by TJ Klune
“Not if I only make it for five seconds or so,” Nick said. “I think.”
“Third, isn’t torturing animals the first sign of becoming a serial killer?”
That gave Nick pause. “Huh. I hadn’t thought of it that way. But it’s a bug that scares me, so therefore, it’s inherently evil. I don’t think crickets qualify as animals because they don’t have souls or feelings. Like, you hear about dog ghosts and tiger ghosts, but you never hear about bug ghosts, right? Also, to become a serial killer, I think you have to wet the bed with alarming frequency and have had a head injury at some point in your life.”
“You wet the bed at my house when you were seven and tried to tell me you got juice in the middle of the night and accidentally spilled it on the bed.”
That set Gibby off all over again as Nick stared at Seth in horror. “You monster! And it was juice!”
“Juice that smelled like urine,” Seth retorted.
“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t believe me?” Nick demanded. “All these years, I thought I’d gotten away with it. What other secrets are you keeping from me?” He pointed at Seth, finger trembling. “Does this have to do with your secret girlfriend and/or boyfriend? It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”
That made Gibby stop laughing. She immediately sat up just as Jazz’s mouth dropped open. “Your secret what?”
Seth crossed his arms. “I don’t have—it’s not like that. I don’t—ugh.”
“We were talking about kissing,” Nick said.
“You were?” Jazz asked. “Oh my god, finally. Tell me everything.”
Nick blinked. “Wait, what? I told him I’d kissed Owen, and then he said he’d kissed someone, but wouldn’t tell me who.”
“Oh,” Jazz said, shoulders drooping. “That’s … not what I thought this was going to be about. How disappointing.”
“Who did you kiss?” Gibby asked Seth. “And also, followup: What other secrets do you have that you’re not telling us about? Maybe something you’ve kept hidden in the—”
“Will you excuse us for a second?” Seth asked, and before Nick could stop him, he’d grabbed Gibby by the arm and pulled her from the room.
“Strange,” Jazz said in the silence that followed. “I wonder what that’s about.”
“You really don’t know about Seth kissing anyone?” Nick asked, glaring at the empty doorway.
“Would it matter if I did? He can do what he wants. Why do you care so much?”
“We tell each other everything.”
She fanned out her fingers in front of her, checking her red polish. “Really? That’s the only reason?”
Nick looked at her blankly. “What other reason is there?”
She sighed as she dropped her hand. “I thank my lucky stars every day I’m not a man. So much bluster for nothing.”
“We can be pretty stupid,” Nick agreed. “But I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I worked really hard to get that cricket.”
He glanced at the jar. The cricket was hopping up and down. He felt bad. “I know.”
“And now you want to put it in the microwave.”
“That’s the plan.”
“I don’t want you to be a serial killer. Torturing animals and wetting the bed. A decade from now, I’ll be interviewed for some news show, and I’ll cry on camera and everything when I have to say no one saw it coming. Why would you do that to me, Nicky? Do you want to see my makeup ruined on national television from your maximum-security jail cell?”
Damn her. She knew exactly what to say to get through to him. He didn’t know why he was so surprised, but maybe that was part of it: Jasmine Kensington—perhaps more than any other person he knew—could cut through to the heart of the matter with the simplest of ease. He hadn’t known what to expect from her when Gibby first brought her over to their lunch table, announcing in no uncertain terms they were dating, and that was the way it was going to be. He’d fallen prey to his own misguided characterizations, initially believing Jazz was nothing more than a somewhat empty-headed yet totally hot cheerleader. He’d been wrong in that regard and kicked himself for being so quick to judge. It’d taken time, sure, but change often did. They were three, and then they’d become four, but it wasn’t until this past summer when Seth had been busy almost every day and Gibby was out of town doing hippie things that Nick got one-on-one time with her and saw the splendor that was his friend.
It’d been slightly awkward at first, texting her to see if she wanted to hang out. She’d immediately responded yes thank you ur cool, and though Nick thought she was an excellent judge of character, he’d worried they wouldn’t have anything to talk about that didn’t revolve around Gibby or Seth. Or worse, Owen.
But she’d surprised him, as was her way. She wasn’t the smartest person in the world, yet she never claimed to be. She was happy just … being. Nick didn’t understand it, not really, but he thought maybe he didn’t have to. She didn’t expect him to be anything but who he was, and Nick could count on one hand the number of people who were like her.
And it had been awkward, at least the first few days. He’d worried he’d say something stupid that would end up somehow ruining her relationship with Gibby, and then he’d have to face her wrath, which terrified him down to his bones. It wasn’t until Jazz had called him on a Tuesday morning mid-June to tell him she’d bought them both tickets to the latest superhero movie with slow-motion explosions and men and women in skintight uniforms that he’d realized that maybe they weren’t so different after all. They’d spent the entire six-hour run time of the movie cackling at the ridiculousness of it in an empty theater, throwing popcorn at each other, and getting sticky with melted Junior Mints, shouting at the screen whenever something implausible happened for the sake of plot. Nick had gone into the movie with someone he considered a friend. He’d left with a bestie he would do anything for. If that made him easy, well. That was just fine with him.
(Which he proved to be true the next day, when she invited him to go along while she took her mother’s toy poodle—Maria Von Trapp, an awful name for a dog, in Nick’s estimation—to the groomers. The dog did not like Nick. This was made clear when it bit him on the hand and then pissed on his shoes. Jazz had made it up to him by buying him ice cream. Nick considered them even, especially when she didn’t look at him in horror when he poured chocolate syrup on top of a pile of sour gummy worms, as most people did.)
“No,” Nick mumbled to Jazz now, especially since he didn’t like seeing anyone he loved cry, even if it meant his plan was pretty much ruined. It hurt too much when he couldn’t find a way to fix it. “But what if I promise not to serial murder anyone? And besides, I’ve never had a head injury—”
“Concussion,” Gibby said as she came back in the room. The laughter was gone from her face, and Seth trailed in behind her looking troubled. “Seventh grade. You got hit in the head while playing dodgeball because you were like an awkward baby gazelle and didn’t understand how to dodge.”
Nick scowled at her. “That game is so archaic. It’s a middle school torture device meant for thinning out the herd. And it wasn’t that bad of a concussion. I only had to have three follow-ups and my vision was blurry for a week and—crap.”
Seth nodded solemnly. “And a cricket in the microwave will complete the trifecta. Because no matter what you think, it’ll be torture for the bug, and it will die, Nicky. You can’t do that to the cricket. If anything, think of the backlash if you were ever found out. Say it worked. What happens when PETA hears about your origin story? They’ll come after you, even though they’re hypocritical monsters.”
“But,” Nick said weakly, “people eat crickets in some cultures. You can get them covered in chocolate and everything.”
“Yes, but they don’t get tortured. What if they do have a soul? Do you want that on your conscience? And what happens if it comes back and haunts you? Do you really want a ghost cricket around forever? It’ll pr
obably chirp really loudly next to your ear and eventually drive you crazy. I don’t want my best friend to go insane because of ghost crickets.”
Nick looked forlornly at his idea board. Cosmo hadn’t said anything about a rebuttal when one of your ideas could potentially make you a serial killer and/or cause you to be haunted by a ghost cricket. It should have come with a warning.
He knew he needed to be the bigger person here. He picked up the specimen jar and went to the window in his room. He pushed it open, the sounds of the street below pouring in. He didn’t know how people could live in the middle of nowhere. It’d be too quiet. Nova City was like his mind, always moving. It was comforting, in a way.
“Okay, little guy,” he said to the cricket, “today’s your lucky day. You got a stay of execution. Be free!” He unscrewed the lid to the jar and flicked his wrist toward the window.
Except the cricket landed on the windowsill, and then immediately turned and jumped straight at Nick. Given that it was the size of a small Buick, he screamed and took a stumbling step back. It landed on his arm. He waved it wildly, trying to get it off before it could maul him.
He succeeded in that regard, but at great cost. The cricket launched itself at Gibby, who made a noise as if she got punched in the stomach, trying to push herself back on the bed and hitting her head against the wall. “No,” she moaned. “Oh god, no.”
The cricket landed on Nick’s pillow. With a warrior’s cry, Nick picked up a textbook off his desk and threw it at the cricket, only to hit Seth in the arm when he tried to reach for the bug himself.
“Ow!” Seth cried. “Why did you throw a book at me?”
“I didn’t! You got in my way!”
“You’re all useless,” Jazz said, rolling her eyes. She stood, smoothing her skirt. She reached down and slid off one of her heels, flipped it over in a deft move, and then smashed it against Nick’s pillow.
It was quiet, after.
She lifted her shoe.
There was a black, wet smudge on Nick’s pillow.
“There,” Jazz said, lifting her leg and sliding her heel back on. “Now that that’s over with, I saw pizza downstairs, and I think I’ve earned a slice. If you’ll excuse me.”
Her hair streamed behind her as she exited the room.
“I’m sorry, Nick,” Gibby said, staring after her girlfriend.
Nick sighed. “It’s fine. It’s just a bug—”
“No. Not about that. I’m sorry that I’m now aroused on your bed.”
“Ack! Gross! Get off, get off, get off!”
8
“If I’m going to be haunted by ghost bugs, it will be all your fault!” Nick called as he watched Jazz and Gibby walk down the sidewalk from his house. Gibby flipped him off. Jazz waved. Those crazy kids. He hoped they made it.
Dad and Cap were in the kitchen, munching on leftover pizza. “Don’t tell my wife,” Cap warned him through a mouthful of sausage. “I’ll arrest you, and you’ll never see the sun again.”
“That’s police intimidation,” Nick said. “I have a Tumblr with almost six hundred followers. They’ll hear about this, mark my words.”
“What did he say?” Cap asked Dad.
“Teenager speak,” Dad said. “It’s like the message board at the station.”
“Oh.” Cap looked at Nick. “You a snitch now?”
“You’re damn—”
“Nick.”
“—darn right I am,” Nick said. “Gotta bring down the corruption within the Nova City Police Department. I’ll be a hero.”
“Speaking of being a hero,” Dad said, “that was an awful lot of screaming you did for a bug.”
“Jazz should have kept her mouth shut,” Nick mumbled. “I’m going back upstairs so I don’t have to watch two old men being weird.”
“Keep the door open!” Dad called after him.
“Why are you even—? You know what? I don’t have time for your nonsense.” They weren’t leave the door open friends. Seth was obviously kissing other people, much to Nick’s consternation. As he climbed the stairs, he thought about all the times Seth had been busy lately or hadn’t picked up the phone when Nick had called. He’d later say he was busy with volunteering, or he was doing chores for his aunt and uncle, or that he was doing prep work for the upcoming school year like a nerd, but what if … what if he’d …
What if he did have a secret girlfriend and/or boyfriend? That didn’t sit well with Nick. Why would Seth lie about something like that?
Nick hadn’t been lying when he said they told each other everything, juice/urine notwithstanding. They’d been friends forever. There was barely a time Nick could remember when Seth hadn’t been a part of his life, especially when Before had become After. Those were hazy days, days where Nick couldn’t figure out how to gather the shattered pieces of his heart to begin trying to put it back together. Days when instead of his mind running on a billion different tangents, it was strangely white, as if absent of everything that made him who he was. He was in a fog, vaguely aware that he should be angry, but unable to latch on to the rage his father felt.
For weeks After, the house had been filled with cops and detectives, their wives and husbands and partners bringing more food than could ever be consumed. Nick didn’t understand the idea of casseroles for mourning. Eating was the last thing he wanted to do. People tried to coax him, but Dad had hoarsely told them to leave Nick alone. Nick tried to be grateful, but Dad’s eyes were hollow, as if all his insides had been scooped out, leaving nothing but a shell of skin and bone.
Gibby had been there, and she’d hugged him and kissed him and told him that it would be okay. She smelled good and Nick had clung to her, but it wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted. It wasn’t exactly what he needed.
Seth was what he needed, though, and he’d been late, but then the door had burst open, and he’d stood there, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, eyes wide as he searched the living room until he found Nick. Nick made a wounded sound, wanting to get to Seth as soon as possible, but unable to move his arms.
Seth knew, though.
Somehow, he’d gotten Nick upstairs and put him to bed, climbing in behind him and curling around him protectively. Nick remembered thinking that he was safe, then. He was safe, and though everything Before would now be After, Seth was there with him.
He had cried, then.
Seth had whispered in his ear for the longest time, breath on Nick’s neck, telling him that he was sorry, he was sorry this had happened, that he would do everything he could to make sure nothing like this ever happened again. He didn’t know how yet, he told Nick, but he’d figure it out.
It’d taken a long time for things to get better.
There was still that ache in Nick’s chest, a feeling that a piece of him was gone and would never come back. Nick knew he would probably always feel that way. He was allowed, the therapist had told him. Dad had forced him to go, and though Nick thought it was stupid, he’d gone with minimal complaint because Dad had almost looked hopeful. Nick was allowed to feel as he did because that was the nature of grief. He was young, and his mom being taken from them was unexpected. He would work through it, and it would get easier. Eventually.
And it had, surprisingly. He thought about her every day, spoke to her picture in a way that was probably unhealthy, but no one could take that from him. It wasn’t like he thought she was actually listening, it just made him feel better, saying stuff out loud that he might not say otherwise.
“Okay,” Nick said as he entered his room. “Phase Two of—”
And he stopped.
Seth looked up at him almost guiltily.
But Nick couldn’t be bothered with that.
Because Seth had rolled up the sleeve to his oversized sweater almost to his bicep. Not only did Nick not expect to see a muscular forearm with thick veins running along the hard curl of his bicep, he most certainly didn’t understand the bruising on Seth’s arm.
Some of it looked old, mottled gree
n and a sickly yellow.
But some of it looked new, the skin red and purple.
Seth quickly pulled down the sleeve of his sweater. “Hey,” he said, averting his eyes. “Gibby and Jazz get off okay?”
“What happened to your arm?” Nick demanded. “Did I do that with the book? I’m so sorry. Crap, Seth, that looks like it hurts—”
“It’s fine,” Seth said, smiling, though it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “It’s fine. I just bumped my arm a little while ago. You didn’t hurt me at all.”
“Bumped your arm,” Nick repeated dubiously.
Seth nodded. “Oh, yeah. You know how I am. Clumsy me. Tripped over my own feet and fell into my closet door. It’s not a big deal. Barely even feel it.”
Now, Nick knew he wasn’t the smartest person in the world. His strengths lay in such places like idea boards and fanfiction and taking care of his dad because no one else would. But he was the son of a cop. He had a bullshit detector ingrained in his head. “Some of that looked newer than the rest.”
Seth’s smile faded a little. “I bumped into a lot of things.”
Nick nodded slowly. It wasn’t—he knew Seth’s aunt and uncle. They were good people. Kind and caring and thought the world of Seth. He didn’t think they were the type to hurt anyone, much less Seth. Or so he assumed. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”
Seth looked away. “I know, Nicky. I tell you everything I can.”
“That.”
“What?”
“What you just said. You tell me everything you can. What does that mean?”
Seth sighed. “Look. I’m working through some stuff right now. It’s not bad. I promise. Once I figure it out, you’ll be the first one I come to, okay?”
That didn’t sit well with Nick. “Is someone hurting you?” he asked, hands curling into fists at his sides. “Because I swear to god, if someone is hurting you, you better tell me who it is so I can knock them into next week. If it’s your secret girlfriend and/or boyfriend, that’s not cool. Like, at all. You don’t need to—”