More Happy Than Not

“Sounds cool. We’ll skip the rooftop since you’ve already been there. Let me think about it. You go first.”

We go to Comic Book Asylum. I tried applying for a job before, but they told me I have to wait until I’m done with school because of some bullshit, like labor laws or something, I don’t remember. I can’t think of a cooler atmosphere to work. “This is the best fucking place ever,” I say as we arrive. “I mean, look at this fucking door. Isn’t this the best fucking door you’ve ever seen?”

“It is the best fucking door I’ve ever seen,” Thomas says. “You curse a lot.”

“Yeah. My mom used to get really pissed whenever the bus driver told her I was cursing on the school bus with Brendan, but once a year she would host late night spelling bees for me and my brother only using curses. I think it was her way of letting us get it out of our systems.”

Thomas laughs. “Your mom is f-u-c-k-i-n-g awesome.”

He goes straight over to the cape closet and tries on both Superman and Batman capes, quoting lines from each movie. (“KRYPTON HAD ITS CHANCE!” and “SWEAR TO ME!”) He follows me over to the bargain cart, picks up a comic, and says, “I hate how superheroes can be twenty for thirty years so comic book artists never have to create new characters. It’s lazy.” Some hard-core comic geeks turn around and glare at him. I’m a little concerned for his life.

“I don’t know. At least those cash cows finish their comics. My comic—”

“You have a comic?”

“Not one for sale.”

“Where is it?”

“Not here.”

“Can I read it?”

“It’s not done.”

“So what?”

“It’s not good.”

“So what? Stretch, I let you use my rooftop for your girl’s birthday. You owe me.”

“I thought I was going to help you figure out who you are.”

“Just let me read your comic.”

“Fine. Soon.”

I think about the page where I left off in the comic, with Sun Warden torn between saving his girlfriend or best friend from becoming dragon food. If someone asked me to choose between saving Genevieve or Thomas, I would rather dive headfirst into the mouth of the dragon. I’m about to tell him how I haven’t drawn a whole lot since my dad’s death, but I look up and see Collin from school—and he sees me too.

I feel a little shitty. I wasn’t 100 percent supportive or sympathetic toward him when he told me he got Nicole pregnant. But, well, sex is basic math: condom equals less chance of having a baby, and no condom usually equals baby. And I shouldn’t have to feel like a dick because he didn’t think to properly wrap his up. Even though I’m a firm believer that everyone in the universe will one day cut the bullshit—as in politely nod at one another instead of wasting their short lives with pointless conversations—I feel obligated to say something.

I walk up to Collin. He smells of a cheap drugstore-brand cologne.

“Hey. How’s your summer been? We miss you around the courtyard, dude.” It’s a bit of a lie since he always thought manhunt was child’s play. He’s not wrong, but he never fully beasted at it like we do. He preferred sports, mainly basketball.

Collin’s eyes are red. Not stoned, but very similar to how I look whenever I’m beyond exhausted and frustrated or bottling in an insane amount of anger. I can’t blame him since I hear he’s working two jobs to pay for a baby he likely didn’t want and definitely isn’t ready for. The last thing I should’ve done is reminded him how much fun he’s missing out on. He’s holding Issue #6 of The Dark Alternates, that series I never got into—I get my magic fix from Scorpius Hawthorne.

He doesn’t say anything so I ask, “How you liking that series?”

“Please leave me alone,” Collin says without looking at me. “Seriously. Back off.” Before I can apologize, he flings the comic onto the floor and run-walks out.

I turn around. Thomas is wearing the Superman cape again. “Did you see that?”

“Nope. Don’t tell me I missed someone shooting webs out of their hands.”

“No, and Spider-Man fires webs from his wrists, not his hands,” I correct. (It’s a very crucial distinction.) “I used to go to school with this asshole and he just blew me off.”

“What’s his story?”