The Plague started in the Orient, which is the politically incorrect way of saying Asia. More specifically, China. Since China is run by a bunch of communists, its people are always starving to death and have to eat anything they can get their hands on. Someone made the grave mistake of eating a feral, rabid Kip Bat (of the Huic ostiarius genus) and got sick with the Pabstvirus. By some freak twist of nature, it mutated and began to spread from person to person. It swept through China, sickening thousands, then jumped to Japan. From there, it made its way to Europe, Australia, and North America.
A mild, flu-like bug, the Pabstvirus causes sneezing, coughing, and runny noses from one end of the globe to another. Old people and people with messed up immune systems were the hardest hit and some of them even died.
Press F for respects.
Everyone else - the young and healthy - freaking lost it and started to panic. Hysteria raged in the streets: Schools closed, toilet paper flew off the shelves, and Donald Trump vowed to build a wall of gauze around the US to keep the sickness out. Shortly thereafter, he took ill and blamed the Democrats. The Democrats, meanwhile, were busy trying to decide who they should run in the next election: The old white rich guy or the elderly caucasian millionaire. Decisions, decisions. The death toll reached into the tens and America largely grinded to a halt.
Royal County closed all schools on April 28. The official letter from the superintendent ended with the phrase God help us all. Sheesh. It's just a flu, relax.
Either way, Lincoln and Johnny were out of school, which, to Lincoln, was worth losing a couple boomers - okay, that sounded mean, no, it wasn't worth people dying, but still, free vacation. Mom, ever the house maid, turned into a clean freak constantly running around with her shirt pulled over her nose and spraying everything with Lysol, and Dad...poor Dad marked out hard. He built a little fort out of toilet paper in the living room and refused to come out until "the misery" had passed. Mom served him all of his meals in there and gave him hourly updates.
Someone a thousand miles away caught the Pabstvirus.
OH NO!
Three days after going into lockdown, Dad got lonely and Mom brought him a Hulk Hogan plush from the attic. Dad sat there all day long clutching it to his chest and talking about "The Hulkster will protect me."
Dad, that doll's been in the attic for twenty years. It probably has a lot worse than Pabstvirus in it.
But whatever, you can't talk sense to that man.
Anyway, with so much free time on their hands, Lincoln and Johnny spent a lot of it chilling with the Louds. They played flag football, had tea parties, and did all kinds of other stuff to occupy themselves and get their minds off the wannabe apocalypse engulfing the world around them. None of those activities could happen inside, though, since Mr. Loud was just as scared of dying as Dad was. Per Lori, he hid under the basement stairs with a dehumidifier and started panicking if anyone came into his domain. You're infected! Go away! Mrs. Loud was polite, but firm. Sorry, Lincoln and Johnny, but until this blows over, we're not accepting guests.
Well then.
Early one Friday evening, Lincoln and Johnny were sitting on the top step of the Louds' front porch with Lana and Lola when Lucy and a tall girl with black hair and freckles came up the walk. Lucy's friend was a few years older than her - maybe twelve or thirteen - and when Lincoln saw her, he recognized her; he didn't know from where, but he was certain he'd seen her somewhere. Or maybe he once saw someone on TV who looked like her. Who knew? Unlike Lucy, who dressed all in black, new girl wore denim shorts and a green and black plaid shirt over a black T with yellow writing across the chest. A backwards baseball cap topped her head and her face was pulled down in a sour glare that lent her the appearance of a woman who hated everything.
They stopped at the bottom of the step and just stood there like a couple htmen come to carry out a little wet work. "Hi, Johnny," Lucy finally said.
"Uh...hey," Johnny said guardedly. Like most of her sisters, she had a thing for Johnny and wouldn't leave him alone. Part of Lincoln pitied the poor guy, but another part envied him. No girls liked Lincoln. At least that he knew of. His love life basically started and ended with the vaguely suggestive T rated Ace Savvy fan fiction he read from time to time, the ones where all the girls were madly in love with Ace and he was too dumb, blind, and stupid to realize it.
Lol, those were top-tier literature.
Lucy clasped her hands in the small of her back and rocked on the balls of her heels like a coy little girl. Seeing her around Johnny always made Lincoln's head spin. The rest of the time she was doom and gloom, but the moment Johnny showed up, she was all blushy and giggly. It was weird and even kind of unnatural. "I was wondering if you wanted to come to the poetry reading at The Coffee House tonight."
The Coffee House was just what it sounded like, a coffeehouse where pretentious snobs in scarves and berets got together to be insufferable and obnoxious. Every Friday evening, it held a slam poetry night: Anyone with a piece of paper and a pencil could jot down their own masterpiece and take the stage.
A deer in the headlights look flickered across Johnny's face. "Uh...I-I really can't, my, uh…" he looked at Lincoln for help.
Maybe Lincoln wanted to see his brother squirm, or maybe he was salty because Johnny had a more active love life than him, but either way, he threw him under the bus so hard his grandkids felt it in the year 2089. "Nah, remember? That got canceled because of the Pabstvirus."
Oooh, if looks could kill, Lincoln would be dead on the ground. He clapped Johnny's shoulder and gave it a hearty shake. "You're all good, bro."
Johnny shrugged him off and took a deep breath through his nose. Lucy watched him from behind her bangs with silent intensity, and he chafed a little. "Okay, yeah, fine," he said, "I'll go. Why not? It's better than hanging out in the living room with Dad's TP fort blocking the TV."
"Poor Johnny," Lincoln said, "he can't watch MJF whipping Cody Rhodes with a belt on AEW anymore."
"Shut up," Johnny spat, "like realtalk, Cody is a beast. Those blows were legit."
A few backs back, MJF, AEW's top heel, gave Cody Rhodes, it's top babyface, ten lashes from a belt in the middle of the ring. Something about if Cody couldn't take the pain, he wouldn't be allowed to have a match with MJF. Lincoln wasn't paying attention but, yeah, those hits were real, there's no way you can fake something like that. His back was all messed up afterwards. Man, you gotta respect someone for enduring that kind of punishment, even if he was a pro wrestler.
He wasn't about to admit that out loud, though.
"Cody's a punk and so are you."
Johnny cocked his fist but didn't throw it. In the corner of Lincoln's eye, Lucyt's friend glowered at them. She nudged Lucy, and Lucy looked up at her, then at Lincoln. "You're coming too."
Wait, what?
Like heck he was! The Coffee Shop was the last place on earth he wanted to spend his Friday night. He'd rather watch SmackDown with Dad. He'd rather go antiquing with Mom. He'd rather get punked by Lynn on the football field. He'd rather get Pabstvirus and die in a pool of his own snot.
"Actually, uh…"
He searched his mind for a convincing excuse and snatched the first thing that came to mind. "I can't. SmackDown's on tonight." He flashed a tight smile and nodded. "Wouldn't wanna miss a bunch of grown men play fighting in an empty arena because of Pabstvirus."
"Dude, you don't even like SmackDown," Johnny said.
Lincoln shot him daggers. "Shut up," he hissed through his teeth.
An idea took shape in Johnny's eyes, and he grinned. At that moment, Lincoln knew his brother was about to get revenge on him. "Dad has WWE On Demand. You can watch it tomorrow." He clapped Lincoln's shoulder. "You're all good, bro."
Lincoln sighed.
"Great," Lucy said, "we'll see you guys there at seven."
Without further ado, she and her friend turned and walked away. Lincoln watched them until they were gone, then hung his head. "This is gonna suck."
"Yeah," Johnny said, "it is, but you got us into this mess."
"Me?"
"Yeah, you," Johnny said, "you could have had my back but instead, you stabbed it. So I stabbed yours."
Lincoln shot out his hand and hit Johnny's shoulder with the heel of his palm. Johnny swatted him, and before you could say "hardcore grudge match" they were rolling back and forth on the front lawn in a confusion of limbs, slaps, grunts, and insults. Lana and Lola crowded around and pumped their fists, both cheering for Johnny because of course they were. "Go, Johnny!" Lola cried.
"Kick his butt!" Lana shouted.
Lincoln gained the upper hand and straddled his brother's back. He shoved Johnny's face into the grass and wrenched his right arm up between his shoulder blades. Johnny let out a strangled cry. "Tap out," Lincoln hissed.
"No!"
Summoning all his strength, he heaved Lincoln off and scrambled to his knees. Lincoln followed suit, and still kneeling, they locked up. Lincoln got his arm around Johnny's head and got to his feet. Grabbing the waistband of Johnny's pants, he went to give him a suplex he'd never forget, but without warning, someone grabbed his ear from behind and yanked him away. His arm released and Johnny collapsed to his hands and knees. Lincoln's attacker spun him around and snatched him up by his hair, forcing his head to one side.
"Lincy, what are you doing?" Leni demanded. Her eyes were narrowed sternly and her lips pursed in an expression of disapproval that looked so much like his mother's that Lincoln could almost for a second imagine Leni was his long lost sister.
"Nothing," Lincoln said, "I -"
Leni twisted his ear and he yelped in pain. "I don't like violence, Lincy," she said, "and I don't ever want to see you doing that to your brother, like, ever again, okay?"
"Okay! Okay!"
Leni searched his eyes for traces of deceit...then broke out in a sunny grin. "Okie dokie." She let him go, gave his head a patronizing pat, and minced away with her hands up and bent in front of her. Lincoln watched her go just in case she decided to come back and give him a DDT, then turned to Johnny, who sat up on the ground rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm. Lola and Lana knelt worriedly beside him, Lola patting his shoulder.
"You hurt Johnny," Lana charged.
"Johnny had it coming," Lincoln said.
He held out his hand and helped his brother to his feet. "Bro," Johnny said and squinted. "Your ear's bright red. Leni did a number on you."
"She's stronger than she looks," Lincoln said. He hung his head. "What time did Lucy say we have to be there?"
Johnny threw his head back in thought. "Uhhhh...seven."
It was three. That gave them four hours. Normally, that seemed like a really long time, but right now, Lincoln could feel the minutes rapidly ticking away.
This was gonna suck.
At home, Johnny plopped down in front of the ancient Dell in his and Lincoln's bedroom while Lincoln hit the shower. Done, he stood in front of the mirror, wiped the fog from the glass with his hand, and studied his reflection. He wasn't full of himself or anything, but he thought he was alright looking. He was also smart, witty, and nice. Why didn't any girls like him? Was it the white hair? The busted teeth? The perfectly circular shape of his face?
It had to be something. Johnny had all kinds of admirers and he had nothing. Hmmm.
Of course, it wasn't fair to compare himself to Johnny. The only girls who liked him were the youngest Louds and Johnny didn't even like them back.
Still, why did they like Johnny over him? What did Johnny have that he didn't? They were both strong, independent black men (even if Lincoln didn't look like a black man). Take away the skin color and hairstyle, and they were basically the same person only in different flavors, Johnny chocolate and he vanilla.
He drew a deep sigh and frowned at himself. Maybe love just wasn't in the cards for him. Johnny would marry Lily, Lisa, Lana, Lola, Lucy, and Lynn like Ace in one of those harem fics he read, and he'd take over living in Dad's toilet paper fort with only a Hulk Hogan doll to keep him company.
It's just you and me now, brother.
To get even that far in life, though, he needed to get through tonight.
UGH.
He'd seen the types of people who came and went from The Coffee Shop. They wore Buddy Holly glasses, plaid, skinny jeans, and beanies. They drank craft beer, listened to Wheezer on vinyl, and drove Priuses covered in Bernie 2020 and COEXIST bumper stickers. The women had blue hair and looked like men and the men had long eyelashes and looked like women. Gross. He'd take a bunch of juiced up muscle heads at a RAW taping anyday.
Grabbing his toothbrush, he brushed his teeth, flossed, and applied deodorant to his armpits. Next, he pulled on his underwear, followed by his jeans. He forgot to grab a shirt.
With one last look in the mirror to make sure he was presentable, he snapped the light out and returned bare chested to his room. Johnny slouched in the chair and laughed at cat videos on YouTube, and Sergio the parrot sat on the window sill, face pressed to the glass. Apparently he had a dust up with a pigeon the other day and he was worried he'd "come back with his crew and jack me up, yo." Lincoln crossed to the dresser he shared with Johnny, opened the drawer, and blinked.
He was out of shirts.
Darn it.
"I guess Mom didn't do laundry yet."
On the computer screen, a fluffy kitten reared up on its hindlegs and then fell over. Johnny slapped the table and howled. "You got a shirt I can borrow?"
"I dunno. Maybe. Check."
Lincoln pulled Johnny's drawer open. It, too, was empty, save for one neatly folded black T-shirt shoved into one of the corners like a bad memory. He leaned in, pulled it out, and held it up.
He instantly saw why it was forgotten in the corner.
NWO was splayed across the front in white text meant to resemble graffiti.
"Dude," Lincoln said, "is this the only shirt you have?"
Johnny glanced at him. "Yeah, wh - ooooh. Sorry, bro, it's either that or nothing."
"Seriously?" Lincoln asked. He threw up one hand in exasperation. "I can't wear this, I'll look like a dork."
Johnny opened his mouth, and Lincoln jabbed a warning finger at him, already knowing what he was going to say. "Then don't wear it," Johnny shrugged. "Show the world that pigeon chest of yours."
Across the room, Sergio squaked. "Pigeon?" he asked nervously. "Where? Don't let him stick me, please, keep him away." He started to hyperventilate, his little chest heaving.
"Dude, chill," Johnny said, "there's no pigeon." He turned back to Lincoln. "I can't help you, man. That's the only clean shirt I have."
Lincoln blew a frustrated puff of air. If he wore this dumb shirt, people would think he liked wrestling. He might as well put a football helmet on and wear a sign around his neck that said I'M MENTALLY CHALLENGED. On the other hand, he couldn't leave the house with nothing.
"Fine," he said sullenly, "guess I'm wearing it."
Sigh.
Hours later, as the light filtered from the sky and the sun sank behind the rooftops in the west, Lincoln and Johnny arrived at The Coffee House, a stylish building on Main Street with a brick facade, angled wrought iron lamps above the door, and a patio where hipsters sipped soy frappe lattes and talked about how great Mumford and Sons is. Today, most of them were wearing surgical masks. One even had a pair of latex gloves on her hands. A hand lettered sign taped in the front window advised customers to refrain from coughing and sneezing on each other to "limit the spread of PAVID-20." Another sign promised that anyone who voted for Bernie against "the orange fascist" in November would receive a free small frappe and "the endless gratitude of all civilized people."
Alright, I'mma head out.
But not really.
Inside, low lighting and hardwood floors provided a rustic and comfortable ambience. Small tables faced a stage and the low din of talking drifted to Lincoln's ears. He and Johnny looked around, both starting when Lucy appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "Hey."
"Hey," Johnny said, "uh...we're here."
"Great," Lucy said, "I could use some help backstage." She looked at Lincoln. "Go sit with Maggie."
Maggie? Who was that?
Sensing his confusion, Lucy pointed at a table by the wall. Her dour-faced friend stared at them with a bitter expression. Aw, man, really? He had to sit with her?
He started to protest, but Lucy grabbed Johnny's hand and dragged him away, leaving him alone. He took a deep breath and considered his options: Leave, go home, and watch SmackDown with Dad or go sit with some girl he didn't even know who looked like she'd sooner hit him with a caustic insult than say hey.
Decisions, decisions.
He almost went with the former, but instead, he hung his head and crossed to Maggie's table, where he dropped into the chair across from her. A flush of embarrassment spread across the back of his neck and he scratched his head. "Hey," he said.
"Hey," Maggie replied. Her voice was as flat and listless as Lucy's and when Lincoln looked up at her, her dark eyes were pointed to his right, as though she were looking at something in the direction of the bathrooms.
Awkward silence descended between them and Lincoln scratched his head again. "You do poetry too?" he asked for something to say.
"No," she replied, "I draw."
"Hey, me too," Lincoln said, "what do you draw? Skulls and stuff?"
Maggie favored him with a blank expression. "No. I draw other stuff."
Unless Lincoln was mistaken, there was a slight hesitation between no and I, as though she were embarrassed by what she drew.
Now Lincoln was genuinely curious. "What kind of stuff?"
Maggie considered a moment, then lifted and lowered one shoulder. "People. Animals. Flowers. All kinds of things. What about you?"
"Same, I guess," Lincoln said. "I've been doing landscapes a lot lately."
"Those are fun," she said.
"Yeah, lots."
The conversation flatlined and Lincoln wracked his brain for a way to jumpstart it. He glanced at the stage and willed something to happen so he didn't have to, but the mic stood in the spotlight alone like a naked tree in a blasted field. All around, hipsters, posers, emos, and goths chatted with their friends. Lincoln spotted one in a WWI style gas mask - with people like these, it was hard to tell if it was a safety precaution or a fashion statement. On the other side of the table, Maggie shifted in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. She flicked her eyes up and down, appraising him, and he suddenly felt uncomfortable. "What's NWO mean?"
NWO? Oh, God, how did she know what that was?
"Your shirt," Maggie said and jutted her chin at his chest.
He looked down and, oh, right, lol. He totally forgot. "It's pro wrestling stable," he said. "It was formed on July 7, 1996 at WCW's Bash at the Beach pay-per-view and originally dissolved when WCW folded in 2001."
Maggie nodded. "Ah," she said. "What's it stand for?"
"New World Order," he answered. "The NWO was supposed to be the new world order of professional wrestling but they were really a bunch of rich white guys pretending to be in a gang. They had hand signs and everything."
"So they were gangsters?"
"Pretty much. They cheated, beat people up, spray painted their logo on their fallen opponents, and acted like real A-holes to pretty much everyone."
Backstage, Johnny leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Lucy talked to a group of girls and some hipster kid in a Nirvana band T kept shooting funny looks at the paper bag on top of Johnny's head. Like what do you want me to wear, buddy? They banned all the plastic ones.
Lucy said she needed help but in the ten minutes he'd been back here, the only thing he helped do was keep the wall from tipping over. That was a joke because he was leaning against - nevermind. He was starting to get bored and the looks Lucy and her friends kept giving him was starting to creep him out. You know what the most awkward thing in the world is? Having a friend who's into you when you're not into them back. Like...how do you deal with that? Cut them out so you're not, like, stringing them along? Pretend you don't notice? He liked Lucy and her sisters and he didn't want to hurt their feelings, but...sheesh, leave me alone, I'm clearly not interested.
A prissy man in cat-eye glasses and a glittery shirt open at the throat flitted past, then disappeared through the curtain. Johnny picked at his nails and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. C'mon, c'mon.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, the first poet of the night - Lucy's friend Haiku - went out on stage. Lucy's group broke up, and she came over to stand next to him. She clasped her hands behind her back and drew a heavy sigh. "You nervous?" Johnny asked.
To his surprise, Lucy nodded. "Yes," she said. "Very nervous."
See, Lucy was...how to put it...dull. Not in a boring kind of way, just...flat, expressionless, the kind of person you could never read. Maybe she was dying inside, or maybe she was bursting with joy. There was just no telling.
The thought of her feeling a human emotion like nervousness, therefore, seemed strange.
"Well...you're a good poet, so.." he said, wanting to comfort her but not knowing exactly how. That was Lincoln's arena.
"I know," she said, "but tonight I;m doing something...different."
A red blush touched her cheeks.
In the dining room, Lincoln crossed his arms and shook his head. "So he comes out in a football helmet, right? Steady talking smack, then Golberg spears him through the cage and he gets a concussion."
Maggie cracked a smile and nodded to herself. "He sounds like a real dirtbag."
"Oh, he is," Lincoln assured her. "He took WCW and slammed into the ground in nine months. He also got TNA kicked off of Spike and filed a restraining order against Jim Cornette for trash talking him."
He took a sip of his Coke and Maggie did likewise. "I kind of like basketball," she admitted. "Like..,playing it, not watching it. Watching sports is lame."
"Right?" Lincoln agreed. "I wanna get involved, not just sit there."
"Exactly," Maggie said. "What fun is that? Maybe if you go to a game or something and it's, like, an event, but sitting at home on your couch? Dumb."
"Take my Dad. He stays watching WWE On Demand. He cheers and jumps around like an idiot for thirty year old matches he's seen fifty times before."
Maggie nodded. "My Dad's like that with baseball. When I was a kid, he had me on this pee wee T-ball team, and he'd get really worked up. He had a foam finger and everything. One time he got thrown out for threatening to cram a baseball bat down a player's throat. She was five."
That shocked a laugh from Lincoln. "My Dad wants me and Johnny to wrestle in high school. We tried to tell him it's not that kind of wrestling but he doesn't wanna listen. He keeps saying he can't wait for my first steel cage match."
Maggie chuckled. "I won't lie, a steel cage match actually sounds pretty cool."
Someone coughed loudly at a nearby tabe, and Lincoln and Maggie both tensed. Everyone stopped talking and looked at the cougher as though he'd just said he was a Republican. "It's okay," he assured the jittery crowd, "I vape."
"This virus stuff is getting on my nerves," Maggie said.
"My Dad's been holed up in a fort made of toilet paper for days," Lincoln said.
"My parents don't think it's a big deal," Maggie said. "I mean, I don't either but, you know, it is kind of scary."
"A little," Lincoln allowed, "but it'll be fine."
"You sound sure."
Lincoln shrugged. "Because I am. This isn't the first time a big, scary disease has sent everyone into a panic. And guess what: Nothing ever came of them. Yeah, people got sick and died, but it wasn't the end of the world or anything."
"I hope," Maggie said.
Backstage, Lucy pushed away from the wall and took a deep breath. It was her turn now. "I'll come to the curtain with you," Johnny said. "I'll be right there."
She sighed. "Thank you."
They went to the curtain, and after a slight hesitation, Lucy went through. Johnny stuck his head out and watched her approach the mic. She stopped, slipped a piece of paper from her pocket, and unfolded it. "This is a new poem I wrote the other day," she said, "it's called My Heart."
She cleared her throat and began to speak.
"My heart, when I look at you
Beats happy, light, and new
My heart, when I'm with you
Beats steady, loyal, and true
My heart, when I think your name
Swells with joy and love, aflame."
Johnny's solicitous smile fell by degrees until his lips were arrow straight.
She was talking about him...wasn't she?
"I cherish our time together, and long for more.
You are my precious, the one I adore."
She turned to look at him and her mouth creaked up in a tiny smile. Johnny flashed a tight grimace and nodded. Good job, Luce.
"You are the apple of my eye and I hope we can be
Together one day, you, our children, and me."
Johnny pulled his head back and let the curtain fall closed. 'Ight, I'mma head out. He spun on his heels, snapped his fingers sassily, and made his way toward the dining room. Lucy caught up with him at the door. "Where are we going?"
He started to snap (I'm getting away from your yandere butt, idk where you goin'), but took a deep breath instead. "I'm gonna grab Linc and head out. We're missing SmackDown."
"I thought you didn't like SmackDown."
"You don't know me very well, 'cause I love SmackDown. Best show on Fox after Sean Hannity."
Lucy sighed. Johnny didn't know how one little sound could convey so much sadness and desolation, but it did, and he missed a beat. Her crush was a little much...and weirded him out...but he couldn't be a jerk. "Alright," he said, "I'll stay. Let's go sit with Linc."
"Actually," Lucy said, "we should leave him and Maggie alone."
Johnny furrowed his brow. "Why?"
In the dining room, Maggie pulled her chair next to Lincoln, crossed her legs, and pulled out her phone. "Here's one I did last week," she said. Her tone had thawed and her face was more animated than before; her eyes sparkled in the low lighting and her lips pulled up in a sly half-smile that Lincoln couldn't help admiring. She accessed her photos and showed him a picture. It showed an elaborate drawing of a rose. It was so detailed and lifelike that Lincoln's jaw dropped. "Whoa, you did that?"
She nodded proudly. "Yep. It took me two hours."
"Two hours?" Lincoln marveled. "It'd take me a week and I still wouldn't do as good a job."
Maggie's smile widened and she ducked her head to hide it. "I've been drawing a long time. I'm as into it as you are wrestling."
Wait, what? "I hate wrestling, though."
"Really? You've been talking about it all night."
He opened his mouth, then snapped it closed again. He had, hadn't he? Oh, God, was he...was he a wrestling fan? GAG.
Maggie noticed his distress. "It's all cool," she said, "you're kind of -" she caught herself before she finished.
"What?" Lincoln asked.
She shook her head. "Nothing."
"What?" he pressed.
A light flush crept across her cheeks and she darted her eyes to her lap. "You're just...you're kind of cute when you're talking about it. Like...excited and stuff."
Lincoln's first instinct was to take her comment about him being cute as patronizing, but then he realized she was blushing furiously and it occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, she meant it in another way.
His heart dropped into his stomach. "Uh...thanks. You're cute too."
He had to say that (if someone compliments you, you're required by law to you too them), but it was true. With her liquid dark eyes, smattering of freckles, and secret smile, she was cute.
Now he was blushing too.
"Thanks," she said. She smiled happily down at her lap, and when she realized Lincoln was staring at her, she swallowed it and did her best to resume looking apathetic.
She failed.
"I mean...yeah, you're pretty cool and...it's okay if you're a wresting geek. You like what you like."
While that was true, Lincoln was not a wrestling fan. "I really don't like wrestling. I just wore this shirt because it was the only -"
Maggie cut him off. "Dude, you were spitting dates and career stats at me. Just admit it. You like fake fighting." A playful inflection crept into her voice.
"I swear, I don't," Lincoln said. He didn't know why, but he was smiling too. "Wrestling sucks."
"Your lips say no," Maggie said, "but your eyes say NWO 4 LIFE."
They both laughed so hard they cried.
At the end of the evening, they walked side by side behind Lucy and Johnny. Streetlamps lit the way and early fireflies danced in quiet front yards like swirls of radioactive snow. A strange, hollow feeling opened up in Lincoln's stomach and the urge to take Maggie's hand and twin their fingers together stole over him. He didn't do it, though. Not because he was chicken but because, you know, she might have the Pabstvirus or something.
Yeah, let's go with that.
At his house, she scratched the back of her neck. "It was cool hanging out with you," she said.
"Yeah," Lincoln said honestly, "we should do it again sometime."
Maggie smiled. "Yeah, we should."
They exchanged numbers, and Lincoln watched her walk into the night. When she was gone, he felt the way he imagined a fish did after a fisherman scooped out its guts. Cold. Empty. Not whole.
He sighed, and Johnny clapped him on the back, making him jump. "Have a nice night?" he asked knowingly.
"It was alright," he said casually.
"You and Maggie seem...close."
Lincoln shrugged. You never let a bully know they're getting to you and you never let your brother know you like a girl for the same reason: They'll never leave you alone. "She hates wrestling too."
"I know one thing she likes," Johnny teased.
And here we go.
"You. She likes you, bro. She practically begged Lucy to bring you along tonight. She's been looking through our bedroom window at how fly you are."
Lincoln rolled his eyes. "Wait, she did? The Lucy part?"
"Yep," Johnny said, "she saw you at school and thought darn, he fine."
Lincoln couldn't contain his smile if he wanted to.
He'd never felt such a strange and caustic mixture of loss and happiness - happiness because a cute girl liked him and loss because she wasn't here.
As soon as he went inside, he texted her, and every time she texted back, his heart bounced giddily into his throat.
Johnny sat on his bed and flipped through a comic, his attention more on his brother than on the story before him. "At least he has a girl he likes into him. I'm happy for the little runt."
He glanced at Sergio, who craned his neck to see out the window. He jumped and squawked. "Yo, I think that's a pigeon."
Johnny shook his head fondly.
Now...to find a girl for himself.
"Bro, really, that looks like a pigeon," Sergio worried.
As it so happened, it was, and when they woke up the next morning, the lawn was covered in white poop.
THE END.