The Extraordinaries - TJ Klune Page 0,69

father’s gaze. He didn’t want to see that look on his face anymore, anger mixed with disappointment, all directed at him. It hurt. Everything hurt.

“Crap,” Dad whispered. Then, “Look. Kid. I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m tired.”

Nick nodded stiffly but didn’t speak.

“I…” Dad sounded frustrated. “I just need you to do better. I just need you to be better. Can you do that? For me?”

Nick nodded again.

“Hey, Nick. Look at me. I’m—”

“I’ve got to go,” Nick said hoarsely. “I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now. And I’d hate to disappoint you again.”

Dad sighed. “Come on, Nicky. Would you just—” He heard his father take a step toward him.

Nick took a step back.

“Okay,” Dad said stiffly. “If that’s—okay.”

Nick turned and left.

* * *

He was on the train, surrounded by people and staring blankly ahead when his phone buzzed. Nick thought about ignoring it.

He pulled it out of his pocket.

A text from his dad.

He really thought about ignoring it.

But maybe it was an apology. Maybe it was Dad saying he was sorry, that he didn’t mean it, that he was just fine with the way Nick was, that he didn’t need him to be anything more.

He opened the message.

You forgot to take your pill this morning. Called the school. Nurse will have your dose. See her before class.

And that was it.

Nick deleted the message before sliding the phone back in his pocket.

The train car rocked gently beneath his feet.

* * *

He didn’t wait for the others at Franklin Street. He didn’t want to see anyone. Not when his head was messed up. His skin felt too tight, and it was like his nerves were electrified. His thoughts jumped too quickly, and he couldn’t focus. He tapped his fingers against his hip as he walked.

* * *

He went directly to the nurse when he got to school.

She had his pill waiting for him.

She smiled as she handed it over with a tiny paper cup filled with water.

Nick swallowed down, opening his mouth when she asked to check.

“Have a good day,” she said cheerfully.

* * *

Gibby and Jazz were at the lunch table when he walked into the cafeteria. “Hey,” Jazz said, looking up at him. “Missed you this morning.”

“Sorry,” Nick said, keeping his voice even. “Was early and didn’t feel like sticking around.”

Gibby rolled her eyes. “Maybe send us a text letting us know next time. We were almost late, waiting for you.”

“Didn’t think. Sorry.” He looked around. “Where’s Seth? Or Owen?”

“Seth texted this morning on our thread,” Jazz said, tilting her head at Nick. “Said he wasn’t feeling well and was staying home today. Don’t know where Owen is. He’ll show up when he feels like it, I’m sure.”

“Sick?” Nick asked. “He was fine yesterday.” When he’d kissed Nick on the cheek and then run away to save the animals from the flooding. Nick had almost forgotten about it with everything that had happened since then.

Gibby coughed. “Must have been those cats he had to save, or whatever. Ferals carry all kinds of weird crap.”

“He’s sick with a cat disease?” Jazz asked. “I wonder if he’ll cough up a hairball.”

That startled a laugh out of Nick. “Oh, man, that would be so gross. And awesome.”

Gibby squeezed Jazz’s hand. “I’m not sure that’s quite how it works.”

Jazz rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who said he got sick because of feral cats.”

“I know. And I accept any and all blame. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Probably will be back by tomorrow.”

Nick tugged at a hangnail on his finger. “I’ll go see him after school. Make sure he’s not dying.”

Gibby hesitated. “You sure that’s a good idea? He might be contagious.”

“Eh. I eat a lot of oranges.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat an orange in the entire time I’ve known you,” Jazz said. “And speaking of, why aren’t you eating?”

He’d stormed out of the house without grabbing his lunch because his dad wished he was someone different. “Forgot it. And I was supposed to remind Dad to add money to my lunch account, but I forgot.”

“You can have some of mine,” Jazz said. “I have chicken and avocado salad with lime and cilantro. There’s also bread and olive oil.”

“I’ve got cold pizza and an apple,” Gibby said, peering into her own lunch bag. “Should be more than enough to go around.”

Nick shrugged. “Not that hungry.”

Jazz narrowed her eyes at him. “You will eat our food with us, Nicky. And you’ll like it.”

“All right, all right. Twist my

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