“I hardly get to see Kat. And she was gone for part of break, so... You know.”
Sarah nods. “I saw Kat’s face when I called you Renegade. She hates me, and she hates that I’m your sidekick.”
“You’re on hiatus,” Riley reminds her. “You’re not his sidekick right now. And even if you were going around patrolling for bad guys, it would be all three of us, wouldn’t it?”
Before we were friends, Riley tried to steal Sarah from me and get her to sidekick for him instead. And by the time we decided we didn’t hate each other’s guts, Sarah decided she was taking a break from superheroing for a while. So we never actually discussed all three of us working together.
“I don’t know if I can work with you,” I tell Riley. “I have to think about my reputation. I wouldn’t want to be seen with you and have someone think I’m some straight-up, League-abiding do-gooder. I might lose my vigilante funding. So, you know, maybe ask me again next year when I’ve had some time to think about it.”
Riley throws down the Justice Fry he’s holding, which is remarkably similar to a plain, regular French fry. It lands in the middle of his blob of ketchup—er, I mean Hero Sauce—getting totally covered in it. “This is why I’m not working with you this semester. Because you never cut me any slack. You mess up, because you can’t be bothered to follow the rules, no matter what the consequences are for anybody else, and then you expect everyone to just let it go. But I choose to do something you don’t like, that I wouldn’t even have needed to do if it wasn’t for you screwing up, and you’re all over me about it.”
“I did something you didn’t like, once, and you replaced me.”
“Boys.” Sarah gives us both stern looks. “Don’t. This is history repeating itself.”
Whatever. “I’m not going to go back to breaking his fingers, if that’s what you mean.” Me and Riley are still friends. And while I might be considering taping a small dead fish just inside his locker, where he might not notice it at first, that doesn’t mean I’m going back to my old ways of wishing he didn’t exist.
“Finger. As in just the one,” Riley corrects me.
“I’m not talking about that,” Sarah says. “I mean like Curtis and your dad.”
Riley scrunches up his forehead. “My dad and Curtis worked together for years, ever since they were at Heroesworth. They were best friends.”
I turn sideways and lean against the wall, putting my legs up onto the booth bench and stretching out. “Let me guess, before they were partners, one of them ditched his half-villain friend after their first semester together and never worked with him again?”
“I didn’t ditch you!”
“I heard Curtis and your mom talking,” Sarah goes on. “The other night, when we were in your room, watching that documentary I got you, and I went to go get some water. They were in the living room, talking kind of quietly. They shut up when they noticed me, but before that, Curtis was saying he wished he’d been there more for Miles, and your mom was comforting him. She was saying Curtis didn’t need to feel guilty, that he was always a really good friend to your dad and to your family, but Curtis didn’t seem to think so.”
The anger drains from Riley’s face. He swallows, looking kind of uncomfortable. “It’s called survivor’s guilt. I feel it, too, sometimes. A lot, I mean. So does my mom. It’s not really surprising that Curtis worries about it. He was supposed to be there that morning, when there was that bus bombing, but he was late for work, and my dad went out without him. If he’d been there, maybe he could have done something.”
“Yeah, but the way he was talking... it sounded like he and your dad were in a fight. When it happened. So the last things they said to each other weren’t very nice.”
“I never heard that.”
“Well, he sounded pretty upset about it. And now you guys are fighting.”
“We’re not going to die,” I tell her. “We’ve got plenty of time to be pissed at each other.” I say that last part playfully enough, expecting Riley to at least smirk at it. But instead he gets this really serious look on his face.
“My dad didn’t know he was going to die that day. If they were in a fight, maybe they thought they had more time, too.”
“Yeah, well, we can’t live our lives like we think we’re going to die tomorrow. I’m not going to pretend I don’t care that you abandoned me.”
“I didn’t abandon you.” Riley’s voice is quiet, like he really means it this time and isn’t just saying it out of some defensive reflex. “I’m sorry, X. I mean... you know.”
“And I’m sorry you mistakenly think that douchebag is a better partner than me. Oh, wait, no, I’m not.”
“See,” Riley says, suddenly annoyed again. “This is what I’m talking about.”
Sarah finishes chewing the Justice Fry she stuffed in her mouth. “Just promise me you guys still have each other’s backs.”
“Of course we do. And, Sarah, even if my dad and Curtis were fighting... Well, it’s not like they weren’t still watching out for each other. It’s not the reason my dad died.”
Sarah looks like she has something to say to that. Like she really wants to argue with him. But then, whatever it is, she seems to think better of it and keeps her mouth shut.
“We’re not even working together this semester,” I tell her, trying to sound reassuring. “He’s got Mason now.” And I’ve got Amelia. “What could possibly go wrong?”
“What if we don’t find anything?” Amelia whines. “How are we supposed to know if it’s a front or not?”
We’re on our way to scope out a laundromat that’s rumored to be a front for the Red Bandit, a supervillain who specializes in black-market goods. Our first mission is just simple recon, but the way Amelia’s acting, you’d think we were storming some villain fortress of doom.
“And,” she says, “what if it is a front and we get caught? What if they have guns?!”
“Wow,” Kat says on the phone, “that’s, like, the second time she’s asked that.”
“Third,” I correct her. “She won’t shut up about it.”
“Some people can’t take a hint.”
Amelia lets out a high-pitched scoff. Her breath mists in the air. “Are you guys talking about me?”
“No.” I roll my eyes at her, like she’s being ridiculous. “Seriously,” I say into the phone, “it’s like she thinks we’re going to be forced to show our thumbs at the door.”
“You are talking about me!”
“If you have to show your thumbs,” Kat says, “then you’ll know it’s a front and you can go home.”
“Exactly.”
Amelia stops on the sidewalk in front of me, waving a hand in my face.
“That’s really annoying. Can’t you see I’m trying to have a conversation?” She of all people should understand how important phone time is.
“You’re supposed to be paying attention. We’re almost there. And we still don’t know what we’re doing in all the scenarios.”
“What scenarios?”
She throws out her hand and starts counting on her fingers. “Not finding anything, finding supervillains, finding supervillains with rayguns, finding supervillains with powers, getting attacked, getting captured, getting killed—”
“Whoa. You have a plan for if we get killed? Won’t we be out of commission at that point?”
Kat laughs. “I think she means she has someone on standby, ready to tell the press your tragic story if you guys don’t come back.”
“I don’t have a plan for getting killed!” Amelia says. “I don’t have a plan for anything. We’re supposed to be figuring this out, but instead you’re on the phone. With a supervillain.”
She says that like talking to a supervillain makes me extra irresponsible. “Wow. Just because we go to Heroesworth doesn’t mean you get extra credit for being letterist.”
“That’s funny,” Kat says, “because I do get extra credit for it. Double points for making the enemy my sex slave
, but only if I have proof.”
“So that’s what those pictures were for. I thought you were just going to sell them on the internet.”
“It was a difficult decision, but my future is important. That extra credit now will pay off more in the long run.”
Amelia stomps her foot on the sidewalk. Right on a crack, too, as if she doesn’t care whose back she’s breaking. So careless. “Get off the phone! You’re supposed to be listening to me!”
I’m not sure why she thinks that.
“It’s okay,” Kat says. “I have to go to my psych class anyway. Let me know how it goes. I want a full report on how many quarters a load of laundry costs. I want to know how it compares to the machines in my dorm and if I’m getting ripped off.”
“You probably are. I mean, where else are you going to go? They’ve got you where they want you.”
“Yeah, they do, but I still hate not knowing.”
We say good-bye and then hang up. Amelia’s shoulders slump in relief as she sees me put my phone away. “Finally. We’re supposed to be working, and we don’t have anything figured out yet, and—”
“First of all, nothing’s going to happen. We’re just checking it out. It’s a place of business. Anyone can walk in off the street and wash their clothes or whatever.”
“Oh, my God! We forgot to bring laundry! We’re going to look suspicious. Maybe we should go back.”
“We’re not going back.”
“I could call some up.” She flexes her fingers, looking like she’s thinking really hard about whether she wants to use her power to summon her dirty clothes.
“It’s not a crime to show up to the laundromat empty-handed. Nobody’s going to even be looking at us.”
“People are always looking at you.”
True. “Okay, then maybe you should go in alone.”
Pure terror spreads across her face. “Mom and Dad aren’t going to be very happy if you let me die in a laundromat, you know. Or anywhere,” she adds, as if I might have been getting ideas about where it was okay to let her get killed.
“I was kidding.” Like I’d trust her to do this on her own. She’d take one step through the door, panic, and start shouting that she was just a random superhero, trying to do her laundry, which, by the way, she forgot, so maybe she should run home real quick.
“Yeah, right,” she mutters.
“Come on. Let’s just get this over with.”
“But we don’t have a plan.”
“We go in, we get our info, and we get out. What more is there to know?”
“Everything.”
“Whatever. It’s going to be fine. And this is only our first mission. You might want to tone down your freak-out level, so you can save it for when we’re actually in danger.”
The laundromat seems pretty full for the middle of the day, though there are still some machines open. It’s warm in here and the windows are steamed up. The whole place smells like a weird combination of overly flowery laundry soap, dampness, and grime. A couple heads turn when we walk in, and then everyone goes back to reading or staring at the machines. Waiting.
There’s a change machine in the corner and a vending machine that sells little boxes of detergent. There’s also a big wad of pink gum on the floor that I narrowly avoid stepping in.
“Well?” Amelia whispers, ducking into the corner with the machines.
“Well what?”
“We should buy some soap. So we look natural.”
I glance across the room, at all the bored people not paying any attention to us. “How does buying soap make us look natural?”
“Because then we have a reason for coming in here.”
“Yeah, but having a box of detergent and no laundry is weirder than having nothing.”
Amelia takes off her pink coat and wads it up, like she’s going to wash it. “I’m just trying to make this work. Since we don’t know what to do.”
“Speak for yourself. I know exactly what to do.”
“You do?”
“We should split up.”
“What?”
“We can get this place checked out faster.”
“That’s what they always say in horror movies. We’ll cover more ground, but one of us will end up dead in a basement.”
I can’t believe her. And I have a whole semester of this to look forward to. Possibly the rest of my time at Heroesworth, since it’s not like Riley’s going to un-ditch me, despite what he said about working together next year. “Look, Amelia, the sooner we look around, the sooner we can leave. So just go, okay?”
“But—”
“This isn’t a horror movie. Besides, even if it was, the whiny virgin girl always lives.”
She scowls at that, then stands there, watching me for a minute. Hoping I’ll change my mind. Or maybe she’s trying to figure out a reason why we should stick together. But it’s fieldwork, not hand-holding class, and eventually she makes a hmph noise and storms off toward the washing machines.
I lean against the wall and get my phone out. I think about texting Riley, to remind him what a jerk he is for ruining our plans—and my life, at least for the next four months—but then I think he and Mason are probably having a great time on their mission, since they’re both on the same page or whatever, and the last thing I want to do is remind him what an awesome time he’s having without me.
I text Zach instead.
Any chance you can start at Heroesworth, like, NOW?
He doesn’t start until next year, assuming he gets in, which I’m pretty sure he will. As Amelia’s pointed out, if they’ll let me in, then they don’t exactly have standards. And sure, Gordon pulled some strings, but my mom was sleeping with the dean of Vilmore when I originally applied there and I still didn’t make the cut.
Of course, even if he did go to Heroesworth, it’s not like we’d be in the same grade. And if it was somehow possible for us to be partners, he’d probably pick Amelia.
Riley’s a jerk for ditching you, Zach writes back. And Mason’s a monkey wrench AND a screwdriver.
A what?
A tool. Only, like, he’s such a tool he’s a double tool.
I laugh. He was traveling the world as a human flashlight. But Riley thinks he’s so great.
Lightning > flashlight. Riley doesn’t know what he’s missing.
Except he does know. That’s why he’s missing it. Were they really BFFs back in the day?
There’s a pause. Kind of a long pause.
Zach. Come on. I haven’t known Riley that long, I guess, but there’s no way he was better friends with Mason than with me. If for no other reason than Mason’s obvious tool-ness.
Mason was over all the time, Zach writes. It was so annoying. They were always talking about going to Heroesworth together and being partners in the League. Even though Mason is super boring.
Now it’s my turn to pause. The way Zach tells it, I’m the one getting in the way of their plans. And now they can work together, like they always wanted, and then join the League, leaving me behind.
That was all before he moved away, Zach writes, trying to reassure me. Riley hasn’t even emailed him in years.
I’m still trying to think of what to say to that when I hear a familiar squeal of “Oh, my God! I’m so sorry!”
I look up from my phone. Amelia seems to have accidentally bumped into some guy. He must have dropped whatever he was holding, because she scrambles to pick something up off the floor. “Sorry,” she repeats, sounding embarrassed. Light glints off the metal thing he dropped, which she holds out to him. “I can be really klutzy sometimes.”
He snatches it away and grumbles at her before turning and heading for the door.
“I said I was sorry!” Amelia calls after him.
I’m surprised she was even getting a B last semester, what with her amazing stealth skills. I may have underestimated how much of a liability she is. Why bother working in pairs if your partner is going to stumble into people and attract a
ttention to herself? Why not work alone? It would be less dangerous, not to mention less annoying.
Amelia’s totally botching this mission, I tell Zach. At this rate, we’re not even going to pass this class. Then I’d have to retake it, and me and Riley wouldn’t be able to be partners even if we wanted to. Though maybe I’ll do so badly—on account of Amelia, of course—that I’ll get sent back to Intro to Heroism, just in time to be in Zach’s group next year.
She told me *you’re* botching it, Zach writes. She messaged me and said you’re just standing there, texting.
Another message comes in, only this time it’s from Amelia. I knew nothing good would come from her having my number. And what, now she’s concerned with being quiet, after all the commotion she made by bumping into someone? I glance up from my phone before opening the message, scanning for Amelia, but I don’t see her.
Typical. She’d better not have given up and gone home. I can’t picture her sneaking off, both because this is a school assignment and because she wouldn’t miss an opportunity to tell me to my face why I’m the reason our mission is a bust. But I don’t know where else she would be.
I did it! her text reads. I’m in the back room. :)
What? What back room? What the hell is she talking about?
There’s a door. Front right corner. I stole the key from that guy and went in!
Who told you to do that? Geez. After all her whining about how we had to plan for every possible scenario, she just runs off without telling me?
I took the initiative.
Get back out here.
She ignores me. There’s a hallway that leads to an office. I’m going in.
Wait.
She doesn’t answer right away, and my mind races, jumping to conclusions. Maybe she put her phone away. Maybe she’s not talking to me because she doesn’t want me to tell her no. Or she could be in trouble, or—
Uh-oh, Amelia writes.
And I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a mild uh-oh, like, oh no, the door is locked, or if it’s supposed to convey the worst, but it is my cue to freak out.
The Betrayal of Renegade X (Renegade X, Book 3) Page 11
