by F. T. Lukens
Bristling, Bridger gritted his teeth. “I know you have it. I want it back. Hand it over, and I won’t have to call Pavel.”
“Oh, please do. He’s quite cute, and I do love a good warning.” She tapped her toe on the curb. “No? Not going to happen? Great. Can you step aside and let me get back to my dinner?”
Bridger crossed his arms. “I’m not moving. I know you have it.”
“Oh, really? You know that for a fact?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a hefty charge. Breaking and entering and stealing. What’s your evidence?”
Technically, he had no evidence other than a missing book and scratches on Astrid’s driver-side door that possibly, maybe, highly probably, were not there before the game—and the fact that his magic guidebook was missing. Pavel told him to always carry it. And he did. In his backpack in case of emergencies. It was the one rule he actually followed.
“Your fingerprints on the door.”
She laughed. “Oh, my. Forensic evidence. Good job. Well then, Detective Boyle, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t have anything of yours. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
She moved to step around him, but Bridger was undeterred and darted in her way. She elbowed him in the chest, and her pop dislodged, falling to the ground with a thunk and an impressive spray.
“Brooklyn Nine-Nine reference aside, I’m not letting you get away with this.”
“You owe me a soda.”
“Yeah, and you owe me a—”
“Bridger!” Astrid’s voice sliced through the confrontation. She stood by her car with Leo next to her, and Bridger didn’t realize he was nose-to-nose with Summer until he had to fumble backward to be able to turn his head.
“Yeah?”
Astrid held up the compact. Even across the parking lot, Bridger could hear the sound of two thousand European ambulance sirens. “This isn’t over. I’ll be right back.” Sprinting away, Bridger took the compact from Astrid’s hand and scrambled into the back seat. He flipped open the mirror.
“Bridger,” Nia said, tiny arms crossed over her chest, lips pursed in her already-pinched face. “What have I told you about leaving your things lying around?”
“Uh, Nia? Is this an emergency? Because if not, I’m in the middle of something.”
“You better hope you’re not in an emergency.” She shot out of frame, leaving a wake of pink sparkles, before she appeared hefting an old book, leather-bound with parchment pages. “You left this on the table.” She held it in her tiny arms, thrusting it toward the mirror. The Rules and Regulations for Mediating Myths and Magic: A Comprehensive Guide to All Documented Myths and Cryptids and the Rules and Regulations for Intermediary Interaction filled the screen in flowing gold script. “I’d hate for you to encounter anything without it. Don’t you remember the first time with the unicorn?”
“Oh. Um. Oops?” Oops indeed. A big oops. Kind of a massive oops. “I’ll be by tomorrow to pick it up.”
She dropped it back to the table. “Fine. Don’t do any work until then, because we want our human in one piece. Also, I won’t tell Pavel. This time.”
“Thank you, Nia.”
She studied him. “Are you okay? You look pale. Paler than normal.”
“It’s the lighting. I’m in Astrid’s car.”
“Oh!” Nia said, wings fluttering. “Are you out? Any cafes or bakeries nearby? I’d love a—”
Bridger shut the compact. He’d totally pay for that later and he did owe her something sweet for not ratting him out to Pavel about the whole book situation, but he didn’t have time to listen to her ramble about the decadent consistency of dark chocolate.
Bridger sheepishly emerged from the car, dodging the expectant looks from Leo and Astrid.
“Bridge? Who was it?”
“Nia. I, uh, she found the book.”
Leo sucked in a quick breath. “Oh. Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“Dude.”
“Yeah.”
“Where was it?”
“In Pavel’s study. Where I left it. After doing research.”
Astrid winced. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” Bridger looked to where Summer stood by her van taking small bites of her hotdog.
“What are you going to do?”
“Eat crow and buy her a pop, I guess.”
Trudging across the parking lot took the longest thirty seconds of Bridger’s life. Okay, technically not true, because thirty seconds was thirty seconds, and would always be thirty seconds, but time was also relative. Apparently. Sometimes. Whatever.
“Yes?” She raised an eyebrow. “Do you have something else to accuse me of?”
Bridger wrinkled his nose. “I’m sorry.”
“What was that?” She tugged on her ear. “Say it again.”
“I said I’m sorry. I’ll replace your drink.”
The jingle of the bell above the shop door rang, and Leo appeared at Bridger’s side. “Here,” he said, handing over an empty cup. “They said to just come back in and fill it up with what you want.”
She took the cup. “What a thoughtful young man. What are you doing with this guy?” she said, jerking her chin toward Bridger.
Leo’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not really any of your business. But he is my boyfriend, and you’ve been making his life stressful, which I don’t appreciate. I hope from this point forward you’ll leave us both alone as well as our other friends.”
“Is that a polite way of telling me to back off?”
“No. It’s me saying that I think it’s best if we stay out of each other’s way from this point forward. Finish filming. And we’ll focus on school.”
“Well, I can’t argue with that. Cute and articulate and athletic. He’s really out of your league, Bridger.”
Ugh. She really knew how to poke at a wound.
“Your opinion has been noted and placed in the appropriate receptacle,” Leo said, twining his fingers with Bridger’s. “Which is the trash, if you didn’t get that.”
Bridger’s mouth dropped open as Leo tugged him to the car. But he gathered his wits quickly. “Let me know if you need any cream for that burn,” Bridger said over his shoulder. “I know a great cosmetic line.”
Leo snickered as they tumbled back into Astrid’s car.
Astrid dropped them off on their street. After a long kiss goodnight, which left Bridger a little breathless and warm, Leo retreated to his house, citing an intense need for a shower, which yeah, because Leo smelled like sweat and still had dirt and chalk smeared across his skin.
Bridger’s mom was at work, and he settled in for a night of homework and watching TV and hopefully not ruminating on his social faux pas of accusing someone of stealing an ancient guidebook to magic and myth and, quite frankly, mayhem.
However, a question still nagged him about the situation. Someone had definitely broken into Astrid’s car, but nothing was missing. Summer’s van was nearby, and she mentioned the baseball game. It could’ve been her, but it could’ve been any of the student body that was there. And his backpack had been tampered with for sure, but the contents were intact. Not even the crumpled dollar that resided in the bottom for vending machine emergencies such as needing a caffeine jolt at the end of the day had been taken.
Bridger wrestled with calling Pavel and was turning the compact mirror over in his hands, when there was a knock at his door. Slipping the mirror into his pocket, he heaved himself from the human-eating couch and opened the front door.
Leo stood there in fresh clothes, hair dripping from his shower, brown eyes wide. He clutched a yearbook.
Oh, yeah. That.
“Did you mean what you wrote?”
“You’ve only just read it? I gave it to you at prom.”
Leo blushed. “Yes. I’ve been busy and kind of forgot ab
out it. But I did. Just now. Did you mean it?”
Bridger stared at his toes and cleared his throat. “Which part?”
“All of it.”
“Well, yeah, I—”
“Me too,” Leo said, cutting him off. “Me too. All of it. Back at you.”
Bridger’s pulse pounded. “Really?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
Bridger didn’t know whether to smile or cry. He tried a smile, but the edges felt all wrong, and it fell despite his entire being brimming with happiness. Tears gathered as he laughed lightly, and he felt as if he vacillated between that pair of theater masks.
“I, uh, I…” He couldn’t complete a thought, much less a coherent statement.
He didn’t have to. The book clattered to the stoop, and Leo barreled over the threshold. He cupped Bridger’s face and kissed him, hard and demanding. Surprised, Bridger clutched Leo’s hips to keep them from falling backward. He kicked the door shut. It slammed as Leo propelled Bridger into the house, kissing and kissing, as if Bridger was air and he was drowning.
The back of Bridger’s ankle hit the bottom step, and he jerked away and pressed his palms to Leo’s shoulders. “Hold on. Hold on. I don’t want to fall. And I, I have questions.” His voice was husky and low. His chest heaved.
“Okay. But yes. Whatever the question, the answer is yes. Okay? I can write my response in your yearbook, but I thought I’d express it like this, if that’s okay?”
“Yes. Yes. This is good. Great. Amazing. Thank you.”
“Good. Because I want…” Leo trailed off. His cheeks flushed. His dark hair was a mess. His mouth parted as he breathed. His muscles flexed beneath his T-shirt, and he was literally the most incredible person who had ever looked at Bridger as if he wanted to pounce on him. Okay, the only person who ever looked at Bridger like that, but it was the sexiest Leo had ever been, which was saying a lot.
Bridger’s heart pounded. His blood rushed to every part of his body, some more than others. “Are we having a new conversation?”
“Can we? Please?”
“Yeah. Definitely. Right now. In my bedroom?”
Leo responded by dashing around Bridger and vaulting up the stairs. At the top, he looked over his shoulder. “Bridger? You coming?”
Warmth suffused Bridger, and he smiled, walking up the stairs to join Leo instead of running, lest he injure himself—which would be his luck. And he didn’t want to chance spoiling anything that was about to happen.
He took Leo’s hand. His own hand trembled; his palm was sweaty with nervous anticipation, but with a certainty he rarely felt, he led Leo to his room and closed the door.
His and Leo’s conversation had been wholly private and amazing and a little awkward at first, but then there had been other conversations that were just as awesome, because there was more than one way to converse. Bridger looked forward to learning them all.
Anyway, despite Astrid being the best friend in the universe, Bridger didn’t say a word about what had transpired after she dropped them off, though he bounced through school the next day and she shot him questioning looks, and even Taylor raised an eyebrow when Bridger was significantly cheerier than usual when fourth block rolled around.
“Can you believe graduation is only two weeks away?” Astrid asked as she waited in line to leave the parking lot. The sky above them held the promise of thunderstorms; thick gray clouds hung low and moved slowly. “Like, how did we manage it? How did we make it through high school? In two weeks, we will be high school graduates in hot scratchy gowns holding diplomas with our embarrassing middle names on them. And then on to college. College? How is it possible?” She paused, then looked away from the road to her passenger. “Bridger?”
“Huh?”
“What is with you? You look like your face got stuck in an anime smile.”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Bridger adjusted his backpack in his lap. “Everything is great actually.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Wait. Wait a minute. What happened last night after I dropped you off?”
“Nothing.” Obvious lie. He couldn’t stop the grin if he hung weights to his lips.
Astrid gasped. “Oh, my God! Are you no longer unicorn-friendly? Is that what happened?”
Uncanny. Astrid found the one thing that could put a damper on his mood. “I should have never told you about that.”
“Answer the question, Bridge!” Over-excited, she slammed on her brakes at the stop sign. Bridger’s seatbelt snapped across his chest.
“Ow!”
“Did you and Leo…”
“I shouldn’t answer that because I am a gentleman who does not kiss and tell.”
“Bridger!”
“Fine. Yes. Okay. Yes. Neither one of us are going to be petting unicorns ever again. Maybe. I don’t know. I actually need to ask the unicorn this question because I am unsure. But if we’re going with the traditional sense of things, I am no longer a friend to the unicorns.”
Astrid’s happy squeal was ear-splitting and unholy. She smacked her palms on the steering wheel. “Oh, my God!”
“Why are you so happy about this?” he asked, laughing.
“Because you’re happy about it!”
“Of course, I’m happy about it. It was amazing.”
She held up a hand. “I do not want details. I know we’re best friends, but I don’t want to know anything. I love you but there are some things that are a road too far.”
“Aw, I love you too. Also, Leo and I kind of said that to each other in a roundabout way. So that happened too. It was a big night.”
Astrid leered and opened her mouth, but Bridger beat her to it.
“Don’t! Seriously. If I’m not sharing details, you can’t make jokes.”
She bit her lip. “Fine. Fine. No jokes.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She parked in front of Pavel’s house. “I’m happy for you though. And proud. Honestly. Look at how far you’ve come.”
Bridger nodded. “Past Bridger was a mess, a bit of jerk, and sad and lonely. And while I’m still a few of those things, at least right now I’m happy. I’m not lonely. I still have problems, but I have good things going too.”
“Was that wisdom? Actual wisdom? You’ve leveled up. Evolved. Like a Pokémon.”
Snorting, Bridger grabbed his backpack. “If you call me Pikachu, we will no longer be friends.”
“Is Squirtle acceptable? Charmander? What’s the brown eggplant-looking one?”
“Diglett.” Astrid pressed her lips together, eyes crinkled, as if it took everything to keep words from bursting forth. “No jokes! You promised!”
“Okay.” She swallowed. “Okay.”
“That looked excruciating.” He shook his head. “In other news, have you had a chance to proofread my paper?”
Astrid gave him a blank look. “You never gave it to me. I thought you decided to turn it in as is.”
“I gave it to you. I printed it out the other night.”
“Um, no. Has one night of sex deprived your brain of blood?”
Brow furrowed, confused, Bridger opened his bag. “I know I put it in here. I checked before the…” The baseball game. He’d had it in his bag before the baseball game.
“Uh? Checked before what?”
“The game.” He turned in his seat. “Astrid, are you sure you didn’t see it in here after the game? Did it fall out when I upended my bag on the seat?”
“No. You didn’t give it to me, and I didn’t find it. I cleaned my car out. I’m certain I’d remember seeing a paper about the Michigan Dogman.”
Bridger’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit.”
“What? Just print it out again.”
“No! Astrid.” He turned to face her. His mind whirred; events clicked into place li
ke an intense game of Tetris. “Someone broke into your car. We thought they didn’t take anything, but they did. They went through my bag, and my paper is missing. Who would steal a paper about the Michigan Dogman?”
She paled. “Oh, shit. Summer took your paper? Why?”
“Because! She thinks I know things! She thinks the paper is legit!”
“Is it?”
“Kind of? Not really? Elena told me to write half-truths, so I did! That paper is dangerous to someone who thinks it’s accurate information.”
“Well, what can she do with it?”
“Oh fuck! Is today Thursday?”
“Yeah.”
Bridger bolted out of the car and ran up the driveway. He heard Astrid cursing and running behind him.
The door swung inward, and Bridger leapt over the threshold with Astrid hot on his heels.
“Hey, Mindy,” Bridger yelled as he took the steps to the second floor two at a time. “Hope your day has been awesome!” he yelled. “Because it’s about to suck!”
At the last step, his foot caught, and he fell to his knees on the landing. It was a good thing Astrid was somewhat graceful, or he would’ve been a pancake. As it was, when she sidestepped him to keep from tumbling herself, she stepped on his hand. He let out a strangled yell. If the rhythmic thumps of their ascent hadn’t alerted Pavel to their presence, that certainly did.
He popped out from behind the doorway to the kitchen.
“Bridger? Astrid? What is going on?”
From his place on the floor, Bridger clutched his hand to his chest. “Summer stole my paper about the Michigan Dogman, and it’s Thursday.”
Pavel blinked.
“I hope that means something to you,” Astrid said, hands on her hips. “Because it makes no sense to me.”
“I am not sure. Larry hates Thursdays.”
“Yeah, he couldn’t get the hang of them.” Bridger grabbed the banister and hauled himself to his feet. His knees ached, and his hand throbbed. “Anyway, the important thing is, that is when most of his sightings happen. On Thursdays. And I wrote that in the paper. With a statistical analysis!”
“And Summer has the paper. We think. She broke into my car and went through Bridger’s backpack.”