Ordinary Champions

by Hayden Thorne

  “I have to go,” he said after an eternity. “I’ve got homework to do still. I’ll call you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

  “Yeah, sure. Don’t work too hard now.”

  Go me.

  Wade also sent me a box of chocolate, the fancy stuff I was sure she was used to treating herself with. With it was a little note that said, “Hope to meet you soon as friends. Get well. Best, Wade. P.S. I’m sorry I shot you with my fire bomb. I get carried away sometimes.” I was so embarrassed by her gesture of friendship and swore to apologize to her the moment we came face-to-face—as regular people, of course, not in superhuman mode.

  I didn’t mind if my friends didn’t stop by. I pretty much understood and accepted the way things would be between us—between superheroes and Mr. Joe Blow. Besides, the people of Vintage City needed them the most, and who was I to whine about being left out?

  I got to spend time with my family, which was great.

  Dad and Mom took a few days off from their work to stay home with me while I recuperated. Dad, having not been in this sort of situation before, decided to dust off our old Scrabble board and challenge me. When we found we were missing several letters, he chucked the game and got us a brand new version of Risk—the one that had The Lord of the Rings theme. I could see that Dad was trying his best to bond with me and show how much he worried over my safety, so I went along with the game even though I totally beat his butt every time. I guess once a supervillain wannabe, always a supervillain wannabe. He didn’t care. He seemed to lose himself completely in the game, and it was really cool seeing him scheme and snark and thump his chest as though he were twelve years old all over again. After what I put him and Mom through, he deserved every fun, regressive moment he could get.

  Liz bit the bullet and stayed in school, though, since the academic year was halfway over, anyway. She’d have plenty of time during the summer to hang out with me if she wanted to.

  Slowly, slowly, things went back to the way they were.

  After several days of being pampered and fussed over, I was gradually being reminded of my role at home, the garbage being the biggest daily source of nagging for me. Not that I minded, of course—at least for now. I was sure it wouldn’t take long for me to get all sullen about the chore. Washing the dishes? Don’t get me started.

  There was one cloud that hovered, though.

  Mom came to my room one night, almost three weeks after the Trill died. I was comfortably situated at my computer, puzzling over the current train wreck plot line that the online RPG community had gotten itself into.

  “How’re you doing, honey?” she asked when I let her in. She still had her apron on. Mom normally took it off right before dinner, so that right there was a bad sign.

  “Fine, Mom. Much better, thanks. I guess I just need to go to Brenda for that test to see if there are any residual powers left in me.”

  Or any damage, I almost added, but I managed to hold back on that. Brenda had already introduced herself to my family, while I was still unconscious in the hospital, but she told them something pretty vague about her role. She said that she was aligned with Magnifiman and that it was her job to test me for residual effects or imprints or whatever these leftover power things were called. Magnifiman was nice enough to vouch for her—and in person, too, which nearly made Liz propose marriage to him—and I was glad none of my family knew about the Sentries. I wondered, though, if Magnifiman felt comfortable telling a bit of fuzzy truth to my parents, but it seemed he was extremely good at keeping secrets in order to protect people.

  Mom nodded, looking around with an air of distraction about her, like she never heard me. Without saying another word, she walked over to my bed and sat down.

  I watched her the whole time, wondering and waiting for her to say something. For a moment she just let silence pass between us as she stared at her feet.

  “Is everything okay, Mom?” I asked.

  She sighed and glanced up, looking a little anxious. “Eric, are you still seeing that Barlow boy?”

  My face was on fire. “Um, no,” I replied after a moment’s hesitation. “We—kind of broke up.”

  “Kind of…”

  I nodded, completely abashed. “No, we did. We broke up for sure.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, honey. It must’ve really hurt…”

  “I’m over it now.” Miserable liar. “I’ve moved forward.” Pathetic.

  “I see. He—is he—Calais?” She fixed me with her gaze, which was hard and inquiring. I couldn’t look away, and I knew it was useless to lie. We’d gone so far, with my ordeal and stuff. I was also sure something must’ve come out during my rescue. There was no way I could hide anything from her.

  “Yeah. But—don’t tell anyone, please? It’s really important that no one knows his identity.”

  “Eric, I’m not one to talk. You know that. Besides, I know exactly how important he is to Vintage City, and I’m not about to compromise his safety and his trust—or yours.” With that out of the way, Mom took a deep breath, bowing her head and rubbing her temple. “I know it sounds harsh, but—it’s a relief that you two broke up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s too dangerous being involved with him, Eric. You know it. You lived through it.” When she looked back at me, her gaze was a lot harder than it was before. “The things that we went through—that you went through—were exactly the things your father and I were so terrified about when you first came out to us.”

  I frowned at her. “I don’t get it. This isn’t about me being gay, Mom.”

  “No, but in a way, it is. Honey, I told you before that what frightened us the most was the fact that the world can hurt you for being who you are. And…what happened recently was something like that, know what I’m saying?”

  I shook my head, my frown deepening.

  “You were chosen by that monster to be his experiment,” Mom continued, her voice wavering. “It was because he knew you and Calais are—were—together. He used you against Calais, almost destroying you. No, it’s not the same as being gay-bashed, but it comes pretty close to it.”

  “So, you mean to tell me Peter and I shouldn’t get back together?” I stammered.

  “Yes, I do, and I’m saying that for your sake.”

  “The Trill’s gone, Mom.”

  “And what are you saying? More superhumans are coming out of the woodwork, Eric. There’s a new threat, and so far no one knows anything about him yet, but he’s out there, and he could very well be the same or even worse than the Trill. The Puppet and the Debutantes, they’re not as dangerous. They survived the Trill, and they’ll continue their attacks on Vintage City, but at least we’ve seen the extent of their powers. This new guy? Not yet.”

  I must’ve listened to her with my jaw hanging open the whole time. “And you’re saying that this new guy might use me the same way the Trill did? That’s crazy!”

  “It wasn’t crazy when the Trill kidnapped you from your own bedroom,” she replied sharply. “Don’t give these people any reason to think that, with you, they’ve got some leverage over the heroes. If you get back together with this Barlow boy—”

  “His name’s Peter, Mom.”

  “—then you’re giving those people reason to threaten your safety.” She stood up and patted her skirt, then untied her apron and balled it up without looking at me. “It’s for your own good and for Calais’ that I’m telling you this.”

  “You mean you’re ordering me to do this,” I cut in, unable to bite back my anger. “You know, tell me what to do, whom to see…”

  Mom raised a finger in warning. “You’re not testing my patience when it comes to this, Eric. You’re not. Okay?”

  I fell silent and watched her walk out the room, gently closing the door behind her.

  * * * *

  God, I missed my bike. It sucked big time that the Puppet’s mannequins destroyed it in that ambush, and it sucked even more that we couldn’t at the moment afford a new one. My
hospital bill was very likely crazy high, and there was only so much my parents’ health coverage could take care of. Dad kept telling me I shouldn’t worry about my hospital bills, that the city helped in some capacity, given my “unique situation,” but he wouldn’t elaborate more on it. At any rate, Mom kept telling me to take public transport, but I didn’t want to.

  It was horrible stepping out into the street, not knowing for sure who among our neighbors managed to figure out the truth about me. I was sure if I stepped onto a bus, all eyes would be on me—staring me down, observing me like some kind of freak, the wheels in people’s heads turning rapidly as they tried to figure out what happened and why I got myself into trouble in the first place.

  I dug out an old black newsboy’s cap from the depths of my closet and wore it, pulled down pretty low. I was happy to be back in regular glasses again. They were one more expense I’d subjected my parents to since I destroyed my previous pair by screwing with its lenses. With my denim jacket’s collar pulled up and my head ducked, I figured I was appropriately secured from prying eyes as I made my way to Brenda’s antique shop on foot.

  I saw all kinds of signs of Vintage City’s recent battles between the forces of good and evil. Walls were crumbling or singed. Windows were shattered. Billboards atop different commercial buildings were blackened and torn up, with some of the steel frames twisted. Large, gaping holes—craters, to be more specific—marked certain main streets, screwing up traffic as workmen struggled to fill them up behind awkwardly-placed barriers. Destruction happened faster than the city’s attempts at fixing things.

  Yeah, there were several places all over the city where workers tried to cover up damaged façades and restore buildings’ quasi-historical look. There were also a number of places, which I was sure outnumbered those scenes of repair, that stayed destroyed and exposed, waiting their turn in the construction line.

  Here and there, I spotted some shops that were forced to close because of the damage they sustained during the ongoing battles. I was sure that business owners moved and set up camp somewhere else, but how long would it take before they’d be messed up again just because their new locations happened to be in the way of a head-to-head fight between superheroes and supervillains? I didn’t want to know how many casualties were the result of several weeks of this crazy situation. From what I’d heard, several people were sent to the hospital, but as to the extent of their injuries—or how many of the more serious ones survived—I didn’t know. Frankly, I really hated to think about it.

  Brenda’s shop didn’t look changed at all. Lucky for me, there weren’t any dogpiles anywhere near the front door, either.

  “Hello?” I called out when I entered. “Brenda? It’s me, Eric.”

  “Oh, hi!” she cried, her voice muffled. I’d absolutely no idea where it came from. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d been buried under a pile of antiques. The place actually looked even more packed than before.

  I shuffled over to the counter and perched myself on a chair, waiting. How weird, I thought, that the last time I was there, I was on a precipice: facing a choice, really, between my conscience and my need to be like my friends. It felt like a million years ago. I pulled off my cap and tidied up my hair as I waited. Brenda eventually appeared from the back room. Still looking great, still grinning, still every straight boy’s wet dream—again, if they were into women who were twice their age. Clad in another form-fitting turtleneck sweater and jeans, she ambled over to the counter and leaned over it, sticking her face close to mine as she wrinkled her nose and teased me with a kooky little smile.

  “Good to see you up and about, kiddo,” she said as she pulled back and ruffled my hair—gah! “How’re you feeling?”

  “Much better, thanks. The antidote worked.”

  “I’d like to think so,” she replied, her smile broadening to a smug grin. “But we still want to make sure, no? Come along.” She moved away and waved at me as she walked toward the back room door. “Dr. Dibbs is here, and he wants to check you out.”

  I paused in my tracks, momentarily confused. “Who? Really? Oh! Yeah, okay,” I sputtered, real idiot-like, my face warming as I laughed sheepishly. “Sorry. I just had some pretty bizarre experiences with Dr. Dibbs recently.”

  “Freddie, you mean. Yeah, he told us about you and how he freaked you out. Had us all in stitches, let me tell you.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure it was really funny,” I muttered, ducking my head again and shoving my hands in my pockets as I followed her through a short but dark and narrow hallway. “How’s Freddie, by the way?”

  “Oh, he’s fine. He got his rest. Don’t ask me how long he slept this time for his regeneration, but I was on the verge of ordering a glass coffin after a certain point.”

  I chuckled. “I’ll bet he won’t be out on another undercover mission for a while.”

  “Yeah. He’s going through more training, and he’s also hooking up with the other heroes for support and, you know, guidance.” Brenda glanced over her shoulder and grinned. “It’s good for him to find a group he belongs to, after being raised in near isolation his whole life.”

  “Isolation?”

  She nodded. “His adoptive parents weren’t sure how long it would take for his powers to come of age, so to speak. He was home-schooled and all that, with limited interactions with other kids. I felt really badly for him when I heard his story.”

  “Man, that sucks,” I said. “But, at least he’s got new friends now—even if they’re all, you know, superhuman.”

  “He seems pretty excited.”

  We eventually entered a fairly large room near the end of the hallway. Tall bookcases lined all four walls, and each bookcase was overflowing with volumes of all sizes and age. There was a seriously strong smell of time, old leather, and paper that permeated the air. The room didn’t have any windows, but it was lit with antique wall sconces.

  The floor was largely bare save for the occasional stack of books here and there, with some volumes lying spread open as though they’d fallen off or were kicked around.

  A desk and a chair stood at one side, with the desk piled high with sheets of paper and books or journals. Across from them were an old chair and an equally weather-beaten table. A bunch of medical instruments sat on that table, and my heart nearly dropped to my shoes.

  “Go sit in that chair, hon,” Brenda said, her voice light and cheerful as she pointed at the Chair of Death. “I’ll go fetch Dr. Dibbs. I’m guessing that he’s in the kitchen, getting some tea.”

  I hesitated. “Can I just wait for everyone on the sidewalk? I promise I won’t run.”

  Brenda rolled her eyes and jerked her head in the direction of the chair. “I know what you’re thinking, Eric, and don’t worry. We’re not going to cut you open.” She waited until I sat down, warily eyeing the instruments that gleamed so brightly and so germ-free in the muted light. “Well, not while you’re awake, anyway.”

  “That’s not funny!” I cried as she walked out of the room, laughing.

  Chapter 22

  Dr. Dibbs appeared, but I’d pretty much gotten myself used to how this was the real deal, so I didn’t get all freaked over seeing him again.

  Sure, he looked as I’d always seen him look, thanks to Freddie’s chameleon powers. The difference was that the real Dr. Dibbs wasn’t greasy and gross, and he didn’t leer at me. I could only guess that Freddie must’ve had a hard time adjusting to his mask or that it could’ve been nothing more than performance anxiety that made him look at me kind of weird.

  The real deal, moreover, was pretty cool. He strode into the room, greeted me with a loud “Good morning, young man!” and then shook my hand vigorously while asking me how I was feeling. Incidentally, his hand didn’t feel at all damp.

  He was also crazy chatty. After initial greetings, he started prattling on and on about the weather, schoolwork, my favorite books, and just about everything else but what had happened to me. I told him about my fondness for poetr
y, fantasy and sci-fi fiction, and my plans to pursue a doctoral degree in literature as well as my love of art and the color blue. He laughed when I groused about Chemistry and Geometry, and he shook a finger at me while grinning ear to ear.

  “Now, now, Mr. Eric,” he rumbled. Freddie certainly got his speech patterns down. “Chemistry and Geometry both contribute to your intellectual development, even if you might not get it right now.”

  “I thought they stunted my brain, not helped it,” I said, a little aghast at the idea that both subjects from Hell actually benefited me.

  “Well, you’ll find out soon enough, when we start our tutorials.”

  I stared at him as he continued to examine me the way a medical doctor would. The only difference was that Dr. Dibbs also made me wear this bizarre headpiece sort of thing. It was like a bicycle helmet made out of steel; the weight of the whole thing made me fear for my skull’s integrity. He turned it on with a palm-sized rectangular gadget that had a bunch of small knobs on it. He kept turning them while Brenda monitored something on a laptop, taking down notes as she went. In the meantime, the tricked-out bicycle helmet shivered on my head, shaking my brain like it was an electric head massager or something.

  Once the headgear thing had done its job, Dr. Dibbs moved on to a pair of wristbands, both of which were made of the same heavy material as the tricked-out bicycle helmet. Like before, he used the same knob-filled gadget, while Brenda took down data in a writing journal.

  “You’re going to be tutoring me?” I echoed, amazed.

  “Why, naturally, young man! I’ve spoken with your parents, and they’ve been kind enough to allow me to look after your education—for the time being, that is. To help you catch up on the rest of the semester. You’ll still need to go to school in the summer, however, but only for a couple of classes. I do believe it’s something your parents are still trying to iron out with your school.”