But he also knew his strengths. Brave, even though a little voice still sometimes whispered that he was a coward. Strong, and only getting stronger. Smart, sometimes. Did he make mistakes? Hell yes, but he still tried to right his wrongs as best he could, and learn from the experience.

  It was these thoughts Nick had that last night before the end. A Thursday evening, the moon growing fatter, faint stars blinking across a black sky. The lights around the Kensington backyard had been dimmed to a faint glow. It was warm, but nowhere near as stifling as it’d been. It could have been any day in the middle of summer.

  Gibby, Jazz, and Seth sat on the edge of the pool, their legs and feet in the water. They’d been talking about tomorrow, going through their plan again and again until they were sick of it. But that had faded after a time, all of them falling quiet, lost in their own thoughts.

  Nick lay on his back behind them, hands on his chest as he looked up at the sky. He wondered, as he sometimes did, what she would think of them if she could see them now.

  He looked at his friends, their backs to him. Seth’s head lay against Gibby’s shoulder, his curls bunched up against her cheek, her ear. Jazz kicked her feet in the water, causing ripples to spread throughout the pool.

  “What are we going to do this weekend?” Seth suddenly asked.

  Nick and Jazz looked at him as he lifted his head from Gibby’s shoulder. He moved his legs, water splashing. From somewhere in the city, the sound of sirens, distant. Someone in the house laughed.

  “This weekend,” Gibby repeated. “You mean…”

  Seth shrugged. “After tomorrow. What are we going to do? What if we went to the movies? Or we could have another picnic in the park. And maybe this time we’ll be able to finish without anyone needing to be stabbed with a fork.” He rose from the ledge of the pool, coming over to Nick, bare legs dripping water. He sat down next to Nick, leaning back on his hands.

  Jazz came next, Gibby trailing after. Jazz lay down on the other side of Nick, her hair brushing against his face. “Picnic sounds good. Movies, too. We could make a day of it. M&M’s in the popcorn. Sodas. Nachos with that gross movie-theater cheese.”

  Gibby settled against Seth, her head in his lap. He looked up at the sky. “Or maybe we could go to a museum. See old dinosaur bones. I haven’t been since … wow. Since Nick’s mom took us when we were … what. Ten. Eleven?”

  “Eleven,” Nick said. “For your birthday, remember? You wanted to be an archeologist after we watched those old Indiana Jones movies a billion times that fall.”

  Seth chuckled, cheeks darkening. “I remember. But … uh. It wasn’t just that.”

  Gibby grinned up at him. “You had a crush on him, didn’t you?”

  “A little,” Seth admitted. “Okay, maybe more than a little. Didn’t know really what it meant, but when he cracked that whip…”

  “Hell yes,” Nick said. “Good taste, man. Tell you a secret?”

  They looked at him.

  “I used to have this dream. Of the sexy variety. Me and Han Solo in a hot tub.”

  Seth gaped at him. “You had sex dreams about Han Solo?”

  “Yep,” Nick said. “And I don’t even feel bad about it. Believe me when I say that Han shot first.”

  Jazz began to giggle, Gibby following soon after, arms wrapped around her stomach as she rolled back and forth. Seth snorted, shaking his head. “I’ll give you that, Nicky. I’m not even jealous.”

  “You shouldn’t be,” Nick told him. “You’re better.”

  “Aw,” Jazz said, wiping her eyes as Seth spluttered. “Hear that, Seth? You’re better than Indiana Jones and Han Solo.”

  Seth rolled his eyes fondly. “That’s a lot to live up to, but I’ll take it, I guess.”

  Jazz shifted until she curled against Nick’s side, her head on his chest. He put his face in her hair, breathing her in. “Maybe it’s unrealistic. Maybe we won’t always be like this.” She sniffled. “I worry about it. Not all the time, but some.”

  “You do?” Gibby asked, sitting up from Seth’s lap and looking over at Jazz.

  “Yeah,” Jazz said. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “I think so,” Seth said. “The future is scary because it’s unknown. But look at us now. Look at all we’ve done.”

  “Ooh, I have an idea,” Jazz breathed. “Maybe one of us should run for office one day. Change stuff from the inside. Be the anti–Simon Burke.”

  Seth said, “What about you? You could do it, Gibby.”

  “Whoa,” Nick said. “Yeah. That could work.” He looked at Gibby. “Would that be something you’d want?”

  Gibby seemed a little flustered, picking at blades of grass, brow furrowed. “Maybe.” She smiled. “Could start small. Maybe a seat on a council somewhere.”

  “And from there, a congresswoman,” Jazz said, eyes alight. “Then, twenty years from now, President Lola Gibson, the youngest president ever elected.”

  Gibby laughed. “Think we might be getting ahead of ourselves, at least a little bit.”

  Jazz scoffed. “People would be people and underestimate you, but you’d prove them wrong every single time. And you wouldn’t be doing it alone. I could be your press secretary.”

  “And Nick and I could campaign for you,” Seth said. “You’d be the boss, telling us what to do, where to go.”

  “That’s pretty much how it is already,” Nick said, brushing a lock of Jazz’s hair off her forehead. “Because Gibby’s smarter than the rest of us combined. She could be president. Jazz could work for her. I’ll join Dad and Cap at their PI agency, and Seth can…” He frowned. “What do you want to do, Seth?”

  They all looked at him, but Seth had tilted his head back, looking up at the sky. Pitch-black now, with lights from the city casting an ethereal glow around the edges. “I don’t know,” Seth said after a time. “Maybe helping people, somehow. Those like us. Extraordinaries. Make sure they know they’re not alone.”

  “That sounds perfect,” Nick said. “They’ll come to you, looking for guidance and you’ll give them direction. A point. Purpose.”

  “You really think I could do something like that?”

  “Yeah,” Gibby said. “There’d be no one better.”

  “But you don’t have to decide now,” Jazz said. “None of us do. We have time.”

  It all felt real, like it was within their grasp, if only they were brave enough to reach for it. It was vast and wild, a shining future where they were still together and no one could tear them apart. Nick startled when a tear slipped down his cheek. “The weekend,” he said hoarsely. “What should we do this weekend?”

  “Movies sound good,” Gibby said without missing a beat. “I like that. Though, it can’t be some overdone superhero sequel. I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime. A French period piece in black-and-white with subtitles and lesbians.”

  “Subtitles and lesbians,” Seth said. “Can’t argue against that.”

  “And when the movie’s over, we’ll get Gibby to help us finish out our college essays,” Jazz said. “Then she’ll go to NCU while the rest of us finish out our senior year. We’ll graduate. We’ll go on adventures. Here, in the city, or all over the world. And when we come back, we’ll begin the rest of our lives. Together.”

  “Together,” Gibby said.

  “Together,” Seth said.

  Nick watched each of them in turn, marveling that a loud, obnoxious kid with ADHD and telekinesis could have found kindred spirits in the three of them. It’d been a long road.

  “Together,” Nick said. He meant it down to his bones.

  16

  Friday morning—the Fourth of July—Nick opened his eyes in the Kensingtons’ spare room. Next to him, Seth was snoring in his ear, arm slung over Nick’s side. Next to them, Jazz and Gibby were spooning, eyes closed, breathing deeply, strands of Jazz’s hair on Seth’s shoulder. Nick felt warm. Safe. He wanted to drift back off to sleep, but knew that wouldn’t be possible. His brain was already kicking into gear, mind flooded with racing thoughts about what this day would bring.

  He lifted his head when a quiet knock came at the door. It opened slowly, and Dad stepped in. He wore jeans and a thin coat, zipper all the way up under his chin. He looked exhausted as he nodded at Nick, closing the door behind him and moving toward a high-backed chair that sat near the window, morning sunlight filtering in. He sat down, hands gripping his knees.

  “Hey,” Nick said, voice hoarse with sleep. “Time is it?”

  “Early,” Dad said.

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  Dad shrugged. “A few hours.”

  Nick extricated himself from his friends carefully. Seth smacked his lips as Nick pulled away, muttering something unintelligible before burying his face in the pillow.

  He stood, stretching, and went to the window where Dad sat, looking out onto the side yard. Beyond the bushes, beyond the trees, metal and glass of Nova City in the distance, skyscrapers reaching toward a cloudless blue.

  He said, “I was scared, yesterday. And I still am, but it’s not like it was.” He glanced over at Dad, who watched him with an expression Nick couldn’t make heads or tails of. Faith, Nick thought.

  “What is it now?” Dad asked quietly.

  Nick thought for a moment. “Resolve. I know what we have to do. And beyond that, I know it’s the right thing to do.” He looked away. “When this is over with, I want to go back to the coast. To the lighthouse. Talk to her. Will you go with me?”

  Dad pushed himself up from the chair, wrapping Nick in a hug. “I’d like that, kid.”

  * * *

  They descended the stairs, the five of them, Dad leading the way.

  As they stepped off the stairs into the foyer, faces turned toward them from the living room. Parents. An aunt and uncle. Friends in Mateo and Chris. In Mary and Rodney Caplan. In the amazing Burrito Jerry, who, as his name suggested, was munching on a breakfast burrito, cheeks stuffed with cheesy eggs and potatoes.

  Seth said, “Nick’s got a new catchphrase he’s been working on.” He nudged Nick’s shoulder. “Tell them. It’s a pretty good one.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Nick said, distracted. “It’s awesome. ‘Let’s fucking ruin Simon Burke’s entire life.’ That’s it. Now, new point of order: Trey, you seem to be wearing a coat indoors in the middle of summer. Miles and Bob, too.” He frowned. “And my dad. Why are you—”

  Miles stood from his chair. “You call that a catchphrase? Bah. Kids these days. You think once you’ve saved the city a time or two, you know everything. You want to hear a real catchphrase? Watch and learn, children.”

  Nick blinked when Trey stood up, followed by Bob. Dad joined them in the center of the living room, motioning for Nick to take a step back. Muttering under his breath about parents who decide to steal the spotlight, Nick moved back with his friends, wondering what fresh hell was about to befall them.

  It was both better and worse than he expected. Miles nodded at the other men, receiving three nods in response. And they showed why parents were the most embarrassing people in the history of anything ever.

  Miles said, “We are the protectors.”

  Trey said, “We are the fighters.”

  Bob said, “We are strength.”

  Dad winked at Nick and said, “We are unstoppable.”

  Then, all as one, they turned away and said, “We are…”

  They all unzipped their coats at the same time before spinning around and shouting, “The Dad Squad!”

  Each of them wore a white shirt with glittering pink-and-red letters that spelled out DAD SQUAD. Underneath the words were pictures that looked as if they’d been ironed onto the shirts. On Miles, a young Jazz, her two front teeth missing. On Trey, a photo of Gibby, head half-shaved, Trey standing behind her, clippers in his hand. On Bob, Seth curled up in a chair, a book in his hands, glasses hanging off the tip of his nose. And Dad’s had a picture of Nick as a toddler, chubby arms and dimpled knees, sitting in front of the television with a gigantic block of orange cheese between his legs. The cheese looked like it’d been gnawed on, Nick’s cheeks puffed out, the picture capturing him midchew.

  “Oh my god,” Nick breathed. “Why? Why?”

  “Because we could,” Miles said.

  “This is the daddest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Mateo said, though his phone was raised toward them, recording it for posterity.

  “Sweet threads,” Burrito Jerry said, eyeing the men up and down. “I wore glitter once during Pride Week when I was driving people around. I got hit on by a guy who called himself Tank, and it made me question my sexuality. Figured out I’m a bit more fluid than I thought. Good guy, Tank.”

  They all turned slowly to look at him.

  He shrugged. “Haven’t really done much with it yet.” He glanced at Mateo. “You’re cute. What’s up? You got a boyfriend?”

  “He does,” Chris said, sounding amused and horrified in equal measure. He dropped his hand on Mateo’s leg pointedly.

  “Cool, cool,” Burrito Jerry said easily. “Congrats or whatever. Looks like Aaron and I are the only single people here. Whaddya say, my guy? Wanna see if there’s any magic between us? I know the past few weeks have been difficult with the weird lady pretending to be someone she wasn’t, so if you need time, I understand. I can wait.”

  “Sure,” Dad said. “I bet Nick would like a new stepdad to—Nick. Nick. Would you stop screaming?”

  Nick did not stop screaming until Seth clamped a hand over his mouth. Even then, he continued, though it was muffled, eyes bulging, horrible visions of a fall wedding between Dad and Burrito Jerry, both of them leaving in Matilda with cans on strings fixed to the back bumper. Suffice to say, Nick was not a fan.

  Or was he? Nick did love burritos, and if Burrito Jerry got them for life, then wouldn’t that mean Nick could partake? Wouldn’t that be worth possibly considering the idea of Dad and Burrito Jerry … if they were, like …

  Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

  “You good?” Seth asked him, sounding like he was trying not to laugh. “Or do you need to scream some more?”

  Nick nodded, showing he was good. As soon as Seth dropped his hand, Nick blurted, “If Burrito Jerry ever comes to our house, you guys have to keep the bedroom door open, you hear me? And I will count every plastic baggie in the damn house, so if any go missing, I’ll know what you’re doing and we’ll have words! So many words!”

  “Where would the plastic baggies go?” Burrito Jerry asked Martha, brow furrowed.

  “Oh,” she said. “I’m so glad you asked. It’s really rather clever. When you perform—”

  “Enemas!” Nick bellowed. “You have to have enemas to avoid fecal penis—”

  “I might have made a mistake,” Dad said, blood draining from his face.

  “Nah,” Miles said. “If we can’t have fun watching Nick melt down over the idea of you and Burrito Jerry getting down to bidness, we’re doing it wrong.”

  “Daddy,” Jazz said with a pout, her bottom lick stuck out, princess eyes wide. “We talked about this. You can’t say bidness because you’re old and it’s gross. You’re embarrassing me in front of my friends.”

  Trey snorted. “Oh, please, Jasmine. As if we didn’t talk to you and Gibby about—”

  “Nothing!” Gibby cried. “He didn’t talk to us about anything that needs to be brought up right this second.”

  And not to be outdone, Nick exclaimed, “Don’t listen to them! I know for a fact dads are liars because I have incontrovertible proof that Seth doesn’t orgasm fire!”

  Silence, only interrupted by Seth banging his head against the nearest wall over and over, each hit punctuated by the word why.

  “Uh,” Nick said hastily. “Ignore what I just said. Dad Squad! Hooray! I have notes.”

  All was right in the world.

  * * *

  The plan was this:

  Mary, Jo, and Martha would head to the secret lair in the Gray brownstone, running comms, Martha in charge since she knew the programs almost as well as Gibby.

  Burrito Jerry, Gibby, and Jazz would handle Mobile Lighthouse, the van outfitted with all the tech Gibby thought they’d need to see their operation through. Aysha would be there, ready to assist as needed. Jazz told Nick and Seth that she had the night-vision goggles stored in Matilda, just to be safe. “I’m disappointed in all of you that we haven’t used them yet,” she told them. “I didn’t buy them to let them sit on a shelf.” Mateo—now Miss Conduct with her sparkly leotard, blue curly wig, and bangles that only a queen of her caliber could pull off—would act as the first line of defense. Burrito Jerry said that if push came to shove, Matilda could get up to at least sixty miles an hour before she started shaking and groaning. This did not help as much as he seemed to think it did.

  Chris was on duty that night, assigned with a contingent of cops to patrol the crowd in front of Burke Tower to help keep the peace. He showed them a memo that had come from the brass at the NCPD, stating that while they’d received no credible threats, they were all to be on guard.

  Which left Seth, Nick, Cap, and the Dad Squad. They’d be in the Kensingtons’ black SUV, a tank of a vehicle with three rows of seating in the back. They’d follow Matilda into the city, parking in a garage a few blocks away from Burke Tower, since the streets would be blocked off by cops. No vehicles, aside from those belonging to the police, would be permitted to pass through. After parking the SUV, they’d be on foot along with thousands of others.

  Nick stepped away from the others at the Kensington house as Gibby outfitted the Dad Squad with buttons that read DAD POWER, each with a high-definition camera hidden inside for video and audio that would feed back to Matilda. Nick pulled out burner phones Bob had bought for each of them. Though Gibby had wiped all their phones, they couldn’t be too careful in case Burke was still somehow tracking them. Their usual phones were all inside the house so if Burke had a bead on them, it would seem they were far away from Burke Tower. By the time he realized that wasn’t the case, it’d already be too late, or so Nick hoped.