“I want to show you something first.” He says.
“Oh, okay.” I say and follow him as he turn and walks away. “What is it?”
He turns, and looks at me over his shoulder. “It’s a surprise.”
We walk past small mountains of scrap, and some wrecked pickups. Then Mitchell stops near a black object. It’s large and long, but I can’t make out what it is yet.
“Here it is.” Mitchell announces, and gestures to the heap of junk on our right.
“What is it?” I ask.
All I see is a burned out vehicle. There’s no wheels, and whatever seats were inside are just twisted metal now.
“It used to be a school bus.” Mitchell says.
“This isn’t the one that Dwayne Rivers set on fire, is it?” I ask.
He chuckles. “The very one.”
Dwayne is our school’s resident arsonist. I think he’s still doing community service because of that stunt.
“They managed to get to it before the structure was damaged. This damage…” He says and points at the exterior. “…is just cosmetic. Nothing serious. The engine’s had it, though, and the wheels are melted. The seats are wrecked. But I can strip this old girl, and make it usable.”
“What for?” I ask, incredulous that he could see anything remotely usable.
“We need transportation to our island. Can’t keep using a raft.” Mitchell replies.
“True. School bus seems a little excessive, though.” I say, and begin to walk around the blackened husk.
When this was bright yellow and gleaming, it could hold around fifty kids. It’s a bit big for four teenagers, even super-powered ones. I guess we could pack more food, drink and any tools we might need. I was coming around to the idea.
“You really think you can fix this up?” I ask.
“Sure. I can fit some usable seats. Clean it up, and give it a paint job. A days job, max.” He says confidently.
“Well. Okay. If you really want to.” I shrug and chuckle. “Sounds like a lot of work.”
“I’ll get Paul to give me a hand.” He says, and smiles when I roll my eyes.
“Paul’s okay. Really.” Mitchell adds.
I grab his hand and pull him after me.
“Come on, let’s get out of here.” I say and tug him towards the entrance.
He looks down at my hand holding his, and smiles.
“You know. I was always nervous around you.” He says quietly as we walk.
I look up in shock. “Nervous? Why?” I ask.
“You always seemed…so fierce.”
“What do you mean?” I ask carefully.
“You were always so confident. Feisty. Like you didn’t need anyone.”
“I agree with the feisty bit. But I’ve always needed people. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“What do you mean?” He asks as we exit the junkyard, and walk along the sidewalk.
“You keep me sane.” I smile shyly up at him.
“Sane?” He laughs. “Well, I’m glad I can help. But how do I keep you sane, exactly?”
“Well, I have to be on my best behavior, for you. Don’t I?” I say and wink at him playfully.
“Well, you are more fun, when you behave yourself.” He says and winks back.
“Yes, but it is very hard.” I say and sigh dramatically.
“I’m sure it’s worth it.” He says and squeezes my hand as we walk.
I swing my hand in his playfully as we walk towards an intersection. The snow is beginning to lessen now, but the sky still looks like one huge cotton ball. I look down at our fingers entwined and smile. I notice a café across the street.
“You want a hot chocolate?” I ask.
“Sure.”
I step into the street, and Mitchell walks protectively in front, while holding my hand. I skip along next to him, and hear him chuckle quietly as we reach the café. He opens the door for me, and I scoot inside. I can smell fresh coffee and bacon, and inhale deeply and lick my lips.
“Something smells good.” Mitchell says as he closes the door, and then follows me to a table I pick out near a steamed up window.
I sit down and wipe the condensation away with my hand, so I can peer outside. There are a few cars driving slowly through the slush, and there are more people around here, walking tentatively along the sidewalk. The sidewalk still looks treacherous.
“What can I get you, sweetie?” A woman’s voice asks.
I turn and look up at the waitress, standing attentively in a pink and white stripped blouse.
“Hi. One coffee, please. Oh, and can I have a slice of apple pie, as well, please.” I ask.
“Sure thing.” She says, and writes my order down on her small notepad.
“And what can I get you, sweet-thing?” She asks as she turns to Mitchell.
He’s looking at me smiling, as if he’s enjoying a private joke.
“I’ll have the same.” He says and looks up at her briefly.
“You guys want ice cream with your pie, or whipped cream?” The waitress asks us.
“Just plain for me, please.” I say.
“Same here.” Mitchell replies.
“I’ll be back with your coffee.” She says, and then turns and trots back to the counter.
“I thought you wanted hot chocolate?” Mitchell asks.
“When I smelled the coffee, I was sold.” I say.
“By the way.” I begin. “I never got to tell you. The island is awesome.” I say and beam at him.
“You like it?”
“It’s amazeballs.” I say and grin. “How did you find it?” I ask.
“One of my cousins mentioned once, that he used to fish up near the great lakes. I was cleaning my room, when I found an old birthday card from him. It jogged my memory.”
“It’s perfect. Man, talk about isolated. Our nearest neighbors are probably polar bears, and elk.” I say as I bounce up and down on my seat in enthusiasm.
“Careful. Try not to break the chair.” Mitchell whispers across the table.
I don’t notice when the waitress arrives. Her thick arm slides into view, and places two mugs of steaming hot coffee on the table.
“Thanks.” Mitchell says to her, before she leaves again.
I pour in the sugar and stir the steaming black liquid, and then pour in the cream. I’m making googly eyes at Mitchell over the rim of my mug, when I hear a crack, like a firecracker going off. Mitchell sits up, rigid, and then turns toward the steamed up window.
“No.” He mutters.
“What is it?” I ask as I take a sip of my coffee.
“Britney. That was a gunshot. It came from outside.”
I then hear car tires spin, and a woman begins to scream outside. The realization of what’s just happened begins to dawn on me. I drop my mug and make for the door. Across the street, a woman is kneeling on the wet sidewalk, cradling a young boy in her arms.
“No!” I cry.
I cover the distance in an instant, and look in horror at what’s happened. A young black boy, no older than thirteen, lies bleeding on the snow covered sidewalk. A pool of blood is spreading from his back, making the snow bright scarlet. I kneel down next to the distraught woman who is crying over him.
“What happened?” I ask gently.
She looks up at me. Her mouth opens, but only groans come out. I remember hearing tires spin in the slush. A drive-by.
“Did you see the car?” I ask, anger welling up inside me.
“Lady, did you see the car?” I ask more forcefully, as Mitchell arrives and puts his hand on her shoulder gently.
“Green….Cadillac…” The distraught woman mumbles amidst sobs.
That’s enough for me. I get up and slide my backpack off, and run to the corner.
“Britney, wait..” Mitchell calls out.
I duck behind a delivery van, and change into my Cosmic Girl costume in a nanosecond, then I launch up and fly north, as I’m pretty sure it took off
in that direction. I climb a couple of hundred feet, and then level off as I follow the road north, towards a medical center. There’s a number of cars heading in this direction, but no green cars yet. I accelerate slightly, and overtake the cars as I fly overhead. Up ahead, I see a dark car make a sharp turn. I climb higher, and fly over the hospital and make a B-Line for it. As I clear the last rooftop, I see a green car snake past some slower moving traffic. I focus on the rear of the car. Bingo, it’s a Cadillac. I accelerate and rocket past it, and then stop and hover in the air, high above the street. I look down as the car nears, and then drop like an anvil.
My feet smash down on the hood of the Cadillac, and it crumples like paper with a loud metallic crunch. The front wheels snap and roll off down the street, while the engine is crushed under my feet, and parts of it fly out in all directions.
The people inside the car cry out in shock, and then in pain, as they hit their heads against the dashboard.
Fury has taken hold of me, and I’m its willing instrument as I begin to pound on the car.
I grab the cracked windshield, and rip it off, like opening a can of Coke. The men inside scream and begin to climb out, some through one of the now open doors, some through the rear windshield, which is broken as well.
“Which one of you did it?” I shout as I grab one of the men.
He’s Hispanic, and the man is mumbling something incoherent in Spanish.
“Which one of you shot the boy?” I shout as I let him go and fly after another man who is trying to run away.
I grab him by his right arm, and almost yank him off the ground.
“Was it you?” I growl into his scared face.
I increase my grip on his arm, and feel the bones cracking beneath my fingers.
“Well, was it?” I scream.
“Stop!” I hear a familiar voice.
Mitchell is there in his Crash outfit, and he grabs my arm.
“Stop. You’re hurting him.” His deep muffled voice shouts at me.
I let go and stumble back. The man is holding his shattered arm, and falls to the cold wet sidewalk.
“Go.” Mitchell shouts. “Just go. I’ll take it from here.”
I nod numbly, and take off into the drab sky, dazed and confused. My mind is reeling. Would I have killed them?
I shake my head as I begin to well up. I feel so angry, I could scream. Why did they shoot the boy? Why hadn’t I anticipated it? I normally get some kind of warning when something bad is about to happen. Don’t I? Or is the warning only when I’m in danger? Oh, I don’t know.
The tears are flowing freely now as I fly over the cold wet streets, not even aware of where I am, or where I’m going. Why couldn’t I save that poor boy? Why hadn’t I noticed something was wrong?
I was so lost in the moment, enjoying myself with Mitchell, that I didn’t think that something like this could happen. And it happened right near us. We could have stopped it. We had the power to stop it. So why didn’t we? Despair took me for a ride down memory lane, showing me all of the other people that I failed to save. Zack, Miss Wheeler, the poor balding guy. My mother’s face fills my mind.
What good are you? A small bitter voice taunts me inside my head. You don’t deserve to dress up like a hero. You’re not a hero. You’re nothing.
I cry out in anguish, and fly down towards a church. I barge through the double doors, and they slam against the walls, making a deafening boom. People turn around, and then begin running towards the exit as I fly towards the altar. Attached to the wall is a large cross with the figure of Jesus hanging from it. A guttural scream escapes me as I wail in front of the cross.
“WHY?” I scream.
I’m dimly aware of people scrambling for the exit behind me. I notice a man standing over to my left.
He steps back and waits by the wall.
“Why did that boy have to die?” I cry out. “Why couldn’t I save him?” I beat the sides of my head with my fists.
“What do you want from me?” I plead as I look up at the figure hanging on the cross. “Why am I here?”
I drop to the wooden floor and fall to my knees. I bury my face in my hands as great sobs wrack my body. I can barely breathe.
“Why do you keep saving me?” I cry as I look up at the cross. “I’m not worth it. I’m not worth it. Why couldn’t you have taken me, instead of my mom?”
“This is the police!” I hear a loud stern voice call out from outside the church.
“Come out with your hands up. And walk slowly.”
“Go away.” I mumble quietly.
I hear a shuffling sound, and the figure near the wall retreats towards the exit.
“Go ahead. Leave me alone.” I moan and rub my eyes.
I hear some raised voices outside for a few minutes, while I slip forward and press my face against the wooden floor.
“They’re leaving.” A man’s voice says gently from behind me after a few minutes.
I just lie there as my body shakes with grief.
“What happened?” The gentle voice asks.
“A boy was shot….sniff….right in front of me.”
“How close were you?”
“He was a stranger. I didn’t know him.”
“I meant, how far away were you?” He asks.
“I don’t know…a hundred feet away….maybe.”
“Did you know he would be shot?”
“No.”
“If you did know. Could you have gotten to him in time?”
“I don’t know.” I answer truthfully.
“Then there was nothing you could have done to prevent it. Right?”
“Maybe.” I say, and turn and look up at the speaker.
The man is standing behind me. He looks like he’s maybe thirty years old. He’s wearing a green t-shirt, which has Jesus Rocks emblazoned on it in bold white text, and he’s wearing black faded denim jeans. A mess of short brown tousled hair sits on top of a pleasant face. I can see the compassion in his blue eyes as he looks down at me. He steps back and sits down on one of the wooden pews.
“Sounds like you did everything you could.” He says as he crosses one leg on top of the other.
“Still doesn’t change anything.” I grumble, as I sit up and cross my legs on the wooden floor.
“You can’t save everyone.” He points out.
“He can.” I say bitterly, and point behind me at the cross.
“That’s different.” He answers and leans forward. “You can only save who you can. You’re only one person, after all.” He says and smiles sadly. “And one person cannot be everywhere at once. Besides, we do still have police, remember.”
“Why give me these powers, if I can’t be useful?” I ask.
“I’m sure you can be useful. You’re being too hard on yourself.”
“I don’t want to pretend to be a hero anymore.” I grumble and hang my head.
“Then stop pretending.” He says light-heartedly.
“You think I should give up? Burn the costume?”
“That’s not what I mean.” He replies and sighs. “I mean, stop pretending to be a hero. Just be yourself. The rest will follow.”
I look up at him as the tears trickle down my cheeks.
“But I’m a disaster.” I say.
“That’s not true. You’re a good person. You have a good heart, I can tell.”
“How?” I ask and rub my nose.
He spread his arms wide. “Because you’re here. And you’re asking the right questions.”
He leans forward and places his hand on my shoulder.
“It shows that you care.” He says and smiles. “And that is a good place to start from.”
I stand up and smile gratefully at the man.
“What do I do now?” I ask.
“Just decide what kind of person you want to be. And have the courage to make mistakes.”
“Mistakes?” I ask, incredulous.
“We all make mistakes. It’s how we learn.”
“Then take some comfort in the fact that even bad guys make mistakes.” He says and smiles.
Yeah. I just need to be more careful. More focused. I can still do this.
“Thanks.” I say.
“Anytime. Just knock next time, okay?” He chuckles.
“Okay.” I say and smile.
“That’s better. Now, off you go. And be a better version of you.”
“I’ll try.” I say, and take off from the wooden floor, and fly slowly towards the exit.
“Take care of yourself.” He calls out after me as I leave the church.
I fly out and head towards the clouds. I charge through the clouds until I emerge out the other side into a beautiful clear blue sky.
I hover in the air, and watch as the clouds roll by beneath me.
It’s easier to think up here. It’s silent, except for the wind.
I close my eyes and gather my scattered thoughts. I need to get a grip on my emotions. That much is clear.
I had acted irrational. Impulsive. That was another of my weaknesses.
I’m impulsive. That has to stop. I can’t afford to lose control like that again.
Cosmic Girl Rising Up Page 22
