There was a weird tension between Nick and Karl at breakfast the next morning. They weren't joking around like usual. They weren't even picking on me. They just ate their breakfast silently, with Karl occasionally casting concerned looks at Nick. Maybe it was because of what happened the night before. Maybe they were just anxious about their upcoming races. Maybe it was just because the stale cereal and cold eggs provided by the motel were really, really bad.

  I accompanied them to the athletic field or track or whatever it was called where they would be competing. The whole, I don't know, stadium was bustling. Hundreds of students from different colleges were buzzing around, warming up, practicing their running or jumping or throwing. Officials with whistles and clipboards carved in between them, ordering people around. Speakers crackled with announcements before each event. Overall it was kind of overwhelming. Believe it or not, I wasn't much of an athlete back in high school, so I had never actually been to a regional meet. This was a much bigger deal than I had thought.

  Nick and Karl followed their coach to go warm up and I found a seat in the bleachers and settled in. Even up here it was pretty crowded. Lots of people had come out to watch, especially middle aged couples. It took me a little while to realize why there was such an audience for a college track meet, until finally it clicked that they were families there to support their kids. I wondered if Nick's family were there. Probably not, unfortunately. Based on the few conversations I’d sat in on, both of his parents worked full time. It didn't seem likely they would be able to make the trip out to Batesville.

  That was a shame. Anika would've loved this.

  The speakers crackled into life again, “Men’s one hundred and ten meter hurdles, heat one, all contestants to the starting line.”

  I sat up, scanning the arena(?). Sure enough, I saw Nick’s nky body lined up amongst the other contestants. He took his pce in the starting blocks. He wasn't wearing his prosthesis, of course, and he kept his short arm tucked behind him to keep his bance. I couldn't see his face from this far away, but I could still read his body nguage. Whatever tension was there at breakfast was gone now. Instead, Nick’s body was thrumming with energy, like a car revving its engine. He was confident. Cocky. Certain he would win. The obnoxious arrogance I was so used to him wielding against me was at its peak.

  I took out my phone and started filming. If Nick won, his family would want to see this. If he lost, I would want to watch it again.

  “On your marks… Get set….”

  The starter pistol fired and the athletes took off. Nick burst up from his crouched position, shoving the ground away, whipping his other arm out like he was physically throwing himself forward. I realized now why his coach had spent so long drilling his starts. This one was good for Nick, but it still wasn't his strong point. Already he was at the back of the pack.

  That didn't st long, though.

  The athletes pounded down the track, approaching the first hurdle. Nick was a step behind, until his long, powerful legs cleared that hurdle like he was stepping over a crack in the pavement, and suddenly it was half a step. Then another hurdle, and he was neck and neck with the rest of the group.

  I leapt to my feet, keeping my phone focused on him. Holy shit, this was so much more exciting than watching a training session.

  The runners crossed the next three hurdles like they were nothing. God, they were good. Their heads barely bobbed as they shot over the hurdles. Nick was keeping pace, each step perfectly pced, each hurdle passing under him without breaking his stride. It wasn't just his height, his technique was incredible. After months of studying his body I could see the difference, the way that some of the other runners hesitated just a bit between steps while he stayed steady. The guy on the farthest ne gnced across, scoping out his competitors. His head only turned a little, just for a split-second, but it was enough, and he clipped his knee on the next hurdle and lost any chance at pcing. Nick wasn’t looking around like that, overthinking. He was just focused on the finish line.

  Nick crossed the seventh, eighth hurdle. It had all happened so fast, just over ten seconds, and everyone was moving so quick, and it was hard to tell what exactly was going on, but then he crossed the ninth and I was sure he was ahead, and then in a final burst of speed he cleared the tenth and sprinted full force to the finish line, and there was no question he had won.

  I punched the air, “Yes! Go Nick!”

  I felt giddy, like I had just won the race myself. He did it! He won! That was my… okay, not my friend, but my roommate! My temporary roommate as a result of a clerical-error, who I hated but hooked up with sometimes! And he fricking won!

  “Fuck yes!” I heard a distant voice yell, “That's my fucking boyfriend!”

  I stopped and looked down at the coliseum (whatever), zooming in on my camera to confirm what I thought I had heard.

  Karl was whooping and cpping from the sidelines, loudly asserting his ownership over Nick’s success. Like he had done anything to actually help him win.

  I grimaced and stopped the recording. That bit was getting trimmed out.

  ***

  “Is this it?” Nick asked.

  We were outside an abandoned warehouse. Wind whistled through holes in the dipidated walls. Jagged bars of rebar jutted out at odd angles, rusted ends screaming the threat of tetanus.

  I checked my phone, “Not this one. The one we’re looking for is even, um, older and more abandoned.”

  Nick stared at me, “More abandoned? How it can be more abandoned? It's either abandoned or not abandoned.”

  I turned my nose up and kept walking, “You'll see what I mean when we get there. It's way more abandoned than this pce.”

  “Fucking whatever,” Nick said, “This one is abandoned as fuck. If I was selling drugs or whatever this is where I’d do it.”

  “It's not drugs,” I said primly, “Kermit doesn't do drugs, remember? He doesn't even drink. Honestly, I can't believe you were giving me grief when you can't even remember basic information about our target.”

  “Our target?” Nick scoffed, “What, are you a spy now?”

  “Whatever,” I rolled my eyes.

  “And fucking excuse me for not remembering every detail about your little friend,” said Nick, “I got enough on my pte with work and training–”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said, “And making out with your boyfriend all day long.”

  I skipped nimbly over a rge crack in the pavement. This whole neighborhood was extremely run down, but I had gotten used to navigating the rugged paths of Great Oaks College. I may not be hurdling any time soon but a cracked sidewalk was no obstacle to me!

  It took a few seconds for me to realise Nick wasn't saying anything. For a normal person, that wouldn't be surprising, but for Nick shutting up was unheard of.

  I turned to him, “What? No stupid comeback?”

  “He's, uh,” Nick looked uncomfortable, “I mean, he's not my boyfriend, exactly.”

  I raised an eyebrow, “Trouble in paradise.”

  “I mean, we’re, y'know, he’s cool,” Nick said, digging his hands into the pockets of his old grey hoodie, “But we’re, y'know. I mean. Y'know.”

  Hmm. After what I had heard the night before, I suspected I did know. But as far as Nick was concerned, I didn't know about that. And his retionship was none of my business. Although I couldn't deny that I felt a pleasant little flutter in my stomach upon hearing that Nick wasn't as committed to Karl as I had thought. Just because it meant I might have more privacy soon, obviously.

  “Well, you might want to tell him that.”

  Nick shrugged, “He gets it.”

  “He seemed pretty confident about the whole boyfriend thing back at the,” I hesitated, “The running court.”

  Nick screwed up his face, “The what?”

  I waved him off, “You know what I mean. Okay, I think it's down this alley.”

  “Fucks sake,” Nick sighed, “I can't believe you were pnning to come here alone. You sure Kermit isn't tryna get you killed or kidnapped or something?”

  I rolled my eyes, “First of all, my father has kidnapping insurance. So it wouldn't even matter.”

  “You say that,” Nick said, “Until they cut off your finger and mail it to your dad.”

  “Well, I'd just snap a finger off your stupid little hand,” I said airily, “The color suits me better anyway.”

  Nick ughed, “Fuck you, dude. You're not getting any of my fingers.”

  I smirked, “We’ll see.”

  Nick jogged in front of me and turned around, walking backwards while staring down at me with a taunting expression. He was wearing his prosthesis again, and he reached out towards me with it.

  “Come get it then, little bitch,” he smirked.

  “Hey!” I scowled, “You know, even when you use it in a joking way, that kind of nguage–”

  I snatched for his hand, hoping that the speech I had stolen from Miel would be enough to distract him. Unfortunately his reaction was too quick, and he whipped his arm away before I could grab it.

  “Oh! Too slow!” he crowed. He jogged backwards, arms raised triumphantly, “Dom Lane takes the victory again! The fast one, not the little rich one!”

  I giggled despite myself and gave him a mocking slow cp. He bowed very ungraciously.

  “You're in a good mood,” I said.

  He shrugged and grinned, “What can I say? Winning feels fucking good, Nick. And I fucking smoked those little fuckers today. Wish my family got to see it.”

  “Yeah, that's a shame,” I sighed, “Now your family will never know that you can run in a straight line very fast. They would've been so proud.”

  “Don't forget I was jumping over things as well,” Nick pointed out.

  “But I will forget,” I said, pouting mockingly, “Those beautiful memories are already lost to time. You'll have to describe it to them yourself. First I was standing still. Then I jumped over some things. Then I stood still again.”

  Nick's smile faded a bit, “Yeah, well. If I win again at state, I'll go to nationals, and maybe they can come see that.”

  “Yeah,” I shrugged, “Or I guess you could show them the video I took?”

  Nick stopped, “What?”

  “Oh, did I not mention?” I said coolly, “I filmed your race. Just because, you know, I'm really kind and thoughtful and selfless like that.”

  “Wait, actually?”

  “Yep.”

  “That's actually… that rules, Nick,” Nick grinned, “Thank you, That's seriously really nice of you.”

  I shrugged, “it's not really for you. I just figured Anika might want to see it. And she's actually cool, so…”

  “I won't deny my sister's cool,” Nick said. He smiled at me, a soft, genuine smile, very different to the mocking smirk I had gotten used to. I blushed and looked away. Ugh. Why did he have to be so hot? As much as I enjoyed my little fantasy seasons, I did not appreciate these funny feelings cropping up in real life. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore it.

  “Got Karl’s reaction at the end too,” I said.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. I imitated Karl’s stupid voice, “That's my fucking boyfriend!”

  “Shit,” said Nick, “He’s, uh. I mean, we haven't talked about it, but, uh.”

  I don't bme you,” I said, “I would avoid talking to him as much as possible.”

  “Dude,” Nick sighed, “I know you don't like him, but he's a good guy.He just gets a little, uh. I dunno. Overprotective, I guess.”

  Nick's smile had fully faded by this point. He kicked a little chunk of cracked pavement with his best up old sneaker.

  “Have you told him you don't like it?” I asked.

  “Ah, y'know,” Nick hunched his shoulders, “It’s not really worth compining about.”

  I sighed. Stupid Nick. What was so bad with just telling someone what you want? I opened my mouth to say something, but Nick stopped.

  “Oh, shit,” he said, “Is this it?”

  I looked up. We were in front of another warehouse, in even worse condition than the st one. The walls were even more dipidated, and even more wind whistled through the even greater number of holes. Jaggeder bars of rebar stuck out at odder angles, their sharper and rustier ends screaming with the threat of, like, some kind of super-tetanus.

  There had been nobody around the st warehouse. But there was even nobodier around this one.

  “I told you,” I said smugly, “More abandoned.”

  “Way more fucking abandoned,” Nick agreed begrudgingly.

  The front entrance was blocked off by a bunch of fallen shelves, but we managed to find a side door we could sneak in through. Inside, the warehouse was dusty and dirty and, to be honest, pretty creepy. Despite all the holes in the walls, it was dim and musty inside. There were rows of rusted shelving everywhere, turning the vast space into a cramped maze. I felt a sense of deep foreboding as we walked in between the shelves, the sound of our footsteps swallowed up by the dust and the piles of mouldy cardboard boxes filling the shelves. I looked up, but the tall shelves disappeared into the murky darkness above. I froze, suddenly overwhelmed with vertigo. How high up did those shelves go? They didn't seem stable. What if they started to tip over? I would be crushed. There wouldn't even be one surviving finger to send to my father, even if a rescue team came looking. This pce was probably too abandoned, after all…

  Nick's face popped into view above me, “Hey, Nick. You good?”

  “Ah!” I yelped, “Fuck, you're tall.”

  “Holy shit, you're right,” said Nick, “Damn, really helping me discover new things about myself.”

  “Thanks, I have lots of insights,” I muttered, “Did you know you're also annoying?”

  “Nah, I think your vision must be distorted from all the way down there,” said Nick, “Anyway, look, I think that's your guy.”

  He pointed through a gap in the shelves, between a stack of moldering cardboard and a leaking barrel of something stinky. Sure enough, there was light in that direction.

  “Oh, good,” I said, not totally sure I believed it, “So, um. What do we do?”

  “What?”

  I lowered my voice, “You said this seemed sketchy, and I've never done, like, a sketchy deal before. Is there a common etiquette?”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Nick, “Yeah, he’s probably gonna make us do drugs in front of him. And if he asks if you're a cop, you gotta tell him."

  “Don't be a dick,” I hissed, “I just don't want to do something that makes me seem like, you know. A narc.”

  “A narc?”

  “Jess said I looked like one the other day. At the protest. When I was wearing. Um.”

  “Your creepy guy outfit,” Nick nodded, “Yeah, I see that. I’m gd you gave that up.”

  I blushed. I had indeed stopped wearing men’s clothes again, even if I was still a bit too shy to wear dresses with Karl lurking around. I had dressed a little sporty today, so I would fit in at the track meet. White sneakers and a soft yellow tee that I had tucked into high waisted shorts. I felt cute, even if my bare legs seemed like a bad choice with all this rusty metal around.

  “Thanks,” I said, “It was, you know. My father.”

  “Fuck that guy,” Nick said, “He's a bitch.”

  I giggled, “You mentioned. That was fun.”

  “Shit,” Nick looked worried, “We never actually talked about it, did we? I hope I didn't fuck things up or anything, I just… he was being a real asshole to you...”

  “...and that's your job,” I finished, “No, it was fine. He didn't really say anything about it. Just that he didn't want me to be friends with you.”

  Nick ughed, “Well, good news for him.”

  I giggled, “No shit.”

  We smiled at each other, united by the acknowledgement of our mutual loathing. There was a cttering sound in the distance and Nick looked up.

  “Okay, for real though,” he said, “We should let him know we’re here, so he doesn't freak out and shoot us or something.”

  I gulped, “Right. Um. Would you mind…”

  Nick nodded, then called out, “Hey, Kermit’s friend! We’re here to pick up the, uh, the thing! The package! Don't shoot us or whatever!”

  He stood there for a moment waiting for a reply. When none came, he shrugged and looked at me.

  “Yeah, that's probably good,” he said.

  I nodded. I was gd I was here with an expert.

  We weaved our way through the maze of shelves, heading for the light. Eventually we emerged, and found the guy we had been looking for.

  He had set up a sort of campsite in the corner of the warehouse, with a tent and everything. Okay, just a tent. I wasn't sure what else camping entailed though. I guess a campfire, and he didn't have one of those. Just a big torch, one of those really rge heavy duty ones, propped up on a pile of trash, pointing at the side of a squat little building that must have been the old manager's office. And he was painting.

  I didn't know much about the person we were here to meet. Kermit had been cagey about the details. It made sense he was an artist, though. I couldn't tell much more about him. He was wearing a brown hooded jacket, with the hood drawn over his head. His face was fully hidden too, under thick goggles and some kind of respirator mask. That was probably a good idea, with all the dust and mold and who knows what else floating around in here. Plus, of course, the paint.

  This guy was a graffiti artist, and he had clearly been at work for a long time. The entire wall was painted, and not just with some quick scrawled tag. It was an entire intricate mural, of a beautiful lush meadow, with a stream of crystal clear water. I was amazed at how much detail he had been able to capture using spray paint as his medium, with such poor lighting, in such an inhospitable space. I could see ripples on the surface of the water, dybugs crawling along the bdes of grass. It was a masterpiece, a painting of paradise hidden away in this musty forgotten building.

  “Hey man,” said Nick, “We’re here for Kermit's package.”

  The stranger didn't look up. Instead he shook his can and sprayed a few more thoughtful streaks of aquamarine paint along the surface of the water.

  “So, uh…” Nick looked around, “Is it around here somewhere, or…”

  The stranger walked over to a duffel bag on the floor and reached inside. He didn't pull out a package, though. Unless Kermit’s package was a can of dandelion yellow spray paint, and he was okay with his friend using it to mist tiny droplets of sunlight onto the leaves of a bush in his mural.

  Nick looked at me, frustrated. I took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

  “I like your painting,” I said. The stranger paused and looked at me. “It's really…”

  I hesitated. The painting was beautiful, sure. Impressive. But there was something more to it. A deeper, more elusive thing I could feel in the back of my mind.

  “It's… scathing,” I said. The stranger tilted his head, curiously. “Like… the beauty that was destroyed to make room for this building. And a beauty you could only bring back because the building itself was left to fall apart.”

  The stranger considered it, his face inscrutable under the thick lenses of his goggles. Then he nodded approvingly and tossed his spray can aside. He crossed to his tent and searched inside, then handed me a box, a little bigger than a shoebox, wrapped in nondescript brown parcel paper. It was heavy, and I tilted it carefully in my hands in case there was something delicate inside.

  “That's the package for Kermit Tsu?” Nick asked. The stranger ignored him again. I looked down at the box, and realized there was a delivery bel on it, addressed to Kermit Tsu, direct to his dorm room, care of Great Oaks College.

  “There's a bel,” I said, “It has his full postal address.”

  “Why not just mail it then?” Nick said. The stranger shrugged, then picked up another spray can and went back to work.

  “Kermit did say it couldn't be mailed,” I said.

  “It sure looks like it could be mailed,” Nick said.

  “Maybe it's delicate,” I offered, “Or… votile?”

  “Like a bomb?” said Nick.

  We both looked at the stranger, but he was engrossed in his mural again.

  “It's not a bomb, right?" I asked.

  No response.

  Nick groaned, “Fucking Kermit Tsu.”