SOULMATE(s) - 2. Familiar Names

Nick looked at the empty chair once more before pulling it away from the desk.

“I guess I am.”

Luke shifted his backpack farther beneath his own chair, clearing enough space for Nick to sit without having to step over it. The gesture was small and probably automatic, but Nick noticed it anyway. He lowered himself into the seat, placed his bag between his feet, and took out a notebook before he could appear uncertain about what to do next.

The two boys across the aisle resumed the conversation Nick had interrupted. Luke turned toward them again, though not before giving Nick a brief nod that seemed meant as a welcome rather than a dismissal.

Nick opened his notebook to the first page and wrote the date at the top.

He could still feel Luke beside him.

Not because Luke was doing anything unusual. He was simply there, leaning back in his chair with one arm resting across the desk, speaking to his friends in the relaxed manner Nick had observed from a distance countless times. His voice carried easily without becoming obnoxiously loud, and he seemed capable of making even an ordinary story sound entertaining. The boys across the aisle laughed as Luke described someone falling from an inflatable tube during a trip to the lake, though Nick only caught pieces of it.

Something about a snapped rope.

Someone losing a shoe.

A father yelling from a boat while Luke laughed too hard to help.

Nick kept his attention on his notebook.

There was no reason to listen. Luke’s summer had nothing to do with him, and sharing a desk did not make them friends. Mr. Daley would begin class in less than a minute, and once he did, Luke would probably forget Nick was sitting there except when he needed more room for his elbows.

That possibility should have been reassuring.

Luke was one of Jack’s friends. Nick had spent enough of the previous year learning what could happen when he mistook casual attention for safety. He had no intention of making that mistake again simply because Luke had smiled at him and moved a backpack.

The final bell rang, closing the room around them with a sound that seemed sharper than the warning bell outside. Conversations faded slowly rather than stopping all at once. Mr. Daley rose from behind his desk, straightened the number-covered tie hanging against his shirt, and waited until the last few students noticed they were the only ones still talking.

Luke turned forward.

For the first time since Nick sat down, their shoulders nearly aligned.

Mr. Daley began with attendance. His voice was dry and measured, carrying the weary patience of a man who had taught the same first-day routine too many times to pretend it was exciting. He moved down the alphabetical list while students answered with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

When he reached Finley, Luke raised one hand without looking away from the front.

“Here.”

Several names later, Mr. Daley called, “Nathaniel Anderson?”

Nick blinked.

A few students laughed.

Mr. Daley frowned at his sheet. “No. I mean Nicholas Anderson.”

“Here.”

Mr. Daley adjusted his glasses as if the error belonged to the paper rather than to him.

Luke glanced sideways.

“Nathaniel,” he whispered. “You kind of look like a Nathaniel.”

Nick kept his eyes on the front of the room. “What does a Nathaniel look like?”

Luke appeared to consider the question seriously.

“I don’t know. Polite. Owns at least one sweater vest.”

Nick glanced down at his plain black T-shirt. “Then I clearly don’t.”

“Maybe you keep it for special occasions.”

Nick pressed his lips together, refusing to give Luke the satisfaction of seeing him smile, though the effort made the corners of his mouth tighten anyway.

That was the entirety of their first conversation.

At least, Nick assumed it would be.

Mr. Daley passed stacks of paper along the first desk of each row and instructed everyone to take one before handing the rest behind them. The syllabus was four pages long, printed in a font small enough to suggest that Mr. Daley believed Algebra Two required legal protection. It outlined grading percentages, homework expectations, attendance rules, calculator policies, and something called academic integrity, which occupied nearly half a page.

Luke turned the packet over. “There are terms and conditions.”

Nick pretended to read. “You’re supposed to accept them without reading.”

“That’s how they get you,” Luke said.

Nick heard amusement in Luke’s voice, but there was no expectation that he answer. Luke seemed comfortable speaking into silence, not because he enjoyed hearing himself talk, but because he assumed silence could hold conversation too.

Mr. Daley began reviewing the packet line by line.

Nick listened carefully. First days often contained more warnings than actual information, but he preferred knowing what teachers expected. Rules were easier to manage when they were stated clearly. If he knew what counted toward his grade, when assignments were due, and how much participation mattered, he could arrange himself accordingly.

Beside him, Luke had already stopped following the syllabus.

He rolled a pencil between his fingers while Mr. Daley explained that homework would normally be assigned Monday through Thursday. When Friday assignments were described as rare but possible, Luke quietly exhaled as though receiving a serious medical diagnosis.

Nick did not react.

A moment later, Luke leaned slightly closer.

“Did he say quizzes every week?”

His voice was low enough that only Nick could hear.

“Every other week.”

“Are you sure?”

Nick pointed to the line printed beneath the grading section.

Luke looked down.

“Oh.”

He picked up his pencil and drew a small mark beside it.

“Thanks.”

Nick nodded once and returned his attention to the front.

There was nothing remarkable about the exchange, but he remained conscious of it for several minutes afterward. Luke had not made a joke about needing Nick to read for him. He had not turned toward his friends to invite them into the conversation. He had asked a question, received an answer, and thanked him.

It should not have been enough to seem unusual.

After the previous year, ordinary kindness sometimes did.

Mr. Daley spent the next twenty minutes reviewing material from Algebra One. He wrote equations across the whiteboard and asked questions meant to determine how much the class remembered after summer. Nick knew most of the answers, though he only raised his hand when the silence became uncomfortable.

Luke did not raise his hand at all.

He copied some of the examples but abandoned others halfway through, leaving unfinished equations spread across his page. Nick noticed without intending to. Luke’s handwriting slanted sharply to the right, large and uneven, with numbers that sometimes looked more like letters.

When Mr. Daley wrote a problem involving two variables and asked them to solve it independently, Luke stared at the board for several seconds before beginning.

Nick finished first and checked his work.

Beside him, Luke erased the same line twice.

Nick resisted looking again. He had no responsibility for Luke’s math, and Luke had not asked for help. Watching him struggle would only make Nick appear nosy.

A minute later, Luke lowered his pencil.

“Does that negative apply to everything in the parentheses?”

Nick glanced at the problem.

“Yes.”

“So both terms change?”

“Yes.”

Luke looked at his work and erased the line a third time.

“That explains a lot.”

Nick returned to his notebook.

He could have left it there, but when Luke rewrote the expression, he made the same mistake in a different place. Nick watched the pencil hesitate.

“You need to distribute the three first,” he said quietly.

Luke looked toward him.

Nick pointed to the beginning of the equation without touching Luke’s paper.

“If you combine those terms now, you’ll lose the variable.”

Luke studied it, then nodded.

“Right.”

He worked through the next line more slowly. When he reached the correct answer, he circled it and leaned back with a quiet expression of satisfaction that seemed disproportionate to the problem.

“I knew that.”

Nick looked at him.

“I just needed someone else to know it first.”

Despite himself, Nick smiled.

It was brief enough that Luke might not have noticed. Nick immediately lowered his eyes and pretended to examine his own work.

Mr. Daley moved on before Luke could say anything else.

For the remainder of the period, they exchanged only a handful of words. Luke asked whether the first worksheet counted toward their grade. Nick told him it did not. Nick dropped his eraser, and Luke caught it beneath his shoe before it rolled into the aisle. Neither conversation lasted more than a few seconds.

Luke was friendly, but he was friendly in the same effortless way he appeared to be with everyone else. There was no special attention in it. He did not stare, ask personal questions, or behave as though Nick’s reputation had followed him into the room. If Luke knew what had happened the previous year—and Nick assumed he did—he gave no sign that it mattered.

That was good.

Nick preferred it that way.

When the bell rang, chairs scraped against the floor and the classroom dissolved almost immediately into movement. Students crowded the aisles, shoving papers into backpacks and continuing conversations that had been interrupted forty-five minutes earlier.

Nick slid his notebook away and stood.

Luke remained seated long enough to finish writing something on the syllabus. One of the boys across the aisle called his name and motioned toward the door.

Luke lifted a hand in acknowledgment before glancing at Nick.

“See you tomorrow, Nathaniel.”

Nick stared at him.

Luke’s expression remained serious for half a second before the smile returned.

“Sorry. Nick.”

“You knew what my name was.”

“I know it now.”

Nick adjusted his backpack over one shoulder. “That’s usually how attendance works.”

Luke laughed softly.

“Have a good one.”

Nick left the classroom without answering more than a quiet, “You too.”

The hallway beyond the door was already crowded. He allowed himself to be carried toward the English wing, moving between groups of students while replaying the class despite having no reason to do so.

Luke had been normal.

That was the simplest way to describe it.

Normal and friendly, but not unusually friendly. He had not behaved like Jack, and he had not made Nick feel as though every sentence contained a second meaning waiting to reveal itself. If anything, Luke seemed barely aware that speaking to Nick could be interpreted as significant.

Perhaps it was not significant.

They were two students assigned neighboring desks in the same class. Tomorrow, Luke might sit somewhere else. Even if the arrangement continued, Algebra Two was probably the only course they would ever share. Luke was a junior, while Nick was only beginning tenth grade. Their schedules, friends, and lives occupied different levels of the school.

Nick told himself there was relief in that.

His second-period English class passed without incident. Will sat two rows behind him and spent most of the lesson trying to balance a pen across his upper lip whenever the teacher turned toward the board. Their teacher, Mrs. Greene, asked everyone to write a page describing something they had learned over the summer, which resulted in twenty minutes of collective silence and the occasional dramatic sigh.

Nick wrote about an old movie marathon he and Tobey had organized in July, though he left out the part where they watched six horror films in one night and Will fell asleep during the only one he had insisted was too frightening for everyone else.

When class ended, Will caught up with him outside.

“How was Daley?”

“He has a tie with numbers on it.”

“That bad?”

“He gave us a four-page syllabus.”

Will placed one hand over his heart. “I’m so sorry.”

Nick glanced at the guitar case, which Will was still carrying.

“Didn’t you put that in the music room?”

“The cabinet is locked, and Mr. Benson lost the key.”

“Already?”

“He claims someone moved it.”

“Who?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“That sounds like losing it.”

“That’s what I said.”

They headed to a mandatory assembly in the auditorium. The assembly consisted mostly of reminders about attendance, dress code, parking restrictions, and the importance of representing Saint Gabriel’s with dignity. Nick sat between Tobey and Will while Vice Principal Callahan delivered a speech about personal responsibility.

Two rows ahead, Kent and Ken Nakamura whispered to each other until a teacher looked in their direction. The twins stopped at exactly the same moment, their expressions becoming so innocently attentive that Nick nearly laughed.

Kit sat beside them.

Even from behind, he was easy to recognize by the auburn hair and the width of his shoulders beneath his dark polo shirt. Unlike the twins, he appeared to be listening, or at least he was better at pretending.

Nick looked away before any of them turned around.

By lunchtime, the nervous energy of the morning had begun to settle into fatigue. The cafeteria was louder than the rest of the school combined, filled with the scrape of chairs, shouted conversations, and the constant movement of students searching for places to sit.

Their usual table near the windows remained unoccupied.

Leah reached it first and dropped her backpack onto one of the chairs as though claiming territory. Will placed his guitar case beneath the table with exaggerated care, while Tobey set down a tray containing a slice of pizza that looked as though it had been reheated several times since dawn.

Nick sat beside Will and opened the paper bag he had brought from home.

His mother had packed a turkey sandwich, an apple, and a small container of cookies. She had also added a note telling him to have a wonderful first day, with a heart drawn beneath his name.

Nick folded the note before anyone could see it.

Leah noticed anyway.

“Is that from your mom?”

“No.”

“She still puts notes in your lunch?”

“Sometimes.”

“That’s sweet.”

“It would be sweeter if she didn’t think I was secretly dating you.”

Will opened a bag of chips. “Maybe she’s trying to encourage the relationship.”

“There is no relationship.”

Leah rested her chin in one hand. “You never take me anywhere anymore.”

Nick stared at her.

Tobey took a bite of pizza, his expression neutral.

Will shook his head. “You two are going to get married because arguing with her is harder than explaining the truth.”

Nick’s amusement faded slightly at the final word, though Will had not meant anything by it.

Leah seemed to notice. She reached across the table and took one of his cookies without asking. “How was everyone’s morning?” she asked, redirecting the conversation with unusual subtlety.

“Mr. Benson lost the music-room key,” Will said.

“He says someone moved it,” Nick added.

Leah looked between them. “That sounds like losing it.”

“Thank you.”

Tobey described his biology teacher, who had spent the first ten minutes of class attempting to make a projector display anything other than a blue screen. Leah had already received a warning for arguing with a girl in her homeroom about whether students should be allowed to use phones during free periods.

“It wasn’t a warning,” Leah insisted. “Mrs. Palmer said we would discuss it later.”

“That sounds worse than a warning,” Tobey said.

“She knows I’m right.”

“She knows you won’t stop.”

“Also true.”

They turned to Nick.

He knew what Leah was going to ask before she spoke.

“What about math?”

“It was fine.”

“Who did you sit with?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Because desks are paired, and I’m curious.”

Nick removed the lid from the small container of cookies.

“Luke Finley.”

Leah reacted so quickly that her chair legs scraped against the floor.

“Did he bother you?”

Several students at the next table glanced toward them.

Nick lowered his voice. “No.”

“Did he say anything?”

“A few things.”

Her expression sharpened. “What things?”

“About the class.”

“Nick.”

“He didn’t tease me, Leah.”

She studied him as though trying to determine whether he was minimizing something.

Will stopped eating. Tobey’s attention shifted fully toward Nick, though he remained quiet.

Nick sighed.

“We didn’t talk much. He asked me a couple of questions about the syllabus and one of the problems. That’s it.”

“And he was okay?” Will asked.

“He seemed fine.”

Leah folded her arms. “He’s friends with Jack.”

“I know.”

“Close friends.”

“I know that too.”

“Then excuse me for asking.”

Nick softened his voice. “I’m not mad. I’m just telling you nothing happened.”

Leah looked down at the table, her fingers picking at the edge of a paper napkin. “I don’t trust that group.”

“Neither do I.”

“Luke laughs at Jack’s jokes.”

“Most people laugh at Jack’s jokes when they’re standing beside him.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

Nick had no answer to that.

Across the cafeteria, the football players occupied their usual tables near the center of the room. Jack was seated among the linemen, speaking loudly enough that people several tables away could hear him. Luke sat farther down with Kit and the twins. He was laughing at something Kent, or Ken, had said, one arm resting across the back of his chair.

Nick looked away before Leah followed his gaze.

“He’s in eleventh grade anyway,” Nick said. “It’s not as though we’re going to share a lot of classes. Algebra Two is probably the only one.”

“You could ask to change seats,” Leah suggested.

“Why would I do that when he hasn’t done anything?”

“Because you don’t owe him the opportunity.”

Will glanced at her. “That sounds dramatic.”

“It’s called prevention.”

“It’s math class, not witness protection.”

Leah ignored him and continued watching Nick.

Nick understood her concern. She had seen what Jack’s attention could do, and she had spent most of the previous year trying to stand between Nick and anything that might resemble it. Her protectiveness sometimes arrived before danger did, but it came from a place Nick could not resent.

“He was nice,” Nick said more quietly. “That’s all.”

Leah’s eyebrows lifted.

“Nice?”

“Normal. Friendly, I guess.”

“That’s different from nice.”

“Fine. He was friendly.”

“Too friendly?”

Nick almost laughed.

“No. We barely spoke.”

Tobey, who had listened without interrupting, placed his pizza back on the tray.

“Then there isn’t anything to worry about yet.”

Leah turned toward him. “Yet?”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“You definitely made it sound that way.”

Tobey looked at Nick instead.

“Just pay attention.”

Nick nodded. “I always do.”

That answer seemed to satisfy him, though not Leah.

The conversation eventually shifted away from Luke. Will complained about the cafeteria’s new policy requiring students to return trays to a different side of the room. Leah described her chemistry teacher as suspiciously cheerful. Tobey revealed that a freshman had mistaken him for a teacher because he had been carrying a folder.

By the time lunch ended, Nick had nearly convinced himself that sitting beside Luke Finley was as unimportant as he had claimed.

The afternoon moved more slowly.

World history with Tobey was followed by a study period in which no one studied. Nick spent most of it organizing his folders and watching the clock. The school had become warmer as the day progressed, and even the air-conditioning seemed tired. Voices in the hallway softened. Students slouched lower in their chairs. Teachers abandoned the enthusiastic tone they had maintained during the morning.

Chemistry was Nick’s final academic class of the day.

The science wing occupied the eastern side of the building, where the corridors smelled faintly of disinfectant and something metallic he could never identify. Posters of the periodic table and molecular structures lined the walls between classroom doors. Through the windows at the end of the corridor, the football field was visible beyond a row of trees.

Nick arrived earlier than most of the class.

The chemistry room was larger than an ordinary classroom, with long black-topped laboratory tables arranged in pairs. Metal sinks and gas taps were built into each station. Safety goggles hung from hooks near the storage cabinets, and a glass case along the back wall contained rows of labeled bottles that looked more dangerous than they probably were.

Mrs. Abrams stood near the whiteboard, arranging handouts into neat stacks.

“Choose any seat for today,” she told him. “I may assign lab partners later.”

Nick scanned the room.

He preferred sitting near the middle, close enough to see demonstrations without placing himself directly beneath the teacher’s attention. Most of the tables were still empty, so he chose one beside the windows and placed his backpack beneath the stool.

He had barely taken out his notebook when someone stopped beside the table.

“Anyone sitting there?”

Nick looked up.

Kit O’Connell stood across from him, one hand resting on the back of the empty stool.

For a second, Nick forgot the question.

Kit looked different at close range than he did in photographs or across the cafeteria. His hair was more brown than red indoors, though warmer strands caught the light near his forehead. His blue eyes were clear and steady, and his face retained a softness that made him look younger when he was not wearing a football helmet.

He was broad through the shoulders and chest, especially for sixteen, but nothing about the way he stood seemed deliberately imposing. He held himself quietly, without the constant physical performance Nick associated with many athletes.

Nick realized he had been staring.

“No,” he said. “It’s free.”

“Thanks.”

Kit pulled out the stool and sat down.

For several moments, neither of them spoke. Kit took a notebook and pen from his backpack, placing them neatly on the table. He had a small scar across one knuckle, and the skin along his forearms was lightly tanned from summer practice.

Nick looked toward the front.

He knew Kit, though not personally. They had attended the same school since seventh grade, and everyone knew the quarterback. More importantly, Kit was the famous twins’ best friend. Nick had occasionally seen the three of them together after the locker-room incident, but Kit had never spoken to him beyond a passing greeting.

There had been no reason for him to.

“Hey,” Kit said.

Nick glanced sideways.

Kit offered a small smile.

“Hi.”

That seemed to be enough for both of them.

Other students entered and filled the surrounding tables. Two girls behind Nick discussed whether chemistry involved dissecting anything. A boy near the cabinets asked Mrs. Abrams if touching the gas taps would cause an explosion, and she told him that if he had to ask, he should keep his hands in his pockets.

Kit’s mouth moved slightly, though he did not laugh aloud.

When the bell rang, Mrs. Abrams began by describing the course as an introduction to understanding matter and the ways it changed. Unlike Mr. Daley, she did not read directly from the syllabus. She moved around the front of the room while she spoke, occasionally lifting an object from the demonstration table to illustrate a point.

Nick found himself interested despite the late hour.

Chemistry seemed less predictable than math but more tangible. There were rules, though the rules could produce smoke, color, heat, or shattered glass if followed incorrectly.

Mrs. Abrams handed out safety contracts and instructed everyone to read each section carefully before signing. Nick worked through the page in silence.

Beside him, Kit read at roughly the same pace. He did not tap his pen, whisper comments, or glance toward Nick’s paper. The quiet was comfortable, unlike the guarded silence Nick had maintained beside Luke that morning.

When they reached the section requiring students to identify the nearest eyewash station, Kit looked around the room.

“There,” Nick said, pointing toward the sink near the door.

Kit followed the gesture.

“Right.”

A few minutes later, Kit noticed the emergency shower mounted near the cabinets before Nick did and pointed it out in return.

Their cooperation did not extend much beyond that.

Mrs. Abrams demonstrated how to light a Bunsen burner safely, though no students were allowed to try yet. Kit watched with focused attention, occasionally writing notes in the margin of his handout. Nick had assumed, without examining why, that Kit might treat the class casually. Football players were often described as though athletic ability and academic interest could not exist in the same person.

Kit did not seem confused by the lesson. He answered one of Mrs. Abrams’s questions correctly and returned to his notes without looking around to see who had noticed.

Nick remembered the way the school talked about him.

Quarterback. Captain. Popular. Nice.

He had always assumed the last word came from teachers and parents who admired the first three.

Perhaps it did not.

Near the end of class, Mrs. Abrams asked the students at each table to compare answers on a short introductory worksheet. Nick and Kit turned their pages toward each other.

They had reached the same answers for the first four questions. On the fifth, Kit had classified an example as a chemical change, while Nick had marked it as physical.

“It changes color,” Kit said.

“But it doesn’t say a new substance forms.”

Kit read the example again. “You’re probably right.”

“I’m not sure.”

They looked toward the board, where Mrs. Abrams had written a list of indicators.

Kit tapped the page with his pen. “Color change can mean chemical.”

“Can mean.”

“So we’re both not sure.”

Nick smiled faintly. “That’s reassuring.”

Kit looked at him, and for a moment Nick wondered whether he had said something strange.

Then Kit smiled too. “We’ll be wrong together.”

The answer turned out to be chemical.

Kit drew a small check beside his original choice but did not point out that he had been right. Instead, he leaned closer enough to show Nick where Mrs. Abrams had explained the new substance being formed.

Nick corrected his answer.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The final bell rang before they could say anything else.

Relief moved through the room as students began gathering their belongings. Stools scraped across the floor, papers disappeared into folders, and conversations resumed with the energy of people suddenly aware that the school day was almost over.

Nick slid the safety contract into his chemistry binder and zipped his backpack.

Kit stood first.

Someone near the door called to him about football practice. Kit answered that he would be there in ten minutes, then lifted his backpack onto one shoulder.

Nick expected him to leave with the others.

Instead, Kit looked down at him.

“See you later, Nick.”

The words were ordinary, spoken in the same calm voice Kit had used throughout class.

Nick still felt warmth rise into his face.

“Yeah,” he said, hoping the surprise did not show. “See you.”

Kit turned and followed the other students into the corridor.

Nick remained beside the laboratory table for several seconds longer than necessary, one hand resting on the zipper of his backpack.

He knew it was ridiculous to be affected by someone remembering his name. Kit had attended school with him for years. His best friends were the twins who had defended Nick in the locker room. Nearly everyone at Saint Gabriel’s knew who Nick was, though not always for reasons he wanted them to.

Still, Kit had said his name as though it were simply his.

Not Anderson.

Not that gay kid.

Not spoken loudly enough to draw anyone else’s attention.

Just Nick.

He left the classroom and joined the current of students moving toward the front entrance. Outside the windows, football players had already begun crossing the field toward the locker rooms. Nick caught a glimpse of Kit among them, walking beside Kent and Ken.

Luke appeared a few steps ahead, moving backward while speaking to Jack and another player. His blond hair caught the afternoon sun through the glass, and his laughter reached Nick even through the noise of the hallway.

Nick walked toward his friends, telling himself that he had survived the first day and that nothing particularly important had happened. He had shared a desk with Luke Finley, exchanged a few harmless jokes with him, and discovered that Luke could be friendly when Jack was nowhere nearby. Then he had spent chemistry beside Kit O’Connell, who was quieter than Nick had expected, unexpectedly attentive, and somehow already knew his name.

None of it meant anything.

Luke was friendly with everyone. Kit had probably learned Nick’s name from Kent and Ken—or from the rumors that had traveled through school the previous year. There was no reason to keep thinking about the easy brightness of Luke’s smile or the calm way Kit had looked at him before leaving chemistry.

By the time Nick reached home, however, both moments had followed him through the entire walk.

Luke leaning toward him during math, his voice lowered as though the small jokes between them belonged only to the two of them.

Kit pausing beside the laboratory table and saying, See you later, Nick, as though speaking his name were the most natural thing in the world.

Nick closed his bedroom door behind him, dropped his backpack beside the desk, and fell backward onto the bed. He stared at the ceiling for several seconds while heat slowly climbed into his face.

Then he covered his eyes with both hands.

“Please, God, I can’t have a crush on two straight guys at the same time,” Nick whispered to himself.