THIRTY-NINE: ZOOEY

 

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the floor with Mom and Dad both bent over me, looking worried.

“Whoa,” I said woozily, staring up at the ceiling. “That’s some sun, huh?”

My mom put her hand on my forehead. “Honey, you’re burning up!”

“It’s that fungus, isn’t it?” Dad asked. “I knew it. That cytoplasmic whatever it was.”

“Fungus?” Mom glanced at him. “What fungus?”

“Dad, no.” I pushed myself up on my elbows and tried to clear my head. “There is no fungus.”

“So you lied to me?”

“Honey, for Pete’s sake,” Mom said. “She probably doesn’t even know what she’s saying.”

If you only knew, I thought blearily. “You’re right, Mom. But first we need to get to school.”

“School?”

“The play starts in a half-hour.”

“Zooey, honey, I’m sure it does, but you’re sick. You can hardly stand up.”

 

 

I turned to my dad, then back to my mother. They both knew what this afternoon meant to me. They’d watched me pour hundreds of hours into the script, set design, and rehearsals, and they knew what was at stake.

“Please, guys. We have to go.”

“I’m sorry,” Dad said, “but your mom’s right. You’re in no condition to go anywhere. I’ll call the school.”

“And tell them what? To postpone the play?” I flashed to the auditorium, where the cast and crew would already be setting up rows of chairs, where Monica Sanossian and Della Marlowe were already putting makeup on the actors. “That’s impossible. They need me there.”

“Zooey,” my dad began, but didn’t say anything else. Neither he nor my mother seemed to know how to respond. Some part of me must have expected this, because the plan jumped into my mind fully formed, ready to execute. I felt one last burst of energy, just enough to get me through what I had to do next.

“Okay,” I said. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Honey—”

I grabbed Mom’s keys from the table by the door. “You know where to find me.”

 

Before either of them could say anything, I ran out of the house to the driveway, climbed into the Jeep, and managed to wiggle the keys in the ignition. The dashboard lights came on and my mom’s Michael Buble CD started playing on the stereo, but the engine refused to start.

“Come on, come on.” I looked up to see my mom and dad coming out of the house after me and tried again, but I couldn’t get the motor running. Was she out of gas? How could it be, if she had just driven home?

“Zooey Andrews,” my dad was saying, from the other side of the windshield. “Young lady, what on earth do you think you’re doing?” Now he was close enough to reach for the door handle on the driver’s side. “You’re fourteen years old. You don’t know how to drive a car.”

“I’ll figure it out,” I mumbled.

“Get out of there right now.”

“Drive me to school.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Dad, drive me to school right now, or I’ll drive myself.” Or die trying, I thought. In my current condition, it didn’t seem so far-fetched.

My dad and mom exchanged a glance, and then he turned back to me. “Get in the back seat.”

“Dad, thank you,” I said, crawling into the back. “I swear, I’d kiss you if I weren’t so sick.”

He didn’t say anything, just got behind the wheel while Mom climbed in the passenger seat. Michael Bublé was still blaring from the speakers, singing about how he just hadn’t met me yet. Mom switched him off and sat there staring back at me as if she were waiting for me to pass out again. The heater in the Jeep started blowing warm air back. I felt myself fading in and out, reality wavering around the edges like a mirage in the desert. That was when I heard the voice.

Zooey.

“Huh?” Sitting up, I looked at the radio dial, but the voice wasn’t coming from the speakers. It had an echoey, reverberating familiarity, as if somehow it was using my own eardrums as an amplifier.

It’s me. It’s Lenny. I’m inside your head.

“What?” I said, startled. “I don’t—” I put my finger in my ear and wiggled it around. “What is this?”

Just listen. You need to get to a hospital right away. Something’s wrong with you. You’re really sick.

“Amazing,” I muttered. “Did you just figure that out? You really are a genius.”

We came around the next corner, the rear tires sliding over the fresh-packed snow, slipping a little, fishtailing before they caught traction.

Up ahead, I saw the school.