Read Online Blues for Zoey by Robert Paul Weston - Free Book Online Page B

it the perfect lullaby. It was one of the last songs she taught me (or tried to) before Dad died. I could never play it like this. It r eminded me of something Mom used to tell me.
    â€œA lot of people, especially people who don ’t play, think the loud pieces are the ha rdest. The fast pieces, the ones with a lot of jumps, lots of notes. They’re hard in one wa y, but practice will always get you there. It’s the slow pieces, the quiet pieces, the sad pieces that are really the trickiest. That’s because there’s always something you can’t learn. You’ ve just got to have it inside you.”
    It wasn’t until then, standing in Toph’s moonlit music room, that I understood. That thing my mother talked about—Zoey had it inside her.
    â€œWhat the fuck?!”
    Suddenly, the lights came on and I saw what Zoey meant about white pianos. At the flick of a switch, it went from a ghostly, mysterious gleam to looking like a cheap carnival ride.
    â€œ What the fuck are you doing in here?”
    It was Topher. He was swaying in the doorway, his eyes wild (but at least he was wearing pants).
    â€œSorry.” Zoey shrugged, going right on playing, giving up “Claire de lune” for something random, just loose improvisation. “When I see a beautiful instrument, I just have to play it.”
    â€œFuck that,” Topher said. He was holding a wineglass full of beer and he pointed it at me. “So, what, y ou two are like— together ?”
    â€œI just met her,” I told him. “But you can at least be civil.”
    Topher laughed. “ C ivil ? Who says civil ? And like you ’d know how to be civil to a girl. Becky told me all about you. She said when it comes to money, y ou’re tight as a fish’s ass.”
    Zoey snorted. “How civil of you to say.”
    Topher’s face flushed red and he stormed over to the piano, slamming down the fallboard— WHAM! Zoey only just managed to pull her fingers out of the way. H e could have broken every bone in her hands. Hell, he would have lopped off her fingers.
    All I could think of to say was, “Toph! Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa!”
    â€œShut up, Kaz! Take your slumdog girlfriend and—”
    Before he could finish, Zoey screamed at him. “YOU FUCKER!”
    She slapped the bottom of his wineglass. B eer and foam went everywhere. It sprayed on the wall, the floor—even inside the piano.
    â€œFffffuck!” Topher shoved Zoey so hard she fell off the stool. He raised a fist in the air like he was going to hit her.
    Which is when I (finally) stepped in. I grabbed his arm and he spun around, fists flying, and even though he was kacked up to the eyeballs, he still hit the mark.
    Getting punched in the face comes with a very distinct sensation. First, all the pain shoots through your nose. I t feels like your sinuses are wired to a car battery. Your eyes gush like you’ re sobbing (not the coolest thing that can happen to you at a party), and then the pain goes bang through your whole head and it’s so bad it leaks into your legs, which of course morph into noodles.
    My only salvation was the fact that Toph was ext remely drunk when he hit me. The punch was on target but clumsy. For a second, I actually thought I might be okay, but when I took my hands away from my face, the room really started to spin—because it wasn’t just tears and snot making my hands all slim y. It was blood.
    Toph had given me one Big Daddy of a nosebleed. The awful redness dribbled through my fingers and turned the puddle of Toph’s beer a vomitus pink.
    The second I saw the red in my hands, all my most important organs floated away, drifting up through the skylights like lost balloons. Just as I collapsed on Toph’s polished hardwood floor, all I could think was I hope to shit I’m about to leave a big fucking stain .

24
    Th e Wisdo m o f V omit
    I felt like Shain Cope sounded