,她不肯定,他是不是也爱着她。而随着万圣节前夕大舞会的到来,紧张一触即发。她愿意为布雷克付出一切。但是,薇薇安——所有受欢迎的女孩中最可恶的一个,也喜欢布雷克,而且她会不择手段得到布雷克——这让斯嘉丽的生活犹如堕入地狱。幸运的是,斯嘉丽有自己的朋友圈子支持她,这包括她最好的朋友玛利亚和贾丝明。她们同样,面临着男朋友的问题,但是那是在赛奇出现之后的事——那是一个新来的神秘男孩,那个男孩让她的朋友们着迷。斯嘉丽发现自己也被他吸引了——而让她惊讶的是,在学校所有的女孩中,他唯一只关注她一个人。但是她的心意仍然在布雷克身上——至少目前仍是,并且她仍然希望他会邀请她一起跳舞。就在斯嘉丽觉得一切触手可及的时候,她的身体发生了变化。不久,她也许就不能再待在人类伙伴中间。不久,她就要在她活着的渴望和爱的渴望之间做出选择。《龙人日志》#10《渴望》,现在也已有售!
热门推荐
  • 桃花扇

    桃花扇

    公元1919年4月4日清晨,卢管家很早便起来了,稍事梳洗,他便往前院去。那里是仆人们住的地方,作为这所大宅的总管,他有很多事需要分派,尤其是梅老太爷住院后的这些天。外面空气清冽,似有还无的牛毛细雨,偶尔洒在头上。卢管家踏着青石板路走着,路过花园时,他不经意地向里扫了一眼。借着晨曦的微光,他看到花园假山前有团黑色的东西,不知是什么,他不由往里走了几步。等到他终于看清楚后,不由得大吃一惊。
  • 妃你不可之璃王妃

    妃你不可之璃王妃

    花轿临门,她径自掀开轿帘,看着正探手进来的倾世容颜男子,眼神冷洌,直言不讳,“我是冷言诺,是冷丞相恨不能永远消杀抹尽的庶女,你确定还要迎我进门?”男子神情怡然,似乎毫不震惊,轻笑道,“我确定。”“好。”她一拍轿门。…“放心吧,作为你永不再娶的报答,你死后,我会给你风光大葬,永生不嫁。”女子声轻而坚定。“那,多谢你为我守节。”男子微点点头,面色不见何情绪。“不用,得了王府那么多财产,这是应该的。”女子摆摆手,毫不在意。良久,女子似乎想起什么,又开口道,“呃,对了,趁现在你还清醒的活着,赶紧说说你死后需要陪葬的物品,我好命人提前准备准备。”“.”
  • 万里清风一梦遥

    万里清风一梦遥

    一场恐怖的郊区绑架,元氏集团董事长独女元笙,竟离奇穿越到几百年前的科尔沁部博尔济吉特氏的身上。轮回千年的命盘重新将她带到了那个风流倜傥,放荡不羁的他的身边。他是有“满洲第一俊男”的多尔衮,一生叱咤风云的传奇摄政王。公元1612年的冬天,他踏着努尔哈赤征战四方的漫天烽火而降生,一生兵权在握,征战四方,逐鹿中原,定鼎北京,为大清王朝统一中国立下汗马功劳。可是众多的妻妾却没有给他留下一个子嗣,只留下了一个他视为掌上明珠,被他娇宠的小女儿。一生一世一子一双人是谁对谁的承诺?“我多尔衮发誓:这一生,只与你一人生子,共享天伦......”“我走不完所有的江山,就像你爱不完所有的人。字在纸上长成青草,人在风中走成山脉。原谅我,多尔衮,我想要偷个懒,别哭......”“多尔衮,假如下辈子要变成一株植物,我想要做一棵兰。”“为什么?”“因为它,到死不改香。”“那我就做你身边的一棵兰,每天与你耳鬓厮磨,缠绵缱倦。““去你的,就知道油嘴滑舌!……”风习袅袅,盈水展千华,飞檐亭角清铃响。犹记当初,你回眸莞尔,一笑倾城百日香。“笙儿,下辈子,一生一世一双人可好,是真的只有你我二人,你可愿意?”
  • 耕禄槀

    耕禄槀

    本书为公版书,为不受著作权法限制的作家、艺术家及其它人士发布的作品,供广大读者阅读交流。汇聚授权电子版权。
  • 妖孽王妃:花样驯夫记

    妖孽王妃:花样驯夫记

    别人家的媳妇说:“夫君,你想做什么就尽管去做吧,我都支持你!”瑞安王的媳妇说:“王爷,你想做什么就尽管去做吧!我绝不拖你后腿!”别人家的媳妇说:“夫君,我想给你生个孩子!”瑞安王的媳妇说:“王爷,我们和离吧啊!要不给我个将军当当?喂,别走啊!我们再商量商量?你写休书也行啊!”
  • 风之又三郎

    风之又三郎

    本书收录了日本童话大师宫泽贤治以《风之又三郎》为代表的十六篇脍炙人口的童话故事。《古斯珂·布多力传记》中为了不让人们受寒流影响而牺牲自己古斯珂·布多力,《虔十林公园》中朴实善良、不计回报的虔十,都是宫泽贤治本人的真实写照;而《风之又三郎》中三郎与同学之间的友情和对自然风景的描写,《二十六夜》中对弱肉强食的探讨,《贝壳之火》中小兔赫蒙由善向恶的心路历程,更是展现了宫泽贤治作品的丰富魅力与深刻内涵。宫泽贤治将自己悲天悯人的情怀和甘于牺牲与奉献的善良,融入纯真而极富创造力的文字中,带领读者体会自然的美好,找回心底的纯真。
  • 极品丫头

    极品丫头

    要说在丞相府里当丫头,也不是一件什么坏事。好吃好喝好住好睡好玩。但却有一条可怕的家规。“奴婢不听话,或偷主人东西,该怎么罚?”“乱棍打死!”这年头,当奴隶的命不如狗。看样子,得夹着尾巴做人了。放眼天下,除了皇宫,还有哪个地方能比得上这挥金如土的丞相府?皇宫?那地方肯定更严,说不定不小心放了个屁,都会被拉出去砍头。管它的,暂且就在这里呆着吧!哪天呆得不顺了,再说!虽然一开始毛毛燥燥糊里糊涂里的性格让她吃不少小苦头,但随着她慢慢地成长,也开始与这个世界溶合。丞相府里的几位性格各异的少爷小姐,和各大家族的皇亲贵戚对她的态度,让她一度成为众人的焦点。但她并没有太高的奢望,只希望能平安度日,性命无忧即可。权势的争斗,举兵起义,谋朝叛乱,这些与她何干?她只不是个小丫头而已,既不想当什么王妃,也没想过要嫁入豪门,只想多捞些银两,兵荒马乱的,笑傲江湖去!各位亲亲~~~~~~~~~新文漠寞红尘已经开坑,也是应亲亲们的要求,给萧然的续写!如果亲们喜欢萧然,敬请关注!宝宝再次在此感谢各们亲们的支持,谢谢!!!
  • 伤寒论纲目

    伤寒论纲目

    本书为公版书,为不受著作权法限制的作家、艺术家及其它人士发布的作品,供广大读者阅读交流。汇聚授权电子版权。
  • 盯人

    盯人

    秋一收,农事闲了下来,但农闲也是农村社会稳定最容易出事的时候。一到这时候,上边就得安排盯人了。大湾村村文书兼治保主任老周的家在路口。这天,在老周家,乡派出所长要老周盯一个人,盯紧点。要盯的人是钉子,钉子是老上访户。说起钉子,各级干部都很头疼,但县官不如现管,防止钉子越级上访的责任,最终还是要压到大湾村。派出所长怕电话里说不好,是按照上级的指示,专门到大湾来落实这个盯人的任务。村上留他吃饭,他都不吃。所长要上摩托了,又撒了一圈“满天星”翻盖黄鹤楼烟。他们见所长像一缕风一样走远了,才都把烟点着,吃烟,又都回老周屋里坐,却又都不吭气。
  • Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare

    Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare

    本书为公版书,为不受著作权法限制的作家、艺术家及其它人士发布的作品,供广大读者阅读交流。汇聚授权电子版权。