Against the Odds

by Amy Ignatow

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress.

  ISBN: 978-1-4197-2308-7

  eSBN: 978-1-68335-0-675

  Text and interior illustrations copyright © 2017 Amy Ignatow

  Title page illustrations copyright © 2017 Melissa and JW Buchanan

  Cover illustration copyright © 2017 Melissa Manwill

  Cover and book design by Pamela Notarantonio

  Cover copyright © 2017 Amulet Books

  Published in 2017 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

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  To Kit, Nate, Jennifer, Sarah, Colleen, Nicole, and Sue for providing decades of odd inspiration

  THE DAILY WHUT?

  * * *

  WHERE IS RYAN FRIEND?

  That’s right, faithful readers, The Hammer has made the artistic choice to press down on the CAPS LOCK button because I can’t believe that a suspected arsonist is still running around Muellersville. Where will he strike next? Whose house or car will go up in flames? Why aren’t the police more concerned? WHERE’S THE MANHUNT?

  I’ll tell you why there isn’t a manhunt. It’s because RYAN FRIEND IS INNOCENT. Isn’t it just so convenient that the only suspect that the police have is a substitute teacher with no friends or family nearby. The only person that The Muellersville Sun could find to say anything about him was some lady who went on three dates with him two years ago. But longtime readers of The Daily Whut know very well that The Muellersville Sun is in the pocket of local law enforcement and possesses the journalistic integrity of a ham sandwich. A HAM SANDWICH WITH NO JOURNALISTIC INTEGRITY.

  Oh, Hammer, you say, you’re making crazy, unfounded statements again. Am I? AM I REALLY? Let’s all remember the time that I was right about Freshtush toilet paper rolls getting shorter so that the company could make more money per roll. My track record is spotless, which is more than I can say for The Muellersville Ham Sandwich.

  Ryan Friend never once showed any violent tendencies. He was a substitute teacher who loved yo-yos and occasionally sent a deserving little twerp to the principal’s office. He wasn’t some highly trained firebug with the ability to vanish into thin air.

  WHERE IS RYAN FRIEND?

  Ever questioning,

  The Hammer

  * * *

  “Okay, let’s go over it again.” Jay was pacing the length of his room, unable to contain his energy. Nick hadn’t seen his best friend this worked up since The Hammer’s blog had convinced him that there was methylphenidate in the Muellersville town water supply. That time Jay had worked himself into such a frenzy that he’d begun to hyperventilate. Nick’s mom had made Jay breathe into a paper bag to calm down. Nick scanned Jay’s room for a paper bag.

  “I don’t know what else to tell you,” he said. It was too early in the morning for Jay’s energy.

  “Nick. Nick. NICK. Last night you saw AN INVISIBLE MAN,” Jay yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. Nick thought about telling him to quiet down, but it wasn’t as if Jay’s parents weren’t used to their son’s nonsensical rants. They were probably tuning him out, as usual.

  “Well, technically I didn’t actually see anything,” Nick pointed out.

  “Amazing. AMAZING. And not true—you say that he picked up Mr. Friend, so you saw Mr. Friend LEVITATING. Now tell me that wasn’t amazing!”

  Nick had to grin. “Okay, that was pretty cool.”

  “Pretty cool?” Jay threw his hands up in the air. “Nick, old sport, your gift for understatement is magnificent. So let’s review. You, Martina, Farshad, and the Amish lad, and the bus driver, and the ravishing Miss Daniesha Parker all have superpowers.”

  “Jay, you seriously have to stop calling Cookie ‘ravishing.’ I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like it.”

  “Nonsense, all women love to be complimented. Especially ravishing ones with superpowers.”

  Nick sighed. “I wouldn’t call them superpowers, exactly. They’re not that super.” Nick thought a moment. “Except the horse. I think Abe’s horse had super speed.”

  “I . . . I can’t even deal with that right now. But Amish Abe can control animals and protect them from a flaming inferno??? And the bus driver is INVISIBLE.”

  “Yeah, but he can’t seem to get visible again. That’s not so super.”

  “Wait.” Jay froze. “Wait wait wait. Was the bus driver naked?”

  “What? Ew! No. I don’t think so. How would I know? I couldn’t see him.”

  “Ugh, Nicholas, you are too squeamish about nudity. It’s the body’s natural state. If I had my druthers, I’d be naked all the time.” Jay spread his spindly arms and gazed off into the distance, as if he were imagining a world where he could be unencumbered by clothing. Then he looked perplexed. “Although I don’t know what I’d do for pockets.”

  “Maybe a purse? Like, a manly one?” Nick asked. Sometimes he wondered how Jay roped him into these conversations, but it was usually pretty entertaining to go with the flow.

  “That would give me a strange tan line.”

  “I don’t recall ever seeing you tan.”

  “It would give me an odd burn line. So what you’re saying, though, is that the bus driver could have been naked.”

  “I don’t know.” Nick thought a moment. “Martina would probably have told us if he was naked, right?” Martina was the only one who had been able to see the invisible bus driver. Maybe the power to change her eye color had something to do with her ability to see Ed?

  “Hmmm. The alluring Miss Martina seems like the sort who would be good at keeping secrets about nudity.” Jay flopped down on top of the bed, and then flopped around some more to get comfortable. He looked like a fish that had just been pulled out of the water and placed on a dry dock. “Let’s say the driver isn’t naked,” Jay mused.

  “Yes, let’s say that,” Nick agreed.

  “If he isn’t, that means that it is within his power to turn other things invisible.” Jay jumped back to his feet. “Just like it’s within your power to move things with you, like your clothing and small pebbles that you are holding, when you teleport!!!”

  “Shhh!” Nick said, his eyes darting to Jay’s bedroom door. Jay scoffed. “Please, it’s as if you haven’t been here a million times. They’re not listening in.” He raised his voice. “AND THAT’S WHEN WE WILL ALL SUBMIT TO OUR ALIEN OVERLORDS. WE WILL GIVE THEM ALL THE CORN CHOWDER AND THEY SHALL REWARD US WITH THE EURASIAN STEPPE.” Jay fell silent and looked at Nick. “I could tell them to their faces about your power and they still wouldn’t hear me.”

  He had a point. For as long as Nick had known Jay (forever), the Carpenters had never paid too much attention to him, as long as he got good grades and tested well. Still, Jay needed to get in the habit of being a little more discreet. If Cookie Parker hea
rd him talking in public about their powers, she’d end the little weirdo.

  Nick grabbed Jay’s wrist and looked at the watch he always wore. “Molly is going to be here soon,” he said. “She’s probably already on her way.” He didn’t want to keep his aunt waiting and felt bad enough about leaving his mother alone in her hospital room the night before.

  “How long are you staying with your aunts?” Jay asked. “You know you could just stay here until your house is ready. My parents wouldn’t care.”

  “Thanks,” Nick said, “but my mom is going to stay with them, and I want to be with her.” The doctor at the hospital had assured Nick and his aunts that his mom was going to be fine, but he was still worried about her. She’d looked so fragile. Plus his aunts always made good food like spaghetti and meatballs, while the Carpenters had once pressured Nick into eating raw sea urchin. Avoiding that was alone worth sleeping on the nursery futon at Molly and Jilly’s house.

  “I understand, old boy,” Jay said, “but you have to promise to tell me the minute there are any developments on your . . . odd situation.”

  Nick promised and headed out to wait on the curb for his aunt. As soon as he sat down, he felt the four-inch shift to the left as he inadvertently teleported.

  “Oh, come on,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the curb with both of his hands in a desperate attempt to stay put before teleporting four inches to the left again. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  Farshad Rajavi stared in dismay at the ruins of what just one minute before had been his father’s functioning laptop. The space bar was crushed, and the practice test on the screen flickered and blurred. Farshad stared for a moment at his hands before closing his eyes.

  I’ll just tell him I dropped something on it, he decided, and grimaced at the thought of lying to either of his parents. Lying was something that Farshad had never done before the bus accident had turned him into a great big freak. Sure, there had been plenty of times when he hadn’t been completely honest, but flat-out lying was new.

  He opened his eyes and looked around the room for something that would be heavy enough to cause the damage that his abnormally strong thumbs had caused. There were a few heavy-looking books, a framed photo of Farshad with his family in front of the Azadi Tower in Tehran, and a trophy from when he used to play soccer. He picked up the trophy. Plastic. Too light. The books weren’t going to cut it either. He was going to have to take the framed photograph and let it drop to the floor. The glass will probably smash, Farshad thought, and then maybe they’ll be so upset that the photo is messed up that they won’t even think too hard about the laptop.

  Farshad took the frame off the wall and looked at the smiling faces in the photo, which had been taken while they were visiting family a few years ago. He placed the frame back on the hook on the wall, taking care not to put too much pressure on it with his thumbs. What had he been thinking? And why had he never considered taking up bowling as a sport? Having a bowling ball would have been really useful right about now. Farshad sighed, shut the laptop, and headed downstairs. He’d just use the computer lab at school to finish the test and figure out what to do about the laptop later.

  “You’re up early.” His mother looked at him worriedly as he grabbed his jacket. “What is up?”

  “I’m just going to school a little early,” Farshad told her. “There’s a pre-homeroom study group meetup.” Lying lies told by a lying liar.

  “Ah, yes,” Dr. Rajavi nodded. “The exam is coming up. Are you ready?”

  “I will be,” he said, grabbing a croissant from the bag on top of the fridge and shoving it into his mouth. If there was one thing his parents would never stop him from doing, it was studying. He gave his mom a quick kiss on the cheek and headed out the front door.

  Farshad kept his head down as he walked to school, just like he’d done since the fourth grade, when he’d become the class pariah because his parents were Persian (or “terrorists” as his idiot classmates liked to whisper behind his back . . . and say out loud in front of his face). Stooping down made Farshad appear to be shorter than he was so that people would notice him less, which, when he thought about it, was another type of lying. But lying to protect yourself seemed a lot better than telling the truth and getting hurt. Look at Mr. Friend. If he had just been able to control his power and then lie about being able to set things on fire with his mind, he wouldn’t be . . .

  Where was he? Where had they taken Mr. Friend? And who were they?

  The ride home from the farm had been pretty quiet. Nick Gross had been worried about his mom, Cookie Parker had been cursing under her breath as she picked bits of straw out of her curls, and Martina Saltis had never been much of a talker in the first place. She had just looked out the window as the farmland turned into the suburbs, her eyes changing from blue to green to brown to a very disconcerting shade of violet. Farshad had a thousand questions and not much faith that any of his newfound Comrades in Lame Powers would be able to answer them, so he stayed quiet as well.

  Abe had dropped them off near the school so they could all walk home. At the time, Farshad had been relieved to get out of the buggy (that horse was fast) and glad to have the short walk home to think about everything that had happened before he sneaked back into his house. When he got there, his parents hadn’t even realized that he was missing. They had just assumed he’d been in his room, studying. It made sense; besides running, studying in his room was all Farshad did, really. He thought about Cookie Parker and how she was always surrounded by a crowd of friends. She probably hadn’t been able to sneak back home so easily.

  Good, Farshad thought. They’d been through too much together for him to hate her like he used to, but the thought of Cookie getting into trouble still made him smile.

  Farshad passed by a janitor and some teachers prepping lessons in their rooms. He was eager to finish the practice test; he might not be able to control the unbelievable strength in his thumbs, but he could do well on the exam, and right now it felt good to be in control of something in his life.

  “No, Officer, I haven’t seen Ryan since the accident.” Farshad heard Mrs. Whitaker’s voice. He stopped walking. “I just assumed he was recuperating. You don’t really believe that he had anything to do with those fires, do you?”

  Farshad pretended to open a locker near Mrs. Whitaker’s classroom door and peeked in. She was talking with a uniformed police officer.

  “We’re just gathering information, ma’am.” The officer said. “Had Mr. Friend been acting strangely before the accident?”

  “No! I don’t think so. I didn’t know him that well. He was just a substitute.”

  “I understand. Did he ever mention any friends? Hobbies? Places he liked to go to when he wasn’t at work?”

  “Tahiti? Ha-ha, no, kidding, that’s where I would like to go when I’m not at work.”

  “I hear that, ha-ha. Well, if you can think of anywhere he’d be or any person he’d spend time with . . .”

  “Actually”—Mrs. Whitaker thought a moment—“I think he might have been seeing Maggie Zelle. You know. Romantically. Although I doubt it was anything serious.”

  “We’ve already spoken to Ms. Zelle,” the officer said, “and she knows about as much as we do.”

  “Oh no, she knows way more—she’s a science teacher, ha-ha-ha!”

  “Ha-ha! Well, here’s my card, let me know.”

  “Will do, Officer,” Mrs. Whitaker said. Farshad heard the policeman heading toward the door and stared intently at the combination lock in front of him. The officer gave him a suspicious glance before heading down the hall. Farshad walked quickly to the computer lab. He logged into the practice test site and tried and failed to concentrate. He looked at his thumbs.

  Where was Mr. Friend? And what was happening to him?

  “Excuse me?” Cookie Parker gave Emma Lee a hard stare. Sure, Cookie had been eating ice cream last night with a social pariah and a complete nobody, but did Emma have proof? Was
there a photo? A video? Other witnesses to corroborate her story? Because if not, Cookie was pretty sure it didn’t happen. Even though it did.

  “I . . . I asked how you liked your ice cream,” Emma said, giving Cookie her own version of a hard stare. Amateur.

  “I like it cold,” Cookie said, talking to Emma as if she were a small, annoying child. “How do you like your ice cream?”

  “I meant . . .” Emma looked at Addison and Claire, who had stopped primping in front of their locker mirrors and were instead watching the conversation with growing curiosity. “I meant I thought I saw you yesterday,” Emma said, weakening. “Eating ice cream . . . with people.”

  “Is that where you were?” Claire asked. “Did you go out for ice cream without us?”

  “Yes,” Cookie said, rolling her eyes. “I totally took advantage of a school evacuation to make a bunch of new friends and eat ice cream with them.” Addison and Claire giggled. Emma looked confused.

  “But I saw you . . .” she started.

  “Did you say hi?” Cookie asked.

  “No, I was with my family . . .”

  “So, what, your family doesn’t like me, so you can’t say hi to me and my awesome new friends?”

  “No . . . no, it wasn’t like that . . .”

  “Okay, so what was it like? Did you see a black person and just assume it was me? I get that. We really all do look alike.” Cookie was getting angry, as if Emma had really seen some random other black person and mistaken them for her.

  “Oh no. No no no no,” Emma said, backing up. “I was probably wrong. It wasn’t you.”

  “Whatever,” Cookie said, and spotted Martina about twenty feet behind Emma. Martina waved. Cookie turned away without waving back.

  “It totally wasn’t you,” Emma repeated.

  “This is boring,” Cookie said, turning to leave. “I’m going to the bathroom.” Claire and Addison quickly walked away with her. Sometimes Cookie wondered if they would remember to go to the bathroom if it weren’t for her. One day they were going to have to thank her for keeping their kidneys from bursting.