The Extraordinaries Page 3

  “And?”

  “I’ll do my homework every night.”

  “And?”

  “And if I’m having trouble, I’ll ask for help.”

  “And?”

  “And if things start to get too much, I’ll tell you.”

  “Why is that?”

  Nick barely restrained from groaning. “Because it’s easier to stand together than it is to struggle apart.”

  Dad nodded slowly. “Good.” Then, “I know it’s been tough, Nick. And I wasn’t the best person to be around.”

  Alarmed, Nick said, “That’s not—”

  Dad held up his hand, and Nick subsided. “I made mistakes—mistakes I shouldn’t have. I made you a promise to do better, and I’m going to keep it. I may need you to remind me every now and then, but I know you will. And you know I’ll do the same for you. We gotta be a team, kid. It’s … it’s what she would have wanted. You know that as well as I do.”

  Nick nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  “Good. Pound it out.” He held up his fist.

  God, his dad was so embarrassing.

  Nick fist-bumped his father anyway. It would’ve been rude to leave Dad hanging.

  2

  Gibby and Jazz were waiting for him at the Franklin Street metro stop when Nick stepped off the train. They sat on a metal bench, pressed close together. Gibby was glaring out at the milling crowd as people were herded toward the stairs to the street above. Jazz blew a bright pink bubble, twirling her dark, shaggy hair in her fingers. Her phone was in her lap, earbuds attached, one in her ear, the other in Gibby’s.

  Gibby had decided she was a baby butch a while back, which led to her shaving her head and wearing a wallet chain. She made sure everyone knew that if they called her Lola, they were getting a boot to the nuts. Anyone who hadn’t thought she was serious was corrected when a brainless jock had winked at her and she had done just that. He’d had to sit on an ice pack for a couple of days. Gibby got detention for a week.

  It’d been worth it, or so she claimed. She said the world needed more Black dykes, and she wasn’t going to take shit from anyone anymore.

  Nick decided then he’d support her 100 percent in every decision she’d make from that point on. It helped that she looked good with a shaved head, something Nick would never try, given that he’d end up looking like a bobblehead.

  Jazz’s bubble popped when she saw him approach, and she smiled prettily as she sucked her gum back into her mouth. “Nicky. I saw a pigeon eating a burrito on the train. I was going to take a photograph of it because I thought it was artistic, but then a homeless man wearing an orange coat kicked it and ruined the shot.”

  Nick bumped one of his Chucks against her chunky shoes that probably cost more than the entire contents of his bedroom. “Kicked the burrito or the bird?”

  She shrugged. “Both, I think. Then I was going to take a picture of the homeless man, but he started peeing in the corner, and I decided it was a good idea to switch cars rather than suffer for my art.”

  “You’re a regular van Gogh.”

  “For what it’s worth, I like all your parts where they are,” Gibby said, squeezing her knee.

  “I would give you my ear if you wanted,” Jazz said, blue eyes wide as she snapped her gum. “But then my face wouldn’t be perfectly symmetrical.” She frowned. “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “Uh-huh,” Nick said. “Fascinating. Really. So, Gibby, you survived the Summer of Love. Congrats.”

  She’d been gone for the last few months, her parents deciding that their family needed to rent an old van and travel the country under the guise of touring colleges, but in actuality, they were commune-hopping as they’d both embraced a midlife crisis head-on (Gibby’s words) and believed they made better hippies than they did accountants. Apparently, they thought the free love community needed more Black people.

  Nick didn’t know what to do with any of that, so he’d patted Gibby on the arm in June and told her to have fun.

  He’d managed to avoid a boot to the balls. Barely.

  Lola Gibson was fierce that way.

  Her girlfriend, Jasmine Kensington, hadn’t been pleased at the idea of Gibby being gone for so long. It certainly hadn’t helped her anxiety that Gibby was in her senior year and would be graduating, heading off into the big, wide world before she did. Jazz told Gibby she wasn’t allowed to fall in love with some flower child who wore skirts made of hemp that she later smoked. Gibby had agreed immediately, not bothering to correct her girlfriend that most flower children didn’t smoke their clothes.

  Nick thought they were disgustingly sweet. Or sweetly disgusting. It really depended on the day.

  Gibby had gotten back a week ago, but Jazz had made it clear in no uncertain terms that she’d get all of Gibby’s time before school started. Which was fine, seeing as how Nick had been busy trying to finish up the latest chapter of This Is Where We Scorch the Earth. They had their priorities, and he had his.

  Besides, hanging out with Jazz and Gibby while they reconnected after a months-long separation would have probably meant watching them make out and whisper lovingly in each other’s ears, and Nick wasn’t masochistic enough to bear witness to that for any length of time. He loved his queer girls. He just didn’t want to watch them swallow each other’s tongues, which was why he’d given them their space. He was selfless that way.

  “Summer of Love,” Gibby repeated. She didn’t sound amused.

  Nick took a step back to protect his nuts. Her boots looked new. He didn’t want to take the chance they were steel-toed. Also, her wallet chain was bigger than the one she’d had before, and he wasn’t versed well enough in lesbian to know if that signified anything.

  Gibby rolled her eyes. “If I ever have to sit in another drum circle again in my life, I’ll likely end up a mass murderer.”

  “Pick a school yet?”

  Jazz frowned. Gibby glared. Nick took another step back.

  “I haven’t decided,” Gibby said through gritted teeth. “But thank you for caring about my future and bringing it up right at this very moment.”

  “Yeah,” Nick said. “I tend to speak before I think. I’ll just—”

  “I can take it,” Jazz said earnestly. “I mean, sure, I’ll probably cry and then my makeup will be ruined and it’ll be all your fault, but I can take it. I have lady balls.”

  “I know you do,” Gibby said. “But I haven’t made any decisions yet. You’ll be the first to know.”

  Jazz seemed placated for the moment. Nick wondered how long it would last.

  But then Gibby smiled at him, and he realized he should have kept his big mouth shut. Lola Gibson had three smiles: the loving one she gave to Jazz, the one she had when she was trying not to laugh, and the one when she was about to be a magnificent dick. He’d borne the brunt of that last smile many times before, and it never failed to make goose bumps sprout along the back of his neck.

  “So, Nicky,” she said, and Nick gave very serious thought to ducking into the crowd and disappearing forever. “Speaking of the Summer of Love, how’s Owen doing?”

  Nick scowled at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Uh-huh. And how’s Seth?”

  He scowled deeper. “I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Jazz, never having learned how to read a room, said, “I thought Owen and Nick broke up? Remember? Nick said Owen was a dumbass, and Owen was his usual self and said he couldn’t be tamed by one person, and then Seth said he—”

  Gibby slapped a hand over Jazz’s mouth, cutting her off.

  Nick knew he was blushing, but he powered through it. “What did Seth say?”

  They ignored him in favor of having a silent conversation involving narrowed eyes and wiggling eyebrows. It went on for far longer than Nick was comfortable with. Finally, Jazz nodded as Gibby dropped her hand back to her own lap.

  Jazz said, “I mean, I don’t even know what we’r
e talking about right now. Did I tell you about the pigeon and the burrito? It was a breakfast burrito.” She squinted up at him. “And a huge pigeon.”

  Nick crossed his arms. “It was months ago. We weren’t—it wasn’t like we were even boyfriends, or anything. Owen was…”

  Nick didn’t know quite how to finish that sentence. In fact, most of the time, he didn’t know how to describe anything about Owen Burke. Oh, sure, Owen was hot and popular, and everyone seemed to worship the ground he walked on given that he somehow had the gravitational force of a super planet. All he had to do was grin devilishly, and most everyone (queer or not) would end up doing whatever he wanted.

  Including Nick, much to his dismay.

  Before Christmas break last year, Owen had appeared at their lunch table, smile wide and toothy, looking devastating in a leather jacket that had probably once been the finest bovine in the field. They knew who he was, of course; everyone did. He came from big money (perhaps the biggest of all), his father being Simon Burke, CEO of Burke Pharmaceuticals. Seth was convinced it was a front for something nefarious, but Seth always thought everything was a front for something nefarious. Including Owen.

  Nick, though. Nick had been … well. Not enamored, not exactly. But he’d been fifteen years old and hormonal, and Owen was probably the hottest guy in school, and for some reason, had decided to make Nick the focus of his attention.

  Therefore, Nick proceeded to make an ass of himself on a regular basis.

  Jazz had been confused. Gibby had been annoyed. And Seth?

  Seth had withdrawn. Just a little at first, but it should have been enough to set off Nick’s internal alarms. But Nick had been sucked in by Planet Owen, and it wasn’t until Seth became downright hostile—something Nick hadn’t expected from his best friend of nearly a decade—that he’d gotten a clue something was off. It was never to Owen’s face (Seth was far too pure for that), but when it was just Seth and Nick, and Nick mentioned Owen for the tenth time in thirty-six minutes? Yeah, Seth could be hostile.

  “It was nothing,” Nick finally said. “I barely even saw him this summer. I was too busy.”

  “Uh-huh,” Gibby said, sounding bored with the entire thing. “Stalking an Extraordinary takes up a lot of time, I suppose.”

  “I’m not stalking him—”

  “Hey, sorry I’m late.”

  Nick turned his head, and one of the best people in the whole wide world appeared next to him, pushing up his thick glasses, which had slid down his nose as they always seemed to do, a curl of his black hair hanging down on his forehead. Seth Gray, the person Nick trusted more than anyone else. He was wearing his usual baggy sweater, with a collared shirt underneath that was tucked into one of his many pairs of chinos. And today, for whatever reason, he had decided to wear a bow tie, and Nick didn’t know what to do with Seth’s bow tie that didn’t involve wanting to reach out and straighten it for at least three hours, while whispering he was too good for this world.

  He kept his hands to himself.

  Except—“Did you get taller?”

  Seth blinked owlishly at him. “Since you saw me a couple of days ago? I don’t … think so? I mean, it’s possible, I haven’t measured myself in a few hours, but—”

  “You seem like you’re taller.”

  “Oh.” Seth looked away, reaching up and tugging on his collar. “Um. Thank you?”

  “Oh my god,” Gibby mumbled. “This still happens?”

  “I think they’re precious,” Jazz whispered to her.

  Nick ignored whatever they were talking about. He was still stuck on the fact that he and Seth were almost eye level now, which caused him a level of consternation he wasn’t prepared for. Not when Seth had always been pale and chubby with curly hair that should have been illegal for how perfectly messy it always looked. But he’d been shorter than Nick and—

  “Are you wearing lifts?”

  Seth shifted like he was nervous. “No, I’m not wearing lifts. Maybe you’re getting smaller.”

  “I’m not getting smaller. That’s not a thing.”

  Seth started to say something, but it was swallowed by his yawn.

  Nick frowned. “Are you tired? Why are you tired? You look tired. Did you not get enough sleep last night?”

  Seth reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m okay, Nicky. Just a late night.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Tossing and turning. Anxious about today, I guess. First day back and all. You know how I get.”

  Nick did. Sometimes, Seth worried too much about nothing at all, and it frustrated Nick to no end, because it meant there was something making Seth feel bad that Nick couldn’t tear apart with his bare hands.

  Gibby stood, pulling Jazz up with her. “As fun as it is to watch you two do … whatever it is you’re doing, we’re going to be late.”

  “I can’t be late,” Jazz said, putting her earbuds back into her bag. “Daddy said if I show up on time for the entire first month, he’ll buy me the Alexander McQueen skull-embellished pumps I need to continue to exist.”

  “Sounds fake, but okay,” Nick muttered, as he followed his friends toward the subway stairs.

  * * *

  The streets of Nova City were crowded as they made their way toward Centennial High School, home of the Incredible Fighting Wombats. Traffic was backed up, yellow taxis honking their horns as if it would get the gridlock to move forward. Jazz and Gibby walked in front of them, hand in hand, Jazz talking animatedly while Gibby glared at everyone who bumped into them.

  Seth and Nick walked side by side, shoulders brushing together. Nick was trying to surreptitiously see if Seth did, in fact, have lifts on, but they looked like the same terribly endearing loafers he always wore.

  “What?” Nick asked, having missed what Seth was saying.

  “I said, I’m sorry I didn’t have time to beta read the chapter before you posted it.” Seth tugged on one of the straps to his backpack.

  “It’s fine. It was pretty much perfect already.”

  Seth snorted. “I guess.”

  That wasn’t the glowing praise Nick had expected. “You … guess?”

  “It was fine, Nicky.”

  Nick chose to believe him. “I saw your comment. You said stuff came up. What stuff?”

  “Oh,” Seth said. “Just. You know. Stuff.”

  “Uh-huh. That sounds believable.” Nick was struck with an absolutely horrendous thought, though he couldn’t figure out why it was absolutely horrendous. “Did you have a date or something?”

  Seth started coughing explosively.

  Nick patted his back like any good friend should.

  “No,” Seth managed to say, wiping his mouth. “Why would—who would I—”

  “I dunno, man. Maybe you’ve got a secret girlfriend. Or boyfriend.” That left a weird taste in his mouth.

  Seth had come out to him first when they were fourteen, telling Nick he thought he was bisexual. Nick, in his attempt to be cool and accepting, had squeaked and fallen off the park bench where they’d been feeding kettle corn to birds. It’d taken longer for Nick to figure out his own queerness, but then he’d been the one with a boyfriend (ish) first. It wasn’t a queer race, but that had to count for something, right?

  Seth had been scarce over the summer, much to Nick’s consternation. What if he’d met some Luxor Avenue debutante or a burly mechanic with oil stains on his fingers? Nick read alternate universe fanfiction. Stuff like that happened all the time.

  “Are you still a virgin?” Nick demanded rather hysterically. “We were supposed to tell each other when we had sex for the first time. We promised.”

  Seth blinked at him, eyes wide behind his glasses. “I didn’t have sex. What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know,” Nick admitted. “You’re as tall as me and it’s freaking me out.”

  “I can’t control that!”

  “Well, try. I’m supposed to be the statuesque one here. It’s all I’ve got going f
or me, Gray. You know this. That and my uncanny ability to tell heart-wrenching love stories based on real people, which is probably borderline unhealthy.” Speaking of stories. “Did you see that evil wench on the news this morning? God, she was practically salivating over Shadow Star. Someone should tell him he needs to get a restraining order against her.”

  Seth sighed. “I doubt there’s anything going on between Shadow Star and Rebecca Firestone.”

  “I know that. You know that. We all know that. But does she? Because I don’t know if she does. She wore extra lipstick today like she thought it was going to make her look more attractive. Just because Superman has Lois Lane doesn’t mean Rebecca Firestone gets to play the plucky reporter who needs to be saved all the time. And besides, everyone knows Superman is in love with Batman. Even though someone decided their ship name should be SuperBat rather than the golden opportunity that is ManMan. I mean, come on! How iconic would ManMan be? SuperBat sounds like something found in a dirty cave underneath a swamp.” Nick frowned. “What are we talking about?”

  “Honestly? I have no idea. You were on Shadow Star, and then Firestone—”

  “Right. Firestone. She gets all these exclusives with Shadow Star, though no one knows why.”

  “Let me guess. You have a new theory.”

  “You’re damn right I do!” Nick crowed. “And this one could totally be true.” He dodged what looked like a wedding party, who apparently decided that standing in the middle of the sidewalk for photos on a Monday morning was the right thing to do. He groaned as he stepped in a puddle filled with dirty water. The would-be bride glared at him. He wished her many happy returns. She wasn’t pleased.

  Seth pulled him along before a woman in a white dress and veil decked him. “Unlike the last one where you thought she was Pyro Storm, even though Pyro Storm is obviously a guy. Speaking of Pyro Storm, I think we need to talk about your descriptions of him—”

  “No, but this theory is most likely probably true,” Nick said. “What if she knows his secret identity and is, like, holding that over him? That would explain why he talks to her and tells her stuff. Because she’s blackmailing him.”