Zipped by Laura McNeal Page A

night?” Nora said.
    He eyed her. “That’s right. I was reading an extra-credit world-lit book.” He didn’t owe her an explanation, but all of a sudden he felt like giving one. “It’s a pretty good book. It’s about a guy whose wife dies and while going through her stuff he finds love letters to a mutual friend written in the middle of their marriage, so the husband begins following the mutual friend around trying to decide what to do.” He shrugged off his wet backpack and pulled out the book. “
The Eternal Husband
by Dostoyevsky. I’m not quite done with it, but I’m hoping the husband whacks the guy.”
    Nora started moving her needles in and out of the brown yarn and his father sat silent. Finally Nora said, “And that’s where you were all night—sitting in the library reading a book by a dead Russian?”
    Mick was beginning to enjoy this. “Well, no. First I went to Plan B and looked around and then I went to Bing’s and got something to eat, and then I went to the library where I read the book by the dead Russian.” He stared at her. “That’s the real truth, not that taffy kind you were telling me about that can be stretched any way you want it.”
    In a sharp voice his father said, “Okay, that’s enough, Mick.”
    Mick looked down. There was a little pool of dripped water where he’d been standing. “I’m freezing,” he said. “I’m going to go change.”
    Mick took a hot shower, checked his e-mails (nothing from Myra), and then quickly tried his new list of possible passwords to Nora’s e-mails (no luck) before going to his room. He was reading the last chapter of
The Eternal Husband
when his father knocked gently on the door and poked his head in.
    â€œYou real busy?”
    â€œNot really.”
    His father’s progress into the room was tentative, like a stranger’s who’d never been there before. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands or where to sit. Finally he put his hands in his pockets and leaned against Mick’s desk.
    â€œI’m not very good at this kind of thing,” he began. “But you’re acting real different, Mick.” He let his eyes settle on Mick. His eyes seemed old. Mick just waited. His father said, “I know I don’t know beans about the things kids go through these days, but I want you to know you can talk to me about anything and I’m not going to be mad.”
    â€œYeah, I know that, Dad.”
    When Mick didn’t elaborate, the room grew dense with silence. Finally his father said in a soft voice, “This isn’t anything to do with drugs, is it, Mick?”
    Mick couldn’t help but laugh. “C’mon, Dad. I mean, it’s out there and everything, but that’s just not my style.”
    Again in the soft awkward voice his father said, “You didn’t get a girl in trouble?”
    Another laugh from Mick. “Jeez, Dad.”
    â€œWell, then, what’s going on?”
    â€œNothing.” Mick knew that wasn’t going to be enough, so he said, “I just think that it finally dawned on me how I’m getting closer to, you know, being out on my own, and how I’m not exactly the brainiest box on the shelf, but I still want to go to college and maybe law school and now’s the time to start, you know, kicking butt at school.”
    He stopped. It had sounded pretty good.
    His father was nodding. “Okay,” he said. “I can follow that.” He pushed himself away from the desk, but he had one last question. “Would it kill you to be a little nicer to Nora?”
    Mick looked at his father with the soft, old eyes and said, no, it wouldn’t kill him.
    His father said, “Nora and I’re going up to Tug Hill with the cross-country skis tomorrow. It’d be a lot more fun if you’d come, too.”
    â€œCan’t, Dad.