The Hard Count(100)

Vincent’s ex, Alyssa’s mom, is a mystery. She could very well be dead. All they know is her name was Moriah Keaton, and she had a severe addiction. Nico made calls every day after school until he found a lawyer willing to take their case. He helped his mom work through forms and file testimonies to strengthen their case to keep Alyssa home, where she belongs.

Mostly, though, I can’t argue with Nico because he is the example—the exception. When Cornwall first met him, they labeled him. At-risk…thief. Turns out he’s the philosopher king.

“It’s why our system is broken,” Nico continues, Mr. Huffman nodding, a smile on his face. “We failed to learn from the stories that warned us that if we create environments that perpetuate poverty, that force the people in them to beg and steal, then we’re equally to blame for many of their outcomes.”

“People have choices,” Megan argues. I admire her will—now that I’ve stopped sparring, she’s still willing to try to provide a counterpoint to Nico.

“Sure they do,” Nico says. “But what you don’t have, when you live in the golden palace, is such severe temptation. You have to choose between a career in law or art or media or…film.”

He glances at me, smirking in apology. I glower a little, because I don’t like being an example when he argues against the privileged.

“But in some places, the choice is between taking two jobs at once that together barely pay minimum-wage and offer no guarantee that they’ll keep you employed, or something illegal that promises one-time riches, and guaranteed future opportunities if you’re willing to stomach selling your soul. It’s hard not to sell your soul when you grow up without food on the table.”

Nico leans forward, gripping his desk, but a smile curves on his mouth and he relaxes, leaning back and looking at me. I chuckle to myself because he’s proving that he doesn’t have to always avoid eye contact.

“Then how do you draw the parallel to selling drugs, taking drugs?” Megan asks.

Before Nico can answer, I do.

“Drugs make the pain go away—real or perceived. And more often than not, the palace pays the money, the ghetto deals what they want. It’s the perfect definition of supply and demand,” I say, my eyes flitting around the room, to the many faces looking right back at me. “We pay a lot of money to make them criminals.”

Megan scoots forward, her brow pulled in, ready to argue, and I twist in my chair, willing to offer up my own example—my own exception.

My family.

The bell rings before I need to, though, and Mr. Huffman writes our next reading selection on the board. I note it down, pulling my equipment bags from under my seat and meet Nico at the door. He holds it open for me, staring at me with a trace of a smile as I walk under his arm and through the door.

“You’re going soft on me,” he says.

“Am not,” I say.

Am I?

Nico laughs lightly next to me, sliding my heaviest bag from my shoulder and carrying it to the lab for me.

“You are. You would have torn me up over that argument three months ago,” he says, one eye squinted more than the other as he gives me a sideways glance.

“Not true,” I say.

“You know, I could totally argue the other side right now,” he says.

“Yeah, but you don’t believe that,” I say.

“Oh, but I do!” he says, his eyebrows lifting.

I stop at the lab door, tugging it open and dropping my things on the table just inside. I flick on the lights as Nico follows me in.

“It’s more of a question of free will, if you ask me. It’s easier not to fight the forces that work against you, to bend to your environment, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t possible,” he says.

I lean against the computer table and fold my arms over my chest.

“Well of course,” I sigh. “But in general…”

“In general…” he says, stepping up closer, his toes touching mine as his hands untangle my hands that are guarding my body. I stand up straighter, letting him pull my arms around him while he puts his over my shoulders. “In general, Reagan Marie Prescott, I’m so goddamned in love with you that I don’t even care about being right anymore.”

I open my mouth and close it just as promptly, my eyes pulling in, my heart starting to sound. “Shoot,” I say, letting my head fall against his chest as I stare at our feet, my toe kicking at his. “Damn you, Nico Medina. That shut me up fast.”

His lips come down on the top of my head as he wraps his arms around my head. I love life here in his small homemade cocoon.

“Good,” he hums.

My skin tingles, and my heart races even faster. I’m nervous, something I haven’t been with him in a long time.

“I love you, too,” I say, my face buried into his chest, burrowing further.

Nico steps away enough that I can’t hide, bending down and pulling my chin up, looking me in the eyes.

“Yeah?” he asks, his eyes hopeful and golden—so golden.

“Yeah,” I say, my nod small, but my pounding heart heavy.

“You love me?” he asks again, quirking a brow to question, now teasing me. I push against his chest.

“Yes, you big nerd! I love you!”

His smirk grows, and his dimple deepens, so I push him again. This time, though, he catches my hands and pulls me into him, moving his hands to my face and kissing me softly, saying the words again against my mouth.