Infinity Son by Adam Silvera (some good books to read .TXT) 📕

discussing the Blackout after losing his son, Eduardo, who was on a class trip in the Nightlocke Conservatory when the Spell Walkers demolished the building with their powers, taking the lives of six hundred and thirteen people this past January.”

I stand by the theories I voiced on YouTube about how someone else must’ve framed the Spell Walkers for the Blackout to move their own agenda.

But what do I know? Go ask a valedictorian.

As for Eduardo Iron, I’m not dropping tears for him. When he was alive, all he did was bad-mouth and bully celestials and incite more violence. There are better people to mourn.

We get it together and head out. When we reach the park’s entrance, Prudencia is waiting for us. This day has finally brought me something good.

Prudencia Mendez is glowing in a knotted T-shirt, navy shorts, boots that make her look like an archaeologist, and her late mother’s watch, which doesn’t work but never leaves her wrist. Her black hair is pulled up in a long ponytail. When I go in for a hug, her brown eyes narrow and she shoves me.

“I almost didn’t come, but then I wouldn’t be able to hit you,” Prudencia says. “You idiots could’ve died.”

“We were fine,” I say.

“We’re not fireproof,” Emil says.

I glare at that traitor. “Prudencia, even you have to admit I was brave to record that power brawl like a true journalist.”

“Not a journalist. You’re being a fanboy who doesn’t care about his life or his brother’s.” There’s no lightness in her voice. “Your life isn’t worth fifteen minutes of fame, Brighton.”

“Tell me about it. My video hasn’t even reached a hundred thousand views yet.”

“That’s a new record for you,” Emil says. “Wasn’t that long ago when you were celebrating one thousand views.”

“Dreams grow,” I say.

“Last night was a nightmare,” Prudencia says. “One I know well. Losing my parents to wand violence was already too much, and if you can’t promise me that you’ll leave the next time there’s chaos, then I don’t want you in my life.”

I’m not going to be responsible for breaking her heart.

“I promise,” I say.

“Same,” Emil says.

Prudencia lets out a deep breath and hugs Emil, then me. I relax into her hug, which seems longer than the one she shared with Emil—probably something to do with our whole will-we-or-won’t-we thing we’ve had going on since meeting in high school.

The timing has always sucked. I dated my first and only girlfriend, Nina, through freshman and sophomore year, then broke that up after finally admitting to myself I saw Nina more as a friend and Prudencia as more than that. Before I could express anything, Prudencia started flirting with our classmate Dominic. Definitely didn’t help that of all people Prudencia could’ve dated, she linked up with a celestial who could travel through shadows. For weeks after, I was nonstop calling Dominic a snob for not agreeing to be on my series, and I’ll never admit this out loud, not even to Emil, but my recent buzz cut may have had something to do with modeling it after Dominic’s hair. Their downfall was a combo of Prudencia’s aunt being as intolerant as they come, and Dominic’s parents only wanting him dating other celestials to preserve their bloodline, as if he was trying to be some young dad. Secret-keeping got to them, and they broke up.

I’ve still got a few days before I go; maybe Prudencia and I can click into place before then. Find a way to make it work across the country.

We get deeper into Whisper Fields, named so in honor of Gunnar Whisper, a late-bloomer celestial who took charge in the Undying Battle of Fountain Stone against gangs of necromancers. The textbooks of course credit the win to ordinary soldiers who fought off those ghost-raising maniacs with wands, gem-grenades, and gauntlets—all man-made by celestials, though people are quick to forget that—but I’m not shy about making sure anyone and everyone knows about Gunnar’s glory and how proud I am to share Bronx roots with this hero who truly saved the day. The statue is erected by the lake where Gunnar first came into his power of clairvoyance at twenty-three years old, and I always feel this electricity in the air whenever I’m near it, like maybe I’m moments away from discovering I’m a celestial too, who will one day have a park named after me, or that Prudencia and I will take a step into a cooler future together.

But as I approach Gunnar’s bronze monument today, there’s this dread unlike I’ve ever had before. I expected to find dozens of Brightsiders waiting for me underneath the shade provided by Gunnar’s salute, but I can only make out . . . one, two, three, four, five, six . . . seven. Seven people.

“No one showed,” I say.

“There are fans literally waving at you,” Emil says.

“Seven people.”

“It’s still early.”

“And train traffic,” Prudencia says.

“Got any more excuses?” I point at the blue skies. “Should we blame the weather too?” I put on a smile and wave back at my fans. “Let’s knock this out.”

I chat with the six Brightsiders—turns out the seventh person is a friend tagging along—about their favorite videos. I grow more and more self-conscious as Emil films, my original vision for the video with big crowds surrounding me completely collapsing. Someone of Lore’s caliber—a successful YouTuber—would never have to learn their fans’ names or have lengthy conversations outside the comments sections, because of their high demand. I bottle those ugly feelings and put on a grateful face as a couple more people trickle in for quick hellos before the hour is up, and I’m left lounging by the lake with Prudencia and Emil, using the unsold T-shirts as a pillow.

“I know it’s not what you wanted,” Prudencia says, dipping her feet in the water. “But you made their days.”

“I’m a failure on every level. I had the superior video, and it didn’t go viral. I mean, come on, I was deep in the action. And now this meet-up was a bust, and . . .