by TJ Klune
“Evidence?”
“I don’t have any. I’m postulating. I’ll figure it out eventually. It’s only a matter of time.”
Seth seemed dubious. “How’re you going to do that?”
“I have no idea. But I’ll come up with a plan. You’ll see. It’ll be epic.”
Seth sighed. “Every time you say that, my palms get sweaty. Can’t you just let this go?”
Nick stared at him suspiciously. “Why? Do you … do you like her?” It was the most terrible of thoughts. Nick had never felt so betrayed in his life.
“What? No.”
“Because if you did, I would support your feelings toward her.” This was a lie, and one that Nick didn’t feel bad about.
“That would have been more believable had you not said it through gritted teeth. No. I don’t like her. I don’t even know her.”
“Oh, thank god,” Nick said. “Because I don’t know if I’d be able to survive something so awful. You deserve someone who isn’t an Extraordinary groupie.”
“I feel like the irony is lost on you.”
“About what?”
Seth shook his head. “Never mind. Maybe you shouldn’t try and plan anything. Focus on school. That kind of stuff. I can help you—”
“You sound like my dad.”
“Well, you did promise him. And junior year is going to be hard enough as it is. Wouldn’t it be easier just to follow the rules and have everything be nice and peaceful and calm?”
Why, yes, yes it would. But … “Calm makes me twitchy.”
Seth’s face softened. “I know. And twitchy, somehow, always leads to calamity.”
“It’s not like I mean for it to. It’s just how my mind works.”
“How’s the Concentra?”
Nick shrugged, unable to bring himself to meet Seth’s gaze. “I don’t know. It’s whatever. It doesn’t matter.” He hated talking about it. Having a disorder made him feel … disordered. It wasn’t fair that on top of all the other crap he had to deal with, his brain constantly felt like it was being electrified. Some people were born to be an Extraordinary. Nick was born to have a million thoughts in the space of a minute that often led to splitting headaches. It wasn’t fair.
“It’s going to be okay,” Seth said quietly, reaching out to squeeze Nick’s hand just once before letting it go. “It’ll take some time to get used to it.”
Ever the optimist. It was one of the things Nick loved most about Seth, even if it could be annoying in the long run. Seth was a good person, better than Nick would ever be. But for some reason, he’d stuck by Nick longer than anyone else. Which, of course, led Nick to following a strand of thought that led to— “You can’t like Rebecca Firestone. She’s the worst.”
Seth grinned, that sharply sweet smile he only seemed to have for Nick. “You’re an idiot.”
Hearing that from anyone else, Nick would’ve been pissed. But Seth wasn’t like anyone else, which meant Nick knew he wasn’t being a dick. “Yeah, well. Just so we’re clear. I wouldn’t like it very much.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Nicky.” He bumped his shoulder against Nick’s. “We good?”
“Yeah. We’re—”
“Are you losers going to stand there all day? We’re going to be late. We still have to go through the metal detectors that are supposed to make it so we don’t die in class.”
They both jumped, looking over to see Gibby and Jazz staring at them from the steps to the school. Nick hadn’t even known they’d arrived already. Thank god he had friends so he didn’t need to be more aware of his surroundings.
“You ready for this?” Seth asked as Gibby and Jazz started climbing the stairs.
Nick took a deep breath and nodded. “Ready. This is going to be the best year ever. Wait and see.”
3
“Congratulations, Mr. Bell. You’ve received the first detention of the year. And it’s only six minutes into second period. That must be some kind of record.”
“But I’m trying to work on my story! I’m having ideas. You can’t stifle my creativity!”
Mr. Hanson, who was seven hundred years old if he was a day, said, “That’s all well and good. Except this is trigonometry, and I distinctly remember you avoiding summer school by the skin of your teeth, so it would be in your best interest to pay attention.”
The class snickered around them as Nick sunk into his seat. He opened his mouth to invite Mr. Hanson to give examples of when something as ridiculous as trigonometry would ever be used in the real world, but he remembered the promise he’d made to his dad and decided against it. He was already going to get it if Dad found out about getting detention on the first day. Luckily for him, Dad was on shift tonight and would already be gone by the time Nick got home. He’d text him later to tell him he was hanging out with friends to cover his bases.
A couple of people seated next to him whispered back and forth while glancing at him, laughing quietly.
Nick flipped them off.
The girl gasped.
The guy glared at him.
Nick felt better.
Until he heard his phone vibrate in his backpack a moment later.
Most everyone had to turn their phones off completely during class. Nick was one of the few exceptions. After Mom had—after that—Nick had been prone to spiral rather quickly, thinking about all the things that could happen. She was supposed to have been safe; she was a lawyer for heaven’s sake. Sure, she dealt with some of the worst types of people, but she was always all right. She knew how to take care of herself. If anything, it was his father who put himself in harm’s way every day.
And so After—because there was an After just as sure as there was a Before—Nick couldn’t stop thinking about how dangerous Dad’s job was.
One day, sitting in freshman English, he’d spiraled. One moment his blood was rushing in his ears, and the next, he was lying on the floor, curled up into a ball, trying to remember how to breathe, thinking thoughts of what if what if what if. Because what if something happened to his dad? What if he never came home? Nick would be alone. There was no one else. Cousins, maybe, out west, but he’d never met them. Would he have to go with them? Who would take care of him if the what if became something real?
The haze of sheer panic hadn’t begun to clear until he’d heard a familiar voice at his ear, telling him to breathe, just breathe, that everything would be okay, Nicky, everything was going to be okay, breathe, breathe, breathe.
It was Seth, of course.
Somehow, he’d known.
Later, when his dad had come running into the school, a haunted look on his face that had yet to fade in the few short months since his wife’s death, it was decided that Nick would always have access to his phone, just in case. He’d have to keep it on vibrate so it wouldn’t disrupt the other students, and he couldn’t abuse it, but he could keep it switched on in the event of an emergency.
The memory of the day his father had come for him was sharper, now. Even though he knew Dad was at home asleep, his heart still managed to trip all over itself as he reached for his phone.
Making sure Hanson wasn’t watching, Nick set it on his leg and looked down.
OWEN, the screen read.
He turned to glare at Owen, sitting a few desks over.
Owen waggled his eyebrows right back in that devastatingly handsome way he did.
He thought about ignoring it. It would be the smart thing to do. And Nick was smart. At least four people thought so.
Owen nodded toward Nick’s phone.
Nick sighed.
He swiped open the text.
PAY ATTENTION.
He hated Owen Burke. Mostly.
Sometimes he liked him. He liked the way his skin tingled when Owen had kissed him, had liked the way Owen could make him laugh. He didn’t necessarily like Owen as a person, but that was because Owen was an ass who didn’t seem to care who he stepped on to get what he wanted.
Owen had girlfriends, pretty o
nes with manicured nails and extensions, and then, somehow, he had Nick one night while it was just the two of them eating bad tacos from a hole in the wall with the disturbing name of Gato Grande. Nick hadn’t known how he’d ended up alone with Owen, because he’d been positive Seth had been there too, and Owen had said Nick had salsa verde on his face. He’d reached out with his thumb to wipe it away, and then, for reasons Nick wasn’t quite sure of, they’d been kissing.
It was … nice? Sort of. Nick had never been kissed before and didn’t think his first time would be when he was still swallowing a mouthful of chorizo. His brain mostly shorted out, and when Owen pulled away, that devilish smile on his face, he’d felt himself blush furiously.
“So,” Owen said, and Nick had wondered how his jaw was so chiseled for someone barely a year older than himself.
“So,” Nick squeaked.
And so began the Great Romance of Nick and Owen.
Jazz had been confused. Gibby had been annoyed. Seth hadn’t liked any part of it, if the sour expressions on his face had meant anything.
Which was why when it ended a few months later, Nick hadn’t been that upset. It wasn’t as if they went on dates. Sometimes, they would go out as a group and Owen would put his arm around Nick’s shoulders, but that was usually as far as it went. A couple of times, Owen tried to take it further, but Nick remembered his father sitting in front of him with a condom in one hand, a banana in the other, and a gigantic bottle of lube on the table between them, and the idea of anything remotely sexual happening had gone right out the window.
He’d never forgiven Dad for that, especially since he’d made it clear he’d already known what condoms were. It didn’t help that he’d forever be haunted by the way Dad had accidentally used too much lube and the banana had squirted out of his hand and landed on the floor. The sound it made when it hit the ancient linoleum would be something he’d have to go to a support group for when he reached his midthirties.
The Great Romance of Nick and Owen came to an end as quickly as it started. (“You’re a great guy, Nicky, but I’m a wild animal who can’t be caged.” “Oh my god, you are not!”) Nick hadn’t been too upset by it because whatever else Owen had been to him, he was still a douchebag. Nick expected Owen to fade away back to where he’d come from, telling the other hot people that he’d bagged a Normie, but he’d stuck around.
The phone vibrated again.
SERIOUSLY. STOP LOOKING AT YOUR PHONE.
Nick struggled not to smile.
He scowled at Owen instead.
Owen was wearing red pants today (who did that?) and a loose white V-neck shirt that stretched down to the middle of his chest, revealing long miles of tan skin. His light hair was made up of angelic locks that Nick did not like to put his hands in, no matter what anyone said. He’d been vacationing somewhere exotic like Greece or Daytona on the family yacht. Before he’d left, he’d leaned over and kissed Nick on the cheek as he said goodbye. Nick had shoved him away. Seth had stared at both of them but said nothing.
STOP IT NICKY. YOU’RE GOING TO GET IN TROUBLE.
“Mr. Bell,” Hanson trilled from the front of the classroom. “Are we trying for two detentions on the first day?”
Everyone turned to stare at him.
“No,” Nick mumbled, sinking even lower.
He heard Owen laughing quietly.
God, he hated Owen Burke.
* * *
“Ihate Owen Burke,” he announced as he sat at the lunch table in the cafeteria. “In case you were all wondering.”
Gibby snorted. “I distinctly remember you sitting in that exact spot with his tongue down your throat at one point last spring.”
Seth started choking. Nick patted him on the back while wishing death upon Gibby. Regardless of what his report cards said, he was fine at multitasking.
“It looked very wet,” Jazz said, snapping the lid off her Tupperware to reveal a perfectly plated caprese salad with a small jar of olive oil and a twist of salt and pepper wrapped in parchment paper.
Nick thought he had bologna. He hadn’t checked when his father had handed him the brown bag, but it was most likely bologna. Which, to be fair, was better than the Pimiento Loaf Disaster of last April that had almost killed Nick, no matter how much Dad had thought he was overreacting.
“Not one of my best moments,” Nick admitted, pulling open his backpack until he found the wrinkled bag smooshed between two textbooks he needed after lunch. The chips were mostly powder now, but the sandwich wasn’t pimiento loaf, so life was pretty okay. “I got detention.”
“Already?” Seth sighed, pushing his glasses back up his face. “It’s only been half a day. What did Owen do to get you detention?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Nick said, biting savagely into his sandwich. “I was being creatively stifled by Hanson again. Why he needs to teach multiple grade levels is beyond me. I’ve decided he exists solely to make my life miserable. But if I think hard enough about it, I can figure out how to blame everything on Owen. Therefore, it’s Owen’s fault, and I hate him.”
“Nah,” Owen said as he appeared, sitting next to Gibby and across from Nick. “You like me.” He reached over and grabbed one of Seth’s carrot sticks. Seth didn’t stop him, but his scowl deepened.
“I do not,” Nick retorted. “You vex me. And I don’t like being vexed. If anything, I would rather be the opposite of vexed. Whatever that is.”
“Delighted,” Seth said.
“Yes, that. I would rather be delighted.”
Owen winked at him. “I delight you.”
“You don’t. You’re wearing a leather jacket in September. Nothing about you delights me. You—”
“Kensington, just who I wanted to see. You look good. You thought about my offer to take you out and show you a good time?”
The tables around them quieted.
Gibby started to get up, but Jazz reached over and touched the back of her hand. Gibby sat back down with a huff, turning to glare at the Heteroh-hell-no standing next to the table in a letterman jacket with a perfect smile on his face. Nick didn’t know his name off the top of his head, but it was most likely something douchebro like Derek or Westley. All the straight jocks looked exactly alike to Nick, and he didn’t care to try to differentiate between them.
“You should probably run,” Seth said to Derek or Westley as Jazz finished drizzling the olive oil over her caprese salad.
Derek or Westley narrowed his eyes as he looked down at Seth and dropped a hand on Jazz’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Oh, really? And why exactly would I do that, you weirdo?”
And oh, did that make Nick mad, but he knew better than to intervene. Jazz had this, even if Derek or Westley didn’t know it yet.
Jazz stood from the table slowly, running her hands down the front of her skirt, brushing away the wrinkles. She smiled up at Derek or Westley. He grinned cockily down at her. “Not that it’s not hot,” he said. “Two girls, or whatever, even if one of them is butch. I think you need to explore your options, you know?”
Nick really didn’t understand straight people. They didn’t seem to have any sense of self-preservation.
“Do you?” Jazz asked sweetly. Well, it sounded sweet, but Nick had seen one too many shows on Animal Planet about how lionesses hunt. And since lionesses hunted in groups, Derek or Westley was up to his neck in shit. “Maybe show me what I’m missing?”
He reached down and grabbed her hand. “It’d be my pleasure. And then if there’s time for it, it could be your pleasure too. I’m not selfish.”
“Oh, man,” Nick said. “You shouldn’t have said that.”
Derek or Westley glanced at Nick, eyeing him as if he were some kind of bug. “What’d you say?”
It’d been a long time since he’d heard Jazz make a near-grown man scream. Usually, she’d let them off with a warning, but Derek or Westley was grosser than most, so when she turned her hand and snapped it around two of his fingers, twisting them viciously and br
inging his arm behind his back, Nick couldn’t find it in himself to feel all that bad. He took another bite of his sandwich.
Derek or Westley cried out in pain as his head fell to the lunch table right next to Jazz’s caprese salad. Gibby pulled the Tupperware away, just to be safe.
“Thank you, baby,” Jazz said. “I appreciate that.”
“You asshole,” Derek or Westley managed to say. “Let me—ow, ow ow!”
“Now, here’s how this is going to go,” Jazz said, apparently able to ignore the fact that everyone in the cafeteria was staring at her. You didn’t mess with Jasmine Kensington, especially not during lunch. And if you did, you certainly didn’t insult her friends at the same time. “You’re going to apologize. And after you apologize, I will let you go. If any of that sounds too much for you, we’ll see how far your fingers can bend before they snap.”
“You can’t—”
“That wasn’t an apology,” she said, and Nick didn’t know it was possible for fingers to be facing the direction Derek or Westley’s were. He should have paid more attention during anatomy.
“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry!”
“And you will never touch another person without their consent again.”
“I won’t.”
“Or call my friends any derogatory names. Because that’s rude.”
“So rude!” Derek or Westley cried.
“Good,” she said cheerfully. “If I find out that you do, we’ll have to see if you can live a normal life without your testicles. Do we have an understanding?”
“Yes,” he groaned.
“How wonderful. You can leave now. I’m done with you.”
He groaned again as she let him go. She shoved him away from the table before sitting back down primly, spreading the cloth napkin—which had undoubtedly been packed by one of the maids in her parents’ employ—in her lap. She picked up her fork and was about to slice into a fat tomato, when she looked around the cafeteria. “You may continue eating.”
Everyone quickly turned away from her as Derek or Westley all but ran toward his friends, who would most likely talk about how evil the queer table was.