Heat Wave, page 37
Gibby was the rightful valedictorian of her graduating class, only to be stripped of the title because she made the decision to help others at the Attack on Centennial High (I see you, Nova City School District, trust me on that!).
You’ve probably seen the viral clip of Jazz from last month at that meeting, standing in front of the school board, taking them to task for not allowing Seth Gray to return to school. Though many people spoke that day on both sides of the issue, it was Jazz who struck at the heart of the matter, telling them in no uncertain terms that if they didn’t allow Seth Gray—AKA Pyro Storm (more on him in a moment)—to return for his senior year after being kicked out the spring before, she’d (and I quote):
“… make your lives a living hell. Do you know what Seth did? Do you know the courage it took? Because I don’t think you do. Even now, you’re sitting there, some of you gaping at me, others muttering under your breath—you, sir, yes, you. Care to say that a little louder? No? That’s what I thought. You say you’re trying to protect the other kids in your district, but if you’ll look at the folders I provided, you’ll see the signatures of over six thousand of these same kids in the Nova City School District, all of whom are demanding that Seth Gray be allowed to return for his senior year. We may be young, but our voices are important. It doesn’t matter who is or isn’t an Extraordinary. In addition to Seth being allowed back at Centennial High, we demand a full apology not only to Seth and Nick Bell, but to Lola Gibson, too, whom you railroaded out of her rightful spot as valedictorian of her graduating class under the guise of an investigation, the results of which have never been made public. And before you accuse me of taking something away from someone else, you’ll see a note attached to the petition from Matthew Rogers, who was made valedictorian over Gibby. He writes that had he been in possession of all the facts, he would have refused the title of valedictorian. You’re adults. Do your damn jobs.”
(I clapped so hard, I thought my hands would fall off.)
A week later, the school board released the following statement:
Against a tide of misinformation, we want to be clear that we value each and every one of our students. Though we typically avoid commenting on individual students given that privacy is paramount, we are making an exception today. Seth Gray will be invited back to Centennial High for his senior year. We will not be making any further comments at this time.
Did you see the apology in there? An acknowledgment that Gibby was wronged? Yeah, me neither. But wait, there’s more! Half the school board resigned fifteen days after their nonapology. Trey and Aysha Gibson—parents to Gibby—were appointed to the board for the foreseeable future, along with a few other parents who are ready to fix what’s broken. Things are going to change and while it won’t be easy, if anyone can do it, it’ll be them.
Remember these names: Jasmine Kensington. Lola Gibson. I have a feeling you’ll be hearing about them quite a bit in the future.
* * *
Which brings me to Seth Gray, AKA Pyro Storm.
I can write thousands of words about him. Hell, I already have—see A Pleasure to Burn (yes, I will finish it!).
Seth’s my hero. He’s always been there, holding my hand, helping me breathe. He’s lifted me up when I was at my lowest. And even when I get certain … ideas, he’s never made me feel stupid, or that my opinions didn’t matter.
I could tell you so many things: How he looks when he’s sleepy (so soft). How he tries to be strong for the rest of us, and sometimes needs to be reminded that we can be strong for him, too. I could tell you how smart he is, how brave, how selfless. A leader. A trailblazer. A man who is going to change the world.
I’m the luckiest queer dude in the world, because he chose me. If I may get a little sappy (fair warning: it’s probably only going to get worse from here, and I regret nothing), Seth Gray is the better part of all of us. I love you, dude. Always.
* * *
This manifesto is called The Truth, which is what I will give you. About us. About Simon Burke. About Patricia Burke. About Owen Burke, who was once my friend.
That being said, Owen was a villain. He killed people. He hurt many others, including me, my friends, my family. You won’t hear me making excuses for him. The families of the people he harmed are owed better than that.
But Simon and Patricia Burke bear an equal amount of responsibility. They did things to their child that no parent should ever do.
I have no doubt that some of you reading this are angry with me. Some of you might even fear me. Burke didn’t create the divisions between us; they were already there to begin with. He merely harnessed them to further his message of hate and vitriol, stoking the fears that many of you were already feeling.
If you were a supporter of Simon Burke—of which there are still many—I’ll say this: if there ever comes a time when you need a hero, we’ll be there.
* * *
And last, a message to Extraordinaries, both known and unknown: We see you. We know you’re scared. We know you think you have to hide, and if that’s what’s best for you, then do what you need to in order to protect yourselves. I wish I could tell you it’s going to get easier from here, but that would be a lie. There are always going to be people who hate you for what you are, what you represent.
But there are more supporters than you think. We’re here. We’re with you. We have your backs. You don’t have to go through this alone. We will be the lighthouse, the beacon, guiding you home. One day, the world will see you for just how extraordinary you really are. But until then, reach out if you need to. I promise we’ll listen.
(Unless you’re evil, then we’ll just kick your asses, so.)
Next week, the real story begins in Chapter 2 (unless I’m slammed with homework, ugh, why). There will be danger! Romance! Skwinkles Salsagheti and crickets smashed against pillows! Heroes born, and villains rising! I hope you’re ready, because I’m just getting started. Stay tuned!
CREDITS
Endings can be difficult, especially when you’ve spent as much time with a group of characters as I have with Nick and Seth and Jazz and Gibby. For years, I’ve had Nick shouting in my head in all his ridiculous glory, and I know how lucky I am that I got to tell his story in its entirety. He’s quieter now. I know that means his story—at least one that I’ll tell—is over, but I will never forget the time I got to spend with him in Nova City. Like many of my characters, I know he’s fictional and yet, he feels real to me. I will miss him forever.
That being said, I did not go through this journey alone, so let’s take a look at everyone who helped bring the Extraordinaries to life. They deserve just as much—if not more—credit for getting these books out into the world.
Deidre Knight is my agent. Chances are if you’ve read any of my books over the last few years, you recognize that name. Back in the day—oh lord, did that hurt to write—even before The House in the Cerulean Sea, Deidre read The Extraordinaries and saw something in Nick and company that made her want to sell the hell out of the book, and in turn, the series. She did, and it’s because of her—and everyone else at the Knight Agency—that you got to read these books in the first place. Elaine Spencer handles all the foreign rights to my novels with the Knight Agency, and I’d be lost without her. Thank you.
Ali Fisher, my editor, was the first to read The Extraordinaries at Tor Teen. I remember Deidre telling me it’s not about how many rejections an author gets because all it takes is one person seeing the value in the work. Ali was that person. She saw what I was doing with The Extraordinaries and not only ran with it, but made each book better than it has any right to be. Thanks, Ali.
Also on the editing side is associate editor Kristin Temple. She is a tireless cheerleader and never makes me feel like a dork for asking questions that have obvious answers (usually within the same email I’m asking questions about—yikes!). Thanks, Kristin.
I’ve always been a vocal champion of sensitivity readers. They are the unsung heroes of the publishing industry and should be lauded much more than they are. Margeaux Weston and Jon Reyes provided wonderful notes on Heat Wave. The book would not be where it is without them, and I am eternally grateful.
Saraciea Fennell and Anneliese Merz are my publicists, and they too don’t always get the credit they deserve. Though many people have helped me get where I am today, Saraciea and Anneliese are the reasons my name gets put out there in the first place. I firmly believe that any success I’ve had over the past few years is because of them and their tireless work on my behalf. Also, though they don’t know it, they absolutely demolished my fear of public speaking because they keep making me speak in public. Funny how that works. Thanks, Saraciea and Anneliese.
The higher-ups are President of TDA and Tor Teen Publisher Devi Pillai; Vice President, Director of Marketing Eileen Lawrence; Executive Director of Publicity Sarah Reidy; Vice President of Marketing and Publicity Lucille Rettino; and Chairman/Founder of TDA Tom Doherty. These are the people who let me tell the stories I want to tell. They know how important queer narratives are and have been wonderful champions of my work.
Anthony Parisi is the marketing lead. He—and his team—come up with some of the best marketing events for each of my books, and I’m blown away by his empathy, kindness, and seemingly inexhaustible work ethic.
Isa Caban works with Anthony as the marketing manager, and I still wish I could be as rad as she is, though not for lack of trying.
An additional marketing lead is Becky Yeager. Though she mostly works on my adult books, these are my acknowledgments, and I can thank whoever I want. Becky, you are amazing, and if anyone tells you otherwise, send them to me. She also does ad promo, which is something I know nothing about, so I bow to her.
Sarah Pannenberg and Andrew King, the digital marketing coordinators, run the Tor Teen social media accounts. They both understand the value of a good gif (pronounced with a hard g, you weirdos), and I am extremely appreciative of that. Thanks, both of you.
On the production side of things, you have production editor Melanie Sanders, production manager Steven Bucsok, interior designer Heather Saunders, and jacket designer Lesley Worrell. See how pretty this book looks? That’s because of them. Thank you. Also, David Curtis has done the artwork for the entire series and made the reversible covers for the US releases of the series. Before The Extraordinaries came out, I floated the idea of having “variant covers” like they do in comics. David took the idea and ran with it, making something uniquely Nick. Thanks, all.
Michael Lesley did the audiobook. I’ve worked with Michael for years across many books, and there’s a reason I brought him on to this series: He’s one of the best audio narrators working today. He is Nick (as he is Sam and Justin and Paul and Sandy and Josy). We should consider ourselves lucky that we get to witness his talent.
Thank you to Lynn Schmidt, Mia Gardiner, and Amy Miles for beta reading. They get to see the books before anyone else (and usually with instructions from me to CUT CUT CUT). They dig through the messes that are the first drafts and tell me how to make them readable. Thanks, ladies.
And last but certainly not least, to you, the reader: Thank you for reading these books. I know endings are hard. But I’ve learned that it’s not always about the end; instead, it’s about the journey. Thank you for going on this journey with me. It means more than I could ever say.
TJ Klune
March 5, 2022
(Did you really think I’d end this without one more thing? Because guess what? There’s one more thing. Turn the page, won’t you?)
LATER
He couldn’t get his stupid bow tie to work. No matter what he did—how many times had Seth shown him over the years? a dozen? a million? something like that—it still ended up going wrong halfway through, one end longer than the other, dangling limply down his chest. The bow itself looked like a messy pile of fabric sitting under his throat. He was on his sixth try and somehow, it looked worse now than when he’d started.
“Why won’t you work?” Nick growled at his reflection.
His suit—Jazz-approved—was a deep navy blue, the tailored jacket with black lapels, the slacks tight against his butt and thighs. If he farted, he’d blow his dress shoes off and hit someone important in the face. He hoped it wouldn’t be the officiant, a severe woman who was not a fan of Nick, if the number of times she’d rolled her eyes when he’d met her was any indication.
Underneath the jacket, a crisp white button-down with blue stripes. The black bow tie was supposed to be the finishing touch, but it was obviously broken.
He looked away from the mirror when a knock came at the door. “It’s open!” he called, hoping it was anyone but Seth. He didn’t want the love of his life seeing how he couldn’t even tie a freaking bow tie, especially on today of all days. Not that he’d give Nick any crap for it, but Seth had been tying his own bow ties since he was seven years old. What did it say about Nick that he couldn’t do it now at the age of twenty-six?
Thankfully, it wasn’t Seth. Dad opened the door, leaning his head in. His hair was shot with gray, the lines around his eyes and mouth a little more pronounced than they’d once been. Still, somehow, Dad wore his age with grace. He was as handsome as ever, and when he saw Nick frowning at his reflection, he smiled, shaking his head. “Figured something like this was happening.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Nick muttered. “I wanted to use my powers, but figured I’d probably end up strangling myself. Again.”
(Long story—suffice to say, Nick was not allowed to use his powers while dressing himself. The last time he’d tried—a year ago—it’d turned into this whole thing involving a pair of chaps, an angry villain called Steamroller, and an apology to the entire country of Norway. That had been a weird Easter, but thankfully, Norway had accepted his apology, and Steamroller had decided to give up his life of crime and now helped inmates getting their GEDs while serving twenty years for trying to disrupt the Nova City power grid.)
Dad stepped into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He wore his black suit well. He’d gained a little weight over the past few years and it looked good on him. Dad seemed … relaxed. Happier. Therapy helped. That was a big part of it, but it wasn’t the only part.
Her name was Yolanda Jimenez. She worked as a veterinarian. They’d met on the streets of Nova City in front of Caplan, Bell & Bell, the offices of the private investigation agency that Nick and Dad had continued after Cap retired, keeping the name the same to honor their friend. She came over a few days after the opening, bringing with her a welcome basket filled with pastries and coffee from a bakery in the neighborhood. Nick had been putting the finishing touches on his small office—really nothing more than an oversized closet—hanging pictures of his friends and family next to his NCU diploma. He’d paused when he heard the bell ring and the front door open but ignored it when he heard Dad raise his voice in greeting.
When he’d come out twenty minutes later, Dad and Yolanda had been standing near the front desk, Yolanda laughing, Dad blushing. She was a stout woman with shiny black hair and an expressive face. Nick liked her immediately, especially when he saw she was capable of giving his dad shit, but not in a mean way.
“This is my son,” Dad said awkwardly, waving his hand, looking a little out of his depth. “Nick. He’s my partner in the agency.”
“Hey, Nick,” Yolanda said, smiling warmly. “Heard about you. Guardian, yeah?”
Both Dad and Nick stiffened. People could be … weird around him.
“Yeah,” Nick said slowly. “That’s me.”
“Good for you,” Yolanda said. “Thanks for helping out.”
And that was it. She’d turned back to Dad and told him about some of the other businesses around them. Most were cool, she said, and they’d formed a tight little community who watched each other’s backs. She invited Dad and Nick to a meeting of all the business owners the following week, and left shortly after, telling them if they needed anything, she was only a few doors away.
And the look on Dad’s face when she’d gone—wondering, confused—had let Nick know exactly what he was thinking.
They’d gone to the meeting, and wouldn’t you know? Yolanda had saved them a couple of seats near the front. By the time they left, Nick had made sure Dad had her phone number, and she his. “Just in case he needs to call you for anything!” Nick called as Dad dragged him away. “Like for vet advice even though we don’t have pets. Ooh, or what about a date? Dad? Dad. Stop pulling me!”
Dad had yelled at him when they’d gotten back to the office.
Nick had smiled through it and asked, “Are you finished? Because you should call her.”
He had (two days later, saying that he didn’t want to seem too eager), and the rest, as they say, was history.
Dad crossed the room as Nick turned back toward the mirror, frowning at the stupid bow tie. He sighed when Dad stopped in front of him, arching an eyebrow. “I think I need help.”
“Looks like,” Dad said. “You nervous?”
“Understatement,” Nick muttered as Dad began to fix the bow tie. “This is a big deal. I don’t want to screw this up.”
“You’ll be all right,” Dad said. “One foot in front of the other. There, see? All done.” He walked around Nick, standing behind him and putting his hands on Nick’s shoulders.
Nick gaped at the mirror. “How did you do that?”
Dad chuckled. “Don’t need powers, just takes a little practice.”
Nick let out a slow breath. “Big day.”
“It is,” Dad agreed. “You ready for it?”
“Think so. Just want to get it right, you know?”
“I know, Nicky,” Dad said, squeezing his shoulders. “But you’ll be fine. You know what you’re going to say?”
