CLAIRE

"I don't want to do this anymore." Tristan threw his head back, nearly tipping over the chair in the process. "I swear, you are the only partner I've ever had where we almost have the entire project done on the first night."

I shrugged as I clicked 'save' on the PowerPoint done up in the color scheme of Heretic's costume. "I frontload most of the time since esports takes up so much time."

"Liar," Tristan teased. "You weren't this bad, but you were just as much of a goody-goody when we were kids."

"Except in math," I reminded him. "God, I was terrible at it."

"Aw, you weren't terrible at it, you just needed it explained a different way." He shrugged. "I would know, I tutored you for years."

"Only because you needed help with your essays." I elbowed him lightly between the ribs. "Not that I hear you need much help with that now. You make speeches all the time for Student Government."

"Hey, that's not the same," he chided. "You know it was because I hadn't figured out how to work around my dyslexia yet."

"That's true." I sobered. "Sorry."

"No harm done." He smiled again. "God, it's been forever since we've gotten to just hang out like this."

"We didn't hang out, we did a school project."

"Quit being pedantic, Claire," he said in the tone of voice that implied that he really didn't mind. "I guess you do have a point, though— we should hang our for real, sometime. What even happened, why did we stop?"

"We went our separate ways." I shrugged. "I fell into esports and newspaper, and you went political and started dressing in all-black—"

"Well, that last part's more because it looks good on me," he teased.

Yet his expression gave me pause.

There was something frightfully intense about his dark eyes— there always was. Like he could see right through me, right into my soul.

It never made me uncomfortable, though.

It made me feel seen, but not in a way that made me feel vulnerable and exposed.

He made me feel alive and special.

"Well, I'm glad Mrs. Jennings forced us to be partners if we had to do one of her stupid emotionally vindictive projects," Tristan said. "It was about time the dynamic duo came back together again."

He held out his hand for a fist-bump, and so I obliged.

"It's late," I said. "Do you need company on the ride home— I can take the monorail back."

"It's alright," he said. "Besides, it's quicker than you think once most of the city is asleep."

"I suppose so."

Still, I realized that I didn't want this moment to end. Not yet.

"Hey," he said softly, placing a hand on my shoulder. "We can talk during lunch, or history class— or even arrange another time to hang out like this. I shouldn't have shown up without asking, I am sorry about that."

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"And your phone number's still the same, isn't it?" I asked earnestly.

"Afraid so." He reached down his phone and sent a quick text to me, confirming it. "I'll see you around, then."

"Wait," I said as he leaned down to put his boots back on. I felt shy, suddenly, standing there. Even though there was nothing to be shy about. "It's just— everything's been different since. . . And I just can't decide what to do when nothing's the same."

Anyone else would have asked me what the hell I was talking about, for more information as I knew, abstractly, that I looked halfway to a nervous breakdown and probably was already there.

But Tristan didn't.

He just looked up to me as he continued to lace up his boots, regarding me for a moment with something I didn't understand, not then.

"I know some people probably have been giving you advice about what to do, and what not to do," he said slowly, choosing his words with obvious care. "But don't listen to any of them. They can't make whatever choices you have to make. You do. Listen to what's inside you, because you have to live with the consequences."

"Thank you," I said, feeling as if I was going to burst into tears of gratitude. "I really needed to hear that."

"I can tell." He stood up. "I'm here whenever you need me. I mean that."

"I know." I handed him his backpack, not breaking eye contact and whatever was happening between us.

I couldn't explain it, even if I tried.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Claire."

"Let me walk you to the car, at least," I offered.

He looked as if he was going to refuse, but then changed his mind. "Okay."

I let him down the ladder first, and followed him all the way out to the front porch. I didn't venture further because I had taken my socks off and the wooden floors were cold enough with the ice and snow.

Still, I waved until his older car had disappeared from our street entirely.

When I turned back around, I saw Dad had rolled his chair closer to the foyer and was smiling.

"What?" I asked.

"It's good to see you around that boy again," Dad said. "I'm happy you two are dating—"

"Whoa, we are not dating," I informed him, putting my hands up. "No, that was for a school project in history class."

"He stayed until ten-fifteen in the evening," Dad said, checking his watch for emphasis. "Just friends don't do that."

I didn't even want to have another life-changing reveal like that. My mind refused to go there.

"Best friends do," I said.

"If you say so." Dad shrugged. "But you probably should be getting to bed, kiddo."

"Okay." I watched him for a moment as I closed the door and he rolled back to his computer. It was strange to think that he might have been a super— and that he'd married a real-life Wonder Woman, that my mom was—

"Is everything okay?" Dad looked up. "You've got a funny look on your face."

I schooled my features. "Just tired, I think. I'll take your advice."

"Goodnight, then," Dad said.

Once in the safety of my attic fortress, I didn't want to think about all the world-turning events outside of it. Not yet— even as the time to make my choices drew closer and closer.

I would do one remarkably normal thing first: text Malcolm McQueen and see where that went. Because it was blissfully normal and uncomplicated and wasn't built into the fundamental pillars of my life.

Hey this is Claire from psych

He almost immediately texted back.

Hi Claire :)

It felt so charming, I wanted to squee and hug my Pikachu plushie.

But a part of it felt hollow, like I was chasing something as artificial as a glamour, and just as shallow.

Then two texts popped up on my phone, before I could respond to Malcolm's.

Hey, I know this is really forward, but I was wondering if you wanted to go out on Saturday? Like, on a date?

it was cool hanging out w/ you again. saturday's the winter festival wanna go?

I nearly laughed. It was ridiculous— there were infinitely bigger problems, with the whole superpowers situation, whatever Tenebrous was doing with Dr. Electra and her henchmen, Renegade's interest in me, and the discovery of Mom's past as a superhero.

And yet here I was, having some stereotypical teenage romcom problem of which boy to go to the Winter Festival with.

Tristan or Malcolm?

I only hesitated one second—then I opened the text threat for Malcolm.

Sorry, already have a date

He responded right away.

That's too bad. Well, good on him, whoever he is.

I let out a relieved sigh. Last thing I needed was hurt feelings from high school romance drama.

Then I switched to Tristan's. It surprised me, how my heart pounded in my chest like I was being held at gunpoint again by Renegade.

Still, the choice was as easy as breathing to me. I'd rather go with my friend a hundred times before I would even think of going with anyone else.

Yes