Nick really wanted to get upstairs and start planning Phase Two of becoming an Extraordinary, but he thought maybe that could wait. There was an empty space on the couch next to his dad, and things blowing up in slow motion sounded pretty good. “I’ll go put on some sweats and meet you here with the popcorn in five minutes. But god help you if there’s butter or salt on it. You’re not getting any younger.”
Dad rolled his eyes. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“Someone in this house has to.”
“Deal. Get your butt moving, Nicky. We’ve got big plans.”
Nick moved his butt.
Before he left his room to head back downstairs, he reached over and touched his mother’s smile. “We’re okay,” he told her. “Today, we’re okay.”
* * *
And if that night, while lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, Nick thought about the veins in Seth’s arms, well.
That was nobody else’s business.
* * *
Monday mornings were bad.
Monday mornings when his dad had to work late were even worse.
But Monday mornings when his dad had to work late and Nick managed to sleep through his alarm?
All in all, it was not the greatest start to the second week of school.
“Dammit,” he grumbled, trying to shove his foot into one of his Chucks while attempting to descend the stairs. There was a moment when Nick was sure he was about to tumble head over heels, but he managed to catch himself on the banister.
Because the only thing that would have made this Monday even more terrible would be if he’d fallen and broken his neck.
His phone beeped as he shouldered his bag and headed out the door, locking it quickly behind him. He pulled it out to see messages from Seth and Gibby, asking where he was. He apologized profusely to a woman pushing a stroller as he bumped into her while he typed a response, telling them to go on without him. He was already going to be late, and he didn’t want them to run the risk of getting in trouble too. If he hurried, it shouldn’t be too bad, but there was no way he was going to get there before the final bell rang. There was also an alert on his phone with a headline that new information had come in about a scuffle between Pyro Storm and Shadow Star in the early morning hours of Saturday, but Nick didn’t have time to read it, no matter how much he wanted to. He saved the link for later.
For once, the trains were running almost on schedule, which helped, but by the time he made it to Franklin Street, he was fifteen minutes late. He thought about skipping first period entirely, but that would mean a phone call would be made, and Dad had learned rather quickly to have the calls sent to his cell phone and not the home phone where Nick could intercept any messages, especially if he switched the ringer off. It had been one of those things they’d talked about over the summer, one of the things Nick had promised he would be better about.
He decided to bite the bullet and stumble into class late. Maybe his teacher would believe the excuse that there’d been a fire on his train or a body on the tracks. It happened all the time, right?
The school was in sight. He could do this.
He was about to head for the steps when a limousine pulled up in front of the school, black and sleek, the chrome bumper glinting. Nick wondered who the hell had the kind of money that they needed to take a limo to school. Unless there was some important speaker today, like the mayor.
As soon as the limo came to a stop, one of the rear doors flew open, and Owen Burke stepped out, a stormy look on his face, mouth twisted in a snarl. Nick had never seen Owen look so furious before.
“You stop right there,” another voice snapped from the car, and for a moment, Nick thought Owen would keep on walking.
He didn’t.
His hand tightened on the strap of his backpack, and his scowl deepened.
A man climbed out of the limo. He was immaculately dressed, his expensive suit obviously tailored, his dress shoes probably costing more than Nick’s entire wardrobe. He wore sunglasses, though it was mostly cloudy. His silver hair was styled short and tight against his head, and he cut an imposing figure.