The words come out before I can think. But I’ve never believed anything more.
Rosie slaps me, Alison yanks my ponytail and James shoves me hard into the wall. Pain blooms as my arm scrapes brick, blood trickling warm.
Vincent’s eyes widen in terror at the sight and his whole body trembles.
“That’s enough,” Seth mutters, pulling the others back. “Let’s go.”
Before leaving, he turns. “Say one word about this, and next time will be worse.”
I don’t care. I only care about Vincent. I crouch in front of him, dizzy, my arm bleeding. “Go away,” I tell them, but mostly to Seth, and my voice’s shaking. When they’re gone, I stay there, protecting Vincent from the world, even as my head throbs and my body aches.
Seth and his gang finally disappear from the alley, and I can finally focus on Vincent. He’s shaking, just like on my birthday. I have to help him breathe. I have to give him the drops. I have to hold his hands. I have to do something. “The drops. Where are the drops?”
He doesn’t answer. His face is streaked with tears, and his breath comes too fast.
“Please, Vincent. Where are the drops?”
My eyes dart to his backpack, tossed on the ground. “Of course—the backpack. Wait.”
I tear open every pocket until I find the small bottle Chris used before. My hands shake as I hold it. “Cooper, do you know how many drops?” My voice cracks. “Vincent, please! I can’t help you if I don’t know how.”
“F-f-four...” he whispers between breaths.
“Four drops. Okay.”
I measure them carefully and bring the dropper to his lips. He doesn’t fight me—just opens his mouth, obedient. I squeeze the drops onto his tongue, then close the bottle and shove it back into his backpack. But the medicine doesn’t work fast enough. His chest still heaves, and his fingers tremble. I hesitate, afraid to touch him, afraid he’ll pull away.
Then I stop thinking. I grab his hands. I rub them gently, like I’m brushing away the fear. “Breathe with me, Vincent. Deep breaths. In, out. Follow me.”
He locks eyes with me, struggling to breathe. “I-I-I’m... b-bad,” he stammers. “I’m him. My father. I hit Seth. I’m just like him—”
“No.” I squeeze his hands tighter. “You’re not bad. You’re Vincent Cooper. You’re not your father. You’re special—like me. It’s your father who couldn’t see that.”
His breath slows, just a little. His trembling eases.
“You’re not Vincent Bogdanov,” I whisper. “You’re Vincent Cooper.MyVincent.”
His lips part. “Y-yours?”
I nod. “Yes. And I’m your Nova.” I smile at him through my tears. “Keep breathing, Vincent Cooper. No one will hurt you ever again.”
And then, suddenly, he lets go of my hands—only to wrap his arms around me. “Are you my Nova?” he whispers into my hair.
“Yes,” I breathe, holding him tight. “And I’ll protect you, Cooper.”
-*?? . ??? ? ?.-*??
When Vincent and I walk back into class after recess, hand in hand, we lie to the teacher. I say I got hurt while we were playing, and he says he panicked because of the blood. She believes us easily. Turns out we’re both pretty good liars. We know Seth won’t stop anytime soon, but at least now we’re not alone. We’re together.
Later, we sit in the garden behind his house, hidden by the sheets fluttering on the line in the September sun. Vincent has his little radio between his legs, and I brought my ukulele—the one Dad gave me for my birthday. Percy snoozes on my lap, his warm weight heavy and safe.
The radio crackles with a Deep Purple song. Vincent is completely absorbed, his fingers tapping along to the rhythm on the back of my hand. He hums softly, and I realize—he loves music.
“Nova?”
“Mhm?” I pretend to know what I’m doing on the ukulele.
“Today you said I’m your best friend...” His eyes flick to mine.
