Falter Kingdom by Michael J Seidlinger Page B

fingers.”
    â€œWhat’s with the chicken fingers, bro? Every day it’s those deep-fried strips. You get sick of those or are you eating for two now?” Brad laughs.
    I look at him. He seriously stops, animal shot dead in his tracks. Totally dead mid-laugh, maybe even a little standoffish.
    â€œHey, bro, just playing.”
    â€œI’m just hungry, okay?”
    â€œCool, cool.”
    We wait in line, I get my order, and we make a beeline right for the exit. I don’t look at anyone because everyone’s busy looking at me. Today of all days, the name on people’s tongues is “Hunter Warden.”
    I can’t get past how Brad reacted a second ago. I wasn’t that mad. I mean, I don’t think I was that mad. He’s just obnoxious, that’s all. I can’t stand him. But yeah, he didn’t need to be afraid or something.
    We’re talking and people wave. Everyone’s like “Hunter, yo!” and “So awesome” and “What was it like?” It’s what almost everyone wants to know: What’s it like? I mean, it’s a common thing right?
    People have demons and then they get rid of them.
    I ask Brad and he says, “I dunno anyone that did. But there’ve been a bunch, yeah. Ask JJ. There’s a tally going on.”
    Another group of people slow down to congratulate me. It’s the thespian crew, and they’re all like, “You got to be a part of our play before you get rid of it. We’d kill to get some authentic activity onstage.”
    Yeah, yeah—everyone wants some part of it.
    Brad says, “Bro, you’re a celebrity.”
    I can’t take it at face value. I’m too preoccupied with a previous thought. How many people have gotten a demon while running the gauntlet? But anyway...
    I like but also hate what’s happening. The reaction. It’s great to see that doing something crazy gets a few likes, but at the same time, I’m like, Do you really care? I know maybe two in every twenty who I’ve talked to, but we don’t have anything in common. Really we don’t. Ilike the attention—would be kind of weird not to—but it’s also sort of fake. Like Brad being Brad—it’s really fake. If I really said anything to them other than “Thanks” and “It was wild,” they’d shut off and not listen anymore.
    It’s all the effect, I guess, of being one of the, like, 5 percent who actually ran.
    Jon-Jon looks up from his phone and actually stands up when he sees me. “Well, well, my demonic friend...”
    â€œHey, about that...” I start to apologize and explain why, but Jon-Jon won’t have anything to do with it. It’s like I’m the guy he’s trying to, I don’t know, swindle... that’s a word, right, “swindle”? I’m the guy who’s being swindled into some new scheme.
    â€œJetson sniffed it on you after sixty seconds,” Jon-Jon says as he walks back to where he always sits, picking up a growling, sneering Jetson. He tries to get the dog to stop but gripping on to the dog only makes it worse. He tells two girls, “Walk him ’round back.”
    They comply.
    He adds, “I’ll text you when we’re done.” Jon-Jon turns and grins at me. “First piece of advice—stay away from animals. They go right for the jugular.” Jon-Jon taps the side of his neck.
    I ask Jon-Jon what I asked Brad.
    â€œWell”—Jon-Jon looks back down at his phone—“it’s a short list.”
    He holds out the phone and I almost don’t want to take it. Jon-Jon rolls his eyes, stands up, and puts it in my right hand, points at the screen: “There’s the list. Twelve names. It was eleven until I added your name.”
    There I am, number twelve.
    â€œYou keep a list?” I ask Jon-Jon.
    He laughs, hands going through his stylized hair. “Like I told you