The Secret Sea by Barry Lyga

of them—probably Khalid—had misheard the title of the famous novel and thought it was about basketball. They’d declared themselves the Three Basketeers, and merely invoking that phrase was like making a promise unto death.
    It had been years since they’d described themselves so, one more piece of jetsam heaved over the side of the ship as they raced toward teendom.
    Still, the sound of those words instantly sent Zak back to the overseriousness of childhood, the wallowing in personal importance. Moira nodded gravely and said, “Three Basketeers.”
    â€œThree Basketeers,” Zak answered, completing the circuit. Done.
    â€œNow what?” Khalid asked. He was always eager for action—oftentimes incredibly stupid action, but action nonetheless. He rubbed his hands together. “Do we need one of those, you know—” He held his hands out flat, mimed scrubbing something along a surface.
    â€œA Ouija board?” Moira asked. She’d grabbed Zak’s chart from the end of his bed and was flipping through it. “Grow up.”
    â€œI don’t know what to do next,” Zak confessed as Moira fiddled with her phone. “But I know it can’t be done here.”
    â€œNo kidding.” Khalid pulled a chair over and plopped down next to Zak. “But how do we get you out of here?”
    â€œAnd where do we go once I’m out?”
    â€œWe get you out of here first,” Khalid argued, “and then we figure out what to do.”
    â€œThat doesn’t make any sense.”
    â€œIt makes perfect sense.”
    â€œDude, we have to know where we’re going first.”
    â€œWe’re going out —that’s where we’re going.” Khalid hopped up from his chair and dashed to the window, dodging around Moira, who was studying Zak’s heart monitor intently. “I bet this window … Yeah! Check it—there’s a roof right down there.” He jabbed a finger at the glass excitedly. “I bet we could jump it, easy.”
    â€œJump it!” Zak’s heart sent him a warning jolt.
    â€œOr maybe we could make a rope out of bedsheets and anchor it with your IV pole and climb down.”
    â€œYou’re nuts. I’m not doing that. Especially without a destination in mind.” He tried to sit up in bed, but Moira was suddenly looming over him, tugging gently at the wires connected to his heart monitor, then poking at the oxygen tube running into his nose.
    Zak tried to brush her back. Khalid turned from the window in a huff. “Fine. What’s your suggestion, genius?”
    â€œI think we need to find a way to contact Tommy. And it seems like he speaks to me best when I’m asleep.”
    Khalid snapped his fingers and pointed. “Quick! Fall asleep!”
    â€œRight,” Zak said drolly. “I’m just wondering: Maybe tonight when I sleep, I can try to sort of … control the dream. It’s called lucid dreaming. My dad told me about it once. Because I was having nightmares. And he said that there’s a way you can take control of your dreams and change them around.”
    â€œSo maybe you can actually talk to the voice!” Khalid said excitedly. “And figure out your next step!”
    â€œYeah.” Zak turned to Moira, who by now had moved to the other side of the bed and was staring at her phone. “Moira? Care to join us here on planet Earth for a minute and tell us what you—”
    He broke off as Moira, with no warning, dropped to the floor. A moment later, she popped back up with a plastic sack that she tossed at Zak. It landed heavily on his gut. Inside were his clothes.
    â€œGet dressed,” she said. “Your cardiac enzymes are back down to normal levels, your blood pressure is good, and your heart rate is fine. You’re mobile. We can get you out of here.”
    â€œLike I said—through the window!” Khalid