Flash Fire Read online

  “But how’re we supposed to help if we don’t know what’s going on?” Jazz asked.

  Nick looked at Seth, sure he was about to smile and say, Yeah, Nicky, I know. He didn’t. He glared at Nick, eyes ablaze.

  “You could get hurt,” he said hotly. “Why don’t you ever seem to get that? Do you know how many times I’ve had to—” He grunted, looking away. “This isn’t a game.”

  Nick bristled. “I know it’s not a game; I never thought it was. I’m trying to—”

  Seth deflated, curling in on himself. If Nick didn’t already feel awful, this would have clinched it. “I know you’re trying, Nicky. I get that. But what about the real world? We can’t keep this up forever. I mean, we haven’t even asked how Gibby’s doing with her whole college thing, or how Jazz feels about it.”

  “That’s between Gibby and me,” Jazz said as Gibby slumped lower on the bench. “And while I appreciate your concern, you don’t get to weaponize that against Nick to try and win an argument.”

  Yep, apparently Nick could feel worse. He looked apologetically at Jazz and Gibby. “I’m sorry, I should’ve—”

  The bell rang.

  Nick startled, looking around to see everyone standing up from their tables. By the time he turned back, Seth was gone. Nick saw him disappearing into the crowd, shoulders stiff. “Shit,” he muttered.

  “Not one of your best moves, Nicky,” Gibby said quietly.

  Not what he needed to hear. He was hurt and more than a little angry, but he didn’t quite know at who. He thought it was mostly at himself. “Yeah, well, maybe if he trusted us as much as we trust him, we could’ve heard this already.”

  “That’s not fair,” Jazz said, gathering up the remains of her lunch. “He has a point. We don’t know what it’s like for him.”

  Nick lowered his forehead against the table. “I screwed up, huh?”

  Gibby reached across the table and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Remember what we talked about this morning? You gotta think things through, Nick. Not everything is easy, just because you want it to be. You say you want to be better; part of that is listening without overreacting. I know you can do it. Seth does, too, but you have to show him that. Don’t you think he’s earned that right?”

  * * *

  Nick didn’t see Seth for the rest of the day. They didn’t share any classes this semester, much to Dad’s relief and Nick’s dismay. They usually found each other in the halls between classes, a couple of minutes where they’d lean against their lockers and grin stupidly at each other.

  But he couldn’t find Seth at all after lunch. And the more the afternoon wore on, the more annoyed Nick got, though it was mostly at himself. Sure, maybe he could’ve listened better, but couldn’t Seth see the good in what he was trying to do?

  When the final bell rang, Nick was up and out of the classroom before most had even started putting their things away. He ran across the school, dodging students spilling out the doors, apologizing when he bumped into a guy and almost sent him sprawling. He managed to reach Seth’s last class (AP History) before the room had completely emptied, but Seth was nowhere in sight.

  Cursing, he headed for the front doors. He stood at the top of the steps, looking around for that familiar mop of curls as a student hung another banner about prom above him. He was about to give up when he saw Seth out of the corner of his eye, trudging down the sidewalk, head bowed as flurries swirled around him.

  “Go get your man,” Nick muttered to himself.

  He hurried down the steps, jumping the last few and almost losing his footing on the slick concrete. Someone shouted his name, but he ignored them. He reached the sidewalk and turned right. Seth was halfway down the block, heading toward the metro stop.

  He caught up to him a moment later, barely out of breath thanks to their workouts. They may not have given him muscles yet, but at least he could now run for a couple of minutes without feeling like he was dying. Small victories.

  He hooked his arm through Seth’s, the chill of the winter air around them chased away by Seth’s body heat. He burned a little warmer than most, and usually didn’t mind being Nick’s personal space heater. He startled and looked over at Nick, glasses slightly askew.

  “So,” Nick said, “I was thinking.”

  “That usually ends in disaster,” Seth said, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. Good sign.

  “Usually,” Nick agreed. “But hear me out. Picture this: you. Me. Casa de Bell. Homework because we’re required to. But after that, we watch a bad movie with explosions and spies, and we’ll make fun of all the stupid decisions made on-screen while we eat popcorn. And then we’ll tell Dad we’re gonna go do more homework, but in actuality, we’ll be pre-fornicating.”

  Seth’s nose wrinkled. “You really have a way with words.”

  “It’s a gift,” Nick said. “And in the middle of all of that, I’ll find somewhere to stick in an awkward apology about how I shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s really not,” Nick said. “I—hold on.” He pulled Seth into a shuttered storefront, the awning above them torn and hanging limply. Seth leaned against the wooden door, which creaked under his weight. Nick moved until he stood right in front of Seth, their knees bumping together. People moved behind them on the sidewalk and the sounds of busy traffic was irritating, but for a moment, Nick could pretend it was just the two of them. He studied Seth, cataloguing the tense set of his shoulders. “You told me you weren’t sure about wanting to be Pyro Storm, and I didn’t listen. I did what I always do and made it about me.” He laughed hollowly. “I made a stupid Twitter account without thinking about what you wanted.”

  “That’s okay.” Seth took his hand, squeezing gently. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Nick’s. “I’m lucky to have you in my corner.”

  Simple, but it was a string of words Nick had never heard directed at him before. It was humbling. “I’m trying to help. Pull my weight, you know? I can’t do what you can. I’m not as smart as Gibby or as aware as Jazz.” Certainly not something he’d ever expected to say, but they’d earned it. “I wanted to show you I could help.”

  “You do,” Seth said, breath warm against Nick’s face. “Whatever happens, we’re going to do it together, okay?”

  That sounded good to Nick. “Yeah. Okay.”

  Seth grinned. “Show it to me again.”

  Nick blinked. “What?”

  “The Twitter account, you dork. Might as well get familiar with it, especially if you’re going to be posting as me and—” He stopped when his own phone beeped, a familiar chime that sent a chill down Nick’s spine.

  Seth pulled out his phone and glanced down, eyes narrowed. He grunted and swiped the notification away before Nick could see it. “Don’t worry about it,” he said to Nick’s unasked question. He smiled again, though it wasn’t as bright. “It’s nothing important.”

  Nick hesitated. He’d never known Seth to ignore the notifications. “You sure?”

  “Yeah, Nicky. I’m sure. Let’s see what you did.”

  He moved over until Nick had space to lean against the door with him, both huddling around his phone. They stayed there for a little while, the two of them, and by the time they left, Nick felt a bit better. Maybe he’d gone too far, but Seth was ready and waiting to help reel him back. He needed to figure out how to respond in kind. Seth needed someone to be his rock, and who better than Nick?

  By the time they’d stepped back out onto the street, a new tweet had been sent—and by Pyro Storm himself, for the first time.

  It read: Pyro Storm here with a message: the people of Nova City are under my watch, and I will do everything to protect them. It’s time to burn! #NoVillainsWelcome

  And as they walked hand-in-hand toward Nick’s house, something unexpected occurred. Seth’s first tweet was quoted by a verified account. The profile picture of this account showed a woman standing with a microphone on the windswept streets
of Nova City, her hair billowing around her head.

  Rebecca Firestone’s own tweet read: Looking into if this is actually Pyro Storm. If it is, what does he mean by “everything”?? I promise my followers I’ll get to the bottom of this, one way or another! #OnlyTheTruthIsExtraordinary

  By the end of the day, the Official Pyro Storm account had six thousand new followers.

  And counting.

  7

  As February wore on, winter descended on Nova City with a vengeance. Back-to-back storms locked the city down, dumping almost a foot of snow over a period of three days, beginning, unfortunately, on a Friday afternoon. The students of Centennial High were released an hour early and were told that classes were set to resume on Monday, unless the storms worsened.

  Having snowstorms on the weekend with no school cancellation was, in Nick’s opinion, like getting punched in the junk and being told to be happy about it. Dad didn’t agree, but then, he seemed to be of the mind that things like education were important.

  Nick frowned when he saw Dad dressed as if he were going out. It was a Saturday, and though there had been a break in the snow, he should have been in sweats like Nick and parked in front of the television. “Are you leaving?”

  Dad nodded. “Meeting up with Gibby’s and Jazz’s parents for lunch.”

  Nick froze. He hadn’t heard much about them since they’d all convened at the Gray house—at least, not from Dad. “Is that a good thing?” he asked carefully.

  “I don’t know,” Dad said, wrapping his scarf around his neck. “But I’m going anyway, because it’s the right thing to do. The very least I can do is make myself available to answer any questions they have. And even if they tear me a new one, I’m going to listen. Doesn’t matter what age you are, you still need to own up to your mistakes. It can help make you a better person.”

  Nick sighed. “That’s very mature of you. Still, it sounds like a weird support group for people whose kids—”

  “—continually put themselves in danger?”

  “We do not—”

  “Nick.” Dad reached down and poked his cheek. “I’m going to stop by the station after to catch up on paperwork, but I’ll be home before too late. And get your butt off the couch, kiddo. I want all the Christmas decorations taken down by the time I get back. No excuses. It’s February. It’s starting to get embarrassing.” He headed for the door.

  “What?” Nick bellowed after him. “Do you have any idea how much crap we put up? That’ll take forever!”

  “Then you better get started,” Dad called back. “I don’t want to see anything holiday-related when I get home. Boxes and plastic tubs are in the attic.”

  Nick groaned as the front door closed. He was starting to see why people had kids: child labor. That was the only reason. He looked forlornly at the television, his plans of mindless entertainment evaporating. His promising Saturday was turning to shit.

  He picked up his phone and texted Seth about the prison conditions of his current living situation. Seth responded almost immediately, saying that he was working with Gibby to figure out how to use all the new equipment in the lair. Nick was supposed to go over later, but Dad apparently thought Nick didn’t deserve to have anything resembling a life.

  He was about to throw down his phone when he got another text. Jazz.

  U up?

  It’s eleven in the morning. It sounds like ur hitting on me.

  Gross. U would know if I was. Can I come over? Need a friend.

  Nick frowned. He hadn’t had much of a chance to talk with her since finding out that Gibby might be leaving. Howard University was in Washington, DC. Planes were expensive. The train was cheaper, but it would take hours to get there. He didn’t know if she’d made any decisions, but he’d been too scared to ask. He should’ve talked to Jazz sooner about it. This affected them all, but her the most.

  Yep! Come over. Need me to meet u and walk with u?

  Already here.

  He jerked his head up when a knock came at the door. Oof. Must have been worse than he thought. He climbed over the back of the couch, almost falling but managing to stay upright. The Concentra made him a little tired today. At least he didn’t have a headache.

  He opened the door, a wave of cold air washing over him. Jazz stood on the porch, her scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face. Her eyes crinkled slightly as she obviously smiled beneath the scarf. He hoped that was a good sign.

  He pulled her in, closing the door behind them. Jazz unraveled her scarf as he brushed the flecks of snow from her coat. “Hey,” she said. “Sorry for dropping by all of a sudden.”

  “No worries. Your timing is impeccable. I’ve been given the Herculean task of taking down the Christmas decorations. You can help if you want.”

  “Lucky me,” she murmured, hanging her coat on the hook near the door. “Your dad’s gone, right?”

  Nick eyed her suspiciously. “You knew about the whole support group thing?”

  “Found out about it this morning. I’m choosing to believe it’s a good sign.”

  “Or they’re all plotting our doom.”

  She waved him off. “Either way, at least they’re all talking. Could be worse. They could’ve said I wasn’t allowed to hang out with all of you anymore.”

  Nick winced as he led her into the kitchen. “They’d really do that?” He began to prepare her a cup of tea, using the tea bags he kept only for her.

  She hopped up onto the counter, swinging her feet. “No. I don’t think so. Daddy was too excited about the secret lair. Bob sold him with the pocket door. Mom was less impressed, but I think she’s coming around. Might be some changes, but we’ll have to wait and see.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Nick told her, watching the water heat in the microwave. “It’s not as if anyone has tried to kill us since Owen.”

  “Maybe leave that part of the argument out,” she suggested. “Just in case.”

  He took the mug from the microwave, dropping the tea bag inside and handing it to her. She thanked him as he jumped up onto the counter beside her, their shoulders bumping together. “Everything else all right?”

  She blinked rapidly as she looked down at the tea. She shrugged but didn’t speak.

  Nope. Not all right. Nick wrapped an arm around her, tugging her close. She laid her head on his shoulder. “Gibby, huh?”

  “Yeah,” she said softly. “Gibby.”

  Nick thought hard. She deserved his all. “Remember what you told me back in the hospital?”

  She sniffled as she shook her head.

  “No matter what happens in the future, she loves you here, in this moment. You gotta have faith, because she has faith in you.”

  “I said that?”

  “You did. And it’s exactly what I needed to hear. There was a bunch of other stuff I’m leaving out, but that stuck with me. You were right then, and you’re right now. You’re awesome, Jazz. You helped me when I needed you most, even if I didn’t realize it then.”

  “We’re pretty great, aren’t we?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I think we are. And Seth and Gibby know it too. It’s why they picked us.”

  “Things are changing,” she whispered.

  Oh, man. He really should’ve talked to her sooner. “Maybe. And it might suck, but it doesn’t make us matter any less.” He watched as she took a small sip of her tea, ignoring the twinge in his head. “She’s gonna do what she has to, and if she goes to Howard or stays here, it’ll be okay. I promise.”

  “How do you know?”

  Because if it wasn’t okay for them, then it might not be okay for him and Seth, and that was something he didn’t even want to consider. “I have to hope it will be. We can’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but if we spend all our time focusing on what might happen, we could end up missing what does happen.”

  She wiped her eyes. Nick, ever the gentleman, ripped off a paper towel and handed it over. “Sorry. We’re out of Kleenex.”

 
; She was quiet for a long moment, clutching her mug in one hand, the paper towel crumpled in the other. Then, “What about you? You doing all right?”

  He shrugged. “I think so. Seth seems to be coming around, but I’m not going to force him into doing anything he doesn’t want to do. It’s a give-and-take, you know? As long as you give only as much as you take, it’ll be all right. Cosmo taught me that.”

  She bumped his shoulder, tea sloshing in the mug. “You tell Seth you love him yet?”

  Nick’s mouth went instantly dry. No. No, he hadn’t. It felt too big, too wild. He wasn’t even sure what it meant.

  “Yeah,” Jazz said. “I’ll take that gaping fish look you’ve got going on as a no. What about prom?”

  Nick, still in the process of rebooting his frazzled brain, said, “What about prom?”

  “It’s next month,” she said. “Think about it: a romantic night, you and Seth slow dancing. It’d be the perfect time to tell him.”

  Nick turned slowly to stare at her, eyes bulging. “Oh my god, I didn’t even think about that. What if he’s expecting something big? Like, a declaration? A love declaration?” He began to panic. “I haven’t even made a reservation! Wait—hold on. How in the hell do I make reservations?”

  “Have you even asked him yet?”

  “No,” Nick whispered feverishly.

  Jazz sighed. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the reservation. You still want to do a double date?”

  “Do I have to buy him a present on top of paying for dinner?” Nick demanded. “I have, like, twelve dollars. How the hell am I supposed to pay for a present and dinner? Unless we go to McDonald’s and get sad little hamburgers. That’s romantic, right? I think we have candles somewhere. I could bring those.” He groaned. “Relationships are expensive. What am I supposed to buy my boyfriend who can fly?”

  “I think you’re probably the first person to ever say that sentence.”