to him. He didn’t know why he was so surprised, but maybe that was part of it: Jasmine Kensington—perhaps more than any other person he knew—could cut through to the heart of the matter with the simplest of ease. He hadn’t known what to expect from her when Gibby first brought her over to their lunch table, announcing in no uncertain terms they were dating, and that was the way it was going to be. He’d fallen prey to his own misguided characterizations, initially believing Jazz was nothing more than a somewhat empty-headed yet totally hot cheerleader. He’d been wrong in that regard and kicked himself for being so quick to judge. It’d taken time, sure, but change often did. They were three, and then they’d become four, but it wasn’t until this past summer when Seth had been busy almost every day and Gibby was out of town doing hippie things that Nick got one-on-one time with her and saw the splendor that was his friend.
It’d been slightly awkward at first, texting her to see if she wanted to hang out. She’d immediately responded yes thank you ur cool, and though Nick thought she was an excellent judge of character, he’d worried they wouldn’t have anything to talk about that didn’t revolve around Gibby or Seth. Or worse, Owen.
But she’d surprised him, as was her way. She wasn’t the smartest person in the world, yet she never claimed to be. She was happy just … being. Nick didn’t understand it, not really, but he thought maybe he didn’t have to. She didn’t expect him to be anything but who he was, and Nick could count on one hand the number of people who were like her.
And it had been awkward, at least the first few days. He’d worried he’d say something stupid that would end up somehow ruining her relationship with Gibby, and then he’d have to face her wrath, which terrified him down to his bones. It wasn’t until Jazz had called him on a Tuesday morning mid-June to tell him she’d bought them both tickets to the latest superhero movie with slow-motion explosions and men and women in skintight uniforms that he’d realized that maybe they weren’t so different after all. They’d spent the entire six-hour run time of the movie cackling at the ridiculousness of it in an empty theater, throwing popcorn at each other, and getting sticky with melted Junior Mints, shouting at the screen whenever something implausible happened for the sake of plot. Nick had gone into the movie with someone he considered a friend. He’d left with a bestie he would do anything for. If that made him easy, well. That was just fine with him.
(Which he proved to be true the next day, when she invited him to go along while she took her mother’s toy poodle—Maria Von Trapp, an awful name for a dog, in Nick’s estimation—to the groomers. The dog did not like Nick. This was made clear when it bit him on the hand and then pissed on his shoes. Jazz had made it up to him by buying him ice cream. Nick considered them even, especially when she didn’t look at him in horror when he poured chocolate syrup on top of a pile of sour gummy worms, as most people did.)
“No,” Nick mumbled to Jazz now, especially since he didn’t like seeing anyone he loved cry, even if it meant his plan was pretty much ruined. It hurt too much when he couldn’t find a way to fix it. “But what if I promise not to serial murder anyone? And besides, I’ve never had a head injury—”
“Concussion,” Gibby said as she came back in the room. The laughter was gone from her face, and Seth trailed in behind her looking troubled. “Seventh grade. You got hit in the head while playing dodgeball because you were like an awkward baby gazelle and didn’t understand how to dodge.”
Nick scowled at her. “That game is so archaic. It’s a middle school torture device meant for thinning out the herd. And it wasn’t that bad of a concussion. I only had to have three follow-ups and my vision was blurry for a week and—crap.”
Seth nodded solemnly. “And a cricket in the microwave will complete the trifecta. Because no matter what you think, it’ll be torture for the bug, and it will die, Nicky. You can’t do that to the cricket. If anything, think of the backlash if you were ever found