by TJ Klune
They looked at him quizzically, Gibby arching an eyebrow and Jazz giving Nick a little wave. He set his backpack on the table next to him, digging around until he found the brown paper bag that held his lunch: a smashed sandwich, pulverized chips, and a bruised banana. The feast of kings.
Gibby had a basket filled with french fries, something Nick longed for but didn’t dare. Ever since Seth had revealed his muscles, Nick had paid closer attention to what he ate. Seth assured him time and time again that he’d like Nick no matter what shape or size he was, and while that filled Nick with so much joy he’d thought he’d burst, Seth also had at least three abs whereas Nick had none.
Jazz had what looked to be pineapple chicken over shredded cabbage. He briefly wondered if her parents loved her before shaking his head. Bigger things to focus on.
“Still on that, huh?” Gibby asked. “Thinking about it all morning?”
“Of course I have,” Nick hissed as he leaned forward. He looked around suspiciously. No one seemed to be trying to listen in, but that didn’t mean they weren’t either. “Who does Rebecca Firestone think she is? No one, that’s who. And that bullshit about an anonymous source? Lie. All lies. She’s obviously stalking me, and I’m going to get her so fired.”
“Why is she stalking you?” Jazz asked, daintily wiping her mouth with a cloth napkin. “And can’t you say that Seth was cosplaying or something?”
Nick stared at her. “Cosplaying? In January? It’s not even Extraordinaries Con season! You know that doesn’t happen until October.”
“So? My parents go to parties all the time that I’m not supposed to know about where they’re in costumes.” She smiled. “They call them ‘Eyes Wide Shut’ parties, whatever that means.”
“What do they do there?” Gibby asked.
Jazz shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably talk about market shares and yachts. I think it’s like a slumber party for adults.”
“I don’t get rich people,” Nick lamented. “Like, why would you—no, you know what? Focus. Stalking.”
Gibby looked troubled. She reached over and took Nick’s jittery hand in her own, squeezing tightly. “You need to be careful. All of us do, but especially you and Seth. Even if it wasn’t Firestone who took the picture, she’s not going to let this go.”
“Oh, I know,” Nick said. “Like a dog with a bone, that one.” He sighed. “You know what? That’s mean, even if it’s Rebecca Firestone. She’s a woman who’s worked hard to get where she’s at in a male-dominated industry that— What the hell am I saying? Screw her!”
Gibby and Jazz exchanged a glance. “I think you’re allowed this one,” Gibby said.
“Damn right I am,” Nick said, pulling his hand back to open his lunch. “You know what? I should’ve seen this coming. They have to be working together. It’s the only thing that makes sense. After Burke kidnapped me over the weekend and—”
“What?” Gibby asked sharply.
Nick blanched. Crap. He hadn’t meant to say that. Rebecca Firestone had thrown him off his game. “Uh, I was speaking … metaphorically?”
“Nick,” Gibby growled.
He shook his head. “Forget I said anything. We have bigger things to worry about. Seth—”
“—is coming up to the table, looking like he’s about to go into battle,” Jazz said. Then she raised her voice, a sunny smile on her face as she said, “Hi, Seth! We weren’t talking about you at all! Come, sit, sit!”
“Good one, babe,” Gibby said. “That was believable.”
“I can hear you,” Seth muttered as he sat next to Nick. He glanced cautiously at him, and Nick grinned rather maniacally in response. “Hi.”
“Hello, boyfriend of mine,” Nick said, and because he could, he leaned forward and kissed Seth right on the mouth. He hoped a homophobe had been watching and was now filled with so much heterosexual rage, they were choking on it. When he pulled back, Seth’s glasses were slightly askew and his cheeks were pink, but he didn’t look around as if embarrassed. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed Nick again. It was one of the things Nick loved most about him, seeing as how it was about damn time queer people were able to claim public displays of affection for their own without being worried about being harassed for it.
“You seem like you’re in a good mood,” Seth said, bumping his shoulder against Nick’s. “I almost don’t want to ask why.”
“But—” Nick said.
“But,” Seth said, “I feel like I have to ask in case it means you’re going to do something that could end in the destruction of public property.”
“That’s only happened a few times!”
Seth snorted. “Oh, my bad. Only a few times.”
And because Gibby was evil, she said, “Yeah, Nick was just telling us how he’d been kidnapped by Simon Burke.”
Seth turned slowly to look at Nick, who decided that his lunch needed his immediate attention. The sandwich was salvageable. The chips, not so much. Maybe if he poured the remains onto the sandwich? Was that gross? Probably. Whatever. And that still left the banana, which Nick knew was his father messing with him, given the way he’d once given Nick the safe-sex talk involving a banana, a condom, and lube. Nick still hadn’t recovered. He didn’t think he ever would.
“Nick.”
He groaned and wondered why no one else was as easily distracted as him. “It wasn’t that big of a deal. And I wouldn’t call it kidnapping,” he added, shooting a withering glance at Gibby.
“You used that exact word,” Jazz reminded him.
“Semantics,” Nick muttered. “Okay, fine. Yes, Simon Burke made me get into his limo against my will, and yes, he made vague threats without them actually being threats—which, if you think about it, is a really impressive talent to have.”
“Nick,” Seth said through gritted teeth. “Every detail. Now. Leave nothing out.”
“Ooh,” Jazz said. “I got chills. Seth, don’t move. Hold on.” She held up her phone and took a picture. “Okay, there—I wanted to capture this moment for posterity. Nick, you may continue.”
Nick didn’t like the expression on Seth’s face. It was cold and angry, and someone wearing a cravat should never look that way. “Hey, Seth?”
Seth stared at him.
And because Nick was nothing if not a gentleman (and a big fan of romantic callbacks), he said, “You make my heart so full, I think I’ll die.”
Manipulative? Maybe, but oh-so-worth-it, because the smile Seth gave him was Nick’s favorite. It was slow to bloom, the corners of his mouth tugging upward, a hint of teeth between his lips, the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly. Nick didn’t know what to do with himself that didn’t involve potentially being arrested for public indecency.
“Ditto,” Seth said quietly.
“Aw,” Gibby said, “now I know what a diabetic coma feels like. Nick, get on with it. We only have twenty minutes.”
Quickly, he told them about his jaunt with Simon Burke. They stayed quiet as he talked in a rushed, low voice, Gibby scowling, Jazz’s eyes widening, and Seth looking more and more perturbed. He finished by saying, “And Dad didn’t want me to say anything. I think he was embarrassed by all of it, so don’t tell him you know.” His voice cracked, but he powered through it. “It’s important to me.”
“Sure, Nicky,” Jazz said, sounding shaken. “We won’t say anything.”
“The pills,” Seth said suddenly. “Your Concentra. Did you look into it?”
Nick nodded. “The label on the bottle doesn’t say anything about Burke Pharmaceuticals, but I was able to track the medicine back to them. He wasn’t lying. His company developed Concentra. Dad says he’d have nothing to do with the pills, so he doesn’t think there’s any reason for me to stop taking them.” He looked away. He didn’t like to talk about being medicated. “They … help.”
“I know they do,” Seth said quietly.
Nick sighed. “I think if they were the same kind Burke gave Owen, we’d know it by now.” He swiveled in
his chair, raising his hand toward the prom banner. “Explosive Destruction!”
The cafeteria quieted as everyone turned to stare at them.
Nick glared right back. “Eavesdropping is rude. This has nothing to do with you. Return to your silly, inconsequential lives.” He turned toward the table once more. “See? Normal, like always.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Gibby mumbled.
“It’s weird, though,” Jazz said, spearing a piece of chicken. “Burke comes out of nowhere, and then a couple of days later, Rebecca Firestone shows up in front of our school?”
A thought struck Nick—one he should’ve had sooner. “Oh, crap. Can she use the footage she took today? I need to tell my dad before he sees it on TV and grounds me forever, even though I was the victim.” He typed a text: Daddio, no cause for panic, but RF showed up b4 school asking questions re: our fire friend. Don’t know what she wanted but can she use footage of me without ur permission?
He was about to set his phone down when it immediately started vibrating. Nick sighed. “Such a drama queen, I swear to god.” He connected the call. “Hey, pops. How’s your day going?”
“She what?” Dad snarled.
Nick had the best dad, no contest. “She was asking about me and Pyro Storm. She had a photo of me and Seth and kept saying I knew more than I was saying. Said NCPD was covering for me, which is pretty much bullshit.”
“Language,” Dad said. “She recorded you?”
“She did, but then Jazz threatened to stab the cameraman with her heels, and that was pretty much that.”
Jazz preened as Dad groaned. “Kid, I’m not even going to touch that one. Jazz is terrifying when she needs to be. And no, she can’t use footage of you without the permission of a guard—parent.” Weird. Dad’s voice caught on the word guardian. “And if she tries, we’re going to sue the hell out of her, Action News, and anyone else I can think of.”
“I respect that and you,” Nick said seriously. “Thanks, Dad.”
“You let me know if you see her again,” Dad said. “If anything, I’ll get a restraining order filed against her. She’s pushing her luck as it is.”
“Will do. Lunch is almost over, so I gotta go. See you tonight?”
“Tonight,” Dad said, already sounding distracted. “Love you.”
“Love you t—and you’re already gone.” He set his phone down on the table. “Dad’s on it. Whatever Rebecca Firestone and Simon Burke are cooking up, they won’t get far. He’ll make sure of it.”
“It could be a coincidence,” Seth said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “We need to proceed carefully, just in case it’s not. Nicky, if something ever seems off about your meds, you need to let us know. We can’t take any chances, not with Burke.”
“I will,” Nick said.
“How did he know you take Concentra at all?” Gibby asked.
That gave Nick pause. “I don’t know. That’s gotta be a HIPAA violation. Maybe they have a list of everyone who takes the pills the company makes. And that’s some kind of Orwellian nightmare I don’t even want to consider.”
“I’ll look into it,” Seth said. “Dig around, see what I can find. But as much as I hate to say it, we have other things that need our attention.” He dug his phone out of his pocket and began to type. When he found what he was looking for, he set the phone on the table in front of Nick. “Explain.”
Nick looked down. The screen displayed the official Pyro Storm website, complete with shifting flames that rose off the letters, the smoke curling into little hearts. Nick was proud of it. He admired his handiwork until he realized everyone was waiting on him. Showtime. “Now, I know what you’re thinking.”
“I really doubt that,” Gibby said.
Nick ignored her. “It’s a central hub for all things Pyro Storm. Want to know what Nova City’s premier hero is up to? Want to find the links to Pyro Storm’s favorite eateries? Need to find links to all of Pyro Storm’s social media? Well, have I got good news for you! There’s even a FAQ section where the most important questions are answered, like what is Pyro Storm’s favorite kind of dog, and can Pyro Storm shoot fire out of his junk? Huskies, and no. No, he cannot.” He frowned. “That last one is courtesy of my father, which I won’t ever forgive him for.”
Gibby’s eyes bulged. “He asked what?”
“So,” Jazz said, “I really want to know why you thought that was necessary for your FAQ section, but I can see you’re on a roll, so we’ll come back to that. Because what.”
“We’re not here to talk about it!” Nick said loudly as Seth groaned into his hands. “We’re here to talk about how I’ve launched the new branding initiative for our favorite superhero. Everyone will now finally be able to support Pyro Storm and all his hard work by buying officially licensed merch, with twenty-five percent of the proceeds going to Pyro Storm, fifteen percent for the three of us, fifteen percent to the artist, and the remainder going to a queer nonprofit, because Pyro Storm is giving and kind.”
Gibby grabbed Seth’s phone and pulled it across the table so she and Jazz could look at it. She scrolled down the page. Nick waited for feedback.
“Is that—” Gibby said, squinting down at the screen. “You really made a Twitter account.”
“And we already have over two hundred followers,” Nick said excitedly.
“No,” Seth moaned, rocking back and forth. “No, no, no.”
Nick pulled out his own phone, opening Twitter before he shoved it at Seth. “See?”
“‘Hello,’” Seth read as Nick mouthed along silently. “‘This is Pyro Storm. Villains, run in fear! It’s time to burn.’” He looked up at Nick. “It’s time to burn? Isn’t that in your fic? You called it a—”
“—catchphrase,” Nick said promptly. “The more Pyro Storm says it, the better the chance it’ll catch on. I workshopped it, and that was the best one. Which means I’ll need you to say it as often as possible.”
“Workshopped it with who?” Seth asked.
“Myself in my room.” Duh.
“And what’s this all for?” Jazz asked. “Why does Pyro Storm need this?”
“Ah! I’m so glad you asked. Thank you, Jazz. The reason is simple: Seth deserves to be compensated for his time. He’s done years of service for the people of Nova City; it’s time he’s appreciated for everything he’s done. I was also thinking about a dedicated YouTube channel where we could get Pyro Storm to attach a GoPro camera to his helmet and take people on a virtual tour of Nova City, but that’s still in the planning stages. And, as his brand manager, I’ll make it my mission to—”
“Brand manager?” Seth growled, and Nick did not swoon at the Pyro Storm in his voice. “I don’t need a brand manager.”
“You do,” Nick said. “You just don’t know it yet. Trust me, okay? I won’t let anything bad get tweeted at you or about you. I’ve already got a new hashtag in mind to help promote fairness and equality. Ready? Hashtag #WWPSD—What Would Pyro Storm Do. Get it? It’s like you’re Jesus, but you can light things on fire, when he only did stuff with fish and wine or whatever.”
“That’s blasphemy,” Seth reminded him.
Nick waved dismissively. “He’ll forgive me. I have a feeling he likes gay people, so. And look! I haven’t even told you about the Instagram account, which Jazz will oversee, since she’s artistic AF.”
“I am,” Jazz said. “It’s one of my gifts.”
“It is,” Nick agreed. “And since we all seem to be on the same page with this, I’ll—”
“We’re not,” Seth said.
“We’re … not?” Nick looked at his phone, then back at Seth. “Is something wrong? I can go through it again, if you want.”
Seth shook his head. “I don’t need you to do that, Nick. What I want you to do is listen to me.”
“I am,” Nick assured him. “I always—”
“You don’t,” Seth retorted. Nick tried to hide his flinch, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was. “You guys don�
��t get what it’s like. You think it’s all fun and heroics and saving the day. It’s not. It’s barely even that. I’m tired all the time, my back hurts, my grades are slipping. All I want to do some days is stay in bed and not move for as long as possible. You could never understand what I’m going through because you all get to be normal, whether you want to be or not.”
That stung. It didn’t feel like it was supposed to be a dig at him, but there it was all the same.
Seth’s voice hardened as he continued. “Do you know what I would give to be like you? To be able to go one day without worrying if someone is going to get hurt on my watch?” He snatched his phone back from Gibby. “I’d give anything to only care about shit like this.”
“That’s not fair,” Jazz said. “Because we do know what it’s like to worry. We worry about you getting hurt every time you suit up.”
Seth shook his head. “It’s not the same. I’m just one person you care about. But I have to worry about thousands of people I don’t even know.” His hands curled into fists, and Nick thought the temperature at their table rose a few degrees. “I know you’re trying to help, Nick, but this isn’t it.”
Seth was right. Part of Nick—the calm, rational part that he did have, no matter what anyone said to the contrary—knew this. But this part of Nick was still a tiny part of him, crying out in the dark, its voice almost completely buried by a swell of irrational anger. “You could talk to us about this,” he said. “You could try and tell us what you’re going through. You don’t have to cut us out of part of your life because you don’t think we’d get it. Maybe we won’t, but we’d at least try.” He glanced at Gibby and Jazz. “We’ve been here for years, Seth. Yeah, we’ve only known about what you can do for a few months, but we’ve had your back even before we knew what you could do. Why would you think you couldn’t talk to us or come to us for help if you needed it?”
“Or,” Gibby said, “we could give Seth the chance to work things out on his own. Some of us need that, Nick. Just because we don’t tell you everything doesn’t mean we don’t know we can come to you on our terms, when we’re ready.”
