Nerve

by Kirsten Krueger

  “Your boss?” Adara repeated flatly. “Are you in a Periculand gang now?”

  “No, no—my boss at the cleaner’s. I, um…took over Hastings’s job there.”

  Though Angor’s expression turned solemn, Adara managed not to flinch. “The Reggs are letting you work in town? I thought you weren’t allowed to leave campus?”

  “We’re permitted to leave with a Regg escort…one of the guards they installed in town,” Ackerly explained. “Most students got jobs since they started making us pay for our own food… I work at the flower shop, and it’s—”

  “Hold up,” Adara interjected with such force that Seth stopped drinking mid-gulp. “The Reggs are making students pay for meals?”

  “And they’re rationing the food,” Seth added, finishing off his first bottle. “Took away the buffet and everything.”

  “Damn.” Adara shook her head. “That’s about the worst thing they could do. I’m glad I don’t have to work. I just sit here and they feed me for free. How are there even enough jobs in this small town for all the students?”

  “There aren’t,” Tray said. “A lot have resorted to begging their rich parents for more money, like Kiki.”

  “And like you two? Haven’t your parents been sending you money?”

  “They were…before the election.”

  “I’ve sent them some letters about it, but they haven’t gotten back to me.” Seth shrugged as he grabbed another bottle.

  Though he seemed unconcerned, his twin’s brow wrinkled, probably contriving some conspiracy theory or assuming his parents dead. Instead of voicing his rash conclusions, he rested his vision on Angor and asked, “Why didn’t we have to pay when you were in charge?”

  “Because I paid for the entirety of this town with my personal funds.” The man plopped down on his metal slab and wiped perspiration from his forehead. “I instilled mild taxes, of course, but…now I imagine the United States government is stuck paying for the town. I suppose that’s only justice for unrightfully placing me in this cell.”

  Tray cocked his head, skeptical. “One man could pay for all of us but the government can’t?”

  “The government’s a bunch of greedy assholes,” Adara reminded him. “Murderers, on the other hand—super generous.” Before Angor could defend his virtue, she added, “Joking, Your Majesty. You aren’t a murderer…maybe. Still haven’t decided if you’re a lying scumbag or not. Hey, Nerdworm, if everyone’s got jobs, what’s yours? Bookstore attendant?”

  “Yes…” Tray confirmed uncomfortably, eliciting cackles from Adara.

  “You’re too predictable, Stark.”

  “He’s been working on the suits, too—the Affinity-proof ones the Regg guards wear,” Seth chimed in, now nearly done with his second beer. “He created this device that temporarily disables them—the guards go ape, naturally—but yeah, that’s how we snuck out to come visit you.”

  “Nerdworm’s been working on a device that helped you come visit me?” Adara clarified, her smirk stretching.

  “It’s also to help us in case the Reggs ever become hostile,” Tray huffed. “You aren’t as important as you think you are.”

  “Oh, on the contrary, I’m more important than I thought. I’ve never been under the impression that you cared about me at all, but to go out of your way to bring me company… You are a softy after all.”

  “I—no—not—not one part of that is true—”

  “Did you bring donuts, Jockface?” Adara prompted, ignoring Tray’s stammering.

  “Could only smuggle one. They don’t have them on campus anymore, and the grocery store had limited stock…” Though it was less than she’d begged for, her face still split with undiluted fervor at the sight of that single donut. Seth attempted to hand it to her through the bars but then recoiled when the sensation of static reminded him of the metal’s electrical properties. “Mitt, dude, tone it down with the electricity for a minute?”

  “So you can break Adara free? No thanks.”

  “I’m the only one who has the ability to bend the bars, and clearly I have no desire.” Rubbing his face, Tray sighed. “Just let her have the stupid donut. Her grin is demonic.”

  Prying the bottle from his lips, Mitt turned to the console on the wall, where he pressed a few buttons, silencing the electrical buzz that had previously filled the air. Greedily, Adara reached both hands through the bars and snatched the donut from Seth, cherishing it with more care than she would an ancient relic.

  “Mm, cinnamon,” she hummed before sinking her teeth into its sweetness.

  “This is how you get Adara to shut up,” Seth informed Mitt as he opened his third bottle of beer. “Your life’ll be a lot easier if you feed her donuts.”

  “Slow down with the booze, Jockface,” she said through a mouthful of donut. “Save some for Greenie.”

  Ackerly’s face flushed. “I, um…don’t drink.”

  “Stromer knows—she just likes to make people feel uncomfortable,” Tray grumbled as he reached into the basket and grabbed two apples. Ackerly fumbled to catch the one he tossed over his shoulder at him.

  Teeth full of donut crumbs, Adara grinned. “You know I love you, Greenie. Hey, speaking of love, did Eliana figure out Angor’s Affinity from Nero?”

  “Why would love remind you of that?” Tray questioned between bites of his apple.

  “Well, I would love it if we get all of this mystery shit over with, so I can bust outta here. So, what’s the verdict?”

  “Ooh, I know that word,” Seth enthused after finishing his third bottle. “Jussst read it in the dictionary the other day. It means ‘green with vegetation,’ like my man Ack over here.”

  “That’s the definition of verdant, not verdict, Seth,” his brother corrected with exasperation. “Stromer wants to know if we’ve found Angor innocent or guilty. The answer is we’re still unsure. Eliana said Nero’s memories of Angor’s Affinity are warped and concealed even from him, which leads us to believe Artemis blocked his memories so he wouldn’t realize Angor’s innocent.”

  “Well, Artemis certainly thinks highly of Big Boy,” Adara concluded. “I bet he wouldn’t have put it together, even if he knew the truth.”

  “Nor would he want to…with the way the Reggs treat him,” Ackerly said before gnawing on his apple like a chipmunk. “Nero would probably support them, even if he knew they were liars.”

  “Any leads on who the Wacko sympathizer is?” Adara asked, looking between Tray and Ackerly as Seth downed a fourth bottle.

  “We’ve been checking files for shady backgrounds and monitoring the post office for any suspicious mail…” Tray’s jaw shifted in frustration as he stared at his apple core. “Nothing yet.”

  “Maybe I should just start beating people up for information,” Seth offered as he tossed an empty beer bottle into the basket. “With my sssuper strength.”

  His twin rolled his eyes. “You’re drunk, Seth.”

  “N-O. That spells no. Because I’m N-O-T. Not.” Tray opened his mouth, likely for a condescending retort, but then Seth began again. “I think I’m gonna chug the next one. Yeah? Yeah? Anyone wanna compete?”

  “Seth,” Tray chided, but his twin ignored him as he retrieved another bottle and began guzzling it. Adara wasn’t surprised when, moments later, Seth choked and then upchucked, spewing liquid vomit all over the tiled floor.

  “Oh, weeds,” Ackerly swore, dancing away from the puke.

  “Oh weeds?” Adara repeated while Tray continued to scoff at his brother’s immaturity. “Damn, Greenie, you’ve got a dirty mouth. What should we call it…a garden mouth?”

  “I—need a bathroom,” Seth choked as he wobbled away from the expanding puddle.

  “End of the hall,” Mitt said, still casually sipping from his first bottle.

  When Seth disappeared, Ackerly awkwardly eyed the floor. “I, uh, have some herbs that’ll help with his nausea…”

  “And yours?” Adara challenged, seeing the paleness of his face. N
odding, he hurried down the hall after Seth, and she chuckled. “This has been the best Thanksgiving ever, rivaled only by the year I got your Uncle Robert to drink his own piss.”

  Tray snorted at the memory while Mitt cringed.

  “Not sure I wanna hear that story.” The officer set his empty bottle gently into the basket. “I’m gonna go get a mop. Punch her with your super strength if she tries to escape, Stark.”

  “Gladly…” Tray mumbled as Mitt sauntered into the front room. Alone with only Angor, Adara and Tray studied each other with equal suspicion.

  “Nice vest, Stark,” she said, referring to the ugly puffy vest he wore over his sweatshirt. “It’s definitely lame enough to suit you.”

  Tray narrowed his eyes but maintained his dignity. “I assume you have no concept of the weather anymore, but I’ll have you know it’s cold outside.”

  “You must be the Stark Adara often refers to as ‘the wussy one,’” Angor commented, inciting a rancorous glare but no verbal response.

  “Where’s your smart retort, Nerdworm?” Adara stepped closer to the bars. “Aren’t you gonna scold me about how juvenile the term ‘wussy’ is?”

  “I have no interest in provoking an enraged response from you,” Tray answered carefully, examining her as if she were some foreign, unstable substance he couldn’t quite understand or control.

  “Afraid I’ll shove you into a wall like I did when you sparked an Avner worship-fest during our history class earlier this year? Or has my absence weakened your verbal parrying skills?”

  “Your absence…hasn’t benefited my life in the way I thought it would,” he admitted, nose twitching with the discomfort of his own words.

  “Oh? Are you saying you’ve missed me? Are you as drunk as your brother?”

  “No.” Without much grace, he crossed his arms over his vest. “You’re just…the easiest to convince to do reckless things; everyone else is too afraid to snoop around for information. And, with Avner gone, there’s no one to oppose Nero.”

  “I thought you were his arch nemesis now? Super strength versus super strength. I’m just a normie to him.”

  “No one thinks you’re a normie,” Tray said darkly. “Everyone knows what happened in Angor’s office, Adara. You can’t deny it forever.”

  She opened her mouth to do just that, but before she could refute, Mitt waltzed back into the hall with a mop and bucket in his hands.

  “This is why teenagers aren’t allowed to drink,” he muttered, glowering at the puddle of puke. “I assume if you ever become principal again, you’ll fire me,” he added to Angor as he cleaned the mess.

  “Actually, I quite like you, Officer Telum. A man of duty with an honest, human heart. I hold no grudge against you for keeping me here, or for…this.” Angor gestured toward the beer with amusement.

  “Thanks,” Mitt murmured, but his voice was drowned out by the static of the radio at his hip.

  “Mitt—Mitt!” a frantic female voice sounded. “There’s a car headed toward town! Shit—shit—what if it’s more Wackos? They’re gonna take over my mind again! Fu—”

  “Officer Wright,” he interrupted after hastily grabbing the radio. “I’m…with students…and Mr. Periculy.”

  “Oh…” the voice mumbled. Adara snickered, knowing it must be Dr. Wright’s daughter, Ira, who guarded the front gate of Periculand. Clearing her throat, the woman said in a much more formal tone, “Officer Telum, there are intruders. Code gray.”

  “On my way.” As he propped the mop against the wall, Mitt surveyed the others with unease.

  “Ooh, Mitt’s sleeping with the school security,” Adara taunted, wiggling her eyebrows.

  “That’s all you gathered from that conversation?” Tray spat. “There are Wackos breaking into our—”

  “I’m not sleeping with her,” Mitt retorted, metallic eyes fixed on Adara. “We’re friendly. And that’s not relevant now. I need to provide Officer Wright with backup—and you need to clean this up, in case I have to bring in prisoners.”

  “Me?” Tray blurted out, but Mitt had already jogged out of the room. Gagging, the Stark twin retrieved the mop and wiped up the remainder of his brother’s vomit without looking at it.

  “This is what you get for being the responsible one,” Adara sang, reveling in his disgust. “One of the many reasons I enjoy my life as a deviant.”

  “Why are you so giddy?” he demanded. “We’re being invaded.”

  “True. But if Mitt and Ira are successful, I’ll get some new prison-mates. And if they lose, the Wackos will probably demolish this town and the Rosses will crumble. Either way, I’ll be pleased.”

  “What if the intruders aren’t Wackos? What if they aren’t intruders at all? What if…Avner’s back?” Adara’s bemused blink roused a triumphant smirk from Tray. “It has been over two weeks since they left. If your brother has any intention of returning, now’s about time. Given he broke a Wacko out of jail, he could be your new prison-mate.”

  “Come a little closer, Stark,” she snarled, clutching the bars. In his haste, Mitt had neglected to turn the electricity back on, allowing her to grip them with relentless ferocity.

  “So you can burn me?” He placed the mop in the corner. “I’ll pass.”

  As soon as the words spewed from his mouth, a furious, defensive chasm unfurled in Adara’s chest, warming her flesh with what she assumed to be rage. “Burn you?”

  Tray paused, warily watching her fists tighten on the bars. They were meant to be an anchor for her indignation, but then that anchor began to soften—and melt. “Adara…”

  Stumbling back, she gaped at the damage she’d inflicted: the metal, now warped and thinned, was like an abstract icicle. She’d melted the bars. Her hands were still abnormally dark and blistered, but the volcano of anger within her had cooled and sealed, leaving only a numb sense of fear.

  “Impressive,” Angor marveled from behind, straightening to observe the bars. “If only you would allow me to train—”

  “Shut up,” Adara growled, but her fury extinguished when the front door of the police station flew open, permitting cold air, uneven footsteps, and whiny voices.

  “We aren’t Wackos! How many times do I have to tell you, you unfairly attractive human being? Did you see his silver eyes, Ash? Holy balls, they are gorgeous…”

  It wasn’t hard for Adara to determine which of the three girls Mitt lugged into the back corridor was the one admiring his features; even as he hauled them by joint chains through the open doorway, she continued ogling him with rose gold eyes. Though a teenager, she stood nearly as tall as the officer. Long, messy locks of peachy-pink hair covered her weathered sweatshirt, the word “Volleyball” barely distinguishable in peeling letters.

  “Oh—oh, you’re putting us in jail?” she asked when she spotted the cells lining the walls.

  Tray, still in the middle of the hall, shifted into a slightly defensive stance, while Adara’s face alit with a grin. “Well, well, well. I’ve always been a pessimist, but dreams do come true,” she mused, appraising her three new companions like prey.

  Mitt’s admirer seemed nonplussed but indifferent about the presence of other humans. The smaller and substantially younger girl in the middle staggered along like a lost kitten, the pom-pom on her knit hat solidifying her youthfulness. She bumped into the first girl when Mitt stopped to open the cell across the hall, and the girl at the rear threatened to flatten them all with her elephant size.

  “The monster,” Adara said slowly, recognizing the unmistakable mass.

  As if it was her given name, the girl blinked her murky green eyes and locked gazes with Adara, brow creased beneath her short, swampy hair. Through her thick lips, her words were surprisingly articulate as she said, “The angry sweatshirt girl.”

  “Angry sweatshirt girl?”

  “You were angry when the water boy ripped your sweatshirt,” the monster clarified, her steps reverberating through the floor as Mitt ushered the three into the cell. />
  “Ah, yes, I remember now. I haven’t yet forgiven Water Boy for that offense. Thank you for reminding me. Almost makes up for the fact that you destroyed my door. This was one of the Wackos that broke in, Mitt, if you were wondering.”

  “We aren’t Wackos,” the peachy-haired girl groaned as the officer locked their cell and gave her an unconvinced look.

  “You arrived in one of the Wackos’ vans, Stromer claims you’re Wackos—”

  “She’s in jail!” the girl exclaimed, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “Why believe her over us?”

  “You also admitted that you traveled here from one of the Wackos’ hideouts—”

  “Where we were prisoners.”

  “Why would the Wackos imprison Affinities?” Tray inquired, scrutinizing her matching hair and eyes.

  “Why would Periculand imprison Affinities?” The girl nodded toward Adara and Angor.

  “Because they’re dangerous law-breakers.”

  “Oh, well…that’s not what we are. We just didn’t agree with the Wacko leader, and he’s not so fond of disagreers,” she explained, glancing at Mitt for some sign that he believed her tale.

  His face remained stony, pensive. “We’ll see what the Rosses conclude when they arrive.”

  “Dog,” Adara coughed loudly. “What? Oh, I was just saying that you’re like a loyal little puppy, Mitt—nothing too obscene. Can the truth even be considered obscene?”

  “The Rosses are coming here?” Angor asked, hopping off his slab and padding over to stand by Adara. “Do any of you girls possess a mind reading Affinity, by chance?”

  “We already had our mind reader try,” Tray reminded him flatly. “Artemis’s mind is too clouded—”

  “I was hoping they might read my mind, actually, in front of the Rosses, in order to prove I am as innocent as I profess to be.”

  “All I can do is control gases,” the talkative girl said with a shrug. “And Cath’s Affinity is just being the toughest bitch in the universe.” She gestured appreciatively toward the monster. “And then Ashna—”