1. Dominic

1

DOMINIC

F lint parks in the expecting omegas stall at our local Target. It's embarrassingly difficult to open the door and step out into the cool morning. It feels like everyone is looking at me, even though I'm sure that isn't true.

This is what happens to people who stay in their homes for too long. I've become paranoid.

I grab a red cart on our way inside. Flint said I could get whatever I wanted. He ambles beside me, sneaking glances my way. I know he's worried about me. I don't blame him. If he had stayed inside for months, I'd be worried about him too.

I can't let myself hide away from the world like that again.

The bright clothing and makeup displays are a little overwhelming after spending so much time in my room reading. We turn the corner and run right into an endcap display of Liam Wilder's latest album. It's absolutely ridiculous. There are vinyl records, posters, tote bags, and little bobble-head dolls with his stupid face and long hair. The album isn't even that new. It came out when we were in New Zealand. I know because it kept coming on the radio when we were at the grocery store, and Flint tried to pretend it didn't bother him.

It's unfair that Liam Wilder has a fucking bobble-head, and Flint's having a hard time selling songs after taking a four-month hiatus.

I grab for the bobble-head dolls and toss them in my cart.

"You want Liam Wilder dolls? I mean, I said you could get whatever you wanted, but do we need three of them? I mean four of them. Five? Dominic?—"

I grab the vinyl records next.

"We don't even have a record player, baby," he says.

The posters are harder to squeeze into the cart. They're rolled up, but they're long.

"Okay. So, we're buying out the Liam Wilder display. That's unexpected."

The tote bags fit nicely on the bottom shelf of the cart. The carboard shelves themselves will be a little more challenging. I grab the top of the display with both hands and rip it free.

"Dominic, that isn't for sale!"

"Well, now it isn't. Because we're going to take all this garbage and put it exactly where it belongs," I say, stacking the carboard shelves on top of my cart.

"What do you mean? Where does it belong?"

"Ripped up and destroyed on the floor."

I turn the cart around and start walking toward the exit.

"Wait! We're not buying all this Liam Wilder merch just to destroy it, are we?" he asks.

"Of course we're not buying it. He doesn't deserve any of our money." I push the cart through the security detector. It lights up and starts beeping.

"So we're just going to steal it? What is going on?" He grabs the side of the cart and tries to stop it, but after a decade of welding, I have more upper body strength than he does. Even after taking a full year off.

At least there are some advantages to being an Ivanov.

I run through the exit. The Liam Wilder bobble-heads boing around on their plastic necks, and the vinyl records slide back and forth. Flint tries to catch up with me, but I run faster. It feels good to be out of the house after holing up for so long.

"Dominic! Wait! They're going to call the cops!" His voice is loud and shrill, like he's afraid.

"They won't call the cops. This stuff doesn't belong in their store," I say.

He finally catches up to where I'm waiting for him behind the trunk of his car. He bends over, gasping for breath. "Run that by me again. You said that stuff doesn't belong at their store? Explain what that means. I think I know, but I'm really, really hoping your nest isn't Liam Wilder merch."

"Give me the keys." I hold out my hand.

His shoulders droop. "You're collecting Liam Wilder merch. Great."

"I'm not collecting this stuff. I'm destroying it."

He sighs dramatically. "And that means we have to pay for it, rather than just giving it back after you're done."

"I'm not paying for any of this," I insist.

"Not now, at least." He hands me the keys. "Here you go. Mom warned me things were going to get weird. I guess this is pretty weird."

I don't see what is weird about this. I'm just removing offensive material from Target. I put all the merch in the trunk and shut it. Flint holds his hand out for the keys. Usually, he drives. But I don't give them back. Instead, I get into the driver's seat.

Flint reluctantly climbs into the passenger seat.

"Where are we going?" he asks.

"To the other Target. We have to get rid of that Liam Wilder merch, too."

"Of course, we do." He sounds sarcastic. Why doesn't he understand? He's the one Liam Wilder screwed over.

"We should probably go to the record store, too," I say.

He nods. "This is what I get for insisting you leave the house two weeks before your egg is due. I have no one to blame but myself."