Page 2 of Instigator

The group is made up of a fun, slightly chaotic, definitely inappropriate group of the best people I’ve ever met. Most of us are neurodivergent in some way—hence our nickname, the Neurospicy Book Club—but neurotypical people are welcome to join us. We don’t discriminate. We even have two male and three nonbinary members.

I had no idea I have ADHD until Sadie asked me what meds I was on and if I needed them adjusted. She has the condition herself, so my diagnosis was obvious to her—as well as how much I was struggling. At her encouraging, I pursued treatment, and now we regularly trade medication side effect miseries. The late-diagnosis journey has been interesting, but I finally have the support I needed growing up.

The chaos of the bookstore—all the voices talking over each other, side conversations, and the general buzz of being surrounded by people I love—goes a long way to soothe that restless itch deep inside my soul. If only I could get this high more than once a month.

But all too soon, my friends start leaving, going home to their partners and spouses. Even Bex, my last holdout, has someone waiting for her at home.

Inevitably, when Sadie none too subtly kicks me out, I head home. For half a second, I consider going to my favorite bar on Dalton Street, but after three strong drinks, I don’t need any more. Not tonight. Not with the mood I’m in.

The rideshare drops me off at my townhouse in Back Bay, and I cross the threshold into the arms of nothing. Every room dark. Quiet. Empty. After the chaos earlier, the silence echoes in my head like a tin drum, beating louder and louder. I turn on every light in the house, pour a glass of water, and sit in front of my TV to fire up my gaming console. Wanting to see if my buddy is online, I connect to our favorite game server. If there’s one thing I can count on to chase away my loneliness, it’s⁠—

“Hey, you.” The deep timbre of his voice rumbles in my headset. “Thought you’d never show up.”

I check my watch, and to my surprise, it’s a quarter to midnight. We had plans for ten thirty.

“Stayed out a little later than I planned. Whoops.”

Wish—or WishIWas, his full screen name—chuckles, the sound warm and rich. “You’re not sorry one bit.”

“Did you hear me apologize?” I fire back.

He laughs outright now. “You’re right. I should have known better.”

The two of us have been playing an online baseball game for almost seven years. We’ve never met—I don’t even know his real name, and he doesn’t know mine. We’ve never shared pictures or even what city he lives in, only that it’s in the Eastern time zone.

I do know he travels a lot for work. When he can, he brings his gaming console, and since I’m a night owl, we can still game for a few hours even if he’s on the West Coast. Most days, I’m crashing into bed around three or four, but I’ve been known to stay up to watch the sunrise on Beacon Street before finally face-planting into my bed.

He doesn’t know it, but he’s my best friend. The only person I can truly be myself around.

My family sees me as the moneybags. My friends think I’m a sex-obsessed horndog. And yeah, they’re not far off. But that’s all they see me as. Fun. Easy. No substance.

Wish knows me nearly as well as I know myself. He has a high-pressure job, and we’re there to hang out. Relax.

And along the way, we’ve become friends. Good friends. I don’t need to know his name or what he looks like to value his place in my life.

“How was book club?” he asks as we settle into our game.

“Good. I’m a little tispy.”

He chuckles. “Tispy?”

“Fuck off. Tispy. You know the word I’m trying to say.”

“You mean wasted?”

“Go to hell,” I grumble, stretching out my legs, then immediately folding them again.

Wish snorts. “Then who will you talk to?”

“Shut up. I have other friends aside from you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I do! I was just with them tonight.”

“And yet you’d rather hang out with me.”

Finally, I admit, “You’re more fun than they are.”