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In terms of the love life of Nicholas Bell, his experience was rather short. He wasn’t by any means an expert inl’art d’amour.So when faced with the fact that someone who he considered his best friend and who he was also fighting with apparently wantedto put his face on Nick’s face, he discovered quite quickly just how awkward things could be.
It didn’t help that Seth was standing there, looking like he did, wearing an oversized sweater vest over a collared shirt, chinos, loafers, and a goddamn polka-dottedcravatof all things. How dare he.
“Seth!” Nick cried, his voice much louder than he anticipated. “Buddy! Pal! Hey! Hi! How are you?”
Seth, for his part, took it in stride, though he did appear to be somewhat startled at the rather sweaty best friend practically shouting in his face. “I’m fine.”
Nick nodded furiously to the point where he wondered if whiplash was possible. “Good. Good, good, good. That’s… good. You feeling better? Like… just. Better?”
“I am,” he said slowly. “Are you okay?”
“Never better!” Nick bellowed, wiping his forehead. His hand came away soaked. “I brought you something.” He reached into his backpack and pulled out the present he’d stopped at a bodega for. It had made him miss his usual train. “It’s Mexican candy! Skwinkles Salsagheti!”
“I can see that,” Seth said, staring down at the plastic package Nick had practically shoved into his hands. “And you got me Skwinkles Salsagheti because…”
Because the bodega—like most bodegas—catered to the Hispanic community, and there wasn’t anything with nougat in the entire store. The meltdown he’d had meant that he wasn’t allowed to go back to that particular bodega. “It reminded me of you,” Nick said, for lack of anything better.
“What’s happening?” Jazz whispered to Gibby.
“I have no idea,” Gibby whispered back. “I only like girls.”
“O… kay,” Seth said. “Thanks. I think.”
Nick nodded so hard, he felt bones crack. That probably wasn’t good. “Yep. Just looking out for my best bud. My bro. My brotato chip. My pot-broast. We’re just Bromeo and Dudeliet.” Nick actively forced his mouth shut before he could make things worse.
Seth stared at him strangely for a moment before shaking his head. “I—look. About how we left things yesterday—”
“Nope,” Nick said, taking a step back. “Nope, nope, nope. Don’t even worry about it. Enjoy your Skwinkles Salsagheti.¡Muy rapido!”
And in a move he would most likely regret for the rest of his life, Nick turned and ran up the stairs and all the way to school, leaving his friends behind.
His day didn’t get much better after that.
There was a pop quiz in AP History that he was pretty sure he boffed big-time.
When called on to explain a Byronic hero in English class, Nick managed to give a three-minute presentation on the mating habits of box turtles before the teacher mercifully put him out of his misery.
He was twitchier than normal, and even though he knew there was a mushed pill in his pocket, he didn’t dare take it out, knowing he had to prove a point. Maybe proving a point during the middle of a life-altering romantic crisis was not the best time to try and quit cold turkey, but Nick was nothing if not spontaneous.
And, for one of the first times in his known life, he was actually dreading how quickly the day seemed to be moving. He stared in horror up at the clock as it approached lunchtime, knowing he’d once again be faced with Seth, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. What if Seth had misunderstood the gift of Mexican candy and had thought it meant intent? Did Nick mean for it to have intent? If so, what didthatmean? And why did Seth have to wear a freaking cravat on today of all days? And when had cravats become some sort of weakness?
When the bell rang for lunch, Nick gave very serious consideration to applying for a passport, waiting the requisite four to six weeks for it to arrive, and then fleeing the country.
However, given that he was underage, it meant he would have to ask his father for help applying, and Dad was on his shit list, Cinnamon Bread-Shaped Chomps aside.
He walked slowly toward the lunchroom. He understood what it must feel like to be in a gulag.
Seth was already at the lunch table with Gibby and Jazz. Theirheads were bowed together and they whispered furiously. Nick’s curiosity pierced through the haze he’d been mired in since the day before. What could they be discussing so intently? It was a mystery that needed to be solved, and by god, Nick wouldsolve it.Maybe they had come up with plans for a more secure Phase Three, and he could be an Extraordinary by this afternoon! Wouldn’t that just make this weird day better? Of course it would.
But before he could take a step toward his friends, an arm fell on his shoulders, and he was pulled close to another body, a voice near his ears. “Hiya, Nicky. Why’re you just standing here? Who’re we staring at?”
Nick shivered at the hot breath on his neck. “Owen,” he managed to say. “Glad you could show up and—holy god, what happened to yourface?”
Nick pulled away to stare at Owen in disbelief. He was smiling that wicked smile, even though it had to hurt. It looked as if Owen had been punched right in the eye, the bruise dark, the skin puffy. Owen shrugged. “It’s not too bad. You should see the other guy.” He glanced over Nick’s shoulder to their lunch table before looking back at Nick. “Aw, are you worried about little old me? Nicky, I’m touched. Really.” He reached out and pinched Nick’s cheek.
Nick knocked his hand away. “What happened?”
Owen rolled his eyes. “It’s not a big deal. Just a bit of sparring. A lucky punch, that’s all. I’ve had worse.”
