The Secret Sea Read Online Free

nothing to do but to think. About his parents and their coddling. About his heart.
    â€œ You’re delicate ,” they told him. “Your heart isn’t like other kids’. You have to be careful.”
    Being alone sucked. When other people were around, he could sink into them, enjoy them. But when he was alone, he suffered a powerful, painful sensation that something was missing. It throbbed like a missing limb. He’d read that people who had arms or legs amputated could still feel them. That was how Zak felt when he was alone—as though something had been cut off him and stolen away, but he could still sense its weight. And he needed it back.
    â€œ You’re all we have ” — another one of his parents’ favorite pronouncements.
    He was tired of being all they had. Tired of being told to be careful. He felt fine. Sometimes he had little hiccups in his chest, but no big deal. Doctors and parents didn’t know everything.
    They didn’t need to know everything.
    He took his daily verapamil pill and settled in for the long, boring wait. The room was too quiet. Out in the living room, Dad would be propped up on the couch with his laptop, pecking away, his computer glasses perched comically at the end of his nose. Zak wanted to open his bedroom door just so that he could hear the occasional clack of the keys.
    But then he had a better idea. He rummaged in his nightstand drawer and came up with his old iPod. It was three or four years old and didn’t really hold a charge anymore. He’d stopped playing with it when he’d gotten the iPad.
    But as long as he left it plugged in, it should work. He fired up the video chat app.
    Zak’s best friend was Khalid, and his other best friend was Moira. He hoped that he would never have to decide which one was his best , best friend, because that choice was impossible. He’d known Khalid longer—he couldn’t remember not knowing Khalid, in fact—but Moira was, well, she was Moira. She was smarter than any three kids at Wellington Academy combined … and she had the highest Xbox Live Gamerscore of anyone he knew, under the Gamertag DeadSeriousIrishGurl.
    Years ago, the first time he’d visited Moira at home, he’d asked for a glass of water. Her mom, Mrs. O’Grady, had said, “Sure, laddie,” and Zak had felt as though he’d heard English being spoke for the first time. That night, he’d asked his mother why Mrs. O’Grady spoke the way she did.
    â€œShe’s from Ireland, cariño .” For once, the pet name from childhood hadn’t bothered him; he’d been too distracted. “It’s just her accent. The same way La-La has an accent.”
    â€œLa-La’s from Puerto Rico, not Ireland.”
    â€œDifferent island is all.” Mom had shrugged and then settled in as Zak peppered her with a million questions about Ireland, the Irish, and red hair and green eyes.
    The next day, he’d overheard his mother on the phone with La-La. “Oh, it’s definitely puppy love. Totally harmless at this age. It’s actually sort of cute.”
    His cheeks had flamed at her words. It was ridiculous. Puppy love . His mother was clueless. Sure, he liked Mrs. O’Grady. What wasn’t to like? She was sweet and kind, with a cheerful smile and impossibly red hair and bright green eyes. And that lilting brogue. He couldn’t help it—he just liked being around her and hearing her voice. Moms didn’t know everything .
    Moira could imitate her mom’s brogue—she had lost her traces of Irish accent after a year or so in the States—and occasionally said, “Sure, laddie,” in that special way when Zak asked a question, but he was reasonably certain she was just kidding around, not outright mocking him.
    If he wanted to figure out the voices in his head, Moira was the one to call, the supergenius. But if he just wanted a sympathetic