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Okay, Michael should honestly have seen this coming. Really, sometimes he feels like the biggest idiot alive. He is probably the one person in all of Middleborough that literally has access to all the clues ever–and yet, he seems to miss things all the time. His gift had definitely been wasted when whatever power there was decided to give Michael Mell the ability to hear minds.
He thinks back to yesterday.
His first sign realistically should’ve been Rich. Honestly, what had they been thinking? Rich had tormented Jeremy since sophomore year, why should they have listened to him? He knows, oh he knows exactly why. He’d seen the desperation, the pleading in Jeremy’s eyes and given in, because fuck, he just wants his best friend to be happy.
Jeremy is his favorite person in the world, and Michael is pretty confident, after twelve years of friendship, that the other boy would say the same for him. But the look on Jeremy’s face, when Rich shoves him into lockers? When he gets brushed off by Christine? When Chloe Valentine mocks him? It hurts. He aches for his Player 1, because while Michael’s given up on ever having friends or a reputation, Jeremy lets them get to him every. single. time. He can hear the constant chatter in the back of Jeremy’s head, and he fights it, God does he fight it. Michael tries to be good about dropping an encouraging hand around his shoulder, giving him affectionate nudges when the chatter turns into more of a maelstrom, tries to cut off long strings of what a loser, can’t do anything right, you’ll never be anything worth looking at in Jeremy’s head with “hey man, you know I’d die for you, right?” and “dude, you are cooler than a vintage cassette” and “I’m glad you’re my Player 1.” He’s consistently shocked when Jeremy consistently refuses to entertain the possibility that his best friend might love him. Michael’s not surreptitious at all, but he alone isn’t enough to drown out all the demons in Jeremy’s life, shouldn’t even technically be privy to most of them.
Jeremy has always struggled against these feelings, which ebb and flow like the tide and sometimes sweep him away without warning, out to sea where Michael can’t reach him. But when Rich started picking on him, sophomore year, he really started spiraling. Michael lived in fear, for months at a time, that when Jeremy went home he’d never come back. It was exhausting, wondering and worrying, but more exhausting was the guilt and stress of his other worries–sophomore year was a total bitch. Sophomore year the tide had risen, permanently, and Michael could only stand shivering at the shore and watch his best friend slip out of view. Whereas Jeremy’s pain lay in what their classmates might think of him, and what they said and did on the outside, Michael had been hit with every bit of sophomore drama all at once, with the exact truth of every passing thought in his ears. They’d tried to solve it with sleepovers, with gaming, with slushies and pizza and chili fries and a thousand small comforts that could lift both his and Jeremy’s burden, even for just a night. But they’d only barely just made it, and every day he waited and worried and cursed Jeremy’s cruel, cruel brain and their cruel, cruel high school. He’s scared, all the time, and so is Jeremy, that junior year will be the last step over off the edge, and they’ve both been desperate for something to cure their fear.
Sophomore year wasn’t all Rich’s fault–but they never should have listened when he prescribed that godawful pill.
The second sign probably should have been that guy at Payless.
Yeah, okay. The mall was super overwhelming all the time, and Michael hated it because he always ended up getting overloaded and missing things. He always heard too much about people judging him and too little about whatever Jeremy was saying and the headphones he carried around constantly were barely enough to keep him sane. But anyone could have seen how shady the guy at Payless was, and Michael probably should not have ignored the undercurrent of fuck, give me the money and get this thing away from me coming from him during the entire exchange. Or the what have I done what am I doing it keeps spreading, but that one was a little more ambiguous, and Michael had always struggled to keep his own misgivings straight and not project onto what he heard of other’s thoughts.
The third sign, oh fuck. Michael had really screwed up not checking in here. The third sign was when Michael had left, had been in the back of the Spencer’s Gifts getting his Crystal Pepsi. He’d been just far enough out of range that he could only pick up the slightest current of misery from Jeremy where he’d left him with his chili fries, and then there’d been a strange silence, and absence of the voices in Jeremy’s head and an uproar in everyone else’s.
He should’ve gone running, should’ve checked, because he could hear through all those minds that something wasn’t right, that someone was screaming, but they hadn’t seemed concerned, just intrigued and wary. He’d thought Jeremy had just moved out of range, he never expected Jeremy would be gone when he returned. When his texts went unanswered he should’ve combed through the mall, not gone home, not after that hurricane of gossip he’d felt.
With all the bad vibes he’s been getting this week about the stupid Squip, he should’ve known that it would be a little more extreme than a constant self-help soundtrack in Jeremy’s head. Rich had been a caution, Payless guy had been a YIELD, but the mall had been a glaring red STOP sign, and he’d run that right over and hit a little kid on the way.
Except, that wasn’t quite true. He should’ve taken Jeremy’s disappearance as the sign it was in itself. Jeremy being gone was like walking down a dark hallway toward a nuclear testing facility transmitting SOS codes that has no ‘keep out’ or ‘caution: toxic waste’ signs where you know there should be. Clearly someone removed the signs, clearly the lab is already in emergency. You should definitely turn back, because the situation reeks of sabotage. Michael knows this, he’s played video games before and knows what the buildup to a jumpscare is like, knows he should’ve checked it out. But he didn’t, and now here he is.
All these warnings, omens, signs, and he still can’t stop himself from feeling absolutely floored when he finds Jeremy again at school.
He’s walking out of the parking lot, tracking toward his dick of a best friend, listening to Jeremy talk to somebody (who sounds, strangely, exactly like Keanu Reeves), still a little pissed from Jeremy ignoring his texts all day and not being there at his locker even though he’d sworn they’d made eye contact in the hall.
“Repeat after me,” says the Keanu Reeves sound-alike, as Michael makes angry strides toward the wall they’re hiding behind.
“Everything about you is terrible,” says the Keanu Reeves look-alike, as Michael rounds the corner and takes in the tall, black-and-white suited man standing over his best friend’s shaking figure.
“Everything about me is just terrible,” says the Jeremy look-and-sound-alike, because there is no way he just heard his best friend obey that creep. That’s gotta be some sort of evil clone, or something.
“What the fuck?” shouts Michael, making his fucking entrance into this twisted telenovela, charging forward and slamming his fist through Keanu’s head.
Wait, what the fuck? Through? Whoa, wait who the fuck is this?
“Michael?” And Jeremy looks so confused. “What are you- you can see him?”
Michael’s eyes dart back. He’s not supposed to be able to see this guy. Okay, why–shit this must be the Squip shit it's literally in his head.
“This is your Squip?”
“You can see me. You’re a mindreader,” realizes the evil tictac. Jeremy already knows, so why is the Squip so surprised?
“You! Shut up!” he shouts at the Squip. God, they must look insane like this.
“Jeremy, this is not fucking healthy, we gotta get this out of you!”
“Wh-what? No, I need it! Y-you! You don’t understand-!”
He takes a deep breath. He tries to look past Jeremy, he can’t deal with this right now, because he can already see his falling into that downward dive of nobody loves me, the not even Michael, I’m not worth his time and I deserve to die and fuck, he can hear me nonono but before he can even grab Jeremy’s hand, his best friend is running into the building, Squip flickering out with him.
…
The one decent thing about this whole mess is that Jeremy, at least, already knows.
It had been a half accident. Michael’s moms were insistent that he never tell anyone about his gift, because while it was normal in his family to see visions and hear thoughts or move things with your mind, their tragic ancestry had proven all too often that other people could not be trusted with the knowledge of their power. He’d been kind of pissed when he found out about Mama’s family, to be honest. He’d only grown into it eighth grade, and to realize that Mama had been able to hear every bad thought he’d ever had, had been the worst kind of humiliation. Only a long talk with Nanay about how to deal with his feelings had fixed that wound, and even then it was still awkward to know at least one of his moms knew everything there was about people in his life, like Jeremy or his teachers or the girl from seven eleven.
Anyway. Jeremy had been his friend for ten years, best friend for four, and they’d been sitting in an Algebra test freshman year.
Michael really, really struggled during tests because everybody was constantly transmitting answers in their heads, but they were all to different problems and he couldn’t tell who was right and it always felt crappy to hear someone say the right answer. Mama had given him a system–he had to start from the back of the test, then as soon as a classmate met him halfway and started sending the answers to a question he was answering, he had to flip to the beginning. It was annoying, but Mama thought it was important that he be able to do school stuff on his own, and if he couldn’t do it her way then she’d homeschool him. That thought was terrifying. He listened.
Anyway. He’d been sitting, leg bouncing to the drumbeat of the class’ collective anxiety and just letting his thoughts drift when he heard a little call from someone sitting two rows ahead of him. From someone sitting three seats left of him. From Jeremy.
Cough if you can hear me.
Michael had paused. On the one hand, this could be the greatest troll ever. Jeremy would never know. He’d totally freak–oh, actually, that could be bad. He shouldn’t do this. It would only end badly.
Come on, please? I won’t even know. It’ll be the best prank ever. Come on. Cough. Cough if you can hear me.
He had rolled his eyes. If this was what Jeremy wanted… Michael coughed.
Shit, thought Jeremy. Then, Michael are you actually???!!!
Michael coughed again.
Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck I can’t tell if that’s a real cough or not. Stop coughing if you can hear me.
Michael stopped.
Wait no that’s stupid how am I supposed to tell if you’re??!! Cough again.
Michael coughed. Jeremy was such a mess, what a terrible idea, he should stop screwing with the other boy before he had an aneurysm.
This could all be some twisted coincidence but the timing is too good what is happening is this for real how do I even know oh God oh God Michael!!!!
Jeremy’s brain made a helpless yelp-whimper noise and Michael barely stifled a snicker.
He’d thought it was over, had walked out of class feeling fine about the test and giddy about the little practical joke on his best friend. Grabbed a tray from the lunch line, dodged the popular kids and made his way to their table. He’d still been riding a high when he’d taken a long sip of his chocolate milk.
Jeremy tapped him on the shoulder, said “Hey Michael,” and promptly proceeded to think, very graphically, about gay porn.
Michael had spat out his chocolate milk all over Jeremy’s shirt, sputtered a “What the fuck, dude,” before finally realizing that he’d outed himself. They exchanged horrified looks, dropped their trays, and ran to the boy’s bathroom.
It had been a testament to their friendship that they’d been able to have the Conversation while simultaneously cleaning Jeremy up from Michael’s, quite frankly, epic spit take. Jeremy’s wobbly voice and Michael’s stilted muttering hadn’t let up until well into third block, where they both simultaneously decided that, as freshmen, they could skip the rest of the day. They’d walked to seven eleven, suffered through another half an hour of awkward explaining, half-apologies, and ranting and finally come to a settlement.
Michael had apologized, Jeremy had forgiven him, and they’d agreed on some rules. Michael wouldn’t do anything Jeremy wanted unless Jeremy verbally told him, Jeremy wouldn’t blame Michael for things he couldn’t control, Michael wouldn’t tell other people about Jeremy’s thoughts, and Jeremy wouldn’t ask Michael about other people’s. He loved their friendship. Everything was so easy. They already knew each other well enough that it was okay.
Yeah, Michael didn’t need to hear Jeremy’s thoughts to know the Squip wasn’t healthy for his best friend. It was going to come out, whether Jeremy wanted it to or not.
…
The thing about the Squip is it’s not human. Michael doesn’t get the same transmission, the same constant muttering and occasional screeching he hears from everyone else. The only reason Michael can see and hear the Squip is because Jeremy can. The Squip is a package of malicious code that exists only in Jeremy’s mind. That’s also why Jeremy has been so quiet. The Squip makes up all of his chatter now; the other voices are hushed, leaving only the Squip and Jeremy himself.
In the instant before Jeremy runs, Michael dives deep into the landscape of brainwaves. Babbling from his classmates overtakes everything. He’s never had to do this before, never had to look at or in someone’s mind to hear them, but the Squip isn’t human, so he guesses it makes a little sense. Finding the Squip isn’t hard. Glowing turquoise, crackling, the Squip is a distinct figure on the map of Middlesborough’s minds. And once Michael probes once, well.
It’s text, not sound, and he’s overwhelmed for a moment with a sea of sheer numbers. Probabilities, rules, factors, inputs and outputs, they all swarm around and he can’t see, they’re not what he needs, and he needs it in words, so he can understand what to do.
Oh God, the words. He wishes he’d never tapped into this awful connection, because the plan and the programming, they’re vicious. Squips and their conformity and their psychological torture and their need to spread and dominate and control, he’s drowning in this more than the numbers, and there’s nothing he can do. Michael gets sucked down into a whirlpool, down, down, down through protocols and layer upon layer of code. Meanings fly by, he plummets down to the most basic steps of the Squip’s programs until finally he stops, looking at the very beginning of everything,
“To activate, Green Mountain Dew.” Right, right, that’s what the shoe salesman had said. Now, what was crossed out in the back?
“To deactivate, Red Mountain Dew.”
That’s all Michael needs. He resurfaces, watches Jeremy sprint off, and heads straight back to Spencer’s Gifts.
…
This week has just been an amalgamation of bad choices.
It had happened while Jeremy was brushing his teeth, Jeremy’s dad had told him, exhausted. One minute his son had been talking to himself in the mirror, next he’d been screaming and writhing on the ground.
When he’d spiked every drink, food item, and container in Jeremy’s house with Mountain Dew Red, he hadn’t known it would end like this. The toothpaste. That was probably what did it.
Please let Jeremy be okay. Michael puts his head in his hands, shaking in his chair. His breathing is ragged, thank God Mr. Heere left, Michael would die if he saw him breaking down like this. He’s just so still and pale and the last he’d seen of Jeremy was his desperation as he sprinted away with an voice in his head that wanted world domination. Then he’d practically poisoned Jeremy, what had he been thinking? He should’ve found some way to test the effects, oh God.
Jeremy. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’d fucked it up. Tears leak from the corner’s of his eyes, through his fingers and down his arms. It’s gross. He wipes his eyes with his hoodie.
Ow, ow, ow. Michael’s head shoots up.
Jeremy’s eyelashes are fluttering. Okay, this is not an occasion for more crying, what the fuck, tear ducts, do you mind? Michael’s trying to be here for his best friend while he wakes up from his coma, jeez.
“…Micah? Why’re you crying’?”
Oh God, he loves his best friend’s stupid voice.
“It’s nothing, Jere, I’m just thinking about computers and how stupid and evil they are.”
Jeremy’s eyes widen. Oh. Oh shit. I forgot.
“Yeah, voring a supercomputer tictac was maybe not our brightest idea this week,” Michael admits.
Ugh. No vore jokes, please.
“Okay, okay. I’m just… I’m just glad you’re okay,” and the floodgates have opened. Wow, this is embarrassing. He’s literally just sitting here, crying next to his best friend’s hospital bed.
Oh no I made you cry stupid stupid fuckup nothing useless I’m sorry I’m sorry “Michael, I’m- I’m sorry I-“
“It’s not your fault, dude I just have a lot of feelings about you and your health,” Michael tells him, taking a deep breath. “I really, really am glad you’re okay.”
I don’t understand why you care so much, thinks Jeremy guiltily.
“Because you’re worth it, dude,” spills out of his mouth, and they’ve been down this road before but Jeremy never believes him and it hurts but there’s nothing he can do.
It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, Jeremy tries to reassure him.
“It’s not, Jerm. You just… You deserve so much better. You’re beyond worth it. You’re amazing. I know you don’t think so, but you gotta trust me.”
Jeremy’s whole brain just. Stops. For like ten seconds afterward, Michael picks up nothing but high-pitched squealing. To be fair, he himself has one hand cemented firmly against his forehead. He is the most embarrassing friend. Oh well, at least Jeremy got a boost from it. He could use a lot of those.
When they both un-retreat from their respective embarrassments, there’s a glow that settles warm around them. They sit in quiet, conversation trailing off as both brains slow, thoughts fading into a fuzzy exhaustion. The last thought Michael hears is sweet and only half formed, but he smiles from where he lies half-folded on Jeremy’s bed.
I’m so lucky to love someone like you, Jeremy thinks, and they drift off into sleep.