“Not the knee stuff. It’s the other stuff,” I say as I walk down the hall and close the sliding door behind us.

In the kitchen Brendan leans on the counter. “I’m confused.”

“Just don’t tell anyone at school he’s sick. He was diagnosed a few years ago, but he’d rather think it’s brain damage from this motorcycle accident and, yeah, we just go with it.”

Brendan looks up at me with wide brown eyes. “Wow, I’m sorry. That must be so awful for him.” I feel a jab of guilt. I hardly ever think about what it’s like for him.

“Is it Parkinson’s?” he asks, and the word hits me with all of its letters. Parkinson’s is the Voldemort of our household. Beyond being the disease-that-must-not-be-named, it is the disease-that-we-shall-not-acknowledge-exists.

I kind of nod and kind of shake my head, hoping he’ll get that I mean yes. He grimaces. “I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do to help—”

“It’s fine, thanks.” I jerk my thumb toward the steak knives that are all perky and upright in their wooden holder. “Just like if you tell anyone I’ll kill you.” It’s meant to be a joke but it comes out a little serial-killerish.

“Listen, Cham,” he says gently. “My brother was really sick for a while. And it sucked. And I was really lonely ’cause I didn’t tell anyone about it. If you want to talk—”

“Thanks,” I say, “but I should go.” In the quiet kitchen something passes between us. I don’t know what it is, but I feel it as it goes. It’s as big as a bus and as quiet as the space between songs.

“Well, I should go back in there.” Brendan turns, his tutu brushing against the cabinets, then spots a picture on the wall. He laughs. “That can’t be you.”

“Nope, it’s not.” I cover the photograph of myself ass-naked at the beach with a diaper on my head. Baby’s first nudie. “Gotta go, bye.”

I head for the front door with my eyes down.

“See you, Cham,” Brendan calls, and he disappears down the hall. I don’t know if Brendan can cheer up my dad, but maybe he can distract him, which is the next-best thing.

Once I have my sneakers on, I text Gene.

going for a run wanna join? C

G yeah! meet at the usual?

be there in 10 C

Outside there are old patches of ice and snow as winter lingers before it goes. With my foot crossed above my knee I bend toward the frozen ground. Space opens in my hip as I stretch one side, then the other, one hamstring, then the other. By the time I take off running, there’s enough space in my body to hold me. I pick up the pace. It’s as if I’m running out of one world and into another. Soon I’ll enter the realm where Gene and I count how many people got mega-wasted at his party, and the only sickness will be the drunk kind that fills bathtubs with throw-up. I will kiss Gene and he will talk about his last track meet that’s coming up in a few weeks and maybe I’ll hint about things like prom and it’ll just be us and our hearts and our lungs.