by TJ Klune
Nick had basked in the attention, signing autographs for everyone who’d asked (six people). In the week he’d missed while recovering, his infamy had grown to near-mythical levels, especially when Rebecca Firestone had unmasked him as ShadowStar744, the most popular fanfic writer in the Extraordinaries fandom. She’d called his masturbatory ode to Shadow Star a manifesto and publicly questioned whether Nick had been working with Shadow Star, her own history with the villainous Extraordinary be damned. But it’d backfired on her, only adding to Nick’s mystique. By the time he returned to school, rumors were flung about without evidence to back them up, especially when the truth came out that their fellow classmate and Nick’s ex-boyfriend, Owen Burke, was Shadow Star.
Nick’s favorite rumors included:
Nick was an Extraordinary himself—either a hero or a villain, or possibly both … or … neither;
Nick and Owen were murder-husbands and had killed thirty-six people;
Nick was a sociopathic black widow/femme fatale (how that worked, he didn’t know) who’d seduced Owen and Pyro Storm and pitted them against each other in a fight to prove their loyalty; and
Nick, Owen, and Pyro Storm were in a polyamorous relationship that had gone sour when Nick and Pyro Storm wanted to break up with Owen.
Sure, Nick had failed to become an Extraordinary himself, but this was the next best thing. Nick let the attention wash over him with no small amount of glee, knowing changes such as this, while rare, lasted a lifetime. He wouldn’t be going back to the life he’d once lived. This was forever.
It lasted four days, six hours, and seven minutes.
Nick had relished the attention, retelling the Battle of McManus Bridge over and over and barely embellishing any of the details, but it soon grew tiresome when he declined to answer the biggest question on everyone’s mind:
Who was Pyro Storm really?
With Nick’s refusal to answer this simple question came an unexpected side effect: a fresh wave of speculation. Owen Burke had been Shadow Star, ergo it was possible that Pyro Storm was also a student at Centennial High. A list was made and circulated of the most likely suspects, and Nick was outraged when Seth hadn’t made said list. It was mostly filled with douchebros who did nothing to dispel the rumors, cockily saying that even if they were Pyro Storm, they’d never tell. Even a few girls made the list, which offended Nick greatly—not because of their gender, of course, but because he would never be caught dead making out with a girl. The very idea was homophobic.
It didn’t help that he knew everyone had seen him kissing Pyro Storm after the Battle of McManus Bridge. To keep anyone from connecting the dots to Seth, he’d started a rumor that Pyro Storm had broken up with him when he realized Nick’s heart would always belong to Seth. This had backfired quite spectacularly as it’d spread like wildfire, most believing that Nick had cheated on Pyro Storm with Seth. Pyro Storm was better-off, they all agreed. He needed someone who would appreciate him for all that he was. Nick obviously couldn’t do that, so it was for the best.
With that, Nick’s popularity went as quickly as it’d come. It’d hurt a little, but he’d gotten over it.
That being said, he was a little (read: a lot) irritated when everyone suddenly became fixated on Extraordinaries. They showed up to school with graphic T-shirts with Shadow Star’s face on them and backpacks with a terrible likeness of Pyro Storm printed on it. They shared pictures of sightings of Extraordinaries from all over the world:
Eis Augen, a German man who could shoot ice from his eyes, his name literally translating to Ice Eyes. He was suave and coldly handsome and lived in a frozen palace outside of Berlin.
Valve, the man in Oregon who could create portals to travel long distances in the space of seconds and was revolutionizing the travel infrastructure of Portland. He’d also accidentally on-purpose opened a portal on the marchers in a Straight Pride Parade. No one quite knew where the second portal had opened, and the problematic heterosexuals hadn’t been seen since.
Florida Man, the dude in Tallahassee whose skin was the color and texture of an alligator, his teeth terribly sharp. He was currently going through a name rebranding, given that most search results for “Florida Man” brought up stories of people eating bath salts and going through a KFC drive-through on an alpaca.
The Sheep Herder, a woman in New Zealand who could control the minds of sheep to get them to do whatever she wanted. Her popularity had spiked when she’d sent seven hundred sheep after a group of twelve white nationalists who had been holding a rally in Wellington. Last anyone heard, they still hadn’t stopped running from the herd of sheep chasing after them.
And dozens and dozens of others, some with powers small, some with powers great. He’d even heard of an Extraordinary capable of changing their appearance to mimic anyone they wanted, including getting the powers of those they copied. That sounded cool as hell, but Nick thought it was a little far-fetched, and he hadn’t been able to confirm it after spending hours online, only to hit dead end after dead end. Everyone at Centennial High (and throughout the rest of Nova City) waited with bated breath to see if any other Extraordinaries would rise in their fair city, along with Pyro Storm.
It was quiet without Shadow Star, which was good. It was fine. They didn’t need a villain. Quiet meant easy. Quiet and easy meant Seth would always come back to Nick.
But the problem with things being quiet and easy was that Nicholas Bell had never been quiet or easy. Loud and complicated was Nick through and through, and he couldn’t help but wonder if things were a little too quiet, a little too easy.
But everything can change in an instant. A snowflake can lead to an avalanche.
And on a cold February morning, it began to snow.
* * *
“We’re going to be late,” Jazz said, eyeing Nick with mild disdain and curiosity. She frowned as she readjusted her Hermès scarf, as if it were Nick’s fault it had gone slightly askew.
“I know, I know,” Nick muttered. He set his backpack on a bench in the Franklin Street Metro Station and began to riffle through it. “I swear my phone was in here. I don’t know where the hell it went.” He wasn’t panicking—not yet—but he was close. He needed his phone. It was his lifeline to Dad, just in case.
“Did you drop it?” Gibby asked. “I’ll do it.” She shoved his hands out of the way and pulled the bag into her lap. He didn’t protest; Gibby seemed like she was in a foul mood.
“I didn’t drop it,” Nick said, glancing up at the crowd moving around them. “I had it on the train when Seth texted and said he was running late and was probably going to fly to school. I swear I put it back in my bag.”
“Yikes,” Jazz said. “I’m apparently not used to hearing stuff like that yet.”
“Thank you,” Nick said. “I mean, objectively, we know he can do it, but still, hearing about it trips me out. He doesn’t get why.”
“Gross,” Gibby said, grimacing as she pulled out a busted lip balm that’d exploded and was now covered in hair. “What the hell, Nicky. Clean your damn backpack.” She tossed the lip balm in the trash can next to the bench before resuming the search. “You’re a gay boy. You’re supposed to be neat and tidy.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Jazz said, squeezing his arm. “That’s stereotyping. You can be however you want to be, so long as it doesn’t involve you jumping into the Westfield River again. I still have nightmares about the way you smelled.”
“We all do,” Gibby said. “I’m glad you’ve moved on from—Aha! Got it.” She pulled out his phone and tossed it at him.
Nick was too grateful to argue. He glanced down at the screen— no messages—before sliding it into his pocket and taking his backpack from Gibby. “How’re things going with your parents?”
Gibby shrugged. “Slow going, I guess. I mean, Dad is still pissed off. Mom too. They haven’t said I can’t hang out with you, so I’m counting that as a win. We’ll see where it goes, I guess.”
“Daddy and Mom had
a billion questions,” Jazz said. “I didn’t know the answer to most of them, so they’re probably still confused—though Mom did have to tell Daddy that he can’t just ask Seth to light things on fire.”
Nick sighed. “I don’t know what it says about me that I think the way your Dad does.”
“It’s good,” Jazz said. “Or really bad. One of those two.”
“Uh, yeah,” Nick said. “Sure. Let’s go with that.” He glanced at Gibby nervously. “Can I ask you a question?”
Gibby frowned at him. “When have you ever asked instead of going for it?”
Shrugging awkwardly, Nick said, “First time for everything, I guess. I—” He steeled himself, knowing this was important but fearing the answer. “Has—has my dad ever scared you? Like, not … ugh. Not like he was coming after you, but—”
Gibby stared at him for a long moment before saying, “Are you asking for me or to make yourself feel better?”
“Probably a bit of both,” Nick admitted. “But I know it’s not about me. And seriously, tell me the truth, okay? Or don’t, if you don’t feel comfortable. You’re important to me, Gibby.”
Gibby groaned. “It’s too early for feelings. What the hell, Nicky.” She gnawed on her bottom lip before squaring her shoulders and looking at Nick dead-on. “Okay. Honest?”
“Honest,” Nick agreed.
“No. Your dad has never done anything to me to make me uncomfortable.”
Sagging in relief, Nick said, “That’s—”
But she wasn’t finished. “Not directly. But Nick, he’s—he’s a cop. And even though I know him, that still doesn’t change what that means. You see a badge and the uniform, and you think of safety. I see the badge and uniform and think about how often people like him have failed people like me. It’s not just about your dad; it’s about all of them. And it doesn’t help that your dad did what he did. I know it was a few years back and it was a white guy, but if he assaulted someone once, who’s to say he won’t do it again?”
“Yeah,” Nick muttered. “I get that now. I’m not going to pretend that what Dad did was justified. It wasn’t. And I think I kind of … I don’t know.”
“Glossed over it?” Jazz asked quietly.
“Maybe,” Nick said with a wince. Someone bumped into him on the way toward the stairs, and he scowled over his shoulder before looking back at his friends. “No, not maybe. I did.” All he’d been thinking about was how he’d act if someone was talking shit about his mother like that. He had to find a way to reconcile that with who he knew his dad to be. At least, who he thought his dad was. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
Gibby shrugged. “I get that your dad was grieving, but that doesn’t give him an excuse.”
Nick shook his head. “I know. Thanks for being honest with me.”
Gibby snorted. “When have I ever not? We’ll figure it out. Just … think. Really think. Can you do that?”
“Yeah,” Nick said. “Of course. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
She rolled her eyes fondly. “Gee, Nick. Thanks.”
Jazz laughed as Nick scowled. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. Oh hey, I have an idea I wanted to float by the both of you.”
“Uh-oh,” Jazz said as Gibby took her by the hand, pulling her toward the stairs that led to the streets above. “I get chills when you say stuff like that.”
Nick trailed after them, pulling his hoodie up and over his head to keep his ears warm. They reached street level as the sky began to spit flurries. “This is a good idea. I’ve thought this through.”
“For how long?” Gibby asked. “Because your idea of thinking things through usually means you just thought of it two seconds ago and didn’t think it through at all.”
Nick rolled his eyes. “I’ll have you know I first thought of it on Saturday, so that’s almost two whole days of percolation.” Gibby was about to speak, but he cut her off. “And no, this doesn’t involve me becoming an Extraordinary. I’ve given up on that. This is about Team Pyro Storm.” He bopped his head and wiggled his hips as they passed a group of buskers on the street, banging on plastic buckets. One grinned at him and flashed a thumbs-up, which he returned in kind. God, he loved the people in this city. He pulled out a few crumpled dollar bills and tossed them into a small box set before them and then moved on, blowing into his hands to warm them up.
“Does this have anything to do with the abrupt left turn your fic took?” Jazz asked. “Because I was a little disappointed I didn’t get to read about you and Seth—oh, I’m sorry, Nash and Pyro Storm—getting down.”
“Gross,” Gibby muttered. “I told you not to read that stuff. There’s no looking away once you see what goes on in Nick’s head.”
“I’ll pretend that was a compliment. Thank you, Gibby. And Jazz, I appreciate you reading my work and leaving a comment. Comments are life.”
“You’re welcome,” Jazz said. “Even if it didn’t go like I was expecting it to—though, if you think about it, it’s a really weird way to tell Seth you love him.”
Nick almost walked into a pole. “Say what now?”
Jazz squinted at him. “That’s the whole point of the fic, right? It’s a love letter to Seth.”
This … this was news to Nick. “It is not! I don’t love him. Oh my god, we’ve only been dating for like four months, seven days, and sixteen hours!”
“Nope,” Gibby said. “Nope, nope, nope. I sat through the cluelessness, the pining, the longing looks that made me want to yell at the both of you. I don’t have the strength to listen to this now.”
“But—”
“No. You’re a boy, you’re stupid, and I don’t care.” Gibby pulled Jazz further down the sidewalk, leaving a dumbfounded Nick staring after them.
“She cares,” Jazz called over her shoulder as Nick jogged to catch up with them. “She has a funny way of showing it. I also care, but I just tell you so you’ll know instead of wondering.”
“It’s not a love letter,” Nick said, chasing after them. “And you know it, you jerk.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Bell,” Gibby said. “Branding?”
Right. Focus. “Think about it,” Nick said as they rounded a corner, Centennial High appearing in the distance. “What does an Extraordinary need in the twenty-first century? Brand recognition.”
He waited for them to be suitably impressed.
Jazz popped a bubble with her gum. Gibby yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. He was losing them. Time to bring out the big guns.
“Okay,” he said. “I can see you’re interested but need to know more. I’ve got you.” He hurried around the front of them to face them, walking backward. “Picture this: What’s better than having a superhero protecting the streets of our fair city? Having a superhero with global brand recognition.”
They looked dubious at best. Time to bring out the bigger guns. It was a good thing Nick had had two whole days to mastermind his plan.
Ready to blow their minds, he said, “We’ll have a Twitter account, which I’ll run and get hashtags trending on—something like hashtag #ReturnOfTheFire or hashtag #TheHeroOfThePeople. And we’ll even have some tweets from Pyro Storm’s perspective, saying things like On Twelfth and Liberty Ave, crime in process, stay away, citizens. Hashtag #SafetyFirst, hashtag #FriendlyNeighborhoodPyroStorm.” He frowned. “We’ll have to work on that last one, so we don’t get sued for cribbing intellectual property, but still.” He shook his head. “And merchandise! We’ll commission artists in the Extraordinaries fandom to create art we can plaster on bags and shirts and coffee mugs and sell them in a merch store.”
“Who gets to keep the money?” Gibby asked, pulling Nick to the side before he backed into a pole.
“We do,” Nick said promptly. “We’ll each get a cut, but maybe a bigger one for Seth since he’s the Extraordinary doing all the heavy lifting. It’ll help that we don’t need to upgrade the secret lair anymore. Which, by the way, thank you—I hadn’t thought of night vision goggles, but
now that we have them, I can’t live without them. Also, we’ll donate a percentage to a LGBTQIA nonprofit because it’s the right thing to do.”
“Only the best,” Jazz said. “And Daddy didn’t even threaten to take it all back, even though he said he and Mom wouldn’t let me spend any more money until they’ve had time to think things through. I think part of them wonders if we all have superpowers and didn’t tell them.” She laughed. “Can you imagine? Me with powers. I’d make heroes look good.” As if to prove her point, she lifted one of her heels to show them her Alexander McQueen, skull-embellished pumps. “Mom was fine with it after she got a couple of glasses of wine in her. Once that happens, she agrees with pretty much anything and tells you things you don’t want to hear, like what she thinks about the shorts her tennis instructor wears. I’ve never met him, but I know more about his anatomy than I’ve ever wanted to, because apparently his shorts are really short.”
They stared at her.
She shrugged. “What? She likes tennis and wine and her tennis instructor. I don’t judge, and neither should you.”
“Have you talked to Seth about any of this?” Gibby asked Nick as they continued toward school. “Or is this one of those times where you make plans without telling one of us and then hope for the best when you try and enact it?”
“He knows,” Nick said defensively. “He read about it in the fic. Team Pyro Storm, ready to tweet and sell overpriced signed posters!” He smiled. They did not. He added, “And also save lives.”
Gibby shook her head. “I don’t know, Nicky. It sounds all well and good, but he said he wasn’t sure about what he wanted anymore. It’s taking a toll on him. He’s tired all the time, and even though Shadow Star isn’t around now, there’s always something that has to be done.”
