Flash Fire

by TJ Klune

  Nick whirled on Seth. “What the hell, dude? We’re blurting out your secret identity now? Maybe warn me next time. Like, I can totally back you up on it and stuff. I wasn’t ready.”

  Seth sighed. “Sure, Nick. I’ll remember that for next time.”

  “Come on,” Jazz said. “Let’s get through the day. If that’s the worst of it, we’ll be all right.”

  * * *

  It wasn’t the worst of it.

  All day, people came up to Nick, some of them asking outright who Pyro Storm was, others trying to act like they were Nick’s friend. Normally, Nick would’ve been extremely on board with all this attention, but when it came in the middle of class while he was pretending to pay attention? Yeah, that wasn’t the best. Case in point: the girl at the desk next to his leaned over and whispered rather aggressively that she’d rock his world if he wanted, trailing a bright pink fingernail down his arm, biting her lip seductively.

  “No thanks,” Nick said. “I’m super gay, so.”

  She blinked. “Are you sure?”

  “Yep. Like, full-on queer and junk.”

  “Oh,” she said. “My brother’s gay too, and apparently people think he’s really hot—which, gross, but yay for you! I’ll give you his phone number, and he’ll—”

  “We’re in the middle of a test,” Nick hissed at her. He looked around the class, finding that everyone was listening in, even if they were trying to hide it. Including the teacher. “Stop interrupting my learning by offering me your brother!”

  “Ignore her,” a boy whisper-shouted from two desks over. “I know three gay people, and they’re my best friends. I could get them to help you, since you’re just coming out.” He looked earnest when he added, “Which is, like, so brave of you. I mean, no homo, but congrats.”

  Nick threw up his hands. “I’ve been out for years! I have a boyfriend.”

  The boy shrugged. “Good for you. It Gets Better or whatever. Anyway, my friends would love you, and they’re all really gay. Their names are Gabby, Jizz and…” He frowned. “Oh!” he said as he brightened. “Serf. No, wait. That’s an agricultural laborer bound under the feudal system to work on his lord’s estate.”

  “That’s exactly right,” the teacher said. “I’m glad what I’m teaching you is sinking in. How wonderful to see young minds expanding with knowledge.”

  “Oh my god,” Nick muttered. “It’s Gibby and Jazz and Seth, and they’re my best friends, not yours. In fact, who are you? I’ve never even seen you before! And Seth isn’t gay. He’s bisexual, so take your hetero nonsense somewhere else, because I won’t allow my boyfriend’s sexuality to be erased.”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” the teacher said. “Get back to your tests, everyone. Leave Nick alone and let him focus.”

  “Thank you,” Nick said loudly.

  Satisfied, Nick turned back to his test.

  Only to be interrupted a minute later by the teacher passing by his desk, sliding a folded piece of paper underneath the test sheet. He waited until she left before he opened it.

  You’re doing great work! If you need to talk about anything, please don’t hesitate to come to me. My door is always open. Being a teenager can be hard, but I’m hip and cool and willing to talk about anything you need. Some examples: boys, relationships, academic futures, identities of superheroes, parental struggles, drug prevention, Pyro Storm, peer pressure, self-confidence issues, Extraordinaries’ real names and addresses, and I make a mean quiche if you should ever need the recipe!

  Nick raised his head slowly to stare at the teacher.

  She brought her finger to her lips and winked at him.

  “I hate everything,” Nick grumbled, slumping low in his seat.

  * * *

  By the time the lunch bell rang, the following had occurred:

  Nick had been asked to prom by nine different people: five boys (all straight) and three girls (all straight), and the lady who worked in the front office, who told him everyone would think he was the coolest for bringing an adult to prom, to which Nick replied she really didn’t understand what it meant to be the coolest.

  Three teachers—two of which Nick didn’t have a class with—pulled him into their rooms, all of them telling Nick he shouldn’t have to carry the burden on his own, and that they were willing to listen to whatever he needed to get off his chest. One of the teachers, an older woman with perfect teeth that had to be fake, turned a chair around and sat down on it, hands dangling down the back, saying, “Man, teenagers, right? It’s hard out there for a pimp. Let’s chill, my dude. Say, I got a question for you, since you’re here. What is up with all these Extraordinaries, am I right, my man? My guy? Bro? Bro, where are you going? Bro, you don’t need to leave, I’m not—the door opens the other way. No, you have to pull, not—Nick. Seriously. Stop screaming and just pull the door open.”

  Seventeen different students—including the guy who moved to Nova City from Venezuela named Santiago, who had the most erotic jawline ever given to mankind—invited Nick to house parties. And birthday parties. A bar mitzvah. A quinceañera. An orgy, though Nick might have misheard that one. One enterprising girl even told Nick that she’d always wanted a gay best friend to take shopping, since all gays had the best tastes in clothes. He might have given her the benefit of the doubt had she not been glaring at his clothes, which consisted of his beat-up Chucks, frayed jeans, and a green hoodie missing the string around the neck. He then proceeded to explain to her how problematic her views on queer men were, and that he did not exist to feed into her terrible stereotypes. She nodded solemnly and said, “Thank you for educating me. I’m taking the time to listen and reflect on my biases to become a better person. So, shopping, or…?”

  By the time Nick collapsed onto a seat at the lunch table, he was convinced humanity was a mistake and that getting sent to a boarding school in Switzerland might not be a bad thing, even if he, like Jazz, had no idea where Switzerland was.

  “That awful, huh?” Gibby asked, patting him on the top of the head.

  “Everything is terrible,” Nick mumbled. “I know now what it feels like to be used, and honestly? Not as big a fan as I thought I’d be.”

  “You thought it’d be a good thing to be used?” Jazz asked.

  Nick lifted his head. “If it meant being popular, sure, but at what cost, Jazz? At what cost?”

  “Popularity is overrated,” Jazz said, opening her Tupperware, which was filled with beef cutlets over a bed of bone-marrow pasta. “Popularity in high school doesn’t matter in the real world. People are fickle. What’s important today won’t be important tomorrow.”

  “Where’s Seth?” He looked around, trying to find the familiar mop of curls.

  “He was talking to a teacher when I saw him before lunch,” Gibby said. “Didn’t look like it was going well.”

  Nick blinked. “What? Why? He’s almost as smart as you are.”

  “I dunno. I was going to wait for him, but he waved me off. He’ll be here when—there he is.”

  Seth pushed his way through the crowd, scowling at everyone who bumped into him. He practically threw his backpack on the table as he sat down next to Nick. “What in the hell?” he growled. “I just spent ten minutes talking to Sewell, who told me that I needed to be a good boyfriend to Nick and listen to everything he says, and if he happens to talk about Pyro Storm, to let her know so she can—and I quote—‘Make sure you two are safe and making good decisions, and if that leads to a financial windfall, remember how much I’m helping you because teachers are vastly underpaid.’”

  “Money makes everyone stupid,” Nick muttered.

  Seth looked around to make sure no one was listening in. He dropped his voice and said, “It’s getting worse. I got a notification on the app last night. Someone reported an incident in progress, and I—”

  They all jerked their heads toward him. “What?” Nick asked. “What happened to lying low?”

  Seth winced, pulling on the polka dot cravat hanging lim
ply around his neck. “I was going to ignore it. I thought I could. But—” He shook his head tiredly. “I don’t know. I was careful, but when I got to the scene, no one was in trouble. Three people were waiting for me. I overheard them talking about how when I showed up, they were going to use fire extinguishers to subdue me.”

  Nick gaped at him. “They what?”

  Seth sighed. “Burke has turned this into a manhunt, and he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.”

  “Maybe it’s time for Pyro Storm to take a break,” Jazz said. “Not permanently, but at least until this all goes away.”

  “What if it doesn’t?” Gibby asked. “Is he not supposed to be Pyro Storm again?”

  “It might not be such a bad thing,” Jazz countered. “Last I checked, Seth wasn’t even sure he wanted to be Pyro Storm anymore. Has that changed?”

  “I don’t know,” Seth admitted. “This certainly isn’t making things easier.” He took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And I don’t know if I could do it, not all the way. The first time a real call comes in, and I, what, pretend I didn’t see it?”

  “You can’t save everyone,” Gibby said, sounding troubled. “You’re already stretched thin enough as it is.”

  “What else is new?” Seth asked. “That’s how it’s been for years.”

  “And look where it’s gotten you,” Jazz said. “I know you don’t do this for the accolades or the press, but Seth, you really need to think of yourself here.”

  “Which is why I asked Miss Conduct and TK to help us,” Seth reminded her. “We can’t do this on our own.”

  An idea struck Nick. It wasn’t anything grand, but at least it’d be a start. He reached into his pocket, meaning to get out his phone, only to remember that it had been crushed by TK in an alley. His life was so weird. “Gibby, can I see your phone?”

  She didn’t question him, just slid her phone across the table. He snorted at the picture of her and Jazz she’d saved as the background before opening the app he was looking for and logging himself in. “How about this? I delete the official Pyro Storm Twitter account, and I don’t send the email I wrote to the creators who I wanted to make the art for the merch.” He looked down at the phone again. “Well, crap.”

  “What?” Jazz asked through a mouthful of Wagyu.

  “We’re up to three hundred thousand Twitter followers,” Nick said, “and there’s a new hashtag trending worldwide.” He squinted at the phone. “Hashtag #PyroStormMillion. Hold on, the mentions are through the—holy shit, we’ve been verified? Goddammit, Jack! There are freaking Nazis on your platform, and you’re busy verifying Extraordinaries? Okay, you know what? That’s pretty cool. I’ve never been verified for anything, and this might be the validation we— No. No. I will not let this go to my head.” He looked up at the others. “Right? I shouldn’t let this go to my head?”

  “Right,” Gibby said slowly.

  “Right,” Nick said. “I’ll … okay, I really was going to delete this, but we’ve now been retweeted by two former presidents, one of whom quote-tweeted me and said, Who is this fire guy and how can I meet him? Twitter, work your magic!”

  “Which president?” Jazz asked.

  “The bad one,” Nick said with a frown. “I feel gross.”

  “Don’t delete it,” Seth said as he pulled away. “Not yet. Too many things are up in the air. I don’t want any of us making decisions right now. We’ll figure it out. I don’t need this turning into—Nick, did you just respond to the president?”

  “Damn right, I did,” Nick growled. “I told him you’d never meet with him, since he’s a war criminal. Oh no. What if the Secret Service is going to come to my house now? Dad will make me mop the floors, and I hate mopping.”

  Gibby snapped in his face. “Focus, Nicky.”

  “Right,” Nick said, shaking his head. “The Secret Service won’t care if our floors are dirty. What was I thinking?”

  “That’s not what I—you know what? Let’s go with that.”

  “We need to talk about other things,” Jazz said. “Take our minds off all of this. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” they all said as Nick slid Gibby’s phone back to her.

  “Good,” Jazz said. “Prom. We all have our outfits, and I’ve made reservations at Austers for dinner.”

  “Austers?” Nick asked. “Isn’t that the place that charges twenty bucks for a glass of water and is impossible to get a reservation for?”

  “It is,” Jazz said. “Daddy knows the owners, so they bumped a diplomat and gave us their table. It might create an international incident, but Daddy said Ireland will get over it.”

  “Great,” Gibby said. “Because all we need is Ireland getting mad at us now too.”

  Jazz ignored her, focusing on Nick. “You’ll be at my house by noon on Saturday. You need to learn how to dance, and I’m going to teach you. Topics that will not be discussed: Extraordinaries, fire, telekinesis, smoke, ice, Simon Burke, or parents who kept lifelong secrets that are now out in the open. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal,” Nick said. “Also, why do I have to go and not Seth?”

  “Because I already know how to dance,” Seth said.

  That was news to Nick. “Like, what kind of dancing?” He grinned as he waggled his eyebrows.

  Seth rolled his eyes. “I’m not stripping for you.” He paused, considering. “Well, not yet.”

  Nick’s eyes bulged as his brain misfired. “Must … witness … this … now.”

  And to his amazement, Seth stood from the table and held out his hand for Nick, who hesitated only for a moment before taking what was offered. Seth pulled him up. They stood chest to chest. Nick allowed Seth to position his hands, one going to Seth’s waist, the other on his shoulder. “Jazz, if you please.”

  “On it,” Jazz said, and a moment later, Elvis Presley began to croon about wise men saying that only fools rush in.

  But Nick barely heard the King as Seth began to sway them both slowly. It was awkward, but that was to be expected. He stepped on Seth’s feet, blushing furiously as he apologized. Seth smiled at him and said, “It’s okay, Nicky. Move with me.”

  And though Nick knew people were watching them, he only had eyes for Seth. Nick was stiff, unsure, but the longer it went on, the more he relaxed. He laughed when Seth sent him out for a spin, their hands twisting but never letting go. Seth pulled him back with a snap, their faces inches apart. Everything melted away around them, and for a moment, Nick could imagine they were two normal boys, dancing, dancing, dancing.

  Three words.

  Three little words on the tip of his tongue.

  The song ended. Nick startled when exactly four people clapped, the rest of them staring with varying degrees of feigned interest.

  “That was so great,” one of the people clapping said as Nick took a step back from Seth. “Queer people are valid members of our society and should be allowed to dance in a cafeteria, just like everyone else.”

  Touched, Nick said, “Thank you. That’s very—”

  “You’re so welcome. And if you’re feeling generous about my allyship, I’d be happy to listen to you if you want to tell me who Pyro Storm is. Hurray for gays!”

  “Gays! Gays! Gays!” someone else shouted. “Now help us get paid!”

  “That didn’t even rhyme,” Nick snarled as Seth tried to hold him back. “You dumb shits, how dare you interrupt a beautiful moment between two people who are privately dancing in public! I’ll make you pay! I’ll make you all pay!”

  * * *

  “And as I’m sure you can agree,” the principal said to Dad, “we can’t have Nick making threats like that. It isn’t a good look.”

  Nick glared at him but wisely kept his mouth shut.

  Dad, on the other hand, was having no part in it. “I see. And yet he’s told me he’s been accosted by not only other students but members of the faculty as well.”

  The principal winced. “I don’t know if I would characterize it
as accosted—”

  Dad leaned forward. “How would you characterize it, then, when teachers are soliciting private information from my son for their own financial gain?”

  “I—”

  “It’s funny how you think I was finished,” Dad said coldly, and Nick felt a surge of affection for him. Their current situation be damned, Nick would never doubt for a moment his father would go to bat for him when it really mattered. “I don’t know what kind of school you’re running here, but when my child’s learning is disrupted by both students and faculty, then you can bet I’m going to have a big problem with it. So unless the next words out of your mouth are a detailed plan to ensure this doesn’t happen again, I don’t want to hear it.”

  The principal held up his hands as if to placate Dad. “I hear you, Mr. Bell. Nicholas, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you don’t see any further interruptions on school grounds.”

  “You do that,” Nick snapped. “All I want to do is learn and be successful and go on to become a baker-slash-private-investigator who bakes scones and fights—”

  Dad coughed pointedly.

  “Right,” Nick said. “No fighting. Just scones. All those delicious scones.”

  Dad laughed but did an admirable job at covering it up. “I expect you’ll let your staff know that any discussion with Nick that doesn’t pertain to school or homework will not be tolerated. Good day. Nick, let’s go.”

  “But—”

  “He said good day,” Nick snapped over his shoulder as he followed his dad from the office. The last he saw of the principal was the man sitting stunned behind his desk, face pale, eyes wide.

  * * *

  Nick’s plan to go upstairs as soon as he got home was thwarted by an unexpected guest waiting for them on the porch of their house.