foul mood that seemed to grace sixteen-year-old boys facing an identity crisis. No, this foul mood was tinged with my best friend’s uncle told me my best friend wants my junk and stuff and also I wish I had superpowers but it’s not working out so well.
It was unquestionably the worst kind of foul mood, and he was probably the only person in the world who felt this way. No one could ever understand.
The cereal was off-brand. It was called Cinnamon Bread-Shaped Chomps. Nick wondered if this was Dad’s way of apologizing, because Nick wasn’t allowed to eat Cinnamon Bread-Shaped Chomps, given how much sugar was in a couple of spoonfuls. He was suspicious, sure he’d open the box up and see raisins inside atop bran flakes as a final screw you.
Imagine his surprise when Cinnamon Bread-Shaped Chomps spilled into the bowl.
A tiny pill sat next to the spoon on the table too, so that pretty much made the cereal moot.
It was then that Nick had a terrible idea as he poured milk over the cereal, one that he was sure he’d probably end up regretting, but seemed like a good one in the here and now.
“I’m taking my pill,” he announced grandly.
Dad looked over the paper, his expression bland.
Nick made sure his dad watched as he put it in his mouth.
He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
Dad went back to the paper.
Nick pulled the pill out from under his tongue. It was gritty in his fingers. He shoved it into his pocket. It left an acidic taste in his mouth, but it was soon nothing but a distant memory under cinnamon and something that was vaguely bread-shaped.
His dad wanted him to be someone different?
Fine.
He finished his breakfast.
He put the bowl in the sink. He put the milk in the fridge.
He picked up his backpack after placing his lunch inside and turned to leave the kitchen.
“Nick.”
He stopped, convinced he’d been caught. His dad had used his supercop senses and had known the moment Nick tried to hide the pill. He’d take Nick to the precinct to interrogate him, and then Nick would be forced to spill what Bob had told him yesterday, and how confused that made him because if he was being honest, Seth had biceps apparently, but he was sort of fond of the way Seth had looked before, and if he was really thinking about it, he was maybe fond of the way Seth talked and breathed and existed in ways he hadn’t really thought about, and he didn’t want to seem shallow if he found out that he might have a crush on his best friend now. Because what would that say about him if Seth was all buff now with massive shoulders and then Nick decided he wanted to touch them? It shouldn’t matter how a person looked, it was the inside that counted.
That was completely at odds with his destiny with Shadow Star, because they were obviously meant to be together, right? Nick wrote stories about him and had his autograph, and Shadow Star knew his name, so that had to mean something. Life would just be so much easier if Seth and Shadow Star were the same person, but that was ridiculous. Because Shadow Star was a superhero who saved the city from the forces of evil while Seth had to deal with feral cat emergencies which, to be fair, weren’t any less important. They were just important on a different scale.
Add in the fact that Nick had to become an Extraordinary so he could help the big lug standing in front of him, even if he wasn’t feeling exactly charitable at the moment.
“What?” he asked, wondering if this was the moment when everything would be okay again.
Dad stared at him for a beat, then sighed. “Have a good day at school.”
Nick swallowed thickly and opened his mouth to say something, but turned around and walked out of the kitchen instead.
* * *
He was running a little behind by the time he reached the Franklin Street station. Jazz and Gibby were waiting for him on the bench near the stairs. Seth’s train would be arriving in a few minutes, which meant Nick had a little bit of time to decide how to act. Seth hadn’t texted to say he wasn’t coming in to school today, so Nick expected him shortly.
“Hey, Nicky,” Jazz said as he approached. She squinted up at him. “You okay? You look … sweaty.”