Unable to contain his excitement, Michael sat up in bed, bouncing a little bit, delighted and hoping that Ronan’s present would be better than his singing.
“I want to give you the gift of honesty,” Ronan stated.
Hmm, maybe not. “Is that, um, a new cologne?” Michael asked.
Shaking his head, Ronan wrapped his leg around Michael’s waist so their naked bodies were intertwined. “No, I’m talking about the actual word and everything it means.”
“Oh,” Michael replied warily.
Ronan held Michael’s hands in his and looked him directly in the eyes. Whatever he wanted to say, he was serious, and Michael’s caution turned into intrigue. “I don’t want there to be any more secrets between us,” Ronan said. “I didn’t tell you about my past with Nakano, or about your father being a vampire, or the fact that Saoirse’s different from all of us, and if only I had we could have avoided lots of turmoil, lots of unnecessary pain.”
“I told you,” Michael said, “I understand why you did all that. You were protecting me.”
“And look how it all backfired,” Ronan added. “So to bloody hell with all that. From here on out, no more secrets.”
Slowly, Michael nodded his head in agreement. He was happy to hear that Ronan wanted to substitute truth for secrets, but he couldn’t help wondering what else Ronan could possibly have to tell him. Secret telling, however, would have to wait a while longer, because just as Ronan was about to speak he was interrupted by a knock at their door.
“Open up! We come bearing gifts!”
The high-pitched voice was unmistakable. It belonged to Saoirse.
“Hold on!” Ronan cried.
Like two mice scampering in a field, Michael and Ronan raced around their room putting the clothes back on that they had so carelessly discarded earlier in the morning. Fully dressed, Ronan opened the door to see not just Saoirse, but Ciaran and Fritz as well, all bearing gifts. “You two were in your birthday suits, weren’t you?” Saoirse asked.
“No,” Ronan said emphatically.
His staunch tone was undermined when Michael said, “Kind of,” at the same time.
“Aren’t ya glad I told ya to knock first?” Fritz asked. Despite the interruption to their privacy, both boys welcomed the intrusion. The camaraderie made Ronan feel like part of a family, and it reminded Michael that he now had friends who wanted to celebrate his birthday. Both were changes for the better.
Those weren’t the only changes that had taken place since the end of the school year. Ciaran and Fritz had become closer, and as a result they were beginning to adopt each other’s personality traits.
Ciaran was continuing to break through his shell and was no longer so stuffy and reserved; he wasn’t as laid back or as funny as Fritz, but he was starting to lighten up and realize there was more to life than just being a lab rat. For his part, Fritz had learned that you can’t always get what you want just because you ask for it loudly. He had wanted a more intimate relationship with Phaedra and as far as he knew she had just up and switched schools without even saying good-bye. It had been a hard lesson to learn, but he had come to realize that he had obviously overestimated the depth of their relationship. As a result, he had become more pensive and reflective.
And then there was Saoirse. After surviving the attack on her life during The Carnival for the Black Sun, she had greatly matured. Unfortunately her development was more physical than emotional. Her lean tomboy’s body had started to gain curves in all the right places, and she had grown about two inches in height in the past month. She had always been told that she had a beautiful face, but now she had the shape to match.
Although she was becoming a woman, she clung tightly to her girlish charms. She was still a spitfire with a firm grasp on her adventurous, mischievous spirit. As far as her puzzling heritage, the more she thought about it, the more conflicted she became about truly wanting to know why she was so special, so different. The only thing she did acknowledge was that, as a girl who was almost sixteen, she didn’t want to be anything close to
Piling with his friends on the bed, Michael sat on the pillows like they were a throne. Ronan was next to him, then spread out in a circle, Saoirse, Ciaran, and Fritz, all, for the moment at least, his subjects bearing their majesty gifts and hoping to secure his royal favor. Michael tried to act mature and as if this wasn’t one of the most exciting days of his life, but he couldn’t; he was practically giddy at being the center of attention, and he decided to embrace it. “C’mon—don’t keep me in suspense any longer!” he shouted. “Gimme my gifts!”
The kids were just as excited, and three pairs of hands thrust their gifts toward Michael at the same time. Before he could choose, Fritz made the decision for him. “Open mine first,” he ordered.
“Because there’s no soddin’ way their presents can be better.”
As Michael took the gift-wrapped box from Fritz’s hand, Ciaran commented, “Didn’t we just have a conversation about the importance of humility?”
Shrugging his shoulders, Fritz replied, “No need to be humble when I know my gift’s the bloody best.”
“Maybe you should all act like gentlemen and let the lady go first?” Saoirse suggested.
Fritz only took a second to reply. “All right, Ronan start us off.”
It took only another second for them to crack up laughing, Ronan loudest of all. A year ago Ronan might have sulked all day from such a comment or perhaps struck out and hit Fritz in retaliation; now he raised his hand and met Fritz’s in a high five, proud to be the butt of his joke. Fritz was even prouder of his comment and laughed so hard he almost fell off the bed backward, saved only by Michael’s lightning-quick reflexes.
“Thanks, Nebraska,” Fritz said, still laughing. “You got a firm grip there. You hitting the weights or something?”
Fritz was so excited about the prospect of Michael’s opening up his gift he didn’t notice the others glance at one another conspiratorially. “Okay, mate,” he declared. “Go ahead and open it.”
Like a kid much younger than seventeen, Michael tore at the red and green wrapping paper, which looked like it had been salvaged from last year’s Christmas supply, to reveal a plain cardboard box underneath. Crumbling up the paper into a ball, he tossed it playfully at Ronan, who deflected it nicely with a flick of his hand, so it landed squarely in the wastebasket next to their desk.
Next, Michael removed the lid from the box and, although he was stunned by what he saw, when he inspected the gift further he couldn’t hide his disappointment.
“You hate it!” Fritz cried.
“No,” Michael protested. “I love it.”
Shaking his head, Fritz pouted. “No you don’t, mate. I can see it in your face.”
“Seriously, Fritz, I love it,” Michael said. “But ...”
“I knew it!” Fritz shouted. “Nothing’s ever any bloody good if you have to say ‘but’!”
“I just don’t think I look like this.”
To get a more objective opinion Michael held up Fritz’s gift to the others. It was a whole issue of his comic book,
Taking the comic book from Michael’s hands, Ronan glanced at it and nodded approvingly. “Looks just like you, love.” To Fritz he added, “You really captured his eyes.”
As proud as a cross-legged peacock, Fritz grinned. “Thanks, mate.”
Slightly appalled, Michael grabbed the comic book back from Ronan. “I do not look like this!”
This time Ciaran grabbed the comic book out of Michael’s hands so he and Saoirse could get a better look at Fritz’s artistic rendering of their friend. “Oh sure you do,” Ciaran confirmed. “Looks just like you.”
“Especially before you put your hair gel in,” Saoirse added. “And, you know, gussy yourself up.”
Luckily, Michael knew when he was beaten as well as when to let go of his vanity. “Then I think it’s positively perfect, Fritz!” Michael declared. “I absolutely love it.”
Still beaming, Fritz conveyed a bit about the plot of the Michael-centric issue. “I called it
