The Sovereign Era (Book 1): Brave Men Run

by Matthew Wayne Selznick

  She laughed lightly. “Do you miss me, Nate?”

  “I guess so..!”

  We said awkward goodbyes while my mother hovered. The phone rang the instant I hung up.

  It was Mel.

  “Hey, you’re home!”

  “Yeah, we just got in.”

  “I know.”

  I looked around. From long experience, my mother knew I was talking to Mel. She went away. “You know, how?”

  “Remember that telescope I got for my birthday? Turns out the angle’s just right to see your driveway from my window.” He sounded very proud of himself. “I saw your mom’s car pull up.”

  I shook my head. “You need a hobby.”

  “What else would you call this?” He adopted a conspiratorial tone. “Besides, you’ll be interested to know I saw another car cruise by your house this afternoon. A car belonging to a certain tall blonde woman…”

  “Lina came by? Here?” I suddenly felt very light.

  “Yep.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea,” Mel said. “Especially when she knows I live right up the street. Maybe she thinks you can introduce her to William Donner.”

  I came crashing down. I didn’t say anything.

  “Um, I was kidding.”

  “Not so funny, Mel. So you heard.”

  “Who hasn’t heard? It’s like when Reagan was shot, it’s all over TV, it’s all the teachers want to talk about – it’s pretty cool.”

  “I don’t know about that…”

  “Mm.” I knew Mel well enough to guess that he was stroking his chin-pubes. “Are you freaking out, Mister Charters?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know… I mean, what do you think? Is everybody… I mean… are people, like…”

  Mel adopted a fatherly tone. “Look, Nate, most people don’t know you’re anything more than a funny looking kid. Only a few of us know about your… um…”

  “Sovereign?”

  “Exactly. Your Sovereign shit. The night vision and what not. And we’re your friends.”

  “Okay. So everybody’s cool?”

  “It’s cool.” Mel chuckled. “You’re still a geek, Nate, just like the rest of us. What’s different, really?”

  “Like, everything, if you believe my mother.”

  “Ah. So that’s why you left town. But, why, really?”

  I cast about with my nose and ears. My mother was in the other side of the house, out of earshot. “She thinks the government’s gonna come after anyone who might be a Sovereign. She thinks they’ll come after me.”

  Mel snorted. “No offense, Nate, but I think they have more to worry about with that floating freak.”

  I knew Mel meant nothing by it. He had never, ever, made a derogatory comment about my differences. Now that I was member of a new minority group, casual bigotry was something I’d just have to get used to.

  Freak.

  My hackles rose involuntarily. My grip tightened on the receiver. I knew I wasn’t pissed at Mel specifically, but he’d be a target if we stayed on the phone much longer.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I gotta go.”

  “Hey, hold on, what about Lina? Did you talk to her?”

  “Breakfast Club tomorrow night,” I conceded. “I’ll call you Sunday.”

  “Call me when you get home Saturday night,” he said.

  "I’ll call you Sunday,” I said, and hung up.

  From The Journal Of Nate Charters – Ten

  I decided to treat my date with Lina like any other night out with a friend, at least as far as my mother was concerned. Besides, in the time since she had agreed to let me go, a constant flow of news and speculation on every single channel had made her sullen and irritable, and I didn’t want her changing her mind.

  She watched me from the edge of the couch. “If anything happens... if anything goes wrong... I want you to promise me you’ll come home immediately. Don’t worry about the movie, don’t worry about your friend, just get home.”

  “Mom..!”

  “Promise me, Nathan.”

  I looked at my shoes. “I promise.”

  “Straight home.”

  “Straight home,” I mumbled.

  “We can’t be sure,” she said quietly.

  She must have recognized how much of a mother she was being. She cocked her head to the side and gave me an up-and-down.

  “Is that what you’re wearing?”

  Slightly less annoying, but still mom. I was dressed in a sleeveless black tee shirt, black High Tops sneakers, and blue jeans pegged at the ankles. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  The doorbell rang. “Too late,” she said, but actually smiled when she stood up.

  I opened the door, and there was Lina. Her hair was moussed up in a loose wave over her forehead. Her denim jacket, clanking with band logo pins and buttons, was slung over one shoulder. She wore an over-sized tee shirt for the artsy band Japan tucked into a tartan miniskirt, eighteen-hole Doc Marten combat boots, and a toothy smile that made me feel too big for my skin.

  “Hi!”

  “Hi yourself.” I grinned and let her in. “Mom, this is Lina Porter. Lina, my mom.”

  They shook hands, and it seemed that mutual decisions had been made to ignore their less successful introduction on Thursday. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Charters.”

  “I’m glad to meet you, Lina.” She looked her up and down. “You look fine, Nathan.”

  From The Journal Of Nate Charters – Eleven

  I hustled us out of there. When my mother was on the preferred side of the closed front door, I said to Lina, “So, you look nice.”

  She smiled and looked away as we got in the car. “I didn’t know what to do with my hair. I’m waiting for it to grow out.”

  I ran a hand through mine. “I'll admit, that’s not something I worry about.”

  She started the car. “Well, you keep yours really short. I don’t have the right kind of skull for that.”

  “Actually, it doesn’t get any longer than this.” I tried to keep any big significance out of my voice, but I watched her carefully. “Not ever.”

  She couldn’t spare me more than a glance as she merged into the traffic on Los Gatos Parkway. “No kidding? That’s kinda lucky.”

  Lucky?

  “Well, I guess it does get a little thicker in the wintertime.” I laughed, because it sounded ridiculous. Unless you knew it was true.

  Amazingly, she laughed too. I felt a little more confident.

  “So.” I tapped my fingers on the dashboard. “Anything exciting happen while I was gone?”

  “Oh, sure,” she tisked. “You were only gone, like, a day.” She turned the radio on and hit the seek button. Hints of songs slid in and out of static.

  “That was a pretty big day,” I said.

  She turned to look at me. “I guess it was.” Suddenly her eyes widened, and her mouth opened in delight.

  “Your eyes are totally glowing right now.”

  I looked away quickly. “Sorry. I can’t help it.”

  “Hey.” She reached out and touched my arm, feather light. It’s entirely possible an electric current entered me where she made contact. I had to contain a shudder. “It’s really cool. I love it.”

  The radio found a station. Ronnie James Dio pulled “Holy Diver” out of his diminutive frame.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “No, I totally mean it.” She made a face at the radio. “Blaugh. Hey, behind your seat is my tape case. Be a dear and find something better than this, okay?”

  Apparently the topic of my photo-reflective eyes was closed for the moment. A little confused, but more than a little grateful, I reached around and pulled a battered vinyl case into my lap.

  “What do you want to hear?”

  “You decide. I want to know what you like.”

  All her tapes were Gothic and New Romantic stuff. Nothing really thrilled me, but I found one I could live with. I sli
d it into the player. Roxy Music’s “Avalon” oozed out of the speakers.

  Lina said, “Interesting! Did you know Brian Ferry has, like, his very own island in the South Pacific or somewhere?”

  I replied that I didn’t. “He sure doesn’t get a lot of sun, though.”

  She laughed. “No doubt. It’s all part of that ‘pasty English guy’ thing.”

  The female vocals toward the end came around. “I always wondered if that was the same voice as the one on “Dark Side of the Moon.”

  She tilted her head. “Huh. Maybe. You know, Kate Bush was discovered by David Gilmore… or one of those Pink Floyd guys.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I was never that into those prog-rock tuxedo bands.”

  Not minding that prog-rock stuff myself, I said, “Doesn’t Spandeau Ballet wear tuxedos?”

  She made a gun out of her right hand and shot me. “Touché. So do the Residents, for that matter.” I had never heard of the Residents, so I just nodded.

  “So will you,” she continued, “if you go to Prom with me.”

  Surely, my sensitive hearing had just heard a woman in some other car, in the next lane.

  “What?”

  She looked like she was having a lot of fun with the expression on my face. “Oh c’mon. Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who won’t dance, what with that slinky walk you slide around with.”

  I was being pummeled, right, left, and had no idea how to defend myself, or if I was even supposed to.

  “Slinky… walk?”

  She laughed, strong and loud. “You are so damn adorable.”

  She could laugh at me as much as she wanted. “Heh. Um… you’re not so bad yourself. Heh.”

  We pulled into Belltower Plaza. It was Saturday night and the place was busy, so Lina had to park a few hundred feet away from the theater. We got out of the car and she looked at her Day-Glo Swatch watch.

  “We’ve got some time. Buy me an ice cream!”

  “Oh, okay!”

  She slipped her arm through mine and we headed to the ice cream parlor. The night was sharp and cool, and bright with a complicated texture of scents: the mosaic of people, the thick wash of popcorn butter from the movie theater, a clinging hint of car exhaust, and above all else, Lina’s intoxicating signature. I breathed deep.

  Then, the wind shifted. It carried the smell of Polo cologne and male sweat. I saw a shock of blonde-white hair, the glitter of a class ring on a puffy finger, and the Varsity jacket across gorilla shoulders. The letters across his back might as well have spelled the early end to a wonderful evening.

  “Teslowski,” I muttered.

  “What?” Lina asked.

  From The Journal Of Nate Charters – Twelve

  Teslowski turned; his Wingmen, a moment after. Years of conditioning caused my stomach to tremble when I knew he saw me. I silently cursed him.

  He walked toward me. Terrance Felder and a couple of the other Wingmen followed, but Teslowski stopped them with an upheld hand.

  Everything kind of fuzzed out for me. I opened my mouth and tilted my head forward. I stood in a slight crouch, ready for flight or fight.

  Naturally, Lina picked up on my tension. “Who is this guy?”

  He stood before me. He had a good six inches and probably twenty pounds over me. That, and his history of intimidation, was usually enough for me to forget how my own hyper-dense musculature probably made me at least as strong as he was. Right then, though, with Lina by my side on our very first date – my very first date, dammit – fear gave way to anger.

  I made myself stand up straight.

  “Teslowski.”

  “Uh, hey, Charters.”

  I couldn’t ignore what my nostrils told me. Even through the haze of his bad cologne, I could sense no hostility on his sweat. The way his eyes darted deferentially to Lina; the way his hands were stuffed deep into the pockets of his letterman jacket... Byron Teslowski was, at the very least, uncomfortable.

  It totally threw me off.

  “So, uh, what do you want..?”

  He looked around, quick and nervous, and back. “You and me…”

  I mentally filled in the rest: “Right here, right now!”

  Not even close.

  “We need to talk about something.”

  I sometimes hate that my mother raised me right. The first hint of détente, and I’m ready to be a total gentleman. “Uh, well... sure, I guess…”

  He looked over his shoulder. His Wingmen intently watched us. Terrance Felder spread his arms and shrugged. When was Byron going to kick my ass, already?

  Teslowski used a stage whisper. “Not now, dude. What about tomorrow, at Romita Park?”

  I was automatically suspicious. “You want to meet me at Romita Park.”

  “Just chill,” he said. “I’m serious.”

  No doubt that he was. What the hell.

  “How about two o’clock.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, cool.”

  His friends were calling him. He nodded to me again and glanced at Lina. “Thanks,” he said to her. Then he turned around and walked away.

  Lina put a hand on my shoulder. “You didn’t really introduce me to your buddy, there.”

  I watched Teslowski join his friends and trudge off. “Huh?”

  She smiled and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Never mind. Are you all right?”

  I tried to relax. “Yeah. That guy’s been a major pain in my ass since, like, forever.”

  “What’s it all about?”

  “The usual schoolyard crap, I guess.” I shook my head. “At least, it has been. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.” I looked at her and forced a smile. My tension evaporated when she smiled back. She was magical.

  “Do you still want ice cream?”

  She consulted her watch. “We probably don’t have time. Let’s just do the movie.”

  ~

  The Breakfast Club.

  John Hughes had a tight lock on the teen-aged psyche. He gave us a movie of our very own. I felt the opening chords of the soundtrack physically, in my chest, and was committed from that moment.

  Emilio Estevez’ tortured jock character made me think about Teslowski.

  The first week I knew him, we were friends. Teslowski was new to Romita Elementary, and new in town. I made friends with him. I was glad to have a chance to be a friend with anyone besides Mel. Even then, Mel and I were stranded on a sinking island in the middle of a rapidly flooding sea of abuse.

  It didn’t take long for the other kids to set Byron Teslowski straight: Mel and I were Not Cool. The second week I knew him, Teslowski stole my backpack and threw it against the softball backstop until the strap caught and it hung there, thirty feet up, at the very top. It set our pattern for the next few years. He became increasingly popular, and I became ever more ostracized.

  Just since Thursday at lunch, though, something had changed. In the middle of the movie, I realized what I’d read in him in place of his usual bluster and arrogance.

  Byron Teslowski was scared.

  I couldn’t believe he could possibly be afraid of me.

  Curiosity had me almost looking forward to Sunday.

  Almost.

  Lina and I shared a bucket of popcorn. Inevitably, our hands bumped reaching in. Our fingers intertwined and stayed that way for the rest of the movie. We looked at each other.

  There was so much buoyant happiness in her smile, I was filled with rushing, exuberant joy. This girl, this gorgeous, older girl, was genuinely pleased to be with me, Abbeque Valley’s only genuine Sovereign freakazoid.

  She thought my glowing eyes and fuzzy hair were cool.

  She asked me out!

  The movie ended and I felt like Judd Nelson, one hand triumphantly raised high. I glanced at Lina.

  “Your face is gonna hurt,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “You’ve had that goofy grin there for a while, now.”

  I laughed, a little giddy. “How would you know? Weren’t you
watching the movie?”

  Caught in the cookie jar, she smiled demurely. “Sure, of course I was.” She stood up and gathered her jacket and purse. “Now what?”

  I shrugged and stood up. I took a moment to stretch and sigh. “I don’t mind. Just don’t say you’re dropping me off.”

  She made a great show of tapping her chin with a finger while she looked at the ceiling. “Hm. Let me see.” She bit her lip. “No… no, I don’t think I’m through with you yet.”

  She took my hand and led me out of the theater. “C’mon. We’ll just cruise around and see what looks like fun.”

  My eyebrows went up. “In this town?”

  The corners of her lips twitched. “Okay, then; we’ll make our own fun.”

  Wow.

  I ran out of snappy patter. “That, uh, that could be an option.”

  From The Journal Of Nate Charters – Thirteen

  We drove up Los Gatos Boulevard a little ways, joking around and listening to the radio. I rolled down the window and stuck my head out to suck in the scents of the night air. It’s something I’ve done since I was a kid. It makes me happy.

  We were coming up on an intersection. Lina said, “Hey, Rover, come on back for a minute. Left or right?”

  I closed the window and exhaled. “Depends on where we want to go, I guess. Left is the Marine Base. Right is Kane Park, eventually.”

  Lina swerved the car to the right. Momentum slid me close to her.

  “Hi there,” she said, and leaned into me.

  She was so warm. I straightened up like she’d jabbed me in the ribs. “So, Kane Park it is.”

  We ended up in an unfinished housing development not far from the park. Lina pulled over to the curb. She cut the engine, but turned the key so we’d have the radio. Through the speakers, Jim Ladd recommended we put on our headphones, as, he claimed, “the ceremony is about to begin.”

  Lina shifted in her seat to face me.

  “So.” She smiled. “Tell me about you, Nate Charters.”

  “Uh…” I was learning Lina was a very direct person. Sometimes it was charming. Right then, it made me want to shrink in my seat. “About me?”