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“You’ve got your grumpy face,” Jazz told him.
“It’s not grumpy,” he said grumpily.
“We can wait a little bit longer,” Gibby said. “He could still show. In the meantime, why don’t you tell us why we’re at the river? I gotta tell you, Nick. This place reeks like death.”
And it did. The Westfield River was disgusting. He’d had them meet him at one of the piers, but away from the ones that had all the tourists. In the distance, he could see a couple of old guys fishing off a dock who probably never actually caught anything, instead dropping their lines in the water and gabbing. The river was polluted to the point where anything actually caught would not be edible.
Which was exactly why Nick was here.
He climbed up onto a wooden post and faced the river, hands on his hips as he posed grandly, a gentle breeze blowing against his face carrying the scent of rancid farts and spoiled meat, but he ignored it, because this was his moment. This washistime to shine.
“Phase Three,” he announced, sure that Gibby and Jazz had the same shivers down their spines as he did. How could they not? They were about to witness something (dare he say it)extraordinary.
There was silence from behind him.
He knew it was sinking in. He gave them a moment.
Still more silence.
He looked over his shoulder.
Gibby and Jazz were staring at him.
He stared back.
Jazz sneezed. “Excuse me,” she said daintily.
Nick was not impressed. He glared at them both.
“Oh!” Gibby said. “I get it now.” She cleared her throat. “Phase Three? Why, whatever could you be speaking of?”
“That was really good,” Jazz told her.
“I know,” Gibby said.
At least they were sort of trying. “I’m glad you asked!” He turned back toward the river, raising his voice so they wouldn’t miss a word. “Today, you are going to witness something—”
A phone chimed behind him. Nick closed his eyes and breathed through his nose.
“My bad,” Jazz said. “My dad. Gotta… text him back… and… done. Go ahead and continue with whatever you’re doing.”
Nick took another moment before he opened his eyes. No big deal. “Today, you are going to wit—”
Another phone beeped. “Wow,” Gibby said. “Talk about some weird timing. That was me this time. Sorry. Sorry. I think it’s a wrong number. They’re asking if the 1997 Toyota Camry is still for sale.”
“What’s a 1997 Toyota Camry?” Jazz asked, sounding confused.
“Something you’ll never understand,” Gibby told her. “Gonna tell them it’s a wrong number and… okay, we’re good!”
Third time’s the charm. “Today, you are going to witness something amazing.” He waited a moment. No phone beeped. Good. He was about to blow some minds. “Phase Three is here, and I’m going to—”
Another phone chimed.
Nick whirled around, a snarl on his face.
Or, at least hetriedto whirl around. Given that he was standing on a wooden pylon, there wasn’t enough room to do much. And given that Nick—on a good day—was not exactly the most graceful of creatures, he started to fall backward into the river.
He was saved when Gibby grabbed him by the front of his coat and pulled him forward. He almost landed on top of her when he fell off the pylon, but somehow managed to land on his feet.
