by Chara, Mina
Veronica sent us through the barricaded trail, to the front of a stadium where the center was plastic flooring rather than astro turf or wood. There was no audience in the bleachers, just the jumbo screen, and the goals left over from the night before. The stadium floor was filled with weights, benches, and various types of running machine. One by one they gave us athletic gear and pushed us into the locker rooms. I waited until everyone had finished and the locker room was clear before I changed out of my clothes.
As soon as we all stepped out Veronica clapped her hands, and took her place on a small stage where all of us could see her. The camera crew stood next to her, reading their equipment and someone fiddled with a pack attached to the back of her skirt. She straightened her back and looked up. The light on the camera went red, and Veronica was suddenly very chipper.
“This is your first appearance on Hero High! We will determine exactly what your powers are, how useful they’ll be, and rank them. At the end of the examination you’ll be given a letter. Open it and you’ll find your team assignment, power name and recommended career path! This will determine what what mentor you’re given. Are we clear!?” We hummed in agreement, and Veronica nodded. The doors to the room banged against the wall as they opened to a flood of extra cameras and commentators as men and women with clipboards directed us to the first trial.
I was pushed onto a running machine with everyone else, a black band strapped to my arm. The treadmill started without warning and I did my best to keep up as the speed increased. Other students had already moved on, and were working on the long jump, dead lift, and high fall. One of the men holding a clipboard turned my treadmill up as high as it would go, and my breath was reduced to short harsh puffs. “Stop,” I yelled. “Stop it!” He paid no attention, so I jumped off and ripped the band from my arm. “We’re done,” I told him. He shook his head and scribbled something down before directing me to the deadlift. I managed to lift forty pounds before my arms felt like rubber but the long jump was a disaster. The high fall wasn’t so hard, so long as if I took my time, I dropped from the grappling hook and landed squarely on the ground, but a tall stocky man with a whistle disapproved.
“If you take that long to get down, the bad guys gonna be gone already! Come on kid, step it up. You’re a superhero, not a girl-scout, I won’t be givin’ out extra points for being careful.”
A man leaned over and grabbed the clip board from the assistant who’d been shadowing me, and flipped over every page. A siren sounded, and a spotlight blasted light on the circular platform in the middle. A jumbo screen across the room flashed with the words ‘power test’. A presentation purely for the show. The new guy shadowing me pulled me over to the side as each student got on the platform, waited for the camera and demonstrated their power with whatever props they needed. I recognized the guy, but I just couldn’t put a finger on who it was.
The boy with three suitcases lifted his hands and mushrooms scattered across the floor, rising from their spots, like they were animated. The jumbo screen behind him showed an animated slot machine and all of us waited to see his school ranking. Each slot hit into place, he was ranked eighty eight. The crowd cheered, but not too loudly. The lower the score, the higher the rank, the number used to pit us against each other, something to make us compete. The man shadowing me pushed me up on stage and joined me.
“Can’t run, can’t lift, can’t fly, damn! You might have an even lamer power than I do. So, what is it? Can you make it rain confetti? Or maybe you can play dead.”
I thought for a moment wondering why he seemed familiar. “Oh my god,” I said, “you’re Flat Boy!”
He smiled for a moment, and then suppressed a glare. “Call me Coach Flat.”
“What? Why? You used to be The Captain’s sidekick! You were great, your power’s amazing.” His eyes narrowed, as though he was making sure I wasn’t joking, and then smiled once he was sure I was sincere.
“So, what’s your power?” Coach Flat asked.
“I can pause things.”
The man narrowed his eyes, and sighed. “Elaborate.”
“I can speed up how quickly I think, to the point that everything looks like it’s stopped, and play things back, run possible scenarios in my head.” I tried to sound confident, but as powers go, it wasn’t likely to make good television.
“So. You’re a super speedster?” asked the coach.
“No, I can’t move fast,” I explained, “it’s just my mind. My body’s frozen.”
“Wow, that’s the worst power I’ve ever heard!” said Coach Flat, “I love it! Can you show us?”
“Not really, in the application office they made me solve algebra problems for a day, to prove I even had a power.”
“How fast could you do it?” the coach asked.
“From their perspective? As fast as I could read the question.” I told him, “from mine? It seemed like hours?”
Coach Flat shook my shoulder. I expected encouraging words but instead all he said was “Sucks to be you. Give us her ranking.” The slot machine on the screen spun, and landed on two hundred. As I stepped off the stage passing a tall, cheerful girl, Veronica tutted.
“Here’s your contract,” she said, sliding a large pile of papers and a pen my way. “Got to sign a contract if you wanna be on TV,” she said with a sigh.
“But, I haven’t read it,” I told her.
Veronica snorted. “Sign it.”
“I can’t sign something I haven’t read,” I said again.
She frowned, narrowed her eyes, and reached under the table to pull out a large file with my name on the front. “Let’s see,” said Veronica, flipping through the pages, “here we are. Here for monetary reasons, yes?” I swallowed, and nodded wondering what difference it made. “Sign,” ordered Veronica, “if you don’t, no money.” She smiled as though this was the only part of her job she enjoyed. In other circumstances I’d have spent a week carefully reading and re-reading the contract, but they’d sprung it on me at the very last minute and my family needed that money, so I signed. Before she could pull it back, I flicked though the pages, and blinked, catching a glimpse of the words, breach of contract … twenty thousand … fine.
“I don’t understand,” I told her. “I can’t even demonstrate my power. Why didn’t I score three hundred?”
She sighed, and put her clipboard down. “Because you’re not ugly. I mean, hell kid! You could be a commentator or a teacher, some kids, well they’re just too gross. Don’t get me wrong, you’re not exactly pretty, and you could do to lose some weight, but I don’t hate looking at you.”
“Thanks. You piece of shi-”
Coach Flat took my arm, “Come with me, shorty and don’t say somethin’ you’ll regret, ” he said, steering me away as fast as he could.
“I’m not short!” I insisted, despite the evidence.
“Sure.”
“I’m not.” Coach Flat pulled me over to the other side of the room where a small number of students were waiting round a mat. He dropped my clipboard onto a pop up picnic table and sat on the edge while another much larger, more imposing figure emerged from the crowd of students. Dressed in suburban father attire and glasses, this was the one and only Captain Fantastic. My body locked. Every one of the kids looked up at him in awe; the greatest superhero ever known, right in front of us. Everyone else around me sunk into nonexistence the moment I saw him.
“So, is this all of them Frank?” the captain asked.
Flat Boy nodded briefly. “Yes Principal, it is.”
“Good, good.”
“That uh…” Coach Flat glanced down at the clipboard and pointed over at me. “That Fitzsimmons girl over there has the most passive power I’ve ever seen.”
Captain Fantastic smiled and nodded in my direction. He looked at me. He looked at me! “Well,” he said, “it’s not the powers that make the hero.”
My brain melted at the sight of his smile, and a blush powered across my cheeks. The girl standing
beside me looked me up and down and sneered. I gave her a quick glare in response. So what if I was a fan?
“Partner up, and we’ll see what you can do.” said Coach Flat.
The sneering girl stepped in front of me without a moments notice. Coach Flat started to speak, rattling off advice on how to handle a super villain, and how to fight while the captain stood at the edge, his arms crossed. My partner looked me up and down again, reached for my jacket, and opened it to see the lining. I pushed her away and readjusted it on my shoulders.
“That’s a designer jacket,” she said, “how much did it cost?” somehow she made a simple question sound like a threat. I straightened my back and bent my knees preparing for fight.
“A lot?” I replied. She scoffed and ground her teeth. “Look, it’s just a jacket, okay?” I held up my palms, as though showing I didn’t have anything in them.
“Why are you here?” she said, circling round me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“It means, if you’re rich, why are you here?” She settled in front of a thick blue sparing matt.
“Being well off doesn’t mean you don’t have to work.” I told her.
“Please, like this is work.”
How could she say that? Being a superhero was a way of life. Not a walk in the park. “This is a job, we get paid,” I said.
“Exactly, and we don’t have to do anything.” She checked the ends of her nails, though I was still ready to fight.
“Our job is to help other people!” I insisted, stiff with anger.
“I guess,” she said, making the concept sound trivial.
“I guess? You and I have to give up our lives to help other people, that’s what this job means,” I told her.
“Relax, don’t get so pissy about it.” she hissed.
“I haven’t relaxed since I was eight!”
“Take a chill pill,” the girl said, “you need to calm down, I only asked an innocent question, what is it, that time of the month?”
My fists clenched at my side, I didn’t want to look at her.
“What? Gonna cry, then go home to mommy?”
Without so much as a moment’s thought, I shoved her down onto the matt. “No one talks about my mother!” I said in warning from above her. The cameras swerved round just in time to catch her screaming.
“My arm! I think it’s broken!” she cried, her head swishing about like she was trying to make sure the cameras caught the red gleam of her hair. The captain pulled her up and several nurses rushed over to take her away, but the captain stopped them at the door, giving her a brief check over as she leaned on him. “It’s broken! She broke my arm!”
“Your arm’s fine,” said the captain as he sent her away. There wasn’t a scratch on her, but she still clutched her arm like I’d broken it. As soon as she was gone, I knew she’d wanted me to punch her, not shove her. She was playing the cameras.
“Now I remember you!” shouted Coach Flat as he moved towards me, flipping through my file. “You’re the girl that punched a guy in the face, so your dad sent you away,” he put an arm around me and smiled, “you’re a tough cookie, I like you.”
“I didn’t mean to do it,” I said, and it was true. “It just happened, he was pushing me around.”
“Sure you meant to,” the coach insisted, “the guy probably deserved it.”
“Frank!” yelled the Captain, glaring down at his friend, “It doesn’t matter what someone was doing, nobody deserves it.”
“The girl lost her temper,” said the coach, “it happens.” He looked at me, his lips pressed into a stern, straight line.
“I didn’t hurt her,” I said.
“She think’s she’s broken her arm,” said the captain.
“That’s bullshit. All I did was shove her.”
“I know what it’s like to lose your temper young lady, I’ve been there myself,” said the captain, “but I will not tolerate this sort of behavior Ms. Fitzsimmons, do you understand?”
“Yes sir.” I said without a moments hesitation, as though I was being scolded by my father. My voice came out gentle and overly sweet, all because it was him, he stopped to look me up and down for a second, and sighed.
“Good. And Fitz?”
“Yes sir?”
“I’ll be watching you.” he said it with an ounce of concern, as though it was a warning, but not a threat.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
He nodded to me, because he believed in my sincerity, and I was sincere. I would never have lied to the captain. A bell rang and our clipboards were collected and tallied. We lined up, the cameras moving through our ranks, stopping to ask us a single question and see who looked best on camera. I opened my letter and found an overly large red D sitting next to my name. My team was blue, my rank in the class was bottom, and the recommended job was support. I could have made a good support hero working in the control center, thinking of plans for each hero in need, but the truth was I wanted to be out there with them, not cooped up in an office. I needed to work, I needed to do.
Jake had wanted to be a superhero since we were kids, but he’d settled for helping heroes instead. The school for handler training was in the other part of the Super Structure, so superheroes and handlers never really mingled. I would be the first super powered handler. I sighed and pulled my letter out all the way, so I could read the name of my mentor, dorm house number, and power. Hyper Synaptic Activity it was called and in brackets it said, ‘blinking’. They’d called my power blinking… Oh well.
A few kids whistled and hollered as they received big red A’s, and superhero job recommendations. The red-haired girl I’d shoved had a card that said ‘spacial replacement’ with a great big A on the front and a recommended superhero placement. Aya, the bouncy haired girl from the plane held a B card, which read ‘Object Transportation’ and the boy next to her held an A card which said ‘Rapid Heat Transference’.
A tall, burly girl with bright green eyes had a power called ‘Mirrored Dust Production and Manipulation’, a boy wearing a name tag and with a book under his arm had a power called ‘Integral Internal Substance Mutation’ and lastly, a girl with sharp eyes and a regular frown held a card that said, ‘Zone Production and Traversing’. There were other kids with D’s, C’s and B’s; I could read the names of their powers but they didn’t make much actual sense. I’d never realized it before, but maybe I did want to be a hero. Maybe I wanted to be like the Captain after all.
Veronica sent us to put our normal clothes back on, and threw us into the arms of frantic stylists. None of them changed our clothes, they just adjusted outfits on racks, placing numbers on tops and bottoms as they looked us up and down. One woman walked up to me taking note of my clothes and measurements. She stopped when she got to my earrings.
“Pink mother of pearl? That’s a bit dated, don’t you think? You should really change those.”
“They were my mothers,” I told her.
“Even so,” she insisted, “pink’s really not your color-”
“They’re special to me, I don’t care if they’re dated.” She shook her head, scribbled down a list of colors and stuck it to a rack of clothes with my name on. I’d hoped that we were finally done but no. There was more.
Veronica signaled us to follow and together we crossed to the building opposite. Inside was a stage, the curtains were still drawn and we stood together in the darkness ready to give the fans their first look at the new class. We only just fitted on the stage. The unseen crowd roared, a man ran on stage, straightened his tie and checked the index cards in his hand while nodding to the stage hands as they scrambled about. It was only when he turned to face us I recognized Carey Fry, his hand raised in greeting. Carey Fry had been on The Hero Channel for a while, he was their go to guy for the opening ceremony, quiz shows, interviews, you name it. I felt like I’d known him since I was a kid and though he did look a little older in person he was still handsome. He certainly knew ho
w to wear a suit seeing as it was all red. And I mean, all red.
“Listen up.” The chatter and mumbles faded out. “This segment will take five minutes at most, so don’t worry, we’ll let you go soon. Everyone, this is Carey Fry,” said Veronica who’d wandered on stage next to Carey, “you’ve probably seen him before, so let him do the talking. Oh, and this segment we’re recording is at the end of the episode, so shout goodbye to the cameras.” With one more nod she left, and the stage went silent.
The curtains raised and the cameras pinged red as Carey shot into action. The crowd didn’t roar, they screamed. The audience was huge, the theater was almost the size of a stadium. We all waved, and Carey quieted the audience down. As the cheers subsided into the occasional whoop, he gave a short speech about this year’s students. Each one of our faces flashed up on the screen and someone in the back announced our names, our rank and power. People cheered for a few of the kids they’d seen before, Carey wished us luck, and told us to wave as the camera pulled out. The class erupted, obediently cheering goodbye as they waved at the camera, and who ever would be on the other side in the future.
Once we were done Veronica pushed us on, past the opening ceremony being held in the streets, past Jean-Claude Nakata singing, past the Hero High tower, and into the Real Heroes tower on the Super Structure where a party was being held on the first floor. Real Heroes was our sister show, and it was the start of the school year, the start of the new season. Investors, toy companies, studio executives, all had to be included, it was time for them to meet the next generation of superheroes.
Nerves tingled in the pit of my stomach. I hated all the attention and didn’t want to answer questions. All I wanted to do was disappear before my nerves made me barf all over a floor I could barely see for all the busy feet. It was too much, there were too many people.
