The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 3: Ronan

We end up stopping at a newspaper stand a few blocks away. Jesse drifts over to a display of comic books, unimpressed by the range of options. "All they ever sell is Marvel," he complains, our fight about Sabrina already forgotten. (He has a short attention span and gets distracted easily. I rely on this a lot.) "How am I supposed to keep up with Batman? Or the X-Men? They only have the Avengers."

"We can go somewhere else if it bothers you so much. I'll call a cab."

"No, it's fine— look, here's some D.C." Jesse picks up a comic and shows it to me. Superman's chiseled face glares at me from the cover. "Now, this is some quality stuff. Superman— he's the original hero. He's the best."

"Superman's lame," I reply, shuffling through the pages of an Archie volume. "You can defeat him with a green rock."

Jesse sets the comic down and flashes me a scandalized look. "Not just any rock. Kryptonite."

"What's the difference? It's still a rock."

He snorts in disbelief. "You make it sound like he's the only superhero with a weakness. Have you ever read Green Lantern? Wonder Woman? Wolverine?"

"Okay, okay, I get it. Every superhero has a weakness."

"Everyone has a weakness," Jesse corrects me. He stares at me knowingly. Or at least tries too; he makes it a full three seconds before breaking out in a grin.

I shove the Archie comic back onto the display and glare at him. "It's annoying when you try to act deep, you know."

"I'm just saying."

"Well, you can stop saying."

Jesse walks over and punches me lightly in the shoulder. "I know what your Kryptonite is, Ronan. It's your mother."

I punch him back. But not as lightly. "Shut up. You know it's not."

"If it isn't, then why did you crash Simon's car?" I glare at him even harder, but Jesse doesn't relent. "What did he even say about Sabrina, anyways? Nothing could have been bad enough that you would risk going to jail to protect her."

"For your information, it was bad enough. And it's not like just Sabrina would get in trouble for it. My dad would go down too, and so would his friends, and maybe even my Aunt Helen, since she knew about A—" I stop myself and shake my head. "It was just bad, okay? And Sabrina is not my Kryptonite."

Jesse just shrugs. "If she isn't your Kryptonite, then what is?"

"Maybe I don't have a Kryptonite. Maybe I'm invincible."

"Right now, you're about as invincible as Gwen Stacy in the Spider-Man comics."

"Considering that Sabrina looked like she wanted to snap my neck today, you're not that far from the truth."

Jesse goes and picks up the Superman comic again, then carries it over to the stand. He waves frantically to catch the attention of the cashier, who's busy bobbing his head to a tune on his Walkman.

"Jesse, you don't have to do that," I protest. Jesse doesn't come from a poor family, but he certainly isn't rich, either. "If this is because I paid for your ice-cream—"

"Just think of it as a parting gift." Jesse asks the cashier for a pen and scribbles something down on the last page of the comic— a phone number. His phone number. "This is so you can call me from whatever cell they lock you up in." He presents the comic to me like he's handing over a laurel wreath. "And you better call. Or I really will judo flip you."

Grudgingly, I accept the comic. "I already have your phone number memorized."

"Think of it more as a reminder to call, then. I know you tend to get lost in that head of yours."