Free The Improbable Theory of Ana and Zak by Brian Katcher Page A

out if he ever makes it out to Tacoma and what the hell am I thinking ?
    Yeah, my parents would really permit that. A date with some older guy I met at a comic book convention.
    They won’t even let me visit my own sister .
    It’s clear Clayton isn’t here, so I stomp off to find my guide. I half expect Duquette to be long gone, but I see him talking to a tall, strange-looking man. At first I think the guy is dressed like Frankenstein’s monster, but then realize he’s just really ugly. I’m about to interrupt when Zak raises his voice. I can’t make out his angry words, but the man shoves him in the chest, hard enough that he stumbles. The creepy guy storms off.
    I rush to Duquette to berate him for clowning around and wasting time.
    â€œAre you okay, Zak?” I hear myself say.
    Duquette looks up, surprised to see me here. “It was nothing.”
    Then get your ass in gear, we have to find Clayton, not stand around . . .
    Once again, my mouth interrupts. “Are you sure? He hit you kind of hard.”
    He won’t look at me. “That was Cyrax,” he says, as if that explains something. He begins walking quickly.
    â€œZak, what was that all about?” my mouth insists on saying.
    â€œJust a guy,” he says, his voice squeaking nervously. “There was some unpleasantness at Con-viction last year.”
    â€œGo on.” I really need my mouth to shut up soon .
    Zak rubs the back of his neck. “Well . . . it was just one of those things, I guess. It was late, I went out to pick up some supplies, and Cyrax and some of his friends . . . they jumped me.”
    We’ve walked in front of an empty table. I grab Duquette by the arm to stop him. “Are you kidding? Why?”
    He shrugs, a hurt, embarrassed look on his face. “It’s hard to say with those guys. I was alone, weak. Took allmy money, left me out of commission for a few days.”
    I’m utterly horrified, both at the senseless attack and Zak’s blasé way of talking about it. “Did you call the police? I can’t believe they even let him into this place!”
    He won’t look at me. “What could they do? These things happen. At any rate, he’s never let me forget it. Every time I see him, he reminds me.” He hisses through his teeth. “Frack, just like it was yesterday, lying there on the road, too weak to get up, not even a potion of healing on me . . .”
    I am reaching out to give him a comforting squeeze of the hand when I realize what I’m hearing. “Duquette? When he beat you up . . . was it in a video game?”
    â€œNo, of course not.” He paused. “Dungeons and Dragons. You see, James was the dungeon master and—”
    I hold up a palm, trying to think of the best way to demonstrate what I’m now feeling. “Duquette, despite your best efforts, I find that you don’t disgust me as much as previously. But I don’t have time for your imaginary world, and your imaginary pain.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?”
    I remember watching my sister walk off into the foggy Tacoma evening, knowing somehow that I’d never see her again. “It means that some of us have enough real pain in our lives that we don’t need to invent more. You don’t know what that’s like.”
    I’m not prepared for his reaction. His eyes narrow. That funny smile, that devil-may-care grin vanishes. And suddenly I’m looking at the most angry teen I think I’ve ever seen. And he’s angry with me.
    â€œWhat did you say?” The words come out as a slow hiss, deadly as a gas leak.
    â€œZak . . .”
    Our eyes lock, and just for a second, I realize there’s something more to Zak Duquette than the guy who never stops laughing and never takes anything seriously. God knows why, but there’s real pain in his face.
    Just as I’m about to apologize (though I’m not sure