The Secret Sea Read Online Free Page A

ear, it had to be Khalid.
    He tapped Khalid’s name, and a moment later Khalid grinned out of the screen at Zak.
    â€œZak Attack!” Khalid hooted, and in that instant, Zak knew that he wouldn’t say anything at all about the dreams, the voices, the subway.
    *   *   *
    Khalid’s enthusiasm was like lighter fluid on kindling—once he started talking, it was impossible to be upset or melancholy. Within seconds of seeing Khalid on the tiny iPod screen, Zak had forgotten all about the previous night’s “visit.” When Khalid suggested they hang out, Zak shrugged it off with a short excuse about being grounded, offering no details. And the great thing about Khalid was that he never asked for details.
    â€œI assume you don’t deserve your punishment,” Khalid said.
    â€œThanks for that.”
    â€œTeam Zak one-double-oh.”
    Khalid was fond of saying “one-double-oh” instead of “one hundred percent.” He thought it made him cool. Sometimes Zak agreed and sometimes he didn’t. Right now, he did.
    â€œCan we Xbox it?” Khalid was saying.
    â€œNo, Dad took the controller.”
    Khalid pulled a face. “Man, it sucks that your dad’s a gamer, too. Otherwise, he probably wouldn’t have even thought of that. You know what you need to do?”
    â€œWhat do I need to do?”
    Chortling, Khalid said, “Once you’re a free man again, we’ll go to the game store and buy another controller. And you hide it in your room somewhere. So the next time you’re grounded, your dad will take the controller that’s sitting out, and then you can use the hidden one, and we can totally gang up on Moira on Live.”
    â€œYou’re an evil genius,” Zak said in awe.
    â€œMoira may hog all the As, but I’m devious,” Khalid said with modesty. “I should be a supervillain.”
    â€œYou totally should be.”
    They spent some time figuring out what kind of supervillain Khalid should be, and then Zak heard his father stirring out in the hallway. He signed off quickly and shoved the iPod under his bed just as Dad knocked on his door.
    â€œYeah?”
    Dad opened the door and poked his head in. “What are you doing in here?”
    â€œNothing.” Which wasn’t a lie; at that precise moment, Zak wasn’t doing anything at all. Dad hadn’t said, “What were you doing in here?”
    â€œI thought I heard you talking.”
    Zak shrugged. Not a lie because, well, no words. You couldn’t lie without words, right? Let Dad draw his own conclusions.
    â€œI know you’re angry at your mom and me right now, but trust me—you’re getting off easy. If you’d pulled this on your grandfather…”
    Zak tuned him out. When Dad started talking about growing up in Harlem in the eighties, Zak lost interest. Whatever.
    â€œâ€¦ so this is why we had to do this. Do you understand?”
    Zak shrugged again. He knew his parents hated when he did that.
    â€œNot talking? Fine. Maybe you’ll talk to the doctor.”
    The doctor ? “I’m not sick.”
    â€œOh, he does have a voice!” Dad shook his head. “Not Dr. Shamir. This is someone else. Someone to talk to about what you did yesterday.”
    â€œWhat doctor?”
    â€œHer name is Melinda Campbell,” Dad told him, “and maybe you’ll be willing to tell her what you wouldn’t tell your mother and me. We’re going tonight. Your mother is coming here after work, and we’ll go together. So”—he checked his watch—“get a shower and something to eat.”
    Zak grumbled his way through a shower and a late lunch, then retreated to his room again to await Mom’s arrival. What was the deal with this doctor, anyway? He retrieved the iPod from its hiding place and did a search for melinda campbell and doctor and new york city .
    The first hit