by TJ Klune
Gibby wasn’t wrong, but what could they do about it? Even Seth had said Nova City would always need someone like Pyro Storm. Nick was trying to help as best he could, hence the branding. The logic was a bit faulty, the equation not quite equaling the answer, but he’d get there. “I know, but all we can do is support him with—”
For the second time in a few days, he crashed into someone. His fault this time. He whirled around, the words I’m so sorry on the tip of his tongue, but then he saw who he’d hit, and his apology died screaming.
Her hair was a little longer than it’d been when they’d last stood face-to-face, and it was bleached an alarming shade of blond. But her shark’s grin was the same, her makeup on point, her eyes sparkling as she raised a microphone to her lips, turning toward the man standing behind her with a camera on his shoulder and pointing directly at Nick. Nick had only seen her once in person since they’d both been trapped on top of McManus Bridge. She’d shown up at his house a few weeks after the battle, crew in tow, demanding that Nick give her an interview. Dad had told her in no uncertain terms that if she ever stepped foot on his property again, he was going to shove his own foot so far up her ass, she’d be gargling toes. After he’d slammed the door in her face, he’d turned and told Nick that violence was never the answer, and that violence against women was a pandemic that needed to be stopped. Nick had laughed it off at the time, but after hearing more clearly what Dad had done to the witness years before and the fallout that came after, he didn’t think there was anything funny about it now. He’d never thought of his father as violent, but he had evidence to the contrary. He didn’t know what that made his dad—or himself, for not asking the questions he should’ve. Gibby and Jazz were right. He’d just … glossed over it.
That night, she’d gone on live television and reported that she’d been verbally threatened by Aaron Bell, the former detective who’d been demoted after physically assaulting a witness and the father of one Nick Bell, who had been at the center of the fight between Shadow Star and Pyro Storm. “But I will persist,” she said. “Nova City deserves answers, and no man will keep me from getting them.” Even though he despised every fiber of her being, he wondered if she’d been scared of his father. He didn’t know if he wanted her to be or not.
Regardless, Nick was not a fan.
“Rebecca Firestone,” he snarled as she looked directly into the camera.
“We’re standing on the streets of Nova City,” she said as if he wasn’t staring daggers at the back of her head. “And, by happenstance, we have come across Nicholas Bell. If you’ll recall, Mr. Bell is the author of This is Where We Scorch the Earth, a lengthy manifesto disguised as poorly plotted fanfiction regarding the Extraordinary Shadow Star.”
“Happenstance?” Jazz asked loudly. “You’re standing in front of our school.”
Nick, focusing on what was really important, exclaimed, “Poorly plotted? It was a goddamn masterpiece. Yes, in retrospect, it was extremely misguided, but still!”
She ignored them, even as students heading toward the front doors stopped and turned to stare at them.
“Shadow Star,” she continued, “who turned out to be sixteen-year-old Owen Burke, a student at Centennial High and the son of Simon Burke of Burke Pharmaceuticals.”
“And who you had a crush on, even though you’re, like, fifty,” Gibby said. “That’s gross. And illegal.”
“I am thirty-two,” Rebecca Firestone snapped, façade of the plucky reporter shattering. “And he presented himself as someone far, far older, so—”
The cameraman coughed pointedly.
Rebecca Firestone schooled her face. “Right. Edit that out in post. Three, two, one.” She smiled. “Nicholas Bell has been a central figure in the ongoing mystery of the Nova City Extraordinaries. On McManus Bridge, dozens of witnesses, including myself, saw him kissing the Extraordinary known as Pyro Storm, who was considered—and, potentially, rightly so—the villain of Nova—”
“Hell yes, I did,” Nick said, leering at the camera. “Go gays!”
“—who was considered the villain of Nova City,” Rebecca Firestone said through gritted teeth. She turned to Nick, eyes narrowed. “Mr. Bell, would you care to comment?”
“I would,” Nick said as Gibby groaned behind him.
“You would?” Rebecca Firestone asked, momentarily shocked. “Of course you would. What do you know about Pyro Storm? Did you know Owen Burke was Shadow Star? What is your relationship with both of them? Emotional? Physical?” She thrust the microphone in his face.
His moment to shine. Rebecca Firestone would regret ever being born. “My comment is this: I’m a minor, and Rebecca Firestone is attempting to speak to me without my guardian present.” He let his bottom lip tremble as he shook his head. “I wish there was an adult who would help save me from Rebecca Firestone’s incessant questioning. I was a victim, and she’s making me relive my trauma of a night I wish I could forget, even though I was the one who saved her from—”
“You little shit,” Rebecca Firestone growled before composing herself.
The whispers from those standing in front of the school grew louder, a few of them laughing. Rebecca Firestone glared at Nick before that evil grin returned, her eyes alight in a way that made Nick uneasy. Without looking away from Nick, she held out her hand toward her cameraman and snapped her fingers. The cameraman reached down to a large duffel bag at his feet. He muttered under his breath that he wasn’t paid enough for this shit before he pulled out a tablet and handed it to Rebecca Firestone.
She tapped the edge of her microphone against the screen. “Tell us, Mr. Bell, have you seen Pyro Storm since the events on the bridge?”
He shrugged, knowing he had an audience of his peers and that it was best to keep them guessing. There was a chance he could turn this around in his favor. “Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t.”
“Mm,” she said. “And your boyfriend—Seth Gray, right? What did he think about you kissing another man?”
Uh-oh. That wasn’t good. “We didn’t get together until after that.” Total lie, but she didn’t know that. “Seth is the best,” he added quickly, because he was of the mind that Seth Gray deserved to be complimented publicly. “His smile is like sunshine, and his bow ties give me life.”
“Right,” Rebecca Firestone said. “Young love. How precious. I would ask, however, what your boyfriend would think about you as you continue to fraternize with Pyro Storm.”
Nick squinted at her. “I’m doing what now?”
Her smiled widened, her teeth bared. She turned the tablet around, showing Nick the screen. He felt Jazz and Gibby crowding his back, peering over his shoulder.
On the tablet was a picture. Nick knew exactly when it’d been taken. New Year’s Eve. He’d had plans to go out with Gibby and Jazz and Seth, but they’d been forced into action when Seth had been alerted about a break-in at the history museum, where a display of priceless jewels on loan from India had been shown for almost a month. Pyro Storm had foiled the heist, and all the jewels had been accounted for. Their night out had been shot, but Nick figured it was worth it to keep relations between India and the US on the level. He was nothing if not diplomatic.
After, he’d met up with Pyro Storm in the streets of Nova City, hidden away in the shadows of an alley. Right at midnight, Seth had kissed him sweetly, promising that the New Year was going to be awesome.
Apparently, they hadn’t been alone. Because here, on the screen, was a picture of Nick wearing ridiculous gag glasses covered in glitter that showed the numbers for the New Year, pressed up against the brickwork of an old building, Pyro Storm kissing him, Nick’s hands hidden under his cape. The picture was blurry and had been taken from across the street, but it was obviously Nick, head tilted as he kissed an Extraordinary.
“What the hell?” Nick asked furiously, trying to swipe to see if there were any other photos. There weren’t, but one was enough. “What is this?”
“An exclusive,” Rebecc
a Firestone said as she plucked the tablet from Nick’s hands. “Care to comment as to why you, someone who says he’s in a healthy relationship, would be playing with fire?”
“Wow,” Jazz said. “Did you really think of that all on your own? You’re so impressive.”
Rebecca Firestone ignored her. “Mr. Bell? Thoughts? I’d hate to come between young love, but this is something that should be addressed. Anyone can see what you were doing. In fact, someone did, which is why this picture was sent to me from an anonymous—yet concerned—citizen of Nova City.”
“No comment,” Gibby snapped, grabbing Nick by the hand and attempting to pull him away. “Lady, you don’t want to piss us off more than you already have. I’ll sic my girlfriend on you, and you don’t want that. You haven’t seen scary until you’ve seen Jazz-scary.”
Rebecca Firestone scoffed as she looked over at Jazz in time to see her step out of her heels, flip them expertly in her hands, and advance with them raised like weapons. “Try me,” Jazz said primly as she cocked her head.
“What are you doing here, Firestone?” Nick jerked his head to find his boyfriend pushing his way through the crowd, his dress pants perfectly creased, his black sweater lint-free as if freshly rolled, and a goddamn paisley cravat. Ascots and cravats were almost the same thing, but ascots were more informal, which Nick only knew because of Seth, and while it was mostly useless information, it still made him slightly weak in the knees, current situation be damned. Who the hell did Seth think he was, walking in here to save the day, looking so stupidly adorable that Nick thought he would just die?
Seth stepped between his friends and Rebecca Firestone, whose smile faded, brow furrowing as she looked him up and down.
“Leave now,” Seth said coldly, and the growing crowd around them tittered. They’d never seen Seth so assertive, and Nick wouldn’t be surprised if half of them weren’t immediately and irrevocably lusting after him. If they weren’t, then they should’ve been. Seth was pretty much the hottest thing in existence when he wore a cravat and spoke forcefully. “Don’t make me tell you again.”
“Uh,” the cameraman said. “Yeah, I’m getting out of here.” He lowered his camera, pointing the lens toward the ground. “I was already worried about this assignment, seeing as how your last cameraman died, but that young lady is scary, and I don’t want to die or go back to prison.”
Jazz feinted toward him, heel raised, and he stumbled backward, almost tripping over his duffel bag.
Rebecca Firestone snarled as she shoved the tablet back at him so hard, he almost dropped it. “Goddammit, fine.” She whirled on them, poking Seth in the chest with a perfectly manicured fingernail while glancing over his shoulder at Nick. “This isn’t over. I know you’re involved with the Extraordinaries, Bell, and no matter how connected you are to the NCPD, no matter how many people try to cover for you, you know it and I know it. And I will find the truth. We all deserve to know who hides behind masks.” She turned around, glaring up at the students gathered on the stairs. “Stay in school!” she barked up at them before storming down the sidewalk, her cameraman trailing after her.
Seth stared after her until she disappeared into the crowd before he sighed, shoulders slumping. When he turned, gone was the steel. All that remained was Seth: tired, wonderful, lying Seth. “What did she want?” he asked as the students began to head inside the school.
“To cause trouble,” Gibby muttered. “She’s got a picture of you as Pyro Storm eating Nick’s face. Good job, both of you. That’s not going to help with rumors around here.” She jerked her head toward the school, where everyone still stood whispering as they glanced at Team Pyro Storm.
“So they’ll think we’re in an open relationship,” Nick said. “We’re progressive that way.”
Seth rolled his eyes. “Noted.” He looked off to where Rebecca Firestone had disappeared. “What’s her angle, though? She’s not my favorite person by a long shot, but is she really just asking about who you’re kissing? That seems beneath her.”
“The only thing beneath her is the ground,” Nick snapped. “She’s a pain in the ass, and we have to figure out what to do if she tries to make trouble.”
“Is that—is that his angry face?” Jazz whispered to Gibby as she put her heels back on.
“I … don’t know?” Gibby said, squinting at Nick. “It looks like he has a nervous tic or he’s holding in a fart. You never can tell with boys. It’s what makes them so ridiculous.”
Seth shook his head. “We don’t need to worry about it now. There are bigger things to focus on.” He looked at Nick. “Such as the latest chapter of your fic. Nick, I say this with nothing but admiration for you as a person, okay?”
Good start. Nick loved being admired. “I approve. You may proceed.”
Seth said, “What the hell are you talking about with this branding thing? And a website? When did you have time to make a website? And why was there a tab to sign up for a meet and greet?”
Ah, time for the sales pitch! “I’m so glad you asked. Prepare to have your mind blown. It—”
The bell rang.
“—will have to wait,” Nick said quickly. “Because we can’t be late for class, as our education is important, and Dad will send me off to boarding school if the school calls him again. An empty threat, but I don’t want to risk it because the boarding school is in New Hampshire and I don’t even know where that is, which is a damning indictment of the state of our school system. But Seth, you’re going to love it, I promise. And I’ll let your mind run with the possibilities until lunch. Also, you look amazing and your cravat gives me life.” He smacked a kiss against Seth’s lips before stomping off toward school. “Good talk, team!” he bellowed over his shoulder.
Always leave them wanting. Cosmo.
6
On a good day, Nick had to push himself to focus. It wasn’t as bad as it used to be, and he had hope he’d eventually become one of those lucky adults whose symptoms of attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder lessened with age. But he wasn’t kidding himself in thinking he’d ever be free of it: a kid with ADHD became a teenager with ADHD who turned into an adult with ADHD. That was his lot in life. It sucked, but it wasn’t a death sentence. He’d been on Concentra long enough now that it had evened out, and his mind was clearer and sharper than it’d been in a long time. He dutifully took his pills as instructed, knowing they were meant to help him, even if the source of the pills was now something he questioned.
And yet, no matter what it came down to, no matter how old he got or if he was finally on the right meds, his brain was wired differently. And though the bad days were few and far between, he still had them. Those days were when his thoughts were a jumbled knot in his head, and no matter how much he tugged on individual strands, it only made the knot tighter. Those days were when he felt like he was vibrating out of his skin, unable to sit still for any length of time. He fidgeted. He tapped his foot. He rapped his fingers against his thighs and the top of his desk. He clicked his pen again and again. It wasn’t quite spiraling, not like when he had panic attacks and he couldn’t breathe.
But it still sucked, especially on this particular Monday morning in February. He knew he was escalating, the battery that was his brain overloaded by a power surge. He tried to stop it, tried to calm himself by doing what he’d been taught: clearing his mind to the best of his ability, picking one thing to focus on, and breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.
It didn’t work.
All he could think about was the invasion of his privacy—Rebecca Firestone using an intimate moment against him, like she had any right.
“She can kiss my ass,” Nick muttered as he scribbled circles in his notebook. “She’s lucky I don’t have powers and just bam. Pow!”
It was about this time that he became aware of his surroundings to discover that he was in the middle of second period (American Lit) and the teacher (a frizzy lady named Mrs. Werner) and his classmates were staring at hi
m, some already whispering.
Nick blinked. Second period? What the hell had happened in first? Oh man, he hoped there hadn’t been a pop quiz. He’d boffed it for sure if there was. And it’d be exactly like Hanson to give a trig pop quiz first thing on a Monday morning. He slumped lower in his chair, smiling widely to let Mrs. Werner know he was here and ready to listen to her drone on and on about allegory and blah, blah, blah.
It must have worked, because she resumed and everyone turned back toward the front of the class.
A moment later, he was lost in his thoughts again, picking through the knot in his head, tugging, tugging, tugging on the loose strands, trying to find one that would pull free. It was all Dad and Seth and Burke, Burke, Burke, which caused a low wave of anger to wash over him. The lights in the room buzzed loudly. In the corner, one shorted out completely with a low pop. No one paid it any mind. They were in a public school, after all. Things broke all the time.
* * *
“We need to put on a united front before Seth gets here,” he announced as soon as he sat down at their lunch table. The cafeteria was loud today, since most students were indoors, given how cold it was outside. The flurries were supposed to switch to full-on snow at some point, but so far, it was holding off. It didn’t help that a group of the most popular kids in school were hanging banners for an event he’d totally spaced on. The biggest banner read: CENTENNIAL HIGH PROM COMING SOON! A NIGHT TO REMEMBER!
This was the first year they’d get to go, given that it was only for juniors and seniors. Gibby could’ve gone last year with Jazz, but they’d ended up watching terrible monster movies with Nick and Seth instead. Gibby hadn’t seemed to mind at all, but when Jazz had asked her to the prom this year, she’d rolled her eyes, all while fighting a smile. She wasn’t fooling anyone.
Nick hadn’t asked Seth yet, nor had Seth asked him. Cosmo had taught him he should never assume, so he needed to plan the biggest, most elaborate promposal ever, making every other promposal look like crap.