Chapter Text
i.
Nick Goode was born the second son.
It’s a fact he often lamented when he was a kid, growing up in his brother’s shadow. He just wished his father would look at him. Would clap him on the shoulder and say well done son.
But second sons don’t get that kind of attention, not in the Goode family. They’re expected to behave, of course. To be a good little boy and not step a toe out of line. But it’s the heir apparent who carries on the family legacy. The one with all the responsibility. They head the family, and the second sibling follows in their lead, lost in the shadows. Forgettable. They aren’t the ones remembered as the Kings of Sunnyvale.
Nick used to want to be the one in the limelight instead of Will.
For every A he got, Will got two A pluses. For every gold medal, Will had won that race already. Everything Nick seemed to do – every race he won or test he aced, seemed to pale in comparison to Will, because his brother had already done it. Second sons in the Goode family are unremarkable that way – a paler, quieter version of their elder brother.
That’s not to say that Nick is bullied or some kind of outsider at school. He has friends. He’s the Captain of the football team and the debate team. He’s part of the student body. He gets invited to parties. He’s a Goode for crying out loud. That doesn’t mean nothing, second son or no.
And second son or not, Nick is expected to behave a certain way. To like the right things. To be an upstanding citizen. To support. To do nothing that will disrupt the family legacy or overshadow the heir.
It used to matter so much to him, gaining his father’s approval. Protecting the family name. He used to crave recognition so badly. The need to just be seen. To be heard.
But—
But over the years, a quiet sort of discomfort has crept underneath his skin. Nick can see how his entire life will unfold. He’ll become mayor or some kind of deputy, maybe even a principle, and will spend his entire life in his brother’s shadow. He’ll marry some girl from high school after coming back from college, have a few kids, and live in a house with a white picket fence.
That is what he is supposed to want. It is. And part of him does want it. Doesn’t want to let his family down. His mother, with her watery smile and hopeful eyes. His father, with his endless expectations and stern gaze. His brother Will, who is four years older than him and the golden child – the town gem.
But Nick also wants something – just one thing– for his own.
Something he can keep to himself.
ii.
The year is 1978, Nick is sixteen years old, and his father is dead.
A heart attack out of the blue while he was on the job did it. The whole town mourns for weeks on end, and even now Nick is stopped at Church or in the grocery store by people – strangers or family friends – and looked at with pitying stares. Your father was a good man, they all say.
Nick smiles and nods as best he can.
In truth, part of him thinks he’s still in shock. His dad can’t be dead. The impenetrable Billy Goode can’t be dead. He’s the King of Sunnyvale. But he is.
Will is still at university though, and when he comes back – because it’s always when and never if when it comes to Goode’s living in Sunnyvale – he will become sheriff, and Nick will be whatever his brother decides for him to be, after he finishes his own degree too. All Goodes go to Harvard and study something like business or economics.
Nick has never really liked math, not that that matters.
But his father is dead. Has been for almost a year now, and Nick is a summer counsellor at Camp Nightwing. He was supposed to start last year, after he finished sophomore year, but then his dad died and he was excused.
But now after Junior year, Nick is to be a counsellor, just like Will was. His mother presses kisses to his cheeks and sends him off, and Will comes home the weekend before he’s set to start at the end of June. His brother is going off to their cottage for most of the summer before he starts his final year of university.
Nick and Will have never been close. Nick always used to long for his big brother’s approval. For years he used to trail after him, wanting to be included in his games. But not anymore. At first it was resentment. Will was the heir and he loved rubbing it in Nick’s face. But now—
Nick isn’t entirely sure if he likes Will anymore.
Not that that matters either.
The weekend before he goes, Will claps him on the shoulder and takes him out onto the balcony.
“Here,” his big brother says. “Have a drink.”
Their mother doesn’t like it when they drink, but Will is now considered to be man of the house so he just ignores whatever she says. Nick doesn’t even like the taste of beer, but he accepts it anyway.
“So,” Will starts, drinking from his glass of bourbon – their father’s favourite drink. “You excited for the summer?”
Nick settles onto the chaise-long chair they have outside.
“Sure,” he says, shrugging a little.
“Senior year is coming up for you, right?” Will asks if he isn’t sure. As if Nick didn’t spend most of dinner last night talking about the classes he signed up for next year for his final year.
Swallowing down the hint of disappointment, Nick nods.
Will chuckles a bit.
“That was a fun year,” he tells Nick. “Really. Enjoy this time while you can.”
Nick makes a sound of acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t know what to.
“And you’ll have fun at Camp Nightwing too,” Will adds, smirking now. “I know I did. The girls are super-hot. Maybe some Shadyside trash will put out. They tend to be good in bed.”
Are you talking about the counsellors or the campers? Nick can’t help but think, slightly uncomfortable. His mind flashes to a girl with red hair and freckles and--
“Who is working with you again? As a counsellor?”
“A few kids from Sunnyvale – Kurt, I think -- and some from Shadyside. Alice, Cindy, Tommy—”
“Tommy?” Will questions sharply, straightening in his chair. “Tommy Slater? Cindy Berman?”
“Yeah, I think so. Why?”
Sunnydale and Shadyside each had their own high schools, but they’d all been at camp together for years. It’s the only place where the kids from either side interacted.
For some reason, Will smiles, as if satisfied.
“No reason,” his brother replies. “They’re still dating, right? Cindy and Tommy?”
Nick shrugs.
“I don’t know,” he says flippantly. “I don’t know.”
Will hums a little, drumming his fingers against his glass.
“Have fun little bro,” Will tells him finally. “And act like a Goode would. If you have sex, use protection. We don’t need any Shadyside tramp getting knocked up, alright?”
Nick bites down on his lip.
“Right,” he echoes, recognizing when he’s being dismissed. After all, his father did it all the time. He used to send Nick away and bring Will into his office to discuss “important family matters”, as if Nick wasn’t part of the family too.
Nick goes back to his room and dumps his beer in his bathroom sink.
He doesn’t realize he bit his lip so hard it bled until the coppery taste enters his mouth.
--
You see, Nick has a secret.
It’s a little secret, somewhat embarrassing, but it’s there.
Nick was thirteen years old the first time he saw Ziggy Berman at Camp Nightwing.
He’s been going to camp for years now, and his big brother is in his final year of high school, all tall and broad shouldered while Nick is wiry and awkward, puberty still in the middle of doing its work. His friends tease him about his older brother bossing him around, and it seems like he will forever be seen as lesser than, constantly eclipsed by his brother’s golden smile and neat curls, the perfect all-American boy.
He saw Ziggy Berman the first day of camp as her mother dropped her off. Another girl – Cindy, her sister, -- stood nearby, dressed all neatly and properly, looking more like a Sunnyvaler than a resident of the Shady Side. But the girl – Ziggy – was dressed in patched up denim shorts and a white-shirt that looked like it had paint stains on it, but he wasn’t sure. Her hair was a bright red, almost orange like colour, and it was parted into two braids that fell down to her shoulder.
For a moment Nick stood there, transfixed. She wasn’t the prettiest girl at camp, not by far, and he was ‘dating’ Maria Lucile at this point, (as close as ‘dating’ as thirteen-year-olds can get), the daughter of his mother’s closest friend, and she was the ‘perfect’ girl. At least that’s what everyone kept telling him. But he stood there, right by the welcome sign, and watched as the red-headed Shadyside girl scowled violently as her mother pressed a sloppy kiss to her cheek and climbed back into her car before driving away.
Girls weren’t supposed to scowl or slouch, but this girl did it anyway, glowering at her sister when she tried to pat her on the shoulder. Nick should have looked away, he should have, but he didn’t.
The girl and her sister get into a fight, with the latter storming away minutes later, her backpack slung over her shoulder, leaving the red headed girl all alone with one measly backpack for company. For just a second, he can see the hurt that flashes in her bright blue eyes before they narrow into a glare when she catches him looking. She scowls at him so strongly he flushes until the roots of his hair and is forced to turn away.
They’re in different age groups – only a little over a year between them (he keeps an eye out for her) – so he doesn’t see her often. But he does hear about her. She somehow manages to sneak dye into Sheila Turner’s shampoo, so her hair turns a bright green. She denies it so vehemently even Nick hears it from the mess hall, but they all know anyway. She fights with Shadysiders too, though most of the kids seem to stay out of her way. Whenever Nick does see her, she’s never without a scrape on her arm, elbow or knee and a scowl playing on her lips.
She’s angry all the time.
He admires it. She reminds him of the heroines in novels he isn’t supposed to read. Like Carrie. And so when he catches sight of a glint of red hair shining in the sun from the corner of his eye, he watches her when he can, subtly enough that none of his friends or worst of all his brother catch him doing it.
Even Will seems to grow fed up with her. God I hate that bitch, Nick hears Will mumble more than once after Ziggy plays yet another prank on the camp.
Ziggy.
Nick knows her real name is Christine because she yelled so loudly at the one person who called her that – some other dumb counsellor – that the whole camp heard. Nick wonders for the rest of the day how someone got the nickname Ziggy from Christine.
He hopes one day he has the courage to ask her.
But he knows she isn’t like everyone makes her out to be. That she isn’t all jagged edges and snarling smiles. That she isn’t just angry all the time.
One night he hears Maria telling her friends that she hopes he’ll grow up to be as handsome as Will, because otherwise she’ll be stuck with the lesser option and Nick—
He isn’t even sure that he likes Maria. His heart isn’t broken by her words, but he is hurt. Wherever he goes, Will and the family name will follow, and no matter what he does it never seems to be good enough.
That night, he sneaks out of the mess hall early and walks towards the lake, drifting by the treeline, just needing to be alone. He hears some rustling in the bushes and goes to investigate, creeping into the woods. He finds two boys throwing pebbles at a little bird, and he’s just about to yell at them to stop when someone else comes crashing through the trees – from the other side – and starts screaming at them.
It’s Ziggy.
Her cheeks are flushed as red as her hair as she starts to throw pebbles at them.
“Jackasses!” she yells. “How do you like that? Huh? Fuck off!”
The other two boys grumble to themselves and meander off, not having noticed Nick where he stands. He watches as Ziggy crouches down beside the fallen bird, her front facing his direction.
“Hey,” he hears her whisper. “Hey, it’s okay. Are you hurt too badly?”
It is.
Nick can see the crooked wings from here and knows the bird doesn’t have long to live. Ziggy seems to realize it too. Slowly, faintly, he hears her begin to hum and sing a quiet little lullaby. Her voice is surprisingly sweet and even, and all Nick can think is that he wants to hear it again and again and again—
It fades away after a few minutes, and soon he hears sniffling. Startled, he straightens a bit, brushing against the branches and—
“Who’s there?” Ziggy demands, wiping at her red eyes.
Nick ducks behind a tree.
“Come out! Who is it? Sheila, I will kick your ass.”
He doesn’t move – doesn’t dare breathe. He can hear the embarrassment in her voice despite the return of her familiar anger. Knows that she doesn’t want anyone to see her cry. He only peeps out from behind the tree when he hears digging, and finds her shoveling the earth to create a small grave for the now dead bird.
She sings again, one final, haunting tune, and she sounds like every heroine he has ever read before.
He resolves then, in that moment, to talk to Ziggy Berman. It might not be today, it might not even be that year, but he’ll do it nonetheless.
iii.
It’s beginning of July 1978, and Nick is helping campers move into their cabins. They range from ten to fifteen years old, and the entire camp is filled with a cacophony of sounds – laughing, teasing, playing, squealing as friends reunite. The heat is blistering, the air filled with the smell of sweat, and—
He sees Ziggy Berman on the far edge of camp, hiding away from everyone, her face buried in a book. Her red – almost orange – hair falls in front of her face, and he watches as she blows an errant curl out of the way. On the front cover, he can faintly see the words On the Road. Kerouac. Huh.
This is going to be the year, he decides. The year he will finally – finally – talk to her. Properly.
He isn’t sure why now is the time. Maybe it’s because he’s going into senior year after this and may not even be a counsellor next year. Who knows if he’ll see her again. Or maybe – and he may not even be a good person for thinking this -- -- it’s because his dad is gone, and there’s one less weight on his shoulder, forcing him to be in line. To be the good, obedient Nick Goode. No one will be able to run and tell his dad if he steps a foot out of line.
Nick loved his dad very much. He misses him.
But it would be a lie to say that he doesn’t feel lighter without his stern and heavy gaze to come home to every day.
And so he resolves to suck it up and talk to her – at least once.
Because as he stands there, staring at her, the sunlight hits her just right, and he can see every single one of her freckles. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and he doesn’t know why no one else seems to see it, why Kurt sneers at her or Sheila taunts her at every turn. He doesn’t understand it.
Strangely – and unnervingly – he’s struck with the desire to kiss every single freckle on her body, and he looks away from her quickly, body still unused to the sudden bolt of desire strumming through his stomach.
--
But he doesn’t talk to her.
Not when she gets reprimanded by Kurt because she set the camp flag on fire.
Now when she lets out the camp rabbits.
He does catch her graffitiing the outhouse stalls as he’s doing rounds with Joan, Kurt and Gary in the middle of the night.
“What the fuck Berman?” Kurt groans, shaking his head. “What in the hell is this shit?”
There are the usual taunts painted on the walls with sharpie, but Nick notices another one beneath the crude drawings and insults.
There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars.
“Kerouac,” he murmurs to himself.
“What?” Kurt asks him sharply.
Nick must have spoken louder than he intended.
“Nothing,” he says, shrugging, gaze flittering back from Kurt towards Ziggy. For a second, she looks surprised, almost impressed, and Nick feels his heart skip. She glances away, scowling violently, but he doesn’t miss how she looks at him again and again, until eventually they let her go for the night.
But he held her attention for one moment. She saw him, if only for a second. That must mean something.
iv.
He isn’t entirely sure why, but he has hope now. She saw him. He surprised her. That must mean that for at least a split second he occupied a space in her mind. He kindles that hope close to his chest for the next week or so, and he looks for her out of the corner of his eye, searching for that unmistakeable flash of red.
The chance comes on July 19th.
He and Kurt are doing rounds in the camp when they hear frantic cries of, “Sheila! Stop it, Sheila!” and the sound of someone grunting in pain. He knows instantly the person being hurt is Ziggy, and soon he’s running through the treeline to find Ziggy strung up in the air as Sheila holds a lighter to her skin.
Sheila’s friends – some other Sunnyvalers he recognizes from Church and school – surround her.
“Cut her down!” he calls out, jogging over towards them. “Cut her down now!”
Nick stands a little off to the side as Kurt demands an explanation from all of them, but his eyes are drawn to Ziggy. Her nose is stained with blood, but it doesn’t look broken. He can see the burn mark on her forearm, and his stomach rolls into knots.
He’s never felt this way, just looking at someone.
He had butterflies in his stomach when Maria Turner let him touch her breasts for the first time, or when he kissed Diana Keely under the bleachers after the football game. But this – it’s almost like his skin is on fire. He can’t just ignore it, and it isn’t just nerves. He can’t help but watch her.
“You’re kicking me out?” she demands furiously at Kurt, blue eyes blazing.
Sheila cuts in with some biting remark about Ziggy being possessed by Sarah Fier, and Nick catches Ziggy just as she launches herself at the other girl. Her entire body is wound up like a coil, and Nick holds her thrashing limbs against his chest.
“Calm down,” he says, her hair brushing against his face. It smells like vanilla.
God, you’re a creep, he thinks to himself, shaking his head.
“How about we just let it go this time, yeah?” he prompts Kurt. “Someone is going to notice the burn mark on her arm and start asking questions. Then who is going to get into trouble? Why don’t we just let this one slide? Yeah?”
She relaxes a little in his arms, as if surprised that someone is on her side. It only lasts for a split second though, so he almost thinks he imagined it (nevermind that a part of him can barely believe that he’s holding Ziggy Berman in his arms).
Kurt agrees to his suggestion, thankfully, and she elbows Nick in the stomach, breaking free.
“Wow,” she drawls. “Being bossed around by a Goode, huh Kurt? Guess some things never change.”
She turns on her heel and stalks away, and Nick—
For some reason, he doesn’t even hesitate before he follows her. Is that all she thinks he is? Just some Goode? He’s overcome with the urge to know every single thought that enters her head. Even then, he isn’t sure that he’d know her. Not really. He’s never met someone who is so unapologetically themself. She doesn’t seem to have any friends – at least not at Camp – and she’s taunted mercilessly by Sheila and her friends about her hair and clothes and the books she reads. But she never stops or changes for their approval. She doesn’t follow what everyone else says is normal.
She isn’t like him.
So he catches up to her, heart quickening.
“Hey!” he says, throat slightly dry. “Wait up.”
She doesn’t slow down at all. He catches up to her anyway.
“Have Nurse Lane check that burn out.”
He grabs a hold of her arm but she quickly rips it out of his grasp.
“No shit,” she snorts. “I was just gonna let it get infected and die.”
“And give Sheila the satisfaction? I doubt it.”
She whirls around, stopping so suddenly he almost collides with her.
“What do you want from me?” Ziggy demands, wiping at the blood under her nose.
It’s one thing to watch Ziggy’s anger from afar. It’s another to be the recipient of it.
But a part of him isn’t nervous. No, he’s happy. She’s watching him. She’s talking -- snapping really – to him. His thirteen-year-old self would be so proud.
“I don’t know,” he replies, swallowing loudly, putting his hands on his hips just so he has something to do with them. “How about a thank you?”
She scoffs.
“Oh right, I forgot,” she sighs mockingly. “Thank you, Prince of Sunnyvale, future police chief or Mayor and golden boy Nick Goode, for rescuing poor, helpless Shadysider me! How could I ever repay you?”
She continues on before he can even think about coming up with a response.
“Oh, I know. I’ll bat my eyes at you, like all the other dumbass girls, including your girlfriend, Maria.”
He pauses a little, startled by the mention of Maria’ name. He only dated her during that one year of camp years ago, the year he first saw Ziggy and—
“Maria and I aren’t dating anymore,” he blurts out. “We haven’t for years. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
She scowls at him, cheeks flushing with indignation.
“So?” she asks, before flipping him the bird and walking away.
v.
Nick can’t believe it about Nurse Lane. He knows about her daughter – everyone does, obviously. Ruby Lane committed the latest massacre in Shadyside. A sweet choir girl gone crazy, slaughtering seven of her friends at a party. But Nurse Lane always seemed kind. Quiet and haunted, but kind. Not the type to try and murder Tommy Slater out of the blue with a kitchen knife.
He’s disturbed like the rest of camp, but he tries his very very best to hide it.
He stands there in the courtyard, watching the police wander about, trying not to think about why Nurse Lane would say something like that about Tommy, or the fact that being a policeman could be his job in a few years, years that seem to be shortening and lengthening all at once—
He’s caught of guard by Ziggy brushing past him, hurrying towards her cabin, and his eyes follow her. Of course, they do.
They never haven’t before.
“NickY!” Officer Kapinski greets.
Nick has met him dozens of times because of his dad. He always thought Kapinski was a bit out of it, but decent enough. His dad said he was good at taking orders.
“Officer,” he greets, trying his best to be polite and not continue to stare after Ziggy.
“I’ve been meaning to say again how sorry I am about your Pops,” the elder man tells him, sighing mournfully, as if Nick’s dad hasn’t been dead for a year. Nick nods dutifully, and it is easier now to look away from Ziggy’s retreating form at the reminder of his dad, who would never have approved of Ziggy—
“He was a good man,” Officer Kapinski continues. “Taken way too soon.”
“Thank you, we all miss him,” Nick murmurs. “Big shoes to fill.”
Kapinski chuckles.
“Well, I’m sure he was at peace, knowing one day your brother would be following in his footsteps. And you, of course.”
Nick smiles tightly.
“What do you think, son? Sheriff Will Goode has a good ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” he replies faintly. “Yeah, it sure does.”
Kapinski chortles again, rubbing his mustache.
“And you, Nicky? Have you given any thought about your future besides becoming a Harvard man like your Pops and brother?”
Nick forces himself to grin.
“Whatever is best for the family and community,” he says.
Kapinski claps him on the shoulder.
“Good answer, son,” the other man says. “Just tell your brother to go easy on me when he becomes my boss, huh?”
Nick smiles, chuckles faintly, and when Kapinski walks away it dies automatically.
He rubs his throat, tries to ease the sudden lump there. The future. The Goode family name. Suddenly it comes rushing back, bursting the bubble he’s managed to build for himself here. Not that he’s ever not a Goode, or that people forget it, but it doesn’t matter so much when everyone has to take care of a bunch of kids and try not to let them kill each other or accidentally drown.
You take care of the family name, son, his father said to him once. You make us all proud and build a life suitable for our legacy.
Nick gulps and tries to will away the hint of unease in his chest, the unease that has been steadily growing for so long he can’t remember when it even started.
--
Night falls, and the colour war begins, making the kids disperse across camp. Nick watches a few of the Sunnyvalers run about by the lake, and he’s only distracted by his thoughts when he hears a grown beside him.
He turns to find Kurt scowling down at a list names gathered by all of the other counsellors of those participating in the colour war.
“What?” Nick asks.
“That pain in the ass isn’t here,” the older boy explains.
Nick furrows his brows.
“What? Who?”
“Ziggy, of course,” Kurt snaps, before his face brightens. “You know what, this is a good thing. It means she won’t bother any of us as we play and she’ll stick to whatever hole she climbs into.”
Kurt stalks away and Nick—
Nick should fulfill his duties and stay and watch. He should. Will was the perfect counsellor. Enthusiastic. Full attendance.
But Nick—
That unease flutters in his chest again, growing and growing. Nick doesn’t know what the future will bring. Heck, he didn’t even think his dad would ever die he was so powerful, so steady. But he did. This summer is the only thing he has left before all his responsibilities set in.
And Nick—
Nick just wants to do something just for himself. Just for fun. Not for the family name or legacy, not to be normal or maintain appearances. Just because he wanted to.
He looks around him to make sure no one is looking and walks away.
--
There are only a few places she could be, so he decides to check her cabin first, and is comforted when he hears the radio blasting through the door.
Ever fallen in love with someone have you ever fallen in love with someone—
He knocks on the door before he loses his courage.
“Go away Cindy!” Ziggy yells through the door.
He takes a deep breath.
“It’s Nick!”
A pause.
“Go away Nick!”
He pushes the door open anyway. If she really wants him to leave, he’ll go. At least he’ll have tried. Nick walks towards her and—
“Whoa,” he says quietly, startled at the graffiti he finds painted all across Ziggy’s bed and the walls in her corner. Ziggy is a witch bitch. Whore. A few of her books have been torn open, the pages scattering across her bed and floor. Anger stirs in his stomach.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he remarks, sliding his hands into his pockets.
“This wasn’t me,” she snaps, top half of her body bent over the bucket she’s currently stirring. The sharp smell of paint hits his nose, making it wrinkle.
“Shocker.”
She doesn’t respond to that.
“Ziggy is a witch bitch. Ziggy socks cocks in Hell. Jesus.”
“I’m surprised they know how to rhyme,” she snarks.
“Sheila?” he asks. They both know the answer.
“Colonel Mustard.”
He leans against the other bunkbed and looks into the bucket she’s crouched over.
“Paint,” he states. “It looks like blood.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t have a pig, so…” her voice trails off as she stirs it even harder.
Nick wracks through his brain for something – anything – to say. He just wants to talk to her for longer, for as long she’ll let him. His mind flashes back to the other night, to Kerouac, and—
“Carrie,” he says. “Cool.”
Her face snaps up at once, and she isn’t able to hide the surprise on her face. Nick has to bite down on his lips to hide his smile. Her features are a lot smoother when she isn’t angry, which is all the time. His stomach still does flip flops when she does that too.
“You’ve read Carrie?” she asks, as if she’s unable to believe that he, Nick Goode, would ever do such a thing. Or that it was even possible that he knew Stephen King existed.
He smiles a little.
“Yeah,” Nick replies. “Second favourite after Salem’s Lot.”
She looks impressed in spite of herself for a moment, before she shakes her head.
Nick takes his chance.
“Still, I dunno, paint seems a little pedestrian.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, do you have a better idea?” she questions harshly.
“Maybe,” he says, heartbeat quickening.
Her expression grows suspicious.
“Should you be turning me in or something?”
Nick lets out a small, breathy laugh.
“Well, I should be supervising Colour War, but uh…” his lips twist around as he struggles to find the words. “I noticed you were MIA and came to—”
“Stalk me?” she challenges, brows raised.
“Check up on you,” he corrects gently.
Her expression doesn’t waver.
Nick raises his hands in defeat.
“Clearly, you don’t need my assistance. All good. Go ahead.” He pauses for a second before adding, “Carrie on.”
He turns on his heel and heads for the door when—
“What was your idea?” she calls after him, making him pause.
He has to force the smile threatening to form on his lips away as he turns around. No doubt she’ll call him some smug prick and kick him out. Nick reaches for the keys in his pocket – keys each counsellor has a copy of – and dangles them in his fingers.
“Science and nature,” he grins, unable to help it in the face of her skeptical look.
vi.
The glee that spreads on Ziggy’s face when he leads her to the science and nature cabin – to the cockroaches specifically – should be disturbing, but instead it’s oddly endearing. Nick can’t help but grin a little too. He knows Sheila from school and her mother is part of his mother’s book club, but he can’t stand her either.
They crouch together in the outhouse stall, the music they set up playing quietly. The only light being the romantic candles they lit. He can still see Ziggy’s freckle in the low golden light. She still smells like vanilla. Part of him wonders if it’s her perfume or if she just naturally smells that way.
Her long curls brush against his arm as they listen and wait, and Nick almost shivers. He still can’t quite believe that this is real. That this is happening. Before this morning, he hadn’t even had a conversation with Ziggy before, and now he’s playing a prank on one of the most popular Sunnyvalers with her.
Nick knows he should care what his mother or brother will say, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t care. She makes him not care.
His body stiffens when hears Sheila push her way into the outhouse. Ziggy’s eyes dart to him, the blue orbs full of mischief. Something flutters in his stomach again.
Now, she mouths, reaching for the rope. His hands brush against hers as he does the same, and they pull, pouring the cockroaches all over Sheila. She starts screaming almost instantly, and he and Ziggy are laughing as they bolt out of the outhouse, but not before he jams a screwdriver in the door so Sheila can’t come out.
Ziggy waits as he finishes this before they run off together, laughing so hard they can barely stand straight. He feels almost weightless sprinting beside her, like the rest of the world has just faded away. Where there are no Shadysiders or Sunnyvalers. Where they can just be two kids.
(He almost takes her hand as they run, but that’s neither here nor there)
They reach the Science and Nature cabin yet again, giggling amongst themselves.
“Did you hear her?” he asks Ziggy, closing the door.
“She sounded like a frog,” she snorts, before mimicking the sound.
Nick can’t help but snicker.
“What’d I tell ya?” he says.
“Fuck paint,” she replies.
“Fuck paint.”
She looks at him and grins, and Nick---
God, he likes her. When she grins at him like this, it’s impossible to know how much.
“Who are you?” she asks.
Somehow, he knows what she means.
“Nick Goode,” he smiles and extends out his hand, feeling as though he’s introducing himself to someone for the very first time. “Nice to meet you.”
She hesitates for only a moment before returning the handshake. Her skin is soft, but he can feel the few bumps of calluses on her palms.
“Well,” she sighs dramatically. “For the first prank you’ve ever pulled, not bad, Mr. Goode.”
“I’m Mr. Goode now?”
“Shouldn’t I refer to Sunnyvaler royalty that way, your highness?”
She lets go of his hand, but the small quirk of her mouth lets him know she’s joking.
“I tend to prefer your worship, or ‘the greatest thing to have ever existed’, but that works too.”
Ziggy cackles now. Nick thinks that if he could bubble up the sound and hold it close forever to help keep him warm on cold nights, he would.
“You’re not what I was expecting,” Ziggy states. “Or better yet, you’re not what I thought you would be.”
“Ever heard of never judging a book by its cover?”
She raises a brow.
“So this is regular behaviour for you?” she returns.
He laughs a little, scratching the back of his neck.
“No, I guess not,” Nick admits, swallowing.
She traces the bob of his adam’s apple with her eyes. He can tell she does.
“So?” she prompts.
“So, what?”
“Am I what you were expecting?”
“What makes you think I had any thoughts about that?” he asks, smiling so she knows he’s joking.
Ziggy shrugs.
“Well, you did offer to help me prank one of your campers, so…”
Nick chuckles again.
“True,” he allows. “I guess I just wanted the chance to get to know you, is all.”
His cheeks redden a little, and he whirls around on his heel so he’s staring at the lizard container instead of her.
“You like animals, right?” she asks.
He looks up to find that she’s walked up beside him.
“Yeah,” he says. “I always wanted a pet dog as a kid but my dad said no.”
“Why?”
Nick shrugs. “Not sure. He just said he didn’t want one.”
Ziggy hums a little.
“I like cats too,” he says. “Maybe now we’ll get one of them.”
“I’ve always wanted a dog,” Ziggy tells him finally.
“I didn’t know that.”
“We barely know each other,” she murmurs, sounding almost shy, which is ridiculous. Ziggy Berman is never shy. Not that he’s seen, anyway.
“So let’s change that,” he says suddenly. “Twenty questions. I’ll go first.”
“Well, okay then,” she drawls, but she doesn’t leave either.
And slowly, over the course of an hour – he isn’t sure how long, really – he learns more about her. Her favourite book is Jane Eyre, something which surprises him. She snorts when he says Salem’s Lot actually is his favourite book, and tries to commit that sound to memory too. Her favourite food is her mother’s homemade lasagna, but she doesn’t make that often. Her favourite colour is red, which is so fitting that Nick laughs then, too.
It’s everything he thought it would be. No, it’s better. Because now she’s real. She’s not just some girl or idea he’s observed over the years. She’s real. She’s Ziggy. For some reason, it feels like he’s never not known her.
“Next question,” he says, after he’s finished answering her last question about his favourite album (Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band). The radio plays in the background. “What about you and your sister? You guys ever get along?”
She hesitates a little, looking away.
“I thought these were supposed to be easy questions,” she remarks, looping around a table.
“Says who? There are no rules to this game.”
She crouches in front of another tank.
“God, I hate snakes.”
“Why are you dodging my question?” he prompts.
“Why do you care?”
“I’m curious.”
She sighs a little, but doesn’t snap at him again.
“I’ve hated her since I was a newborn. Next.”
“Come on,” he says quietly, genuinely curious. Cindy and Ziggy always seem to be arguing whenever he looks at them.
“Why? Are you close with your brother?”
“No,” Nick replies, the word flying out his mouth. It surprises him, too, how quickly and truthfully he says it. He always lies whenever someone asks. “No, we’re not close at all. I’m not even sure I like him, to be quite honest.”
Ziggy looks caught off guard.
“You and the future King of Sunnyvale don’t get along?” she asks.
Nick considers this for a moment.
“I wouldn’t say that, per say,” he says. “I’m the second son, Ziggy. Not the heir. I have to do what my brother wants me to do.”
“So you’re jealous,” she states.
“I used to be,” he admits. “I used to want to be in the limelight all the time. Be the one who knew what their future was going to be. To have my dad’s attention. But now…” his voice trails off as he struggles to describe the growing discontent that’s been blooming in his chest for years.
“But now, you realized it’s all make believe?”
“What do you mean?” he asks, laughing a little.
They walk past a container of snails.
“You aren’t just the golden boy,” Ziggy explains. “One of the Princes of Sunnyvale. The truth is you like Stephen King and spiders and the weird girl from Shadyside.”
Her eyes gleam a little as she gazes at him, unembarrassed.
“First of all,” he starts, trying to stop his cheeks from flushing too hard. “Stephen King is like, super popular.” Which is true, but not many people in Sunnyvale would be caught dead reading him. “And second—” he pauses for a second, mind flashing to his father. “I can’t like the weird girl from Shadyside.”
“Why not?” Ziggy questions, head tilted a little. “Does it really matter what the spare does so long as the heir keeps it in line?”
He’s tempted to tuck her hair behind her ear, has to flex his fingers to stop himself.
Nick chuckles breathily.
“I guess it shouldn’t,” he allows. “But it does. In the Goode family, anyway. I’m not supposed to cause a stir at all. My existence is meant to be as burdenless as possible.” He shakes his head a little. “Plus, how will I ever get to know her when she keeps dodging all of my questions?”
They’re standing in front of each other now, and Nick slowly sinks down onto a bench. Ziggy joins him after a moment.
“We were close once,” she says quietly, her voice heavy with memories. “When my dad was around and my mom was happy. Cindy and I – we would go and do a bunch of stupid shit and then go and jump in the lake. But now it’s just gone and everything is shit. “ Her shoulder bumps against his. “That’s what happens when you live in Shadyside. Everything turns to shit eventually. Not that I’d expect a Sunnyvaler to understand.”
He chuckles again and can’t help but think about his dad. About the expectations placed on him and his brother ever since they were in the cradle.
“You’re right,” he tells her. “But being apart of the Goode family – being the spare, the backup, isn’t exactly easy either. I’ve spent my whole life being compared to my brother. Every single thing I’ve done is measured up to him, and because I’m younger he’ll always come out on top.” He takes a deep breath.
“When my dad was alive, he always used to go on about the family legacy. The only times he’d actually talk to me were about me not screwing up things for my brother and leading the family astray. I’m supposed to go to Harvard, get a degree in business or math or economics – all of which I don’t even like, and get a job doing something important in the community to help keep the Goode family in order.”
He glances at Ziggy only to find her already watching him intently, her gaze unwavering. She’s one of the few – if only – people who has seemed interested in something he has to say, and not because of his name or his brother or his father.
“But I don’t know,” he says. “What if I don’t want that? What if I want to do something different?”
“You can,” she says quietly. “You can be anything you want, Nick. So long as you believe it.”
He looks away and clears his throat.
“Yeah, you were right,” he murmurs, standing, unnerved by how easily he poured his heart out to her. “Can we, uh.. Can we go back to the easy questions?”
“Okay,” Ziggy allows. She stands and moves so she’s standing in front of him.
He wants to kiss her, but he isn’t sure he can.
He isn’t sure he’s brave enough.
“Would you ever kiss the weird girl?” she asks, smiling a little.
He almost laughs. Of course Ziggy Berman is braver than him. Of course she is.
And just like that, she leans in and kisses him.
She tastes like cherries and the sun and kissing Ziggy – the weird girl from Shadyside who he isn’t supposed to want – makes him feel more alive, more right, than any family legacy bullshit ever has.
He wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her closer, closer, and the angle is a little awkward and he can feel her nervousness despite her bravado and it feels so goddamn right he kisses her again and again and smiles against her lips—
And that is when they hear someone begin to scream.
End of Part 1.