Nick looked down at the notebook in his hand, filled with his chicken scratch. He held it flat against his chest so Seth couldn’t read that he’d written MR. NICHOLAS SHADOW STAR in the margins. “Nothing.”
“Nicky.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s always something,” Gibby said, appearing out of nowhere like a lesbian ghost bent on proving Nick wrong. Before Nick could stop her, she grabbed the notepad out of his hand, looking down at it. Jazz hooked her chin over Gibby’s shoulder, reading what Nick had written. Even Seth leaned over to take a look, which lessened the appeal of the ascot, given that he was an opportunistic betrayer.
“Nicky, no,” they all said at the same time.
“Nicky, yes,” he snapped, grabbing the notepad back.
“Does this have to do with what happened yesterday?” Jazz asked. “You know, the whole Nick being scared and needing to be rescued by Gibby and then by Shadow Star.”
Nick turned slowly to glare at Gibby.
She shrugged. “Needed to sound heroic for my lady.”
“By throwing me under the bus?”
She patted his shoulder. “Your contribution was noted. And that’s exactly how it happened, so shut up.”
Jazz nodded. “You screamed at the muggers in a high-pitched voice that you were going to tell your dad.”
“Literally none of that happened,” Nick said. “And frankly, I don’t have time to tell you what really happened because I’m busy. And not with what you think! It’s time for school.”
Jazz looked at his notepad again. “Mr. Nicholas Shadow Star. Nicky, I don’t think that’s how last names work. Like, at all. If anything, you’d be Mr. Nicholas Star.” She smiled. “That sounds like it should be your porn name. I approve.”
Nick needed new friends.
* * *
“—and furthermore,” Nick said as he sat at the lunch table, apropos of nothing, “I feel as if I’m being judged for wanting to be something different than I already am. Gibby, when you shaved your head and asked that we call you Gibby instead of Lola, did we argue with you about that?”
“Is he still on this?” Gibby asked Jazz. “It’s like he resumed a conversation we were having hours ago as if no time had passed.”
“He finds the little things important,” Jazz told her. “I like that about him.”
“You would,” Gibby muttered. Then, “No. Nick, you asked if you could be the one to shave my head after it grew out again, and then decided I should have racing stripes on the side to see if it would make me go faster.”
“Exactly,” Nick said fiercely. “And as a side note, I’m still upset you didn’t let me do any of that. It would have been awesome. And, Jazz, when you decided you wanted to take self-defense classes because men can sometimes be disgusting and not know the meaning of the words back off, you sumbitch, did I not support you in that regard?”
Jazz smiled at him. “You did. You even went with me to the first class and got your butt kicked by a sixty-three-year-old grandmother.”
“She felt really bad after and made me pie,” Nick agreed. “But it was a purple plum pie, and that’s disgusting, so I had to throw it away. But it was the thought that counted. And Seth.”
They all turned to look at him.
His ascot was slightly askew. Nick didn’t know how to handle that.
Jazz sighed.
Seth blushed.
Gibby coughed pointedly.
Nick shook his head. He couldn’t get distracted. “What were we talking about?”
“How you threw away pie from an old lady,” Gibby said.
“That’s right. Seth, when you decided you wanted to wear ties to school for reasons that no one quite understands, who was the one who helped you look up how to tie a Windsor knot on the internet and then let you practice on him for an entire month until you got it right?”
“You were,” Seth said, looking down at the table.
“With minimal complaint!”
“For the first twenty minutes.”
“Which was twenty minutes more than it should have been!” Nick exclaimed. “You know I can’t sit still for that long without going out of my mind. Why on earth did you need to learn how to do a full Windsor? The only thing that made it bearable was when you found the one called the Nicky knot and insisted on wearing that one more than all the others.”
Gibby and Jazz turned slowly to look at Seth.
Seth didn’t acknowledge them, finding something extremely interesting to pick at on the table. It looked like dried ketchup.