Meta 2: The Second Wave

by Tom Reynolds

  I haven't seen her in months. It seems like no one has, although it's hard to keep track of individual metas now that there are thousands all over the world. Unless they're doing something deadly or ridiculous, it’s pretty easy to fly under the radar, no pun intended.

  "I assume you're looking for this guy?" she asks as she holds up the glasses so I can get a better look, not answering my question.

  Upon further inspection, they're not really glasses at all; they're ViewNow Specs, Internet-connected cameras mounted to eyeglass-like frames that I now realize were what Sentencer was using to broadcast his little show.

  "Did you take them off him?" I ask her.

  "Kinda."

  "Kinda?"

  "They came right off when I punched him in the face while flying at a few hundred miles per hour."

  "I imagine they would," I say with a smirk.

  "Seriously, they, like, hung in the air right where he was floating, even though he'd already been knocked about a quarter mile away. He took the smartest option available and kept flying after that."

  "Probably would have been a better idea to have hung onto him instead of the glasses."

  "He teleported out of here a split-second later."

  "And you couldn't stop him before that?" I almost yell at her.

  "Take a look around, Omni," Iris tells me.

  I begin to argue back for her to stop changing the subject, but I realize it's no use. I can't force her to listen to me, and I can't force her to answer questions that she doesn't want to. Sighing in agreement, I do what she asks and take in my surroundings.

  It's hard to notice at first, like missing the forest for the trees, or ignoring a starry night sky because you don't take a few seconds to look up and let your eyes adjust. What I see when I look out into the night sky are metas. Metas are everywhere, darting in and out of the city, flying in-between city blocks, and still others fly high above the cloud line. Metas are appearing and disappearing through teleportation or just because they're moving so fast.

  I'm not stupid, and I'm not ignorant to the fact that there are exponentially more metas around now than there were before. What I hadn’t noticed until this very moment was how many of them have begun fully harnessing their powers. The city sky is buzzing with activity, and it has happened so quickly that I didn't even notice.

  "We're not the only ones up here anymore," Iris begins. "You have to start picking and choosing your battles. You saved a life tonight, and that's what's most important. Would you have rather a man died just so you could collar a rogue meta?"

  "Somehow, I doubt the city is going to throw a parade for me because I saved a sex offender."

  "Is that all that matters? Recognition?"

  "Of course not. I'm just saying ..."

  "The man you saved tonight wasn't a registered sex offender. He just had the misfortune to move into an apartment formally occupied by one. The database Sentencer used to find the address was out of date."

  "What? Why didn't this guy tell Sentencer he wasn’t who he was looking for?"

  "You think he didn't? I wasn't there, but I'm pretty sure at some point he probably brought that up as he was being dangled over the city. Sentencer either didn't believe him or didn't care. I'm inclined to believe the latter. Mob rule can be a dangerously powerful motivator."

  Chapter 8

  I decide to call it a night somewhat early, figuring that saving an innocent man's life should earn me at least one full night's sleep. Iris's words keep echoing in my head, though. The number of metas learning to control their powers is off the charts. What does a world with thousands of super-beings look like? There aren't enough bank robberies to foil or cats to rescue out of trees to keep all of us busy, and that worries me. Most people never intend to be evil or become a “villain,” but opportunity and desperation can combine to make that happen. One of those two factors has dramatically changed in the lives of thousands of random people who just happened upon a set of metabands.

  The next morning, I actually make it to school on time for a change. With all the late nights, I've been tardy often enough to be put on probation. This wouldn't be such a huge problem, except it's only September, and I can't imagine I'll be getting more sleep any time soon. It's a shame that I'd probably raise a few too many red flags if I started using my speed or teleportation to actually get here on time. By a few, I literally mean all the red flags, so the unreliable city bus it is.

  Bay View City High School South is pretty much what you'd expect from a large public high school on the border of an affluent suburb. There’re kids from rich families, kids from poor families, and just about everything in between. It's a large enough school, with over five thousand students, that there's really a clique for everybody, but it's also easy enough to get lost in the crowd. Getting lost in the crowd was something that bothered me a few months ago when I was the new kid who found just about every social group intimidating and impenetrable. Now, I thrive on the fact that it's easy to just go with the flow and blend into the background. Omni can stick out and be a symbol for people; Connor can't. Not if Omni needs to keep his secrets. Why am I talking about myself in the third person? Is this a side effect that no one told me about? I should keep an eye on this.

  I find my locker and fiddle with the combination. I'm here so infrequently that it's hard to keep these three stupid numbers in my head. On my fourth attempt, I'm finally able to get it open, and I begin swapping books from my backpack for the various books I'll need for the day. Again, it takes me a minute or two to remember A: what day of the week it is and, B: what classes I have today.

  "Wow, you actually showed up for school on time for once," a voice says next to me. I turn my head and see that it's Jim.

  "Yeah, don't worry. I'm sure it won't become a habit," I respond jokingly.

  "I'm sure it won't, considering you've been M.I.A for the last couple of months," Jim says.

  "Ha, yeah. Just really busy, ya know."

  "I'm sure. You've got that fancy new downtown apartment now that Derrick's raking in the big bucks gushing about how much he loves metas to any idiot who'll listen."

  The tone of Jim's voice is harsh and biting. He's mad. I can understand him being pissed at my not being around that much. He was the only person here who offered to be my friend when no one else would give me the time of day, and now, in his eyes, I've hung him out to dry because I've got a girlfriend and a nice place to call home. There's something else, though; it's not just that.

  Before I'm able to ask what exactly is wrong, a silence falls over what was a very noisy, bustling hallway. Turning to see what has caused the silence, I see the face of the person walking down the hallway that everyone is looking at, but trying to pretend that they aren’t. It's Brad Turner, a former bully and all-around jerk who suffered a brutal attack by a meta called The Controller over the summer.

  Brad is walking with a slight, but perceivable, limp that he’s trying very hard to hide. He's still tall and good looking with short, blondish hair and broad shoulders, but the months he’s spent in the hospital have taken their toll. He's lost a significant amount of the formidable muscle and definition that contributed to his nasty nature. There's something else about Brad that he can't hide: the black eye-patch covering his left eye. We all heard that Brad was in very bad shape after the attack, but the extent to which he’d been injured was mostly speculation. The fact that his sister was killed should have been an indication to all of us that he was in worse shape than we ever could have guessed.

  The crowd that had parted to make way for Brad quickly begins murmuring amongst itself after he passes. Some look frightened by the sight of him, but the worst looks are those full of pity. The most popular kid in school is now a social outcast simply because no one has the courage to talk to him.

  "Look at that," Jim says to me. "Everyone’s gawking and staring."

  "You're staring too, Jim."

  Jim's head snaps back to face me, and I don't think I've ever
seen him so angry. He looks as though he's about to punch me, but is holding himself back.

  "Right. It's my fault for staring at what a damn meta did to him," he says through gritted teeth.

  "Whoa. Relax."

  "Don't tell me to relax!"

  Now the crowded hallway has turned its full attention to us, or rather to Jim, who just screamed in my face. I can hear little giggles of laughter that are most likely aimed at me, frozen in place in front of Jim's beet red face.

  "Is there a problem here, gentlemen?" asks Mr. Reed, our social studies teacher from last school year.

  "No. No problem here, Mr. Reed. Just kidding around. Sorry," I lie.

  Mr. Reed's head disappears back into his classroom. Jim turns back to his locker, slamming it shut with all of his might before swinging his backpack over his shoulder and storming off down the hallway.

  "What was that about?" I turn to see a concerned looking Sarah emerging from the stream of students heading to class.

  "I'm not really sure. I don't think I've ever seen Jim so pissed off before. He’s mad that I haven't been around that much ..."

  "What do you mean? You told me you hung out with him last week," Sarah interrupts.

  Crap. It's hard keeping track of who I'm telling what to cover up that I’m not around as much as I used to be. I should probably start keeping notes. Nah, I think it would probably cause even more suspicion if I started writing down everything I say in a notebook.

  "Uh, yeah, but I didn't hang out that long because I wasn't feeling too hot. Anyway, I don't think that's even really why he’s so mad. He really flipped out when he saw Brad."

  "Oh, yeah. Poor Brad. I can't imagine seeing him today helps, especially after what happened to Jim's dad last week."

  "Huh?"

  "Jim's dad? I thought you said you hung out with him last week? Didn't he tell you?"

  Yeah, I’m definitely going to need to start keeping notes on all my lies.

  "No, he didn't mention anything. He was kinda quiet to be honest," I say, finding myself becoming a better liar by the minute.

  "I'm not surprised. He was pretty upset about it. His dad lost his job. The whole company was basically laid off."

  "Oh man, that's horrible."

  Even if I had hung out with Jim, it would make sense that he wouldn't have mentioned this to me. His family lives in The Banks, which is not a great area to be sure, and although he would never talk about it, I’ve always gotten the impression that money is tight. Living paycheck to paycheck becomes a lot harder when the paychecks stop.

  "Why would seeing Brad make him mad, though?" I ask.

  "They all lost their jobs to a meta. The construction company fired everyone and replaced them with this one guy who has strength and flight. They aren't even using cranes anymore, just having this guy fly whatever they need up to the building roofs by hand. The construction company said they had to ‘please the stockholders’ by saving money and building faster. They didn't even give the workers any notice. They came to the worksite one morning and all the locks had been changed."

  "Wow, I can't believe that. I'll talk to him."

  "I think it might be better if you give him a little breathing room right now," she says.

  "Yeah, but if anyone would understand how he feels ..."

  "I know, and I'm sure Jim knows that too. He hasn't forgotten what you had to go through as a kid, but a lot has changed. I think he sees you more as the guy who was saved by the first meta seen in ten years than as his friend whose parents were murdered by metas. It's stupid, but he's upset. I'm sure when he's ready to talk, you'll be the first person he comes to."

  "I hope so."

  "Well, in more exciting news, guess what?"

  "What?"

  "My dad wants to meet you!"

  My stomach drops, immediately. Her dad wants to meet me? Why? Is this some elaborate trap where he's going to threaten me with a shotgun and tell me to stay the hell away from his daughter? Is it a test? Is he going to ask me “what my intentions are?” My mind is racing a million miles a minute, and the hallway feels like it's spinning. Since getting my metabands, and even before, actually, I've almost gotten killed more times than I can remember, but the idea of meeting Sarah's dad, a man who is virtually a stranger, is more terrifying right now than anything else I could ever imagine.

  Not that I have any reason to fear him. Sarah's only had nice things to say about him. If anything, he sounds boring. An accountant or something, I think? I don't really remember, that's how boring his job is, but he’s raised Sarah, who by all accounts is pretty awesome. So, he can't be that bad of a person, right? Still, there's one thing I know for sure: he’s the father of the girl I am dating. If I were in his shoes, I'd do everything I could to put the fear of God into someone like me.

  "You okay?" Sarah asks.

  I've almost completely zoned out. "Huh. Me? Yeah. Of course."

  "Soooo, is that a yes?"

  "To what?"

  "To dinner at my house tonight. My dad really wants to meet you."

  "Yeeeesss," I say, drawing out the word way too long because my brain is doing battle with my mouth for agreeing to something that I absolutely have to do when I would literally rather do anything else in the world. Not even a rogue meta deciding to demolish downtown is going to get me out of this, though. Tonight's a Connor night, not an Omni night, good or bad. Hopefully good, or at least, hopefully not bad.

  "Yay!" Sarah cheers. "I'm so excited! He's going to love you. I just know it. Come over around six-thirty?"

  "Yes," I say, again finding my mouth struggling to form the monosyllabic word.

  As soon as it escapes my mouth, the class bell rings, and a cacophony of slamming lockers follows. Saved by the bell, except I'm not saved by the bell at all. Not in the tiniest bit.

  "See you later," Sarah says with a smile and a quick kiss.

  I'm still not sure how I got lucky enough to have someone like her like me. We'll see if that's still the case after tonight.

  Chapter 9

  6:32 PM. I can't believe this. Tonight was supposed to be very, very simple. No training from Midnight, no searching the streets or sky for trouble, hell, I even got my homework done early. Yet here I am, already two minutes late for dinner with Sarah and her dad, and still at least ten minutes away from their house.

  By the time I arrive, over fifteen minutes late, I'm out of breath, and I've managed to sweat clean through the dress shirt I borrowed from Derrick. Jogging up to the doorstep, I try to tuck my shirt back into my pants while also desperately tugging at the front of my shirt over and over again in an effort to get some kind of air circulation going. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I use its front-facing camera to take a quick look at myself. I look like a freaking mess. My hair is wet with sweat and sticking up all over the place. The armpits of my shirt are also noticeably wetter than the rest of my shirt. I give myself about thirty seconds of wasted time to try to fix these issues, but it's no use. At this point, I'm already so late that all I’ll accomplish is making myself later. Maybe it's good that I look like this. Maybe Sarah’s dad won’t be as upset that I’m late if it’s obvious I was in a hurry to get here? Sure, keep telling yourself that, Connor.

  I haven't been to Sarah's house before, and it isn't exactly easy to find among the winding roads of Hillside, which is mostly why I'm late. Hillside is one of the nicer communities in Bay View City. It's not country clubs and personal butlers nice, but it's definitely “doing okay for yourself” nice. I double check the address Sarah gave me one last time, take a deep breath, and ring the door bell.

  Inside, I can hear footsteps galloping down a set of stairs. I'm happy to hear that they're quick and light, meaning it's more likely Sarah rather than her dad. Midnight's been trying to get me to be more observant about things like this, saying it's necessary to be aware of my surroundings at all times. This is by far the most it has ever come in handy. I breathe a little bit easier knowing it'll be a friendly fa
ce that opens the door.

  The face is more than friendly; it's beautiful. Sarah is wearing a floral dress, all pink and blue pastels, that falls just below her knees. For a moment, I'm so struck by how good she looks that I completely forget how terrible I look.

  "You look like shit," she says to me with a smile.

  "Glad you noticed," I say back as I wipe a river of sweat off my forehead with the back of my sleeve.

  Sarah laughs and waves me inside. "My dad's in his office on a call. I'll show you where the bathroom is, and you can take a minute to clean up a little."

  "Thanks. I'm sorry I'm late, and I'm sorry I'm drenched in sweat like this. It's just that the bus was late, and then I couldn't find a taxi, and then once I found a taxi I couldn't find the house—" I say before Sarah quickly turns around and shuts me up with a kiss.

  "I'm just messing around with you. You look great. Just a little ... wet. And don't worry about being late, my dad's been on a conference call for an hour. He wouldn't have even realized if you had gotten here on time."

  "Okay. That's a big relief. I'll be right out, all right?"

  "Take all the time you need to dry off there, champ," she says with another quick kiss and closes the door to the bathroom to give me some privacy.

  I take another deep breath as I look at myself in the mirror and assess the damage. It's actually not as bad as I thought. I splash some cold water on my face and already feel a hundred times better. There's a hairdryer next to the sink, and I grab it to at least try to remove the pit stains under my arms.

  "Sarah, are you doing your hair again?" the muffled voice of a man I assume is Sarah's father yells down the hallway.

  Okay, that should be my cue that I'm overdoing it with the hair dryer. I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to explain that one to Mr. Miller.

  I put the hair dryer back where I found it and open the door to the main hallway. I stop for a moment and look at the pictures hanging on the wall. Most of them are of Sarah when she was younger. There are no pictures of her father or her mother, for that matter. I know she’s an only child, and her parents are divorced, but she's never gone into detail about what happened.