Chasing Midnight Read Online Free Page B

my parents have been researching this new, experimental surgical treatment for severe asthma cases like Spencer’s. The only problem is, insurance doesn’t pay for it. So far I’ve saved 335 dollars for the surgery. Too bad it costs more than a freaking car.
    “I’m pretty sure I’ll never feel better.”
    “Sucks. You know I’m saving up for you, right?”
    Spencer pats my knee. “Thanks, Kenz. But by the time any of us actually saves enough money, you’ll have your own kids in high school and I’ll be Uncle Spencer: RIP. Either that, or they’ll have invented iron lungs and I’ll be the new Iron Man.”
    “Knock it off, Spence. Sheesh. What do you have there, anyway?” I ask, pointing to the mug in his hands. Whatever it is has slopped over the brim and is drizzling down the sides.
    “Another one of Mom’s nasty concoctions.”
    “Ew.”
    “Hey—at least it’s keeping me warm,” he says, fighting through another coughing spasm when he tries to laugh again. The poor guy. He can’t even laugh. What kind of disease punishes you for being happy? It makes me want to scream—watching Spencer deal with this crap month after month, year after year. As a matter of fact, it’s getting pretty old. And I’m only doing the watching.
    What about him? He’s missed so much already—friends, dates, games, dances. I mean, what teenage guy wants to sit out on in his backyard by himself and watch the stars all night? And who made all the rules, anyway? How did Spencer get stuck with this life while other people I know get to run circles around him in their Porsches and tuxedos—people like James Odera and Tanner Slade and Brecke Phillips?
    People who get to have everything?
    “It’s so unfair,” I blurt without thinking.
    Spencer turns his head and crinkles up his eyes at my outburst. “What’s unfair?”
    I throw my hands out in front of me. “This.”
    “Huh?”
    “You. It’s not your fault you practically die every other weekend because Dad’s cube job and Mom’s little catering stint bring in peanuts while the rest of this town eats peanuts as dessert toppings. You can’t help it that you missed the perfect gene lineup in heaven.”
    He stands up and dumps the remaining liquid from his mug into the grass. “Whoa, Kenz. Your point?”
    “My point? My point is—we don’t get to choose where we’re put in this life, what neighborhood we belong to, what ugly facial feature we’re born with,” I say, thinking specifically about my nose. If only it could have a nice ski-jump slope and not that noticeable bump that will never go away on its own. “So why do most of us get screwed because of choices we never made, while the lucky ones get all the breaks?”
    “The lucky ones? What lucky ones? There are people way worse off than me, you know. Some people have cancer. Or worse.”
    “I know . . . I know. But for reals, Spence. Can’t you and I be a little human for once? Can’t I wish to be the pretty one, the popular one, rich enough to be invited to the Pumpkin Ball? For once, a guy to ask me out instead of just wanting to hang out? A lucky one?”
    Spencer furrows his brow, probably wondering where all this is coming from. I don’t know myself, only that ever since I watched James and Tanner drive away from me—the nobody that I am—without a clue I was ever even there, my emotions seem to have balled up inside me and are now sneak-attacking like a tsunami.
    “Of course you can be human,” he says in his typical placid voice. “It’s just that compared to the rest of the world, we are the lucky ones.” His words seem to echo through the trees.
    I don’t know what to say.
    He starts back to the house like he’s had enough of me. “Everyone has problems,” he says, turning around. “Just . . . everyone’s problems are different.”
    I remain fixed in the spot next to his empty chair, watching him go. The sound of the creek seems to amplify as a gust of wind shoots past me, whipping