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Flynn has just flopped down onto her bed, ready to go to sleep early and put the whole shitty day behind her, when her Mom calls up, “Flynn, Alex is here!”
Flynn groans into their pillow. After all the shit that’s happened today, she forgot Alex was supposed to come over to give her notes on some new beats.
They don’t get a chance to formulate a polite way to tell Alex to fuck off before he’s poking his head through their bedroom door, an eager smile on his face.
“Hey, Flynnigan,” he greets. “You ready for me?”
Flynn rolls onto her back and sighs, and Alex’s grin falls.
“Are you okay?” Alex asks.
“Just a shitty day.”
Alex sits down next to her, though he’s careful not to touch her without permission. Flynn’s grateful; she loves the other two ghost boys dearly, but they do not understand Flynn’s stressed-induced touch aversion like Alex does.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Alex asks.
“My shitty history teacher was being shitty again,” Flynn sighs.
Alex raises an eyebrow. “The one who tried to make you debate the pros and cons of slavery?”
“The very same,” Flynn confirms.
“What a dick.” Alex lays down alongside her, hugging one of her plushies to his chest and kicking his legs like a tween gossiping at a sleepover. “What’d he do this time?”
Flynn lets out a frustrated groan. “He knows I have accommodations for my autism— the school has told him so many times— but he wouldn’t let me wear my headphones when it got too loud in class, and then he sprung a pop quiz on us and refused to give me the extra time I’m supposed to have.”
“Christ,” Alex says. “This dude is stuck in the nineteenth century. Even in the 90s, teachers respected my accommodations. Did you report him?”
“I’ve reported him eight times,” Flynn groans. “It’s always the same. I complain, they tell me he has tenure and will be nearly impossible to punish, and then they send me right back to his class. It’s bullshit.”
“It is,” Alex agrees. “I’m sorry he’s being so shitty. You deserve better.”
“Yeah,” Flynn huffs. “I do.”
They both lay in silence for a moment, seething in the injustices of the American Public Education System.
Suddenly, Alex perks up. “Do you want to just keep venting, or do you want to do something about it?”
Flynn raises an eyebrow at him. “What did you have in mind?”
Alex shrugs, giving her a smirk. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”
“Does this idea involve eating our feelings? Because I think Mom made vegan chocolate cake.”
“I like that plan, but no,” Alex says. “I’ll be right back.”
He poofs away before Flynn can ask where he’s going. He’s only gone for a minute, however, before he returns with his backpack on his back and a mischievous grin on his face.
“Come with me,” he says, holding out a hand to her. When she hesitates, he retracts it. “Sorry, is touch still not okay? I can put my sleeves over my hands or something—”
“No, it’s fine.” Flynn stands and takes his hand. “I’m just wondering how much I trust your weird teleportation thing.”
“Fair,” Alex concedes. “But do you trust me?”
“Debatable.”
“Hey!”
Flynn snorts and nudges his arm with their shoulder. “I’m kidding. I trust you. Like, only sixty percent, but I trust you.”
Alex rolls his eyes. “Okay, smart ass. Hold tight.”
He poofs both of them out of Flynn’s room, and Flynn feels her stomach lurch in that now-familiar way that happens whenever the boys teleport her. They don’t think they’ll ever get used to the sensation.
When they land, they’re in front of a two-story suburban house, outside the city if the lack of light pollution and traffic is anything to judge by.
“Where are we?” Flynn asks, looking around. Nothing here looks familiar.
“Your teacher’s house,” Alex says, a proud smirk on his face.
“What?” Flynn asks. “How do you know where he lives? I thought you didn’t know how to use Google.”
“I’m learning!” Alex protests. Off Flynn’s skeptical look, he adds, “And the phone book still exists, you know.”
“Oh my god, you’re so old.”
Alex flicks her in the side of the head. “I’m trying to do something nice for you here.”
“And what, exactly is that?”
Alex grins and unzips his backpack. He reaches in and pulls out a carton of eggs, then hands it to Flynn. She looks up at him, surprised.
“Willie disabled all the security cameras in the neighborhood,” Alex explains, “and they’re inside keeping Mr. Dickhead occupied, so you can go wild.”
“Occupied how?”
“He’s pretending to be the ghost of George Washington and telling him how all the Founding Fathers were racist dicks.”
A grin finally spreads across Flynn’s face as she pops open the egg carton. “I have never loved you more than I do right now.”
Alex plucks an egg from the carton and holds it out to Flynn. “Will you do the honors?”
Flynn accepts the egg. “I would love to.”
She takes a deep breath, aims, and then hurls the egg at the window with all her strength. It hits with a satisfying splat, and a spike of exhilaration runs through Flynn.
“That felt good,” they breathe.
“Good,” Alex says. He reaches into his backpack and pulls out three more cartons of eggs and a 12-pack of toilet paper. “Let’s wreck this place.”
Two hours later, Alex poofs them both back to Flynn’s room. They’re both giggling, giddy messes, high off the adrenaline of revenge well served. Flynn immediately pulls Alex into a hug and drags them both down onto her bed.
“Thanks, Alex,” she says. “You’re a good friend.”
“Takes one to know one.” Alex wraps his arms around them and places a kiss on their forehead. “Let me know if he causes any more problems. I’m always down for petty revenge.”
“Right back at ya.”
“Deal,” Alex nods, sticking his hand out for a handshake.
Flynn takes it, and they both dissolve back into giggles. Maybe today wasn’t a total bust after all.