“You didn’t lose control. Nobody got hurt, and everything’s okay.”
Except that the world is totally screwed up by this new League policy. “Everyone knows who I am. They know I’m half villain, and that makes me a target. And as long as I’m a target, I’m dangerous to you guys.” To pretty much everyone, really.
He gives me a look, like he thinks I’m just being dramatic. “You haven’t hurt anyone. And you’re not going to.”
“You sound so sure of that, but not that long ago you were going to send me to psycho camp, because you thought I couldn’t control my power.”
“It wasn’t psycho camp, and I was only thinking about it. I was frustrated about what happened, about the decision you made, and... It doesn’t matter now, because I was wrong.”
I press my hands between my knees. “If that’s the way you feel about it.”
“It is. I trust you to make the right decisions.”
“The right decisions, or the decisions you like?”
There’s frustration in his voice when he says, “The right decisions.” I can tell he wants to make the argument that they’re the same thing, but he holds back.
“I hope you mean that.” Because he’s not going to like what I’m planning to do tonight, even if it is most definitely the right thing.
“I do.” He claps me on the back. “Now, stop torturing yourself over this and get some sleep.”
“Okay,” I lie.
He smiles at me as he gets up to leave, and I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.
I stuff my phone charger into my backpack, along with as many clothes as will fit. I double-check that my phone and my wallet are in my pockets. There’s nothing else that I need, though I look around my room and kind of wish I could bring the framed picture of me and Kat at Homecoming, in our bathings suits. Some bad stuff might have happened that night, but before all that, we were having a really good time and making everyone uncomfortable. I know there are more copies, but this is the one Kat signed for me, like it was a celebrity photo or something, and I hate to leave it behind.
Still. There’s no room for it.
And there’s no room for the watercolor painting of a Velociraptor in a top hat having a tea party that Riley made me, or Damien II, my old teddy bear from when I was a kid, which I only recently liberated from Xavier. And then there’s Dr. Wiggles, Kat’s old dancing flower toy she gave me for my sixteenth birthday. Well, his remains, anyway. We duct taped him back together after Amelia murdered him. He was kind of my only friend when I first moved in here, and now that I’m leaving, it seems weird to abandon him.
I tell myself I can’t take any of it, even if I don’t know when I’ll be back. Or if I’ll be back.
I grab a piece of paper from my binder. My hand shakes as I write my note to Gordon, making my words jittery and hard to read.
Dad,
Thanks for letting me stay here and stuff.
Ugh. That’s terrible. I want to get a new piece and start over, but I know if I take too long, I’ll lose my nerve.
Sorry. I don’t know how to say this. I mean, you’re reading this letter, so you can probably figure out that I’m gone. I had to leave. I know you didn’t want me to, but you don’t understand how dangerous I am. And yeah, that sounds dramatic, but it’s also true. I can’t put you guys in that kind of danger, either from me or from the League. So I know you’ll be pissed at me for doing this, but I have to. Because if something happened to you guys, I couldn’t live with myself.
Don’t hate me, okay? This is the right thing to do.
I consider adding that I’ll be back as soon as it’s safe, that I hope this isn’t permanent, but I don’t want to give them false hope. Because what if things never go back to normal? And, besides, part of me worries that Gordon will be too upset after this to ever take me back. So maybe I’m the one I don’t want to have false hope.
I sign the letter, then add:
P.S. Please don’t let Amelia touch my stuff.
Because even if I’m not coming back, some things are sacred. I fold the letter in half and write Dad across it, so it doesn’t get mistaken for a random piece of paper.
My shoes are downstairs, along with my toothbrush and my coat. So I guess this is it. I glance around my room one last time, to make sure I’m not forgetting anything important. Nope, nothing. Other than my whole life, that is.
I make my way downstairs. The one thing I won’t miss about this place, besides living in the attic, is these stupid stairs. And even though I avoid the worst steps, they all seem to creak extra loud tonight. It’s past eleven, so Gordon and Helen are at least in bed—hopefully asleep—but the last thing I need is for them to hear me sneaking out and try to stop me. Well, okay, no. The last thing I need is for the staircase to collapse under me while I’m making my escape.
But I make it to the bottom with both me and the staircase still intact. I creep across the living room and into the bathroom, so I can grab my toothbrush and deodorant and stuff. I cram them into my bag, which barely wants to zip closed, it’s so full. Then I go get a hooded sweatshirt from the closet.
I’m pulling it over my head and wondering if I should wear another coat on top of it when I hear Amelia snicker and say, “Going to Riley’s again tonight?”
Maybe it’s the way I gasp in surprise, or the completely shocked look I give her before it sinks in that she doesn’t know where I’m going, but her eyebrows scrunch up as she reassesses the situation.
Damn it. I thought she was up in her room. I didn’t know she was down here.
I decide I’d better skip the second coat after all. I swing my backpack onto my shoulders, and now all that’s left are my shoes. And leaving my letter for Gordon.
Amelia notices me clutching it. I turn it over so she can’t see the name on it, but I think she already did.
“Where are you going?” she asks, scowling at my overly full backpack and the note in my hand.
“Okay, fine. You got me. I’m going to Kat’s.”
“It’s a weeknight.”
“So? She needs me. I mean, really needs me. Sexual urges don’t just happen on the weekend.”
“Gross.” Amelia makes a disgusted face. She takes a step away from me, like she might cut her losses and go back upstairs rather than subject herself to any more details about my love life. But then she folds her arms and says, “It’s eleven thirty. There’s no train past eleven.”
I hesitate. A little too long. “I’m getting a ride.”
“What’s that?” She tries to reach for the letter in my hand.
I hold it away from her so she can’t touch it and use her power to steal it from me. “It’s nothing.”
“You’re leaving Dad a note? About you sneaking out?” Even she can tell that that doesn’t add up.
“It’s none of your business.” Great. I can’t even leave the note now, because Amelia will read it as soon I’m not looking.
“You have a lot of stuff in your bag.”
I swallow. “Go back to your room.”
“Why? I could call for Dad, you know. And then—”
“Don’t. This is important, Amelia. So just leave it.”
“You’re not really going to Kat’s, are you?” Her voice comes out hushed, almost afraid.
I shake my head.
“Then where?”
“Doesn’t matter. I can’t stay here.”
Her eyes go wide. “You can’t just leave!”
“Shh. You don’t understand. I could have hurt Alex today. And it doesn’t matter that I didn’t, because I couldn’t control it.” I clench my fists. “It can’t happen again. I can’t let it.”
“You wouldn’t hurt anybody. Not on purpose. You lost control at Homecoming, and you didn’t hurt anybody then.”
“People know who I am. All I did today was go outside, and the League busted me like that was actually a threat to people.”
“So don’t go outside. Mom and Dad won’t make you go to
school.”
“It’s not that simple. I shouldn’t have to stay inside just because the League says so.”
“You shouldn’t leave here because of them, either.”
“What if the League decides to harass me at home? It wouldn’t be that hard for them to find out where the Crimson Flash lives—they must have his address on file or something. The whole city knows I’m his son.”
“They wouldn’t do that. They’re only doing this because of that stupid video you were in. If the Truth stops attacking them, then the League will stop attacking villains.”
She makes it sound so simple, like that line of thinking isn’t totally messed up. “Maybe they won’t come here, maybe they’ll stop at not trusting villains to be out in public”—which I really doubt—“but if I wait to find out the hard way, it’ll be too late. You’ve seen what I can do, Amelia. Especially when threatened. I can’t stay here.” I bend down to put my sneakers on.
“When are you coming back?”
I shrug while tying my shoe. I can’t say it out loud.
She makes a surprised, choking sound. “You can’t abandon us. I won’t let you.” Her face is drawn and her voice is shaking.
“You can’t stop me.”
“I’ll take your phone. You won’t leave without your phone.”
“I’m going. I have to.”
“No. You don’t.”
I hand her the letter. “Give this to Gordon. And tell him I’m sorry he’s going to miss another birthday.” Maybe all of them.
Amelia stares at the paper in her hand, horrified and unmoving, like she’s gone numb. Then she snaps out of it. Her mouth twists up and she glares at me and practically spits out the words, “Fine. Leave. I’m not even going to miss you. I never wanted you here in the first place!”
“Good. Then you’ll keep your mouth shut until morning.”
Her eyes are wet. Her jaw trembles. “I hate you.”
“Yeah, I know.” I put my arms around her. She resists hugging me back, but only for a second, and then she squeezes me really hard. “Bye, Amelia.”
She pulls away, not saying anything.
I put my hood on and readjust my backpack, stalling for time. As soon as I open the door, a gust of cold air hits me. It’s freezing outside, and I don’t want to go.
“If you leave, I’ll never forgive you,” Amelia says from behind me.
I wince. But I can’t let them get hurt because of me.
So I don’t look back. I just leave.
I wait until I’m a couple blocks away, to make sure no one’s coming after me. Then I slip my phone out of my pocket and call Grandpa. It’s late, almost midnight, and I don’t know if he’ll be up. And I haven’t talked to him since his party, because he was screening my calls.
“Damien?”
He sounds awake, and not like he was asleep. “Sorry, Grandpa. I know it’s a weird time to call.”
“Don’t be sorry. You can call me anytime—you know that.”
“I just wanted to know if your offer still stands.”
“Which offer was that?”
“You said you would have taken me in, after Mom kicked me out. I thought maybe I could stay with you guys for a while. I mean, unless it’s a problem or something. Because I don’t want to bother you, and I could always just—”
“Where are you? I’ll come get you. Gladys!” he shouts, away from the phone. “Get your coat on—we have to go pick up the boy!”
“I can get to your house, Grandpa. It’s no problem.” The buses are still running.
“Nonsense. No grandson of mine is going to trek all over town in the middle of the night when it’s freezing cold out. Send me your coordinates. I have GPS on this thing.”
“Okay. And... thanks.”
“No need to thank us. We’re happy to have you here.”
“You’re sure it’s all right if I stay?”
“It’s insulting that you’d even ask me that. You can stay with us as long as you like, and I don’t want to hear another word about it. Now you sit tight and text me those coordinates. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
Chapter 22
I WAKE UP PRETTY late the next day. There’s a moment of panic when I look at the alarm clock and see that school started over two hours ago. And then I remember that it doesn’t matter. I’m at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, and I’m sure as hell not going to school. Or doing any stupid worksheets. And I don’t have to look out for letterist douchebags in the halls, or deal with equally letterist teachers who think I shouldn’t be there, either.
Which is kind of a huge relief.
I turned my phone off last night. It’s sitting on the nightstand, dark and silent, and I wonder how many messages and missed calls I have. Gordon must know I’m gone by now. He must have tried to call me a million times.
A ball of guilt forms in my stomach. It feels like I swallowed a rock.
A good son would turn on his phone and at least listen to the messages. He’d face the fact that he ran out in the night and left his father devastated—or pissed off, or whatever Gordon’s feeling right now—even if he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Maybe this hypothetical good son would even call his father back, just to say he was okay. It would mean hearing his dad’s upset voice and telling him in real time that he wasn’t coming home, and it would be hard, but he’d do it anyway.
I am not a good son.
The thought of turning on my phone and even seeing that I have missed calls fills me with dread. I know I’ll have to look eventually, but it doesn’t have to be right now. Or even today.
I get dressed and go out into the living room. Grandpa’s sitting at the table, reading the newspaper. He tells me to eat up, because we have work to do today, whatever that means. There’s lunch meat in the fridge, and I end up scarfing down two sandwiches and a glass of milk.
After breakfast—which is really more like lunch—we go out into the backyard.
“We’ll start with something basic,” Grandpa says. “To see where you’re at. Watch carefully.” He holds his hands out in front of him, palms together. Lightning sparks between them as he pulls them apart. He turns his wrists so the lightning arcs in a rainbow shape, like when he was showing off at Mom’s wedding. Then he moves his hands father out, widening the arc, then brings them back in again before letting his lightning disappear. “All right, kid. Your turn. Show me what you got.”
“Wait, this is the work we’re doing?”
“Yep. I saw those videos of you last fall. I know you’ve got a lot of oomph. But I can’t assess your skills unless I see them in person.”
“I know how to use my lightning. We don’t have to do this.”
He folds his arms and gives me this look of pure disbelief. “Afraid you’ll embarrass yourself in front of your old grandfather? Or that I won’t be as easily impressed as all those heroes you know?”
I roll my eyes at him. “You mean Zach? Because he’s pretty much the only one who’s impressed.” Well, other than the people who pay twenty bucks to get their picture taken with me while my hands are all electric. But that doesn’t count. “Everybody else is...”
“Afraid?”
“I was going to say disgusted, but that, too.”
“And now you’re too ashamed of your power to even show me.”
“It’s not like that. I—”
“Like hell it’s not. They’re the ones who should be ashamed. There’s nothing wrong with having lightning. You’re a villain. But they make you feel like it’s something to hide from. To pretend you don’t have. I saw some of the garbage they spouted off about it on the news when you took down that superhero. You’d think you’d murdered him in cold blood, the way they went on about it. Bet that father of yours wasn’t too happy, either.”
I shove my hands in my pockets and stare down at my shoes. “He’s trying, okay? It’s not easy for him.”
“Not easy for him? You’re sixteen years old.”
; “I’m almost seventeen.”
“Living with heroes. That’s hard enough. And he has to go and make you feel ashamed of who you are. Like you’re not good enough.”
I swallow. “He doesn’t. Not on purpose.”
“And you’re making excuses for him. Some father he is. But you’re living with me now. And you’re sure as hell good enough for me.”
He doesn’t put a hand on my shoulder, like Gordon would, or even make a point of looking me in the eyes, to show how serious he is. He just says it, and means it, and that’s enough. I kind of hate to admit it, but it feels really good to hear. “Thanks, Grandpa.”
“I’m just stating a fact. No need to thank me for that. But you’re welcome anyway. Now, you can show me your lightning, or we can stand here all day, but you can’t ignore it forever. It’s in your blood. It’s who you are.”
“I’m not ignoring it.” Especially compared to the way I’m ignoring my flying power.
“Then show me. And don’t hold back.”
“Okay. Fine.” I hold my hands out in front of me. Lightning zaps between my palms, and I move them outward, the line of electricity stretching between them. I’ve never tried to make an arc before, but it can’t be that hard. Even if Grandpa’s been doing this for over forty years and I’ve only been doing it for five months. It takes me a second of concentrating, but then I make the same rainbow shape he did. No problem.
I look to Grandpa for confirmation that he severely underestimated me and should have started out with a harder challenge, but he’s shaking his head. “I told you not to hold back.”
“Uh, I wasn’t. Maybe you weren’t watching.”
“I was watching. Do it again, and put more power into it this time.”
Whatever. I do what he says, focusing more energy into the arc. It gets all bright and crackly. “Happy?”
“I suppose it’ll do. For now. Just hold it like that as long as you can.”
The Betrayal of Renegade X (Renegade X, Book 3) Page 23
