by Sarah Kuhn
“Thanks for all these votes of confidence,” I murmured.
“To be clear,” he said, “I would also rather you didn’t jump into the Otherworld. We expressed to you that it is potentially dangerous—I could not live with myself if anything happened to you. But . . .” He paused, studying me. “I understand why you were so compelled to do it.”
He gave my hand one more squeeze, then stood and crossed the room. He stopped when he reached the door, hesitating.
“Bea,” he said. “I spent much of my life with no family. Except for—”
“—an evil, heartless demon mom who did weird experiments on you?”
“Yes. I don’t know if I have ever expressed what a great honor it is to be part of your family. Thank you.”
“It’s your family now, too, Nate,” I said. “I don’t think we’d have it any other way.”
He gave me a final, gentle smile and left.
I flipped open the folder he’d left me, but I couldn’t concentrate and the words blurred together. I tossed it to the side. I’d look at it later. Emotions whirlwinded through me, and I twitched around, restless. If I liked running, I’d have gone for a run to burn off some of this unwanted tension and tire myself out so I could at least get some sleep.
But I really just wanted to go back to the hospital. I wanted to find Mom. I wanted to fix something. I turned the day over in my mind, rewinding to the beginning, to my mission with Aveda and Shruti, the disastrous brunch with Sam and his annoying siblings . . . Hmm. Wait a minute.
Maybe there was one thing I could fix.
* * *
“I’m sorry,” I said as soon as Sam opened the door to his apartment. I stepped inside and threw my arms around his torso, hugging him hard. He stayed in position, one hand holding the door open, the other hanging at his side. “I was a jerk,” I said into his chest. “I shouldn’t have tried to mind-control your siblings. Although they are, in my opinion, even bigger jerks. And you’re right, I did it because I care about you. I couldn’t stand to see them treat you that way. Please don’t be mad at me.” I turned my face to look up at him and gave him my most contrite expression.
He let out a long sigh, and I was relieved to see his mouth quirk into a half-smile. “Come in, Bea.”
“What are you making?” I said, releasing him and stepping farther inside. “Something smells amazing.”
He shut the door behind us and headed for the kitchen. I followed.
“Uncle’s been schooling me on the finer points of okonomiyaki,” he said. “I’ve almost got the batter down, but it needs work.”
His kitchen table was set for one, a plate bearing the delicious concoction of batter and egg and squid and noodles and sauce flanked by chopsticks and a glass of wine. A warm, hearty smell wafted through the kitchen, and my mouth watered.
He crossed to one of the kitchen cupboards and pulled out an extra plate as I sat down at the table.
“Oh, you don’t have to—” I began.
“Yes, I do,” he said, giving me an amused look as he sat down next to me. He carefully cut his okonomiyaki in half and slid it onto the extra plate. “Because if I don’t, you’ll stare at me with those big, sad puppy dog eyes for the duration of this meal, and I can’t take that. Plus, unlike you, I am the best at sharing food.” He passed me the plate. “Bea: 1276, Sam: 1166. I don’t have any more of that grapefruit shit, though.”
“I can share your wine.”
“Can you now?” he said, pushing the glass so it sat right between us.
“How was the rest of brunch?” I said, popping a big bite of okonomiyaki into my mouth. “Mmm, oh god,” I groaned. “I disagree with your assessment, this needs no work at all. It is perfection.”
“Thank you. And the rest of brunch was the usual horror show of Alex showing me pictures of his latest luxury car purchases and Em getting wasted on mimosas and navel gazing about how she really needs to finish that novel she’s been working on so she can finally show up Maia Weatherspoon at the next faculty mixer.”
“Who’s Maia Weatherspoon?”
“I actually don’t know,” he said. “I never ask because I assume it will make the story go on even longer.”
I laughed and took a sip of wine. Mmm. That was actually pretty delicious. Not as good as pink drink, but it would do.
“Bea,” Sam said, setting down his chopsticks and meeting my eyes. “We need to talk more about today. I know you said your code is evolving, but what you did to Alex and Emily . . . that was messed up. You know you can’t just go around using your power to get stuff you want or make people do what you want. You do know that, right?”
“I know,” I murmured, my eyes going to my plate. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve said before that the time you used your powers on Evie . . . well, it made you never want to use them in that way again,” he pressed. “And this is so many levels beyond that.”
“I shouldn’t have done it,” I said, toying with my food. “I just . . . I’m overwhelmed right now. With the investigation and being promoted and Mom and everything that’s been going on. I . . . I didn’t think. They made me so mad. They dismissed you so hard. And you don’t deserve that, Sam. You don’t.”
He covered his hand with mine. “Regardless,” he said, his voice gentle. “That wasn’t the way to fix it.” He squeezed my hand. “I will say: Even though I don’t believe in mind-controlling my siblings to give in to my every whim, I am touched by the, uh, sentiment behind it. No one’s ever stood up for me like that before.”
“Probably ’cause you seem like you don’t need it, what with that constant overconfident swag,” I said, meeting his eyes. “Anyway, don’t you usually do a good job of standing up for yourself? That was my impression from the stories you’ve told me of y’all’s epic fights.”
“Usually, yes,” he said. “But today . . .” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know. I was looking across the table at them, and it was like something clicked into place. Alex’s wife cheats on him regularly, but he won’t leave her because her father’s connections are part of the fabric of his rich, important person life. He just keeps buying more cars to soothe himself. And Emily really wants to be a novelist, but she can never actually finish her book, so she spends most of her free time seething with jealousy and talking about how so-and-so writer person doesn’t deserve their success. They’re both fucking miserable.”
“And that’s why they have to overcompensate so much,” I said, pointing my chopsticks at him. “I see. Very astute, Samuel. So when they shit all over you for your supposed lack of accomplishments, they’re just trying to lift themselves up by pushing you down. And meanwhile, you’re over here living a reasonably happy life.”
“Something like that,” he said, giving me a tired smile. “But watching them also made me realize that I do that sometimes. The overcompensating thing.”
“You never do it to hurt anyone or push someone else down, though,” I said. I touched his arm. “And I will fully deny this if you ever try to bring it up in front of anyone else, but I kind of enjoy your ridiculous displays of overconfidence. You know, the swag.”
“I am absolutely going to bring that up in front of everyone we know.” He flashed me a smug Sam grin.
I smiled back. “Look, I’m not trying to poke at you the way your siblings do, but why did you stay here after graduation? I mean, you had a high school transcript that’s the stuff of Asian parent dreams. You could have gotten a scholarship anywhere you wanted to go. You too could have been a d-bag doctor with a hot wife who cheats on you and a garage full of penis cars.”
He shrugged. “I never wanted that. I love the city. I love being able to work on engines all day. And since I’m the one who’s around for my parents, they still like me the best—even though Alex and Emily have way more fancy accomplishments.”
“Ah!” I said,
jabbing my chopsticks in the air. “That is so classic Asian petty. I love it.”
His grin widened. “But . . . I dunno. Brunch did get me in a contemplative head space. On the surface, those two have so much to brag about, but their lives are actually weirdly small. And I am mostly happy, but I don’t want mine to be small, too. I don’t want to exist in the . . . what did you call it? Swag?”
“Swaaag,” I said, waving my chopsticks around and injecting my voice with a little extra panache. “Make your life bigger, then. I believe in you.”
He looked at me for a long moment, his expression turning serious in a way I couldn’t quite read. “I’m working on it.” He turned back to his food. “How was the rest of your day, after the longest brunch ever?”
“Oh, man, where do I even start?” I filled him in on my pursuit of Poet, my Otherworldly adventures, the pen battle at the hospital, and my fight with Evie.
“Wow,” he said. “You and Evie can never have a fight over, like, who gets to pick the pizza toppings, huh? You guys always go for the deep cuts.”
“First of all, I always pick the pizza toppings,” I said. “Because I have the best taste. Second of all . . .” I pushed my now-empty plate away and rested my head on the table with a heavy thunk. “I don’t know why she doesn’t seem to want to find Mom as badly as I do. Maybe she doesn’t believe it’s Mom—even though I know in my bones that it is. Or maybe she thinks it’s an impossible task—even though she’s accomplished so many impossible tasks. I don’t know. I’m the one who always holds out hope, I guess. To the extent of foolishness.”
“You’re not foolish.” He reached out to stroke my hair and gave me a slight grin. “Impulsive, loud, bad at sharing food—”
“Okay, I get it,” I said, giving him a look. “I just wish I could convince her of how important this is, how we can’t go around being so cautious if we want to figure this out. But no matter what . . .” My chest tightened and I swallowed hard. “Whenever she looks at me, it’s always that look. The one that says I’m disappointing her. I should have gone to college. I should be doing her proud. I should be able to focus on something for more than a millisecond.” I shut my eyes, the wine swirling around in my brain. “I should be a way better, more responsible superhero. And I should be more aware of the fact that I’m the reason she never got to have the big, grieving catharsis I had after Mom.”
There was a long pause. I kept my eyes shut, enjoying the drifting blotches of light floating around my vision.
“Did you?” Sam finally said.
My eyes opened. “What do you mean?”
“Did you get to have the big, grieving catharsis?”
“Of course I did,” I said, my brows drawing together. “I broke down, I cried, I tantrumed. I started wearing really goth-y makeup—you were there for that part. But Evie never got to tantrum about anything because she had to be the adult.”
“Bea.” He smoothed my hair away from my face. “I don’t think either of you got to process something that’s, like . . . a really intense, life-changing loss. There was too much going on, with your dad leaving and Evie trying to keep you guys afloat and you being twelve fucking years old. You both did the best you could. You both survived. And whatever happened or didn’t happen during that time is not your fault.”
“No. You’re wrong.” I sat up and crossed my arms over my chest. “It is my fault. I drained her in every possible way. She was there for me the whole time, and I never really saw it. I have to fix that.”
My voice kept getting thicker as I talked, tears rising in my throat. But somewhere in the back of my mind, a realization crystallized: There was a way for me to fix it. It was the same thing that was going to fix that big hole inside of me. The same thing that was going to fix everything. Evie couldn’t see it because she’d never had time to see it—because she’d been giving everything to taking care of me. So I’d just have to show her.
“Bea . . .” Sam began, but my runaway train of thought had left the fucking station, and I was determined that it reach its destination.
“If I can get Mom back, I can fix it.” My voice was way too loud and my face felt hot and my chest felt tight—but I kept watching him. I needed him to get this for some reason, I needed him to see—
He reached over, grabbed the edge of my chair, and dragged it closer to him. I remained in my defiant, arms-crossed position, refusing to help even a little.
“Just because you acted out doesn’t mean losing your mom automatically stopped hurting you,” he said. “It’s still hurting you.”
“No.” I blinked hard and tried to keep my tone steely. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. “I mean, even if it is, it doesn’t matter. Now I need to make it better for Evie.”
He cupped my face, his eyes searching mine. “You don’t have to act like something’s okay when it’s pretty clearly not okay. You don’t have to do that with me.”
Dammit. He really wasn’t getting this. How could I make him understand?
“Let me tell you a story about peanut butter,” I said.
Then I burst into tears.
My instinct was to curl into a ball in the chair, let it swallow me up, let my sobs consume me the way they had on the kitchen floor so many years ago. But Sam gathered me in his arms and pulled me into his lap, stroking my hair and making little soothing sounds. I buried my face in his shoulder and cried.
“I-I can feel you looking at me all sad, like you p-pity me,” I managed between sobs. “Please don’t. Please. I’ve always been able to count on you not to look at me that way.”
“I’m not looking at you that way,” he said, his voice soft against my ear. “I’m looking at you like a friend who cares about your general well-being and wants you to be happy.”
I sat up straight, meeting his gaze and scraping the back of my hand over my eyes. He was looking at me with such sweet earnestness. No trace of Calendar Sam. It reminded me of the way he’d looked at me the night before, when . . .
“Is that why you like giving me all those orgasms?” I said abruptly, my voice tremulous. “Because you want me to be happy?”
He laughed, surprised. “I like doing that for many reasons.”
“Then why were you so weird this morning?” I blurted out. “I was all afterglowy and ready for round two and you were like . . .” I made an exaggerated crabby face.
“Bea.” He shook his head. “Trying to follow your train of thought is like trying to follow a locomotive that’s careened wildly off the tracks and is now crashing its way through a previously scenic meadow. Or something.”
“I’m trying to talk about anything but my mom,” I said, my voice wavering again. “Indulge me?”
“I . . . I was a little preoccupied with my impending terrible brunch. But also . . .” He trailed off, considering, then reached up to brush my hair off my face again. “Last night was amazing,” he finally said. “But I wasn’t sure if you wanted a round two. Or if you ever would.”
“What?” I said, shaking my head. “How could you think that? Did you hear the sounds you got out of me last night?”
“Yes,” he said, giving me a half-smile. “But you’re always talking about how quickly you get bored.”
I searched his face. He still had that sweet, disarming earnestness, but now there was something else. A trace of real vulnerability underneath it all. Had he really not known how badly I’d wanted to get naked with him again? Had cocky Sam Fujikawa actually experienced a moment of doubt when it came to his sexual prowess? Something about that stabbed straight to my heart, made me want to wrap him in my arms and keep him safe forever.
“I’m still finding plenty that’s of interest,” I said, winding my arms around his neck. “I’d love to have you, ah, make me happy all over again.”
“Oh, really?” he said, smiling.
“Yes. But first . . .” I scanned the tab
le, zeroing in on his plate with its half-finished okonomiyaki. My plate was, of course, empty. “You know how else you could make me happy right now?”
He picked his plate up off the table and handed it to me. “Let the record show that I am once again the best food sharer. I should get, like, infinity points for that.”
“No infinity points,” I said, leaning against him. “But I’ll grant that you win pretty much every point awarded tonight.”
I spent the next hour cuddled up in his arms, eating okonomiyaki. And after that, he made me happy again right there on the kitchen table.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
TWO DAYS LATER, Evie and I still weren’t speaking to each other.
It was super weird, but after we’d lasted a whole twenty-four hours with only the most basic “pass the salt” type pleasantries exchanged, it felt like an invisible wall grew between us, which only became more insurmountable as time went on. Aveda sat me down and told me I was “on probation” as far as superheroing went until further notice. I saw a flicker of conflict in her eyes, like she didn’t totally agree with the decision, but was still willing to go along with what Evie wanted when it came to her unruly little sister.
I hadn’t protested. If they were so dead-set against taking the action we needed to find Mom, then there was no use in me being part of their team anyway. I tried to pursue leads on my own. I went out to the Wave Organ again, attempting to find that entrance to the Otherworld. I snuck over to the hospital—but unfortunately couldn’t figure out a way inside since Rose’s team was now patrolling every inch of the place. I left more notes in the It’s Lit bathroom, hoping Mom would attempt communication again. None of my efforts bore fruit.
I knew Team Tanaka/Jupiter was following their own avenues of investigation, but they weren’t getting very far, either. They couldn’t track down Kathy, Poet, or Bernard (because they were all hiding out in the Otherworld, duh). Rose and her team kept up their patrols—nothing much was happening at the previously weaponized locations. Further investigation of the hospital revealed that all patients and personnel except for Bernard had been mysteriously relocated to other local hospitals the day before Evie, Aveda, and I had battled the pen army. When interviewed, none of them could remember exactly why—my guess was that Bernard had mind-mojo-ed all of them so he could finally be alone at the big front desk with all his beloved pens and his very own handy Otherworld portal.