Michael Griffo - Unwelcome

“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 every kiss. Ronan’s kisses hardly ever tasted like blood, only if they snogged right after he made a visit to that bloody Well of his. Who wanted to be a vampire if you could only feed once a month? Didn’t make any sense. Now this, this made sense, this felt right, Jean-Paul’s soft, lean body on top of him and the hard, concrete basement floor underneath.

“I’m glad you could sneak away,” Jean-Paul said, his mouth nuzzling against Nakano’s throat.

That tickled, but he forced himself not to laugh. “I didn’t sneak out so we could talk.”

Jean-Paul paused for a moment. His dark eyes glistened, contemplated like a snake’s, and he smiled at Nakano, a smile that was much more like a leer, and suddenly Nakano looked a lot older than sixteen. “Then why don’t you make me shut up.”

Feeling as if he had hit the jackpot and couldn’t spend his money fast enough, Nakano clutched the back of Jean-Paul’s head and pulled it close to him. Their mouths embraced, their tongues flickered passionately, nervously, and Nakano relaxed enough to allow his body to respond to Jean-Paul’s grinding movement. How in the world did he ever get so lucky? And why in the world did it have to end?