by Sarah Kuhn
“The setting doesn’t seem particularly epic,” Aveda said. She frowned, peering out from under the brim of her floppy hat. She was disguised in her Bea-approved incognito getup, just in case someone happened to see us out and about. I was dressed as me: jeans, T-shirt, Chucks.
“The setting doesn’t matter,” I countered, sneaking another look at my phone. Still nothing. I should’ve been happy there were no updates. That meant all was quiet on the Maisy front. “But Aveda Jupiter busting a demon princess matters tons. In an epic sense.”
“Will enough people be here to witness that?” Aveda said. She hoisted herself onto a bar stool and propped her crutches next to her. “I thought this was mostly a senior citizen haunt.”
“Bea’s promoted it far and wide,” I assured her. “And Maisy’s recent posts may be inflammatory, but they’re also stirring up interest. Everyone wants to see you two face off. Hipsters, nerds, former popular kids trying to relive their glory days via a few verses of their favorite prom slow jam—they’ll all be here. Ready to revel in the power of somewhat competently performed songs. And to drunkenly cheer you on.”
“Hmm.” Aveda cast a sidelong gaze at Kevin. “Can we drink now?”
“Sure, why not?” Kevin grumbled, snatching a bottle of whiskey off the shelf. “It’s not like you guys are disrupting my preopening cleaning rituals or anything.”
He plunked a glass in front of Aveda and poured whiskey up to the brim. Today his shirt read MIXED PLATE SPECIAL.
“Lovely.” Aveda brought the glass to her lips, tossing the entire thing back in one gulp.
I glanced at my phone again. Nothing. A whole lot of nothing.
Kevin poured Aveda another drink, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped on the screen, feigning boredom. “Just tell me when you want something else. I definitely don’t mind putting my real work on hold to be at your beck and call.”
“Pour one for Evie, too,” Aveda said, waving a hand at the whiskey.
“No thanks,” I said.
“Ooh, look at this!” Kevin exclaimed. He waved his phone around. “Wasn’t this guy your escort to the last League benefit, Aveda? Looks like he’s moving on with your karaoke rival.”
“Give me that!” I said. I snatched the phone from his hand. And immediately wished I hadn’t. Because right there on the screen was a Maisy Live Blog! update featuring a vibrant full-color picture of “your pal Maisy out and about with a mysterious hunk who’d prefer to keep his name from the paparazzi.”
I gnawed at my lower lip. I knew his name.
In the picture, Nate and Maisy were seated at a cozy table at the bistro next door. Maisy was flashing her Sassy Flirt Grin, her fingertips grazing Nate’s thigh. Nate, meanwhile, looked neutral. He wasn’t leaning in, but he wasn’t exactly recoiling, either.
“Jeez, Tanaka, what’s with the major bitch-face? They make a cute couple,” Kevin said, taking the phone from me. “Or is major bitch-face your default look these days, thanks to your moment in the spotlight?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at him. Ever since Maisy had posted about me, I was getting mentioned a lot more on Aveda’s Facebook page. Most of it was in the context of analyzing Aveda’s decision-making skills: did lending me her fire represent a single bad choice or had she really lost it? Her most dedicated fans defended her fiercely, calling Maisy’s reporting into question and noting that no one at the mall had actually gotten hurt. But some weren’t so sure. A particularly vocal skeptic posted a rant suggesting San Francisco should “give Magnificent Mercedes another shot.” Bea deleted that one before Aveda saw it.
I was reasonably certain I could win everyone back to Aveda’s side with the Big Maisy Takedown Plan. If I managed to pull it off.
Aveda glanced at the picture of Nate and Maisy on the phone screen, then back at me, her eyes narrowing shrewdly. “I told you: you need a drink.”
“It’s two in the afternoon!” I snapped.
“Hey, this one’s kind of racy,” Kevin interrupted, waving his phone around again. I looked at the screen. Maisy had uploaded another Live Blog! picture. In this one she was pressing a plump strawberry to Nate’s lips, her eyes widening in theatrical delight. He still looked neutral, but he was also accepting it. Taking a bite.
Well, what did I expect? For him to look disgusted, like he was about two seconds from spitting the fruit back in her face?
Yes, I thought viciously. That’s exactly how he should look.
What the hell was wrong with me? I was thinking like an irrational, harpy-type person. Not a pseudo-superheroine with big plans for fighting a demon princess. I sternly reminded myself that Lucy would alert me if I was needed next door. For now, I would focus all my energy on snapping Aveda out of her bad attitude. Getting her on board with the Takedown would help me feel confident in my plan. I attempted to refocus. To refocus heroically.
“Kevin,” I said, “could you leave us alone for a minute? I need to have a karaoke heart-to-heart with my boss, here.”
“Sure, whatever,” he said. “But you guys have to be out by seven so I can open for the night.” He stuffed the phone in his pocket and stalked toward his office in the back, muttering about “entitled celebrity karaoke fakers” under his breath.
“Oh, good, now we can really drink,” Aveda said, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and filling her glass.
“And how many have you had already?” I sputtered.
“Still a stick-in-the-mud,” she said. “Even after everything that’s happened.”
“And what do you mean by that?” I planted my hands on my hips and glared at her. I had a momentary flashback to us as kids, affecting these exact same poses: her all gloaty, me righteously indignant. I didn’t remember what we’d been fighting about, but I was pretty sure she’d won. As usual.
“Nothing.” She turned to her drink.
“Not nothing.” I set my hand in front of her glass, so she couldn’t get at it. Now that I had compartmentalized my crabbiness over the Nate/Maisy situation, my crabbiness over her constant bitching slid easily into its place. “Look, I know you’re going through a rough time and I think I’ve done a pretty okay job of trying to help. But I’m sick of your passive-aggressive sulky face. I’m trying to save the city from an evil demon princess and make you look awesome in the process. It’d be nice if you could get on board with that.”
She regarded me, her expression unreadable. Then she lifted her hand and aimed it at her drink.
“That’s not going to work!” I exclaimed. “Your telekinesis sucks!”
The glass wobbled, moved a fraction of an inch then went still. I heaved a sigh and removed my arm, allowing her to grab her drink.
She took a swig. “At least you’ve finally grown something resembling a spine. Spiney stick-in-the-mud.” She choked out a bitter laugh. “Look at you. Engineering master plans. Setting things on fire—when you mean to, even. And you can finally walk in heels without falling down. You’ve even managed to nab yourself an extremely talented lover.”
As I opened my mouth to ask how, exactly, she knew about the talented part, she said, “I have excellent hearing, Evie. You’re very vocal when you’re having a good time.”
My face flushed.
“And speaking of Nate,” she continued, “why don’t you check your phone for the five-trillionth time? See if there are any pretty new pictures of him and Maisy.”
I flushed even harder. She still knew how to read me like no one else.
“Sounds like I’m actually doing well, then,” I said, choosing to ignore that last bit. “Make up your mind: do you want me to be the best Aveda Jupiter I can be, or a really shitty Aveda Jupiter who attracts nothing but bad press? Because neither version seems to make you happy.”
Aveda set her glass on the bar and frowned at it, as if she wished it would magically refill itself. “Are you going
to be able to go back, Evie? Back to being your dull-ass self, with no fans and no flashy outfits and no freakishly loud sex?”
“It’s not that loud,” I muttered. And then, without meaning to, I glanced at my phone again. Nothing. Apparently Maisy was too busy shoving fruit in Nate’s mouth to do anything evil.
“Whatever.” Aveda poured herself another drink. “Now that you’ve had a taste, you won’t be able to conceive of a world where you’re not queen bee star of some dumb karaoke contest.”
I felt my chest tighten, constrict. No matter what I did, she always found something to complain about. I was sick of it. I didn’t need to deal with her bullshit on top of worrying about whatever Maisy was pulling next door. And what she might pull at the karaoke contest. As if on cue, my phone finally buzzed and a text from Lucy popped up onscreen: Nothing evil, love. But definitely disgusting.
Attached was a picture of Maisy scooting out of her chair just far enough to drape herself over Nate’s lap. My hand tightened around the phone. She was in his lap.
Harsh pinpricks of anger plucked at my skin. I didn’t know if they were inspired by Maisy or Aveda or both. I hopped to my feet and started pacing in a furious circle. I felt the telltale warmth in my palm, but I kept it clenched at my side.
You don’t get out unless I say so, I thought at the fireball. Not anymore.
“All this stuff you’re describing, Aveda—I don’t want it,” I insisted.
She let out a horsey snort of laughter. “Of course not. Typical fucking Evie.” She widened her eyes and brought a fluttery hand to her chest. “No, Annie, I don’t want to be sophomore class president,” she bleated in a high-pitched voice that was apparently supposed to be me. “I have no idea how I won without so much as trying, when you spent months campaigning your ass off.”
I tightened my fist. “Really? You’re going there? I told you, Scott stuffed the ballot box. He thought it would be funny. I didn’t want that, either.”
“Ah.” Her eyes flashed. “Scott.” She screwed her face back into the faux-innocent look. “No, Annie, I don’t like Scott. I don’t know why he asked me to the prom and I don’t know how we ended up having sex in a car like some teen movie cliché. Too bad you had to spend the night home all by yourself, crying your eyes out.”
“Oh my God.” I swallowed my scream of frustration. “That’s not how it . . . how can you . . .” A revelation crept around the corner of my brain. “Did you like Scott?”
Something soft and painful flashed through her eyes, and then her face hardened again.
“You’re the one everyone loves,” I said, exasperated. “You’re the fabulous one. The brave one. The one who gets up and sings ‘Eternal Flame’ in front of the entire school just for kicks. You’re the superhero.”
“And I have to work at it every second of my life,” she snapped. “Meanwhile you pretend like you don’t want anything, but you still manage to get everything. And by just sitting there, all prim and wallflower-like. Putting in no effort whatsoever.” She glared at the bartop. “Yes, people love me. They worship me. But nobody likes me.”
She wrapped a hand around her drink, gripping it so hard her knuckles turned white. “Lucy was supposed to be my friend. Remember? I kept saying how cool I thought she was when we first hired her? You didn’t even care. So naturally, she liked you better.”
“You’re her boss, Aveda. She’s not supposed to like you.”
“That’s not the point!” She pushed herself off the stool, clutching the end of the bar for stability, her glare turned up to maximum. “You get everything,” she repeated. “How do I know you’re not going to take this from me, too?”
“I don’t want it,” I growled.
“Why not?” She slammed her hand against the bar.
My fists were balled so tight, they felt like they were glued shut. I wanted to scream at her until my throat was hoarse. I wanted to tell her to fuck off and then abandon her there. I wanted to go next door and physically remove Maisy from Nate’s lap. I wanted to—
Bzzzzzz!
My phone buzzed so loudly, we both jumped. I snatched it off the bar and saw another text from Lucy.
Mission completed. No signs of demon. All clear, headed home.
I read the words a few times then let out a long sigh. The anger drained from my body. I slumped into the seat next to Aveda.
“Because,” I said, “I’m a mess.”
There was a long pause. Aveda resettled herself on her stool and cocked her head at me, confused. “What?”
I poured my own glass of whiskey.
“Look,” I said, trying to make my tone as matter-of-fact as possible, “I experienced two traumatic events in a relatively compressed period of time—my mom dying and the library thing—and then I repressed all my emotions for what I thought was forever.” I fiddled with my glass, swirling the whiskey around. “And now that I’ve let all those emotions out for fire-creating purposes . . . I’m a mess.” I waved my phone at her. “I was just freaking out over a guy—a guy who’s not even mine—cozying up to a demon princess. Not because she could do something evil to him. Because she’s, like, getting to touch him. Which is the most idiotic, unheroic thing ever.”
I paused and took a long drink, the alcohol burning down my throat.
“I can finally control my fire, but I’ll never be able to control my feelings,” I continued. “Even when I was repressing them, I wasn’t really controlling them. They’re big and irrational and they spiral like crazy. I don’t have the Oprah-esque inner strength required to rein them in.” I met her eyes. “Being a superhero like Aveda Jupiter requires more than just a fire power. It requires that type of strength. It requires someone like you. You may be self-absorbed and image-obsessed and prone to tantrum-throwing in private, but when there’s heroing that needs to be done, you call on that strength and step up to the plate. You put on your game face and set your feelings to the side.”
She was regarding me silently, thoughtfully. She was practically docile. It was weird.
“I can make all the fire I want, but I can’t actually be you,” I said. “There’s always going to be a place where my strength—what there is of it—ends. Whenever I think about this whole karaoke thing, the fact that I’m voluntarily putting myself in the path of an evil demon princess, the fact that if I don’t succeed, Maisy could take over the world and kill us all or at the very least turn us into demon hybrids . . .” My voice turned shaky. “I freeze. I’m paralyzed. I don’t know how you do it every damn day.” I took another drink. Then I repeated: “I’m a mess.”
She studied me for a long moment. As if I was changing, morphing before her eyes. Finally becoming something other than that painfully shy five-year-old she’d saved all those years ago.
“Wow, Evie,” she said. “That is monumentally fucked up.”
I choked on my drink, a choke that morphed into a snort, and emerged as a strangled giggle. Aveda started to giggle, too, a burbly noise that conjured memories of the two of us stuffing our faces with french fries and obsessively recounting every moment from The Heroic Trio.
That image—those two dorky preteen girls—just made me laugh harder. Which made her laugh harder. And then we were both doubled over, clutching the bar for support. The giggles rose in my chest like hiccups, forcing their way out, relieving the tension in my chest. Tears streamed down my cheeks.
“Oh.” I scraped the back of my hand over my eyes and attempted to sit up. Aveda clutched the bar for support as her breathing evened out.
“Of course I get scared,” she said. “I don’t know how you could think otherwise. Our demon friends are, as you so eloquently put it, ‘vicious little motherfuckers.’ And these new demons seem like they could be an even bigger threat.”
I nodded, a bit of tension worming its way through my chest again. They were a bigger threat. My whole Maisy Takedown Plan
suddenly seemed incredibly inadequate.
“I get my strength from thinking about what I’m protecting,” Aveda continued. “Not in big, vague terms, like ‘the world.’ I think about the specific things I’d miss if the world suddenly weren’t there. That gives me a goal. It makes me forget about my fear long enough to kick some ass.”
“Specific things like the adoration of your fans? The perks of being the beloved daughter of San Francisco?”
“No. Though I have perhaps gotten caught up in that these past few years.” She gave me a wry smile. “I’m thinking of things like french fries. The Heroic Trio.” She touched my hand. “And for the record, I think you’re wrong about your own strength. There are different kinds of strength and there are different ways to be a hero. What about the way you’ve taken care of Bea all this time? That’s incredibly strong.”
“Eh.” I waved a hand. “Not exactly world-saving strong.”
“I disagree.” She gave me her patented imperious look. “You’re incredibly compassionate, annoyingly persistent, and you’ve got the fucking fire all up in you, Evelyn. A demon princess is no match for that.”
A surge of warmth ran through me and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Thank you. But for the record: I’m giving that fire to you as soon as Scott can perfect the transfer. Even with all this inspirational talk, and even though I’ve learned a lot more about how the power works, I still don’t want your job.” I smiled at her and firmly brushed my tension to the side. If I fixated on the world-saving ramifications of the karaoke contest, I was going to explode. So I changed the subject.
“Hey, Annie,” I said hesitantly. “What’s this Scott thing? Did you like him? ’Cause I can tell you there’s nothing between him and me. Nothing like that, anyway.”
She chewed on her fingernails, staring off into space. “It was more than that. More than like.” She looked into her drink, refusing to meet my eyes. “There was a time right after I became Aveda Jupiter. You were still at grad school and I didn’t have HQ yet. I was trying to maximize my living space for my new superhero duties, so Scott came over one night to help me move some furniture around in my apartment—remember that disgusting little place on Church?” She smiled at the memory. “We’d had a lot of beer and he was trying to move an end table into the corner and I was like, ‘Why would you do that? It’s an end table, it goes on the end of something.’ I tried to jostle it away from him and suddenly we were standing very close together. And he kissed me.”
