He totally misses my meaning. “Everyone gets a party-favor bag. With candy and a toy pony.”
So they can remember the one they didn’t get to ride?
Are you still there, Damien? Mason writes. I know this is hard for you, but that’s why I’m here. Talk to me. The healing process can’t begin until you express your true feelings.
Baaaarf. God, I hate him so much. I open up my contacts list and find Riley. I’m about to text him when I think better of it and dial his number instead. This calls for telling him off in real time.
“I have a birthday party every month.” Xavier’s creeping toward the bed again, as if I won’t notice. I wish I had a spray bottle. “Because I’m growing up so big and strong.”
Ugh. I pretend I don’t hear him and listen to the phone ringing instead, willing Riley to pick up. If he doesn’t, I’m going to be so pissed at him. It’s already not cool that he gave Mason my number, and now he doesn’t even have the decency to answer his phone when I call to tell him where he can shove it?
“X?” Riley sounds almost skeptical.
“What the hell, Perkins?!”
He breathes a sigh of relief. “You’re okay.”
“No, I’m not ‘okay.’ You want to know why? Wait, he’s not there with you, is he?”
“Who?”
“Oh, come on. You know exactly who I’m talking about.”
Xavier makes a noise that I can only guess is supposed to be him clearing his throat. He screeches extra loud, trying to talk over my conversation. “I was telling you about my birthday party! You’re supposed to listen!”
I plug my other ear with my finger. “This is unforgivable. You gave Mason my phone number!”
“Unforgivable? You mean like you running away from home? You just left everyone, X! And then you wouldn’t even answer your phone.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re allowed to get Mason involved!”
“It got you to call me, didn’t it?” There’s a smile in his voice. A smug one.
Damn it. I consider hanging up on him.
“Last time,” Xavier says, “I had a Samurai Squids party. Like the show. They live underwater, and—”
“I know what Samurai Squids is.” It used to be my favorite cartoon when I was a kid. I didn’t realize it was still on TV. They must air the reruns. “I had a Samurai Squids party, too.” I can’t help sounding defensive. But I hate that we have something in common, and I hate that Mom lets him watch my favorite TV show from back in the day. It feels like when she gave him Damien II, my teddy bear, like my childhood doesn’t matter to her and she really does want him to replace me.
“I used to watch that show,” Riley says on the phone. “I had all the action figures.”
“Me, too. But don’t think you can distract me from what you did. Giving Mason my number is never okay.”
“I just wanted you to stop avoiding me. I figured you wouldn’t answer my texts, but getting Mason involved would piss you off so much you’d finally call me back.”
“And what if it hadn’t?”
“Then I would have had to rely on his excellent mediator skills.”
I think he’s joking. At least, he’d better be.
Xavier’s still trying to tell me about his stupid birthday party. “We had a Samurai Squids tablecloth, and paper plates, and a pin-the-tentacle on the squid game. I won, ‘cause I’m the best.”
I had all those things, too. Mom must have reused the stuff from my party, even though it’s all ten years old. And made of paper. How cheap is that? And he thinks she’s getting him a pony and a bouncy castle next month?
“So,” I say to Riley, “what you’re telling me is you used your best friend?”
“I wasn’t using you. Maybe I manipulated you a little bit, but I was just trying to get you to talk to me.”
“No, I meant Mason.”
“Oh.” There’s a pause, and then he clears his throat. Gearing up to tell me that I’m his best friend, not that douchebag, I hope. “I told him there was a chance that you hearing from him would get us talking again.”
“He was in on it?” I can’t believe this.
“I wouldn’t say it like that.”
“How would you say it? That you and your new best friend conspired against me? Is that how you’d put it?!”
“Hey. You were the one who disappeared and wouldn’t answer any of my messages. And I didn’t tell him you’d call because you’d be pissed. I said that reaching out like this might get through to you. That’s all.”
Xavier climbs up onto the bed. His diaper actually grazes my arm, and he gives me this nasty smile, like he’s just daring me to tell him to get down again. I wish I was back home, where all I have to deal with is telling Amelia to turn down her TV. Or at Kat’s dorm, where there aren’t any siblings at all.
“Get off the bed. Now.”
Either he can’t feel the electric charge building up in the air, or he’s willing to risk getting shocked, because he doesn’t move. “We also had a Samurai Squids cake. It was shaped like a rectangle, but it had a drawing of a squid on it. Except one of its legs was missing, because the idiot at the bakery doesn’t know how many legs they have.”
Something about that sounds really familiar, and then I remember that I had a Samurai Squids cake at my party, exactly as he described. One of its legs was missing, and Mom complained that whoever was working at the grocery-store bakery was an idiot.
Something weird is going on. Mom might have saved all the party stuff from way back when, but how could she have gotten the exact same cake?
“I get why you left,” Riley says. “And I get why you were ignoring everyone’s calls. But you don’t have to, okay?”
“You didn’t have to get Mason involved.”
“You kind of proved that I did.”
Xavier pokes me. When I don’t respond, he does it a bunch of times in a row, until I get fed up and grab his hand. There’s a spark when I do, and he whines and starts squealing.
“Get down.”
“Noooo! Let me go!” He squirms and kicks, making horrible high-pitched noises. I drag him off the bed, in case all this struggling causes him to have one of his “accidents.” “I just wanted to tell you about my birthday party!”
“Yeah, right.” To Riley, I say, “I don’t know why I’m even talking to you. First you ditch me for Mason, and now you get him to trick me into calling you.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be a trick. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I know you left that message for your dad, but I wanted to hear it for myself. That’s all.”
Xavier’s face is red from his tantrum. He takes short, hiccuping breaths and says, “It was the funnest party ever! I’m glad you weren’t there! Mommy loves me best, so she got me lots of presents. I got a stuffed shark and a Samurai Squids underwater playset for the bathtub that came with a gold trading card. And we had so much ice cream, one of my friends threw up and had to go home.”
I sit down and grip the edge of the bed, because it feels like the floor’s falling out from under me. That happened at my party, and Mom got me those same presents. They don’t even make the underwater playset anymore, not just because it was limited edition, but because they got recalled, due to some people having an allergic reaction to the plastic they used.
“I have to go,” I tell Riley before hanging up. Then, to Xavier, “I have news for you. Those weren’t your presents. They were mine.” So much for ‘Mommy’ loving him best.
“Nuh-uh. Mommy gave them to me!”
“And the name of the kid who had to go home? It was Kyle, wasn’t it?”
“He’s my friend.”
I’m going to kill Mom. “Nope. He was my friend. That was my party. I had the same stuff, the same cake, and those were my presents.” I knew she was giving him fake memories at night while he sleeps, but I didn’t know they’d be mine.
“It was my party,” Xavier screeches. “I was there!”
“Were
you? Have you ever used the playset?”
“Yes! It’s fun!”
“Yeah? When?”
“I...” He pauses to think about that.
“You’ve never played with it, because it wasn’t yours. It doesn’t exist anymore. And that shark was mine, too. I named him Timothy.” Timothy the Tooth, to be exact—it was his street name.
Xavier’s mouth drops open. “Did Mommy tell you that?”
“She didn’t need to—I was there, not you.” Though she does have a lot of explaining to do. “Mom never threw you a party.”
“Yes, she did! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“She faked it. She used details from one of my birthday parties and made you think it happened to you. You don’t have that playset, and you don’t have Timothy, and you don’t have any friends.”
Xavier’s eyes water. His whole face screws up in a mixture of horror and spite. “You’re jealous! You’re jealous because Mommy loves me best! She told me so!”
“She what?”
The door bursts open and Grandpa gives us both stern looks. “What’s all the fuss in here?”
“Damien’s being mean!” Xavier wails. “He said Mommy lied about my birthday, but she wouldn’t do that.”
“You’ve known her for five months,” I tell him. “You have no idea what she’s capable of.”
Grandpa looks like he agrees with that, but he doesn’t back me up on it.
“She loves me more than anything! And that means more than you.”
I feel sick. It shouldn’t matter, because it’s not like I think I’m number one on Mom’s list of favorite people. Or even on the list at all. But she used to say she loved me more than anything. Now she’s replaced me with Xavier, and she’s giving him my memories. And I wonder if it was ever true, if she ever really did love me more than anything, or if that was as much a lie as Xavier’s Samurai Squids party.
And I should let it go, because he’s just a stupid kid, and it doesn’t matter what he thinks. But what he said struck a nerve, and it feels too raw. “If she loves you so much more than me, then why is she giving you my memories? I’m the one she threw birthday parties for. Yours weren’t even real.”
Xavier starts crying, in that half-screaming way of his.
“That’s enough,” Grandpa says, frowning at me. Xavier runs up to him and holds up his arms, begging to be picked up. Grandpa ignores that part, but he does pat his back. “Come on. You’d better sleep in our room tonight.” He doesn’t sound happy about that. “But if you take off that diaper, so help me, God...”
He drags Xavier out of the room and closes the door. Maybe it’s the sudden quiet in here, now that Xavier’s gone, but it sounds really loud when it hits the doorjamb.
Chapter 25
I THOUGHT I WAS over seeing myself on TV. After everything that happened last fall, and over the past few months, I figured it wouldn’t be weird anymore. But I was wrong. And even though this time I actually volunteered for it, and I’m not saying anything embarrassing or too personal, I still kind of want to go hide under the bed rather than watch myself on the screen.
Especially since all of Grandpa’s friends are over. He’s having a private viewing party of our first commercial for the Truth, though his idea of a “private party” apparently involves having twenty of his closest friends come over. And Kat couldn’t make it, because she has school—though she promised she’d watch it secretly in class and text me—so I don’t know anyone here except my grandparents. But everyone acts like they know me. Patting me on the back and saying, “Good job, kiddo,” and stuff. I don’t know what Grandpa’s said to them, but they keep giving me these looks, like I’m a piece of junk they just found out is worth a million dollars. It’s cool that they’re celebrating what I’ve done for the Truth, but it would be even cooler if they kept their hands to themselves while they did it.
And also if they didn’t act so weird.
Or call me “kiddo,” what with me being almost seventeen and not, like, five.
On the bright side, at least Mom wasn’t invited to this. Not that she knows anything about the commercial, or that it’s airing today, but as Grandma said, “Nothing ruins a good time faster than your mother and that little hellspawn of hers.”
“Seats, people!” Grandpa shouts. “We’ve got two minutes till show time.”
Everyone crowds around the TV in the living room. There aren’t nearly enough spaces, even with the dining chairs and a couple of fold-out seats Grandma borrowed from the neighbors.
I’m thinking maybe I can get away with just standing around in the back, where no one can see me, when Grandpa puts a hand on my shoulder and gestures toward the center of the couch. “Everybody scoot over for my grandson, the guest of honor!”
There are already three people sitting on the couch, but they beam at me and squish themselves toward the edges to make room.
“That’s okay, Grandpa. I was going to stand, so—”
“This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. You’re going to want to sit down.” He grins at me and wiggles his eyebrows, like we’re both in on some big secret. Like the next thirty seconds really are going to change my whole life.
As if my life hasn’t changed enough as it is.
I sit down on the couch, sardined in between two people I’ve never met before. They’re an older couple, around Grandma and Grandpa’s age, and they seem to be married to each other, which makes it even weirder that I’m sitting between them.
Grandpa looks at his watch and then double-checks that the TV is on the right channel. There’s a shampoo commercial playing, but as soon as it’s over, ours comes up.
And I use the term ours pretty loosely here. Even if Grandpa’s the one who came up with the idea to make these and organized the whole thing, I’m the only one in them. I’m the one people are going to see and associate with the Truth.
“Right on time,” Grandpa says, turning up the TV.
Everyone leans forward as I appear on the screen.
“When you think of the word hero,” I say in the commercial—and yeah, hearing my voice in it is still weird, too—“do you imagine someone who drags innocent people off the streets? Someone who tortures them? Because that’s what hero means today, thanks to the League.”
The camera jumps to some footage taken at the League’s interrogation site, like in Grandpa’s original launch video, with my voice playing over it.
“The Truth is speaking out for villain rights. Because somebody has to. Because we can’t let the League get away with hurting people just because they don’t have an H on their thumb. This isn’t only a problem for villains—it’s a problem for everyone.” The camera switches back to me, looking solemn and kind of intense. “The Truth doesn’t grab people off the street. We don’t torture anyone. And we don’t claim to follow a set of rules but then look the other way whenever it’s convenient. The Truth is here to give villains a voice. Now”—I wince in real life as the camera zooms in on my face—“what do you have to say?”
The commercial ends, and another one takes its place, this time featuring some gigantic car that fits the whole family. But no one’s paying attention to that, because they’re all clapping and cheering. For me. Everyone looks really pleased, and even though I kind of want to sink into the couch cushions and disappear, it feels good to be appreciated.
Grandpa beams at me. “Couldn’t have said it better myself!”
“Definitely not,” Grandma agrees.
The old woman on my left actually puts her hand on my knee—who told her she could do that?—and says, “You’re going to do big things for us.”
Across the room, Grandpa holds up his drink for a toast. “To Damien, the best grandson anyone could ask for. I want everyone to know how proud I am of you today. You did good—not just for me, but for all of us. And this is just the beginning. To Damien!” he says again, and this time everyone else repeats it, and anyone with a glass starts clinking them tog
ether.
“Are you watching this?” Riley asks when I answer the phone a couple days later. No hello, no “I know I’m not pro-Truth or anything, but wow, those commercials you did are pretty excellent.” The second one aired yesterday, and the third one’s supposed to be on tomorrow. And there’s no way Riley hasn’t seen the first two, but does he congratulate me on them? Nope. Nothing.
“Am I watching what?”
“Turn on Channel Five. Now.”
“Geez, Perkins. We’re barely back on speaking terms, and you’re ordering me around?” But I head into the living room and turn on the TV.
“We’re not— We’re what? I mean, you’re talking to me right now, and I wasn’t ordering you around. It’s just that you’ll want—you need—to see this. You won’t like it, though.” He says that last part kind of quiet.
“You want to tell me what’s—” But I don’t need to finish that sentence. As soon as I flip to Channel Five, I know exactly what he’s talking about.
My dad is on TV. And okay, that’s not really that unusual, since he has his own show and is kind of famous and all. But this is different. He’s on some kind of talk show, being interviewed. He’s dressed as the Crimson Flash, of course, and he’s talking about me.
The hostess, who’s wearing a couple pounds of makeup and smiling way too hard, says, “How do you feel about allegations that your son has been secretly working for the Truth this whole time?”
This whole time? As in, as long as I’ve lived with Gordon? Or as long as the Truth has existed?
Gordon—er, I mean, the Crimson Flash—doesn’t smile back at her. He looks way too serious for that. “I don’t believe that. Not for a minute. Damien’s a good kid, and he means well.” He turns his head to look directly into the camera for this, like he knows I’m watching. “But he’s wrong this time.”
He says “this time” as if he actually thinks I’ve been right before. As if he isn’t constantly telling me how wrong I am.
The Betrayal of Renegade X (Renegade X, Book 3) Page 26
