for sure he’d be trying to get as close to her as quickly as possible. Then again, his mother did once tell him that things and people aren’t always what they seem. Maybe Fritz was really shy when it came to girls. That would be ironic. “Maybe that’s for the best,” Michael declared. “It’ll give you time to get used to the whole boy-meets-girl thing, especially since in your case it’s really boy-meets-girl-who’s-really-an-efemera sort of thing.”
No wonder Ronan fell in love with him so completely, she thought; he finds joy in the most unexpected places. And most unexpectedly, Phaedra saw something that brought her joy as well. “Let’s keep that efemera thing under wraps for now,” she whispered. “Fritz and company at two o’clock.”
When he reached the table, Phaedra saw that Fritz’s expression was not really what could be described as joyful. In contrast, Ciaran, sliding onto the bench next to Michael, wore a smile that was a marked improvement over his typical serious countenance. “Behold a gift from beyond the grave,” Ciaran announced theatrically, his hands unfurling to gesture the small box Fritz was holding.
“I told you that isn’t funny, you twit!” Fritz barked.
It also didn’t sound like Ciaran, Michael thought. He guessed that making first string on the swim team had turned Ciaran the Serious into Ciaran the Cheerful.
Whatever reason for the change, he held his ground. “You, Mr. Ulrich, need to lighten up and accept the fact that inside that box is something quite wonderful.”
Dropping the box on the table, Fritz looked quite the opposite, as if it contained hideous secrets that could harm mankind if they were unleashed on the world. Grunting something unintelligible, he plopped down next to Phaedra, forcing her to scoot over quickly or risk being used as a seat cushion. This is what I was hoping for, Phaedra thought, to share some time with a grouchy boy? “Fritz,” Phaedra started, “is there, um, anything wrong?”
Fritz heard her, but his eyes didn’t move from the box. “No.”
Phaedra and Michael looked at Ciaran, who obviously knew what was in the box and therefore the cause of Fritz’s funk and tried to get him to tell them what was going on without actually asking him. After a moment, it was clear that Ciaran’s communication skills also sucked. “Ciaran!” Michael said. “Are you going to tell us?”
“Tell you what?” he innocently responded.
“Why this one’s face is scraping the floor,” Phaedra declared, pointing her thumb in Fritz’s direction.
“Do you mind, mate?” Ciaran asked. In response, Fritz barely shrugged his shoulders, which Ciaran took as a yes. When he spoke, it was once again as if he were standing center stage. “This ordinary box that you see before you contains none other than a gift from the other side, from Penry.” Finally, communication was no longer a problem. They both understood why Fritz was looking so dour. He was upset thinking about his friend. Reaching into the box, Ciaran took out what looked like a stack of magazines and handed one to each of them. “Gather round, folks, and take a look. I give you comic books, from the creative team of Poltke and Ulrich.”
Fascinated, Michael examined the cover of the handmade comic book he was holding, a colorful and fairly accurate depiction of Archangel Academy. The twisted metal of the front gate seemed almost lifelike, the dimensions of the headmaster’s office slightly more askew, and the selection of colors, orangey reds and purple- blues, definitely personal choices and not meant to be natural depictions. And right there in the bottom right corner of the page was Penry’s name. Dear Penry. Even though he was no longer with them, he still made Michael smile. Just seeing his familiar curvy handwriting delighted him because this was something about Penry he never knew before. He wrote a comic book, and according to Ciaran, he wrote it with Fritz, though he had to take his friend’s word for it because the signature that appeared about an inch lower than Penry’s was barely legible.
“I see your penmanship hasn’t improved,” Phaedra commented.
For the first time since he sat down, Fritz looked away from the box and into Phaedra’s eyes. “Penry was the artist. I just came up with the jokes,” Fritz informed them. “And the title.”
Tales of the Double A, Phaedra said, reading from the issue she was holding. “What a cute title!” Oh, come on, Phaedra, what teenage boy wants to be cute? “It’s, you know, really great,” she corrected. “And, um, very mysterious.”
“Intrigued me enough to read every issue,” Ciaran announced. “And you all know how much I hate to read anything other than a science textbook.”
“So when did you two do all this?” Michael asked.
Fritz explained that it was something they created for an assignment in art class as freshmen. They enjoyed working together and of course making fun of their fellow students and teachers in the name of art, so they had continued, spending most of last summer whipping out one issue after the other. “Penry’s twin sister, Ruby, sent them to me,” Fritz said, his voice suddenly much more subdued. “She thought I should have them.”
“That was very thoughtful of her,” Phaedra said. “It’s a wonderful gift.”
“You know what would be even more wonderful?” Michael asked rhetorically. “If you write more issues, you know, to maintain Penry’s legacy.” Silence was the first reaction to Michael’s suggestion and then one by one they all agreed. Ciaran thought it would be a proper memorial, Phaedra thought it would be a lovely way to keep Penry’s spirit alive, Fritz was just impressed. “Once again, Nebraska, I owe ya one.”
The next few minutes were spent discussing some possible story lines for the new issues. Fritz’s suggestions of a zombie infestation, werewolf attacks, and an alien invasion made Michael and Phaedra feel quite normal. Ciaran’s idea to make Penry a superhero to swoop in to save Double A from certain destruction was met with enthusiastic cheers, and Fritz immediately came up with his superhero name. “I’ll call him The Double P!” It was a silly name, but Penry Poltke knew the importance of being silly, so they all thought it was an ideal moniker.
Fritz admitted that he wasn’t as good an artist as Penry, but luckily he was taking another art class this semester, so he would have a chance to work on his technique. The text wouldn’t be a problem, though, since Fritz was, in his own words, a bloody amazing storyteller. “So much for humility,” Phaedra joked. Fritz blushed and was now staring at Phaedra with the same intensity he had formerly reserved for the box. Michael sensed it was time to give the couple some privacy.
“Ow!” Ciaran squealed. “Why’d you kick me?”
Seriously, Michael thought, Ciaran might be a borderline genius, but when it came to social skills, he was definitely coasting along at a remedial level. “We need to clock in some study time in the library.”
“Study?” Ciaran asked. “For what? The semester just started, you can’t possibly be behind in your homework already.”
Make that pre-remedial. “Will you just come with me,” Michael snapped, stuffing the comic book into his backpack. “Fritz, I’ll give this back to you when I’m finished.”
Although Ciaran missed the reason for their hasty exit, Fritz and Phaedra understood what Michael was doing and were both appreciative. Now they could be alone. Sure, they were in a crowded lunchroom and there was activity all around them, but still, just sitting next to each other felt incredibly intimate. No wonder girls like to fall in love, Phaedra thought. It really is a wonderful experience.
“So, uh, how do you like your new classes?” Fritz asked, his fingers tracing the tight waves in his hair.
“They’re good,” Phaedra replied quickly, her fingers pulling at her own curls, making them longer, straighter. “Religion is interesting. Sister Mary Elizabeth has a crazy sense of humor.”
“Really?” Fritz said, tossing one of Michael’s leftover French fries into his mouth. “Would never have expected that.”
And a few months ago, Phaedra would never have expected to be sitting across from a boy, entranced by how he chewed his food. His lips pressed together, moving rapidly, his throat bulging, rising, then becoming calm once again. She wished she could say the same thing about her heart. “I’m finding that high school is bursting at the seams with the unexpected.”
Phaedra didn’t see Fritz’s lips part and form a huge smile. She had lost the courage to look at him and was focused on the plate of food. Suddenly, taking it slowly made total sense to her; it was much more fulfilling and much easier on her heart than some quick, messy physical connection.
Nakano, however, would disagree.
Nakano loved kissing Jean-Paul. He loved how the razor stubble on his older boyfriend’s chin grazed against his face, roughing it up a bit. He loved how he could run his fingers through Jean-Paul’s hair, watch the long, shiny brown locks extend, separate into smaller strands like the strings of a harp, then fall, quietly, gracefully, back against his cheek. And he really loved how Jean-Paul’s lips tasted, eager, hungry, the bitter taste of blood alive in
