Power & Choice

by Lucy Smoke

  "We will, Mr. Spencer, thank you."

  Marv drove in silence. I waited for him to say something about how I had ended our interview with Mr. Spencer but he didn't talk about that. When Marv next opened his mouth, he asked me something else.

  "What do you think?" he began.

  "What do I think of what?" I asked. "Of Sarah?"

  He shifted in his seat, glancing my way for a split second before his attention returned to the road. "Yes."

  I sighed and leaned my head back against the headrest. "Well," I started, "it could be rebellion. She's young. Teens tend to act out if there's something they don't like. Maybe she doesn't like Mr. Spencer being her stepdad."

  Marv nodded. "He did say that she seemed to clam up around him."

  "Do you think..." I began.

  My thoughts started sprinting down long, dark corridors. There had been a girl I knew once, back when I was just starting out in gymnastics, who had been so sweet, but incredibly shy and reserved. I recalled seeing her bruises – no one had thought anything of them. Being in gymnastics, it was common to have bruises, but hers were different, and in odd places. I had noticed, but I was either too young or too unobservant. I hadn't realized, hadn't known, until much later that she was being...that her uncle had been...the thought hurt me deep down, even in my mind I didn't want to say it. The same issues Mr. Spencer described with his stepdaughter reminded me of that girl I knew. I took a breath and turned to Marv. He glanced at me curiously, waiting and patient.

  "What if she was raped?" I asked.

  Marv didn't even flinch. He nodded. "I came to the same conclusion," he replied. "It's a viable reason."

  I stared at him. "You did?"

  He slowed the SUV as we came to a red light before shifting his gaze back to mine. "I did," he replied. "I wanted to see if you would as well."

  I frowned, crossing my arms. "Do you have other ideas that you're not sharing with me to see if I come up with them on my own?" I asked.

  "It's part of your training, Sunshine." He pressed the gas as the light turned green. "Don't get upset now."

  "I'm not upset." I sucked in a breath, realizing the lie as soon as it came out. "Okay," I said. "Maybe I am. Why didn't you just put it out there?"

  "You had to come up with it for yourself," he said, focusing on the road. "I can't give you the answers and on jobs, you're going to have to continue to come up with your own answers. No one is going to just come right out and give you everything you need. If that were true, we would all be out of a job." He chuckled lightly as he said that last bit and glanced back at me. I sighed and leaned back in the seat, pressing the side of my face closer to the window. He was right. There was no reason for me to be upset. Maybe I just didn't like feeling like the newbie or like he was keeping things from me in an effort to teach me.

  "It could be other things," I said. "Rape is only one option."

  "You're right," he replied. "What else do you think it could be?"

  "Well..." I thought of my mom. "When Mom was diagnosed, it wasn't until she was much older. The mood swings, the variations of manic states she went through – her bipolar disorder wasn't diagnosed until she was much older, though she had it her entire life. It's usually diagnosed with older children and teenagers. Mom was able to temper herself, I suppose, until she got older." I paused, thinking. "Actually," I said, "I think it was just assumed that she was crazy – bipolar is a mental illness that affects hormones and it affects emotions and energy levels."

  "Was your mother often depressed when you were younger?" Marv asked.

  I squinted down at my hands, trying to think. "Not exactly. I can't really remember that well, Michael would remember more. Up until he became a teenager, we were actually really close. He practically raised me. When I saw Mom, she was good – happy, fine. It wasn't until I was older that I realized she wasn't always like that."

  "So, you think Sarah could be suffering from a mental illness?"

  "I guess?" I turned my face towards him, though I wasn't focusing on him exactly.

  My entire focus was on remembering the early days of my mom's diagnosis. She had been informed of the bipolar disorder, prescribed months of new medications, and things had stabilized – Michael had been fine, almost happy – then the new diagnosis not but a year or so later, and well...shit rolled downhill. Mom started to hate Michael – he was her son, her child, and yet, all of the sudden, he had become the adult. Before he left he taught me how to pay bills and survive, but then he was gone and there was nothing I could do about it. It hadn't felt right to beg him to stay when Mom had been screaming at him to leave.

  I glanced down at my lap and pulled my phone out, brushing my fingers over the smooth screen. When Mom had gone into the nursing home, he had been informed. When I had moved out of the duplex, he had been informed. And both times, he had been cool and indifferent. He had thanked me for the information and hadn't called me since. It wasn't uncommon to go months without hearing from him and in the last two months I had talked to him a total of three times.

  "You okay, Sunshine?" Marv asked. I could see him watching me in my peripheral vision and I nodded.

  He pulled into the driveway of the house and I sighed, slipping my phone back into my pocket. When he drove straight into the garage and cut the engine, I unbuckled my seatbelt, noticing only after that he had left his on.

  "Are you coming inside?" I asked.

  His tornado gray eyes met my gaze. "I've got to go," he said. "Bell texted me and wanted me to drop you back off here.” I groaned, and he smirked. "I just want to make sure you're okay? Was the interview upsetting?"

  "Upsetting?" I shook my head. "No. It wasn't upsetting. I liked going with you. I think I'm sad for Mr. Spencer – and Sarah, a bit, though we don't know what's wrong yet. She's definitely struggling with something. I'm not completely convinced that it's just teenage angst or whatever people call it."

  His smile was tinted with something sad, but I didn't understand why. He leaned over and kissed my cheek, sparks dancing under my nerve endings where his lips met my skin. "I'll see you tonight, Sunshine," he promised.

  I couldn’t do anything but nod, then opened the car door and got out. I watched as Marv backed out and headed back down the long driveway of our country house. His taillights disappeared around a copse of trees and still I remained staring after him with my hand pressed against my cheek until the door to the garage swung inward, hitting the wall and startling me. "Hey, Sweetheart," Bellamy said. "What’re you still doing out here?"

  I shook my head, wondering the same thing. “Sorry,” I said. “I was just coming inside.”

  He looked at me for a moment before smiling. “Do you want to finish your painting?”

  I shrugged, glad that Marv had been wrong about more PT. Bellamy must have taken that as assent because he held out his hand to me and I took it, letting him lead me into the house and away from thoughts that the interview with Mr. Spencer had dredged up.

  Chapter 7

  Bellamy set me up in his room once more against the same door, and Cleo padded in behind us like a shadow. When I asked him if being in different clothes would be a problem, he merely shook his head and adjusted my stance. Halfway through the session Cleo yawned, her tail flicking lazily side to side and her damaged ear twitching with interest as she leaped off the bed and watched us from right beside Bellamy’s feet. After a while, she appeared to get bored because she turned and strolled out of the room, tail raised.

  "Is Knix home?" I asked as I stared across the room from my position.

  Bellamy mumbled something before he tilted his head and swiped his paintbrush through more paint. "He's around somewhere," he replied.

  "And Texas?"

  "Probably working." I sighed, and he stopped, his gaze rising up over his easel. He set his tools to the side. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Do you need a break?"

  I shrugged and then winced, unsure if I just messed up my position. He smiled and raised his paint sme
ared hand for me to take. I dropped my shoulder and reached for him. He pulled me away from the door and closer to him until I was standing right in front of him with my face tilted back.

  "What's wrong, Sweetheart?" he asked. "You seem a little off. Is it one of the guys?"

  I shook my head. "No, it's none of you guys. You guys are great. Beyond great..."

  His thumb trailed over my cheek. "Then what is it?"

  Standing so close to him, I couldn’t help but think of the kiss we had shared in his car. He must have been thinking of it too, because his eyes dropped down to my mouth and, on instinct, my tongue slid over my lower lip, wetting it. I didn't do it on purpose, but it made his eyes widen and then narrow. His expression intensified, and he stepped closer, impossibly closer. I looked up at him through my lashes. What was I doing? I didn’t want to confuse him. I didn’t want to confuse me!

  But I'm already a little confused by them, aren't I? another voice in my head said. Bellamy's warm chocolate eyes watched me, curious and hopeful. His gaze slid over my face and when he leaned down, I could smell the mint on his breath.

  "I told myself that I'd give you time," he said, "that I would let you come to me, but it's getting harder and harder to have you around all of the time. I want more."

  "More?" It was difficult to hear him, much less make out his words over the pounding of my own thumping heartbeat.

  "You don't think about it?" he asked.

  The kiss. He's talking about the kiss. A rush of heat flooded my face, burning into my cheeks. "I-I think about it," I admitted. I'd thought about his kiss and Marv's and Knix's. I'd thought about a lot of things concerning them, whether or not it would affect the team dynamic – it most certainly would. So, I'd held off. Half tempted to kiss one of them – or all of them – again to see if they really were as intense as they seemed, as sweet and enticing as I remembered. But then I thought about Iris. What would happen if I did get involved with one of them? Would I still be allowed to be on their team? Would the others hate me for not choosing them? How the hell would I even be able to choose?

  "–a lot to deal with." I caught only the tail end of Bellamy's words, not realizing that, as I had been agonizing over the consequences of my actions he had been speaking. When I blinked up at him in confusion, he chuckled and settled two warm palms over my shoulders, thumbs brushing back and forth over my arms. "I know you have a lot to deal with right now," he repeated, "with your mom and Iris, I don't want to push you. I know things are a little confused right now. I can wait."

  I bit my bottom lip and looked up at him, debating whether or not to tell him about Marv and Knix. It was only right, I told myself. He deserved to know. I released my lip and sucked in a breath. Just as I opened my mouth, however, someone called for Bellamy from downstairs. Both of our heads turned towards the door and Bellamy sighed, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to my cheek.

  "We can talk more later," he assured me, releasing my arms and moving to the door.

  I stood there long after he left, staring after him. Cleo jumped down from his bed and padded over to me before she turned over on her back and began to wiggle back and forth, trying to capture my attention. I looked down at her and smirked before bending over to scoop her into my arms. She meowed happily, purring against my hand as I scratched under her chin, and headed downstairs.

  Marv, Knix, Texas, Bellamy, and I all sat around the family table with boxes of pizza between us. Cleo perched in my lap and batted at a napkin on the table as I listened to Marv's recounting of the last of his interviews. I watched in silence as he sat forward before leaning back and then adjusted the sleeves of his shirt, unbuttoning them at his wrists and rolling them up to his forearms.

  "I'm telling you, Knix," Marv said, "this is bigger than it seems. I spoke to a few more families and a couple of them concur that their girls would never have acted like this before."

  "What else do they have in common?" Knix asked. I could tell that he was uncomfortable because they hadn't received a green light to even do these interviews. It seemed that while Marv was ready to sprint forward, Knix was the only one considering the repercussions. Bellamy listened intently as he ate his pepperoni pizza. Texas swiped at something on his phone under the table. I sat back and watched them all with my half-eaten slice of pizza growing cold in front of me.

  "Money," Marv replied, "some of the girls have been stealing money – or at least, their families think so. I think the families would prefer to think that they're just thieves rather than addicted to drugs or something as well. Large sums of money have been disappearing as well as some expensive jewelry and gold watches. I think this has built up over time. It's been months since the last camp session. Ms. Enders apparently only does the camp twice a year, once in the summer and once in the winter. If we don't act now, then we'll have to wait months and by then the trail will run cold."

  Knix remained quiet and Marv grabbed a slice of pizza and set it gently on his plate. I smiled when he reached for a knife and fork to cut into it. Finally, Knix sighed and pushed his plate away from him. He placed his elbows on the end of the table and clasped his hands as he looked to Marv with understanding.

  "I know you want to run at this head on," Knix began. "It's noble and I agree that this does seem suspicious."

  "–but?" Marv asked, setting his silverware aside.

  Knix pulled his arms away from the table, letting one drop and the other raise as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He did that, I noted, when he was frustrated or trying to think. "But," he said, "we still don't have approval from Alex. I've informed him of your findings. I can't agree to anything more than what you've done so far without breaking the rules. You know that."

  I didn't, though. Curious, I sat forward. "What rules?"

  Knix and Marv's gaze both shot to me. Texas looked over as well, setting his phone to the side while Bellamy let his slice of pizza slide back to his plate. I guess I had all of their attentions.

  "I mean," I said, "you've told me a little more about Iris than I knew before, like the different sections and the team colors and what each team specializes in. I know that you're a black team which means that you don't have a specialization and I know that red teams are for communication specializations and blue is for tech specializations and a few more, but what are the rules? Is there a set somewhere or is it just like a common sense set of rules? I don't even know why Alex seems to be your boss."

  I scooped Cleo closer to my chest, even when she meowed her irritation at me, and waited for an answer. At this point, I would take any answer. They didn't even have to answer my stupid questions as long as they told me something more about Iris. I didn't understand why it was such a big deal – the secrecy – especially since I had already agreed to sign their nondisclosure agreement and whatnot.

  "A lot of the rules are common sense," Knix started. Marv glanced over to him before turning back to me, meeting my gaze once more. "There are plenty of teams–"

  "Where?" I interrupted. "Are they only here in Charleston? Or are they in every major city? Is it just in America?"

  Bellamy hid a chuckle by coughing into his hand and picking his pizza back up. Knix sighed. "There are about twelve teams in the Charleston area," Knix continued. "Some are older, some are our age, some are younger and in training together."

  "How do teams form?" I found myself asking.

  Texas scrunched up his nose and leaned forward. "Well," he paused, looking to Knix. Knix nodded and sat back. "Teams can form in different ways. Sometimes a team comes in whole, a group of friends who have talents in common and work well together. Sometimes teams are created from various Iris members already in the organization."

  "Does Alex have a team?"

  Texas nodded. "He does, but they're more or less retired from field work."

  "Field work?" I asked as Cleo meowed in my face and batted at my chin, making me wince, before she jumped down and took off for places unknown. I sighed and moved closer to the table, crossing m
y arms over the edge.

  "Going out," Texas replied. "Taking jobs that require us to be seen, act, dress up – the job we did for Sweratt would be considered field work."

  I nodded. That made sense. "How did this team form?"

  "Alex," Marv spoke up. My eyes drifted back to him. "Alex used to work with Knix's dad and he knew my family as well. He introduced me and Knix and I already knew Bellamy pretty well, and Bellamy knew Texas. We've been working together for a few years. We trained together fairly early and then..." he trailed off, looking me over meaningfully, "you came along."

  "Oh." I didn't know what to say to that, but I didn't need to say anything, thankfully, because Knix took over the conversation again.

  "Alex runs his own businesses and he takes a backseat role in Iris. He manages the younger teams, advises them, and directs them to increase their potential. His team is technically still in contact, but they no longer take on cases. They don't count as one of the twelve. Alex is in charge of our team because he has experience working with a black team–"

  "–so, you have to have experience working with a certain team?" I ask, "in order to be able to advise them?"

  Knix shook his head. "Not exactly. Black teams aren't...well, they're not as common as red or blue teams. They're more common than white teams–"

  "What are white teams?" I blurted, my mind reeling from all of the information.

  Knix froze, and I can practically see the shutters coming down over his eyes. "They aren't up for discussion," he said quietly.

  "But–"

  "Not tonight, Harlow."

  I closed my mouth. Knix so rarely ever said my actual name that when he did, it was good enough to shock me into silence. I knew he wasn’t upset with me, but that I should change the subject.

  "It's getting late," Bellamy announced, standing from the table.

  I glanced down as my pocket vibrated. I hadn't realized how long we had all been sitting at the table. Usually Bellamy was the last one to get up because he was such a slow eater.