Neal turned sixteen in the spring and on the morning of his birthday drew a gigantic bat. He sketched with a No. 2 pencil on a lined sheet of notebook paper while, at the front of the classroom, his history teacher lectured boringly about something that happened a long time ago in the boring city of Chicago. Neal was supposed to follow along on his Chromebook, like the rest of class, but he didn\u2019t care much about history, and he definitely didn\u2019t care about anything that had ever happened in Chicago. He just wanted to draw his bat. He rubbed the graphite of his pencil in quick, fat strokes to darken its flesh. It hovered over a city skyline and flapped wings the length of ten skyscrapers. Neal colored its eyes with red ink from a ballpoint pen. The redness of the eyes suggested the bat was bent on destruction.<\/p>\n
\u201cHappy birthday,\u201d said Joan, who sat at the desk beside him. \u201cI like your bat.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a demon,\u201d Neal said. \u201cA bat demon. It marches with the demon army. Only the army is more like a family.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs this for your comic book?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m starting a new one,\u201d he said. \u201cThis one takes place at the end of time. The human race is destroying the world, and only the demon army can stop us. The demon army must crush humanity to save the world.\u201d<\/p>\n
From the front of the room, Mr. Johnson reminded his students not to talk during class. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Neal. In a way, Mr. Johnson\u2019s eyes were more terrifying than the bat\u2019s.<\/p>\n
Neal tapped the down arrow on the keyboard of his Chromebook to catch up with the lecture. He tried to concentrate on Chicago in the 1880s, but instead he thought about Joan. He remembered when they were kids, how their parents let them play together at the lake on the outskirts of town. Joan would lie on an inflatable raft in her bikini, and Neal would rise out of the water like the creature from the Black Lagoon.<\/p>\n
Neal leaned toward her, asked if she would meet him by the lake after school. She said she would love to, but she had band practice.<\/p>\n
\u201cAfter dinner then,\u201d he said. \u201cBefore it gets dark.\u201d<\/p>\n
Joan opened her mouth to answer, but the deep voice Neal heard next belonged to Mr. Johnson.<\/p>\n
\u201cI said no talking! Keep your eyes on your screens.\u201d<\/p>\n
Neal returned to his Chromebook. He read an article about the Haymarket Affair. It was more interesting than he\u2019d expected. Industrial workers went on strike and held a big rally. Police tried to break up the demonstration. Someone set off a bomb.<\/p>\n
An icon shaped like a cartoon word bubble flashed red in the corner of his screen. He clicked it to read an instant message. From Joan. She would meet him in the evening by the lake.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Neal took the bus home from school, then lay in bed and looked at his phone. He scrolled through news stories on The Washington Post<\/em> app. He read a story about the war in Gaza. The death toll among Palestinians rose daily\u2014higher and higher. Neal tried to picture all of the dead, tens of thousands, but he couldn\u2019t. It was too many. He read about a pair of Israeli airstrikes on a refugee camp. The first strike killed a mother and father and their three-year-old child. The woman had been pregnant, and doctors managed, against all odds, to save the baby. The second strike killed seventeen children. More were believed to be trapped beneath rubble. Neal read a story about a ceasefire resolution before the United Nations Security Council. The United States vetoed the resolution. Neal\u2019s mother called out from downstairs, telling him to come down for dinner.<\/p>\n The dining room smelled like soy sauce. Red and white Chinese takeout containers populated the table.<\/p>\n \u201cWe got your favorite,\u201d Neal\u2019s mother said as he sat down. She was still dressed in the gray blouse and high-waisted pants she had worn all day at the office. \u201cGeneral Tso\u2019s chicken. The birthday boy always gets his favorite.\u201d<\/p>\n Neal\u2019s favorite Chinese takeout food was Szechuan beef, but he graciously didn\u2019t mention it. He used a pair of disposable wooden chopsticks to pile his plate with white rice and General Tso\u2019s chicken. The table vibrated slightly when his mother received a notification on her phone.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t we have a rule about phones at the table?\u201d said Neal\u2019s father through a mouthful of fried rice. A purple-checked collar poked out of the neck of his Patagonia vest. The fleece bunched up around his waist but failed to conceal the bulge of his stomach. \u201cWasn\u2019t it you who made the rule?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s for work,\u201d Neal\u2019s mother said. \u201cIt\u2019s important. Just this once, and I\u2019ll put it away. It\u2019s important.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd my work isn\u2019t?\u201d<\/p>\n Neal and his father ate while his mother tapped out a message on her phone. His father swallowed before speaking to an AI device across the room. He directed it to play a financial news podcast. Loud rap music blared from the speaker.<\/p>\n \u201cNo! No music!\u201d said his father. \u201cTurn off the music!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRichard! Turn off that music,\u201d said Neal\u2019s mother.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m trying! I\u2019m trying to turn off the music!\u201d<\/p>\n From the speaker, a male voice rapped over the sound of gunfire. The rapper promised to make the police D.O.A.<\/p>\n Neal put down his fork, crossed the room, and tapped a button on the AI device to turn down the volume. Then he calmly told the device to stop before returning to his seat.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy don\u2019t we throw that damn thing away?\u201d his mother shouted. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t even work. All it knows how to do is play advertisements.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIgnore the advertisements,\u201d his father said. \u201cI paid $100 for that damn thing. No way am I throwing out $100. Just ignore the advertisements.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t like how you let technology run our lives,\u201d his mother said. \u201cWhat kind of example are you setting for our son? Children today suffer from too much screen time. They can\u2019t even think anymore because they\u2019re up all night on TikTok.\u201d<\/p>\n Her phone buzzed as it received another email. She hunched over the phone to peck out a reply.<\/p>\n \u201cKids need to understand computers,\u201d his father said. \u201cNeal wants to go to college and study computers and make a ton of money. Don\u2019t you, Neal? Don\u2019t you want to study computers?\u201d<\/p>\n Neal swallowed and cleared his throat. \u201cI\u2019m going to art school. I want to be a comic book artist someday, and I need to go to art school to get better at drawing comic books.\u201d<\/p>\n His father rubbed his forehead as if it ached. \u201cNo way in hell am I paying four years of tuition so you can waste your life in art school. Useless. Listen, what you\u2019re going to do is, you\u2019re going to major in something smart, like data science or machine learning, and you\u2019re gonna graduate and land a good job, and you\u2019ll thank me later. You\u2019ll thank me because you\u2019ll be making big bucks. Maybe you\u2019ll thank me by buying me a boat.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, Richard, leave him alone. He has plenty of time to figure out what to do with his life.\u201d<\/p>\n Beneath the surface of the table, Neal balled his hands into fists. \u201cI already know what I want to do. I\u2019ll be an artist. A comic book artist.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNow listen, do you think a babe like your mother ever would have married a slob like me if I was nothing but a starving artist?\u201d Neal\u2019s father turned his head up to the ceiling and laughed. \u201cFat chance! She\u2019s in it for the money!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh Richard, stop it!\u201d Her phone buzzed again, and she held it up to her face to read an email.<\/p>\n \u201cYour mother\u2019s a real feminist.\u201d Richard wiped his eyes. \u201cShe liberated the money from my wallet.\u201d<\/p>\n Neal stood up abruptly and approached the AI device. He spoke to it in a low tone\u2014causing loud rap music to blare from the speaker. The rapper said he slapped his ho for running her mouth.<\/p>\n Neal\u2019s father shouted something, but Neal didn\u2019t listen. He stormed to the garage and slammed the door. He wheeled his bike onto the driveway. The evening felt warm, and the neighborhood was quiet except for the rhythmic chirp of insects. Neal mounted his bike and rode to the lake.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n A flock of Canadian geese took flight, pumping wings frantically to rise above waters lit gold by the setting sun. Neal stood on the pebbly lakeshore and held a hand to his forehead like a visor. The flapping reminded him of his bat. He imagined the geese as soldiers in the demon army. Bird soldiers would be loyal and united in purpose.<\/p>\n A bicycle crunched to a stop in the gravel behind him. Joan dismounted and slid a purple helmet off her head. She told him the lake looked beautiful, she had never seen it so beautiful.<\/p>\n \u201cI wish I had a boat,\u201d Neal said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. \u201cI\u2019d like to be out on the water. If I had a boat, we could sail away together on the lake. Sail away and never come back.\u201d<\/p>\n Joan crinkled her nose. \u201cIt\u2019s not far to the other side.\u201d<\/p>\n Neal and Joan held hands and walked along the lake. The shoreline was slender, bordered by a thick grove of trees. Joan glanced at Neal\u2019s face, the dark curls that tumbled over his forehead, then looked away, over the water.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll miss you when I go to college,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s not for a long time.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve been reading about the environmental studies department at CU Boulder,\u201d she said. \u201cOne of the professors published a paper on intensive agriculture, how the overuse of pesticides and fertilizers diminishes crop yields over time. When I go to CU Boulder, I\u2019ll study under that same professor.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ll be a great scientist,\u201d Neal said. \u201cYou\u2019ll solve climate change by junior year.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, I plan to.\u201d<\/p>\n The light played tricks on Joan\u2019s hair. Usually it was blonde to the point of whiteness, but the sunset colored it bright yellow, like a magic marker. Neal wanted to draw her portrait. He wanted to keep the drawing close to him always and never forget her face. He squeezed her hand and turned toward the trees, where evening shadows grew long and dark.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve been telling everybody I want to be a comic book artist. But really, I don\u2019t know. I just can\u2019t think of anything better. I mean I like art, I like comics. I guess I don\u2019t know what I want to do at all. But until I figure something out, I\u2019m going to keep telling everybody I want to be a comic book artist.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019d be a good one,\u201d Joan said. \u201cYou\u2019re already great at drawing bats.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt used to be fun when my parents asked what I want to do when I grow up. Now it makes me sick. I don\u2019t want to program computers or sell stocks. I don\u2019t want to be a lawyer or electrical engineer. Everybody tells you to be something and contribute to society. Well I read the news, and according to The Washington Post, society is in big trouble. I don\u2019t want a job. I mean I know I need one for money, to survive. I just don\u2019t see the point in working a billion hours a week and wearing wingtip shoes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI can\u2019t imagine why a comic book artist would ever wear wingtips,\u201d Joan said.<\/p>\n She met Neal\u2019s eyes and nodded toward the trees. He leaned in and listened to her breathing for a moment before kissing her. He led her by the hand into the seclusion of the grove, where they kissed fiercely and groped and knelt to the ground and lay together. Joan looked different in the dark. Her shadow-self manifested savagery and lust. Neal imagined her as queen of the demon army, feeding off the dark energy generated by the adoration of her legions. Shadow Joan was a goddess deserving of worship. Shadow Joan made Neal forget his frustrations and anxieties. She reminded him that the world was vast and strange. She was his night goddess, and he, her lord of air.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The stars had revealed themselves by the time Neal and Joan straddled their bikes, waved goodbye, and pedaled in opposite directions to their homes. Neal passed the big houses by the lake before entering his neighborhood of smaller bungalows and aging Victorians. The avenue was quiet and lit by streetlamps. A black cat kept watch from the warm glow of a window. Neal glimpsed a news broadcast on a television screen. He remembered the war in Gaza. He imagined bombs dropping on houses. He imagined his own neighborhood on fire, embers carrying the stench of the dead. Almost as soon as he began to think about it, he stopped. It was terrible. Sometimes the world was terrible.<\/p>\n Handbrakes squeaked as he arrived in his parents\u2019 driveway. The moon shone round and yellow in the sky. The air felt cool in a pleasant way, and Neal pitied his neighbors, locked away in stuffy boxes. He spied his parents through windows, each scrolling their phones in separate rooms. He considered going inside. He considered pursuing a college degree in software development. He turned to the sky.<\/p>\n \u201cI swear to the moon.\u201d<\/p>\n On the night of his sixteenth birthday, Neal made a secret oath. The words came naturally. When he opened his mouth, the syllables simply tumbled out. His voice rang unfamiliar\u2014deep and resonant. The words charged him with delicious energy, and by the time he finished, he felt as if his old self had shed away, replaced by something new. Part shadow. Part bat. More than anything he wished to fly. And someday he would. He knew it. Fly away from school. Away from his home and parents. Fly away even from Joan. His new self was more adrift than the old, and hungrier. An entire world awaited him, and he intended to see it and savor it.<\/p>\n \u201cI offer my soul,\u201d he said, rocking in the saddle of his bicycle. \u201cI swear myself, forever and always, to the armies of the night.\u201d<\/p>\n Later, when Neal put himself to bed, he remained awake for hours, his mind racing with delirious excitement. Gradually the softness of his pillow calmed him. When at last he dozed, moonlight shone through his bedroom window, and he dreamt of nothing but bats.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Joan looked different in the dark. Her shadow-self manifested savagery and lust. 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