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5

It was a day like any other. A Friday, Nick thought, though he didn’t knowhowhe knew it. Faintly, he remembered being at Jazz’s party, but that had been on a Saturday. Days had passed, days he couldn’t remember.

Summer, he thought, but when he looked down at the calendar on his desk in his room, it saidMARCH, and he promptly forgot about any party.

“Spring break,” he said. “I’m on spring break.” His voice cracked. Broke. But that made sense. He was twelve years old. Puberty had come with a vengeance for one Nicholas Bell. Hair in places where none had been before, a collection of zits on his nose and forehead. The urge to stare at shirtless men on the internet and the fear of getting caught.

“Staycation,” he said, looking around his room. “We’re—”

Skip. Jump. Flash.

He was on his bed. On his phone, feet kicking above his butt. He and Seth were texting back and forth. Seth, the boy whom Nick loved to look at, to see his bow ties, to see him smile. There was nothing better than Seth smiling. He knew what this meant, at least a little. He wasn’t stupid, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to give it a name, at least not yet.

The last days of Nick’s spring break. Dad at work. He had a case that demanded all his attention. He left early. Came home late. Nick barely saw him.

Mom, though. Mom had taken the week off with him, and that was just fine with Nick. They didn’t leave the city. They played video games, Mom spamming the buttons as colorfulsprites jumped and smashed. She took him to the movies. She took him to lunch, to dinner. She packed a picnic for them to take to the park. They watched TV. They played Monopoly with cheater’s rules, meaning anyone could hold up the bank whenever they wanted.

The bank. The bank. The bank.

“Nicky,” Dad whispered, broken, destroyed. “Oh my god,Nicky.She’s—”

Sometimes Seth was with them. Gibby, too. Jazz was in Europe with her parents, sending them photo after photo of waters so clear and blue, they looked unreal, as if from a dream. She said she missed them. She said while she was having fun, she couldn’t wait to come home.

Friday morning. The last weekday before school picked up again and hurtled toward summer. Just before nine. On his bed, waiting for his phone to ping, for Seth to laugh at the text Nick had just sent. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it was, but that was okay. Everything was fine, and he was thinking muddled thoughts about how nice Seth looked in a bow tie, the one with the little green frogs on it.

A knock at his door.Tap. Tap. Tap.

“You up?” Mom asked, voice muffled.

“Yeah,” he said, and he thoughtI’ve been here before,but it was without context, a fractured piece of glass with a fuzzy reflection.

“Decent?”

He groaned.“Mom.”

He heard her laugh before she pushed open the door, leaning in, her long hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She grinned at him in that way she did, warm, happy, the lines around her eyes soft. “Can’t be too careful. Don’t want to interrupt you if you’re having alone time.”

Cheeks aflame, Nick pulled the comforter up and over his head. “That wasone time,and you swore you’d never bring it up again.”

“I swore I’dtry,” she countered as Nick heard her cominginto the room. “And I lasted three weeks, so that should count for—deargod,kid. You need to clean your room. Clothes don’t belong on the floor. I told you to put them in the hamper. It’s literally right there next to… the… is thatmilk?”

It was. He’d gotten a glass last night while on his computer, munching on stale crackers he’d found in a drawer of his desk. Then he’d been distracted by a fic he’d been reading, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was spying on him, given how… well. Given how delightfully descriptive the fic was getting. Who knew people could be so bendy?

“Okay,” Mom said, clapping her hands. “Here’s how this is going to go. I’ve got to stop by the office real quick, and then the bank.”

Nicky. Oh my god,Nicky. She’s—

He blinked in slow motion.

Time snapped back into place, and she said, “Shouldn’t take too long. While I’m gone, you’re going to make your room at least marginally habitable.”

“I have everything where I want it,” Nick countered, still hiding under the blankets. “You’re going to mess up my system.”

“And I feel so badly about that.”

“Liar,” Nick muttered.

“Or, if you want, I can pick up your underwear for you, seeing as how you think it needs to be flung onto the floor. I could probably also take care of that crusty towel if you—”