Read Online Breath by Jackie Morse Kessler - Free Book Online Page A

apartment’s front door. The needle was set at seventy degrees, which did nothing to explain his sudden chill. Whatever—he was probably coming down with something. The weather had been nuts lately; instead of the balmy temperatures that had been predicted, it had been unseasonably cold, almost frigid. Between the freaky weather and his adventures in broken sleep, he was a candidate for the flu of the week.
    Or maybe he was absolutely fine and the thermostat was on the blink.
    He opened the door just as the bell chimed—actually, beeped; that was weird—a second time. Ted stood in the doorway, grinning his trademark grin, the one that made parents frown and teachers reach for their detention slips. He waved and said, “Hey.”
    “Hey,” Xander said. “Tip for you: Ringing the bell a lot doesn’t make me get to the door any faster.”
    For a moment, Ted didn’t reply. Something lit behind his eyes, something that Xander couldn’t read, and then Ted’s grin softened into a tired smile. “Tips are for
mohels.
And it works for elevators.”
    Xander stepped aside, and Ted walked into the apartment, sipping from a Styrofoam cup.
    “Uh-huh,” Xander said. “You probably press the Walk button when you want to cross the street.”
    “Nah. I just jaywalk.”
    “Such a rebel.”
    “Got to get my jollies where I can. You ready to go? We’ve got to make a pit stop at the package store before we get to Izzy’s.”
    Xander winced. “Say it a little louder. My parents might not have heard you.”
    “Please, they’re over forty. As if they hear anything if we don’t shout.”
    “It’s selective hearing. It’s like a superpower.” Xander frowned at his friend. The grin on Ted’s face couldn’t disguise how exhausted he looked: skin too pale, circles under his eyes dark enough to be bruises, hair that would have given a brush a case of the nerves. “You okay? You look like you met the business end of a baseball bat.”
    Ted slid him a look, as if he was weighing Xander’s words. Finally, he said, “Just tired. Nothing a little coffee won’t cure.” He took another sip as if to prove the point.
    “Late night?”
    Now Ted was staring at him. “Dude. Marcie’s. Last night.” He paused. “Remember?”
    “Right.” Of course Xander remembered. Well, sort of. His memory was spotty, like he couldn’t quite focus on any one thing from the party. He grinned to cover his embarrassment. “Late night.”
    Ted was looking at him oddly. “How much did you drink, anyway?”
    “Dunno,” he admitted. “It’s sort of a blur. Head’s a little weird today.”
    Ted saluted him with his cup. “That’s why God invented coffee. And aspirin. Are we going, or what?”
    “Wallet’s in my room, give me a second.”
    He raced to his bedroom and snagged his wallet, keys, and phone, pausing for a moment to glance at the framed Escher print hanging over his dresser. It showed a figure eight that had been twisted into a Möbius strip, flipping the figure 180 degrees, with ants crawling along both sides. Because of the extra twist, the ants would never meet, and they would crawl along the perpetual surface of the figure eight for all eternity.
    Xander frowned. He was definitely having a moment, because for the life of him, he couldn’t remember when he’d gotten the poster, let alone framed it and put it on his bedroom wall.
    Whatever. It was yet another side effect of having a baby brother double as an alarm clock.
    Tucking his phone into his shirt pocket, Xander ducked into the nursery to tell his mom that he was headed out. He thought maybe she was changing Lex’s diaper, but no, she was sitting in the rocker—nursing the baby.
    Xander blushed and turned his head so he couldn’t see anything he shouldn’t be seeing. “Mom! Hang a sign up or something!”
    “I’ve got a nursing cloth covering me,” she said reasonably. “Nothing’s exposed, I promise. Besides, breast feeding is perfectly natural.”
    Maybe so,