Falter Kingdom by Michael J Seidlinger Page A

“You rule.”
    From another senior from last period, Greg I think is his name: “Never thought you had it in you.” I never knew that we knew each other, just saying.
    From a freshman new to the high school game: “Like, what was it like? You’ve got it made if you run and nab a demon. Can you teach me, man?”
    From a junior who plays on the Meadows varsity basketball team: “Motherfucker, now that’s big!”
    From another senior, but someone I don’t recognize: “Yo, it’s Chris. We know each other from somewhere, right?”
    From Blaire, who I meet on the way to the restroom just because I couldn’t stand sitting in class anymore: “I knew before even you knew. I want you to know that. Tell that demon to really mess you up, make it count.”
    â€œBlaire!” I try to talk to her, but yeah, trying and doing are two different things. She’ll come around eventually. I’m not going to bother. This is what usually happens. Since grade school, one thing sets her off and it’s a week of not talking and then, suddenly, it’s back to normal.
    I wish things would go back to normal.
    From the start of the day, it goes on like this. It’s overwhelming but also kind of cool. But then lunch happens, and that means Brad.
    I’m standing in line for food, not making eye contact, while Matthew, a guy from last period, chats with me, but really it’s that he’s chatting to me, and I’m not really listening. I’m not even trying to hold a conversation. He’s talking about music. A local scene orsomething where there’s a lot of cool basement shows. He’s talking to me about it like he’s trying to sell me on going to one.
    â€œWe’re still auditioning members and shit. Maybe you wanna...?”
    Know how that goes. I nod but kind of stare at this space between the sign showing today’s “specials” and the back of a person’s head.
    And then it’s Brad’s voice from the back of the line, getting closer with every word until he’s slapping me across the shoulder. “Bro, I fucking knew it! You liar. JJ’s going to have your balls chopped off for this. Dude!” But he’s happier than I can be. Same as anyone else, I guess.
    â€œI’ll be all right,” I tell him.
    â€œJetson had you figured. Bro, animals are better at sensing that shit.”
    I don’t want to talk about this so here’s my reply: “Yeah.”
    â€œSo, like, is the ‘d’ with you right now?”
    The “d.” Only Brad would say that. Ugh. I tell him, “How the fuck am I supposed to know?”
    Brad looks at the music kid. “Who the hell are you?”
    I point at him. “He’s recruiting band members for some band.”
    Brad gets in the kid’s face—“Go recruit somewhere else!”—and there he goes, but Brad doesn’t stop. “The demon’s supposed to stick around, bro. You feeling disturbed?”
    I turn to him. “Man,” I say, “shut up.”
    â€œBro, I don’t know why you’re so bummed. This is going to make you. For real, man, you’re golden. Your yearbook bio is going to read ‘Winner like a motherfucking sinner.’”
    Not listening. The line is moving. Soon: chicken fingers.
    â€œWhat about the symptoms?”
    Even Brad’s asking about the damn symptoms. “I’m a little annoyed by all the questions, if you want me to be absolutely real.”
    But today Brad’s not going to be as big of an asshole. He actually listens to me. I know, it’s crazy. “Fine man. You’re tired. Bet you’re really tired. I bet a lot on the fact that you’re... really tired.”
    â€œNot going to be your next wager,” I tell him.
    â€œCool, it’s cool,” Brad says. “We got to see JJ.”
    â€œFirst, chicken