Blake’s style, on the other hand, wasn’t so much “fashion” as whatever he rolled out of bed in. My dad calls it “grunge.” Anyway, I could see the appeal in dating the “bad boy” while also totally irritating one’s parents.
Blake turned at exactly the wrong moment. We locked eyes. A half-crooked smile crossed his face. It took a few seconds before I realized I was smiling back like a complete and total idiot.
I was sure that at some point in my life I had known words. Lots of words, even, but at the moment, I could find none. So I just kept walking and sat down with the rest of the SFC and pushed Blake out of my brain as much as possible. I had things to do. This was it! This was the good stuff—the beginning of my new life as an Est. Artiest. I took a few notes in my sketchbook and nodded a lot. Proof that I was completely on board.
The presence of Betsy with a camera couldn’t even ruin my high. Besides, she was there to document the SFC for the yearbook, and the SFC now included me. I would be right in there—smack dab in the center—for the two-page spread. Although Betsy was evil enough that she would probably find a way to cut my head off in the pictures. I crouched down so I was at the same height as Hun Su and leaned closer to her. Even Betsy wouldn’t dream of cutting out Hun Su.
Close up, I noticed Hun Su wasn’t really paying attention to us at all. She was looking off into the distance. I followed her gaze. I shouldn’t have. She and Blake were deep into a flirt of epic proportions. Their eyes would lock, she’d look away, and then he’d look away. Then they’d look back at each other and restart the whole disgusting process.
Hun Su? Really? Really?! They weren’t from the same planet.
Blargh.
I looked back at my sketchbook and filled in my doodle of a puppy. I guess I got it—Hun Su, with her perfectly straight, glistening hair … Then I noticed my hand. It looked a bit sick. As in, really green. At first I thought I was going all Ninja Turtle again. But my skin was still soft when I rubbed it. No! I was turning green with envy.
I had to find a way out of here without anyone noticing. But I couldn’t. Pinned between Hun Su and Derek, I was trapped. I picked up one of the oversized menus and began “studying” it intently.
“Okay, now décor,” Kate said.
Shoot. That was my cue. I couldn’t put down the menu—I was still green. Hopefully no one had noticed my green fingertips peeking over the sides of the menu!
“Veronica? Knock-knock!” Derek pretended to knock on the menu.
“Uh, hi! Yeah. I’m just really hungry,” I said.
“You can put the menu down for two sec—Ouch!” Derek ripped his hand away.
I may have smacked it when he tried to pull down the menu. (Okay, I totally did. I didn’t mean to. It was a natural reflex.)
“Ha!” I forced a laugh. “Be careful. I bite.” Worst. Joke. Ever. Fix it quick, Veronica! “Um, I have a whole stack of sketches right there next to my notebook,” I said. “Pick what you like!”
“Okay…,” Derek said as I heard them flipping through the pages.
“Ooooh! I like this one!” Kate cooed.
“No way, this one is totally better!” Jenny said.
Yay! They liked my ideas. They really liked my ideas.
As they continued to react, they split into two camps. They couldn’t agree, and it was getting heated. How cool. My jealousy faded as the compliments kicked in. My skin was now more celery than kale.
“Stop it! Let’s pick Kate’s favorite!” Derek shouted over the din.
“Nooooo!” Hun Su complained.
“Ugh! Stop it, guys.” Jenny instantly silenced the rabble. Queen Bee speaks. “Just, like, mix the ideas. We can mix the ideas, right?”
More silence.
Oh no. She was talking to me. “Yeah! Yeah, sure. I’m sure I can combine them,” I said from behind the menu, but really I had no idea.
“Cool,” Jenny said. “Everyone done being children now?”
There were embarrassed murmurs of agreement among the troops.
She let out a deep sigh. “Okay, let’s talk about how I am not dealing with food this year. At all. It is way too stressful, and you all know Hun Su has issues with guacamole.”
Kate started talking about possible snack options and educated us on all the food sensitivities that were popular that year. Since the controversial Peanut Ban a few years ago, their options had been a little limited. Do they go vegan? Gluten-free? Do they need to worry about everything being kosher? In the end, cupcake flavors were decided upon (red velvet and carrot cake), and everyone was blissfully happy about a job well done.
More important, I looked at my hands—the green had passed, and I could finally put down the menu. I realized I hadn’t ordered anything, but no one seemed to care.
These were my people. My new people who talked about new things like reality TV shows and some new pop princess and her ancient actor boyfriend I had never heard of. For a second, I felt my attention wane. My brain seemed to have an urge to inform me that all this talk, this “important” talk, was not important at all. I shut it down with a big swig of coffee. Which, I discovered, I forgot to put sugar in. Yuck.
In the midst of my sour face, I caught a glimpse of Blake leaving. I waited, but he didn’t look back over his shoulder or anything.
I tried to brush it off as no big deal. Sure, we hadn’t really seen each other in almost a year (I didn’t count the statue incident at the botanical garden), and last time we did I thought he was going to kiss me. Boy, was I wrong.
“Veronica, is that cool?” Kate’s shrill soprano cut through my daze.
“Uh, yes!” I replied wholeheartedly to whatever she had said. For all I knew, I had just agreed to eat nothing but glass for the next five years.
Jenny smiled. “Excellent. We’ve never had anyone be spirited enough to take on both food and decorations.”
My fake smile got bigger and more painful. “Both? So what will all of you be doing?” I tried to look calm.
“I don’t know.” Jenny thought for a moment. “Whatever, I guess.”
I started organizing the sketches in front of me, finally seeing what two themes they wanted me to combine for the dance decorations.
The first was Equestrian.
Cool, yep, got that. Saddles, hay, funky saddlebag pants. No biggie. You could mix that with anything, right?
How about vampires?
Vampires and horses. In case you missed it, that’s what we’re talking about, kids: vampires and horses. For our last spring formal in middle school. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
“We’re excited to see what you can do, Vanessa. Maybe even make you a permanent member of the SFC, if the dance is a success.” Derek winked at Jenny.
I wasn’t sure I was supposed to see that wink. A sadness crept inside me that even the shiny newness of SFC couldn’t glaze over. Here I was in my new life, but had I really changed at all? Were they just trying to use me? Good old Vanessa. My eyes started to tear up. Fight it, Veronica! I pretended to sneeze and wiped my whole face with a napkin. I refused to let myself cry.
“Ahhhh!” Kate cried.
Suddenly, water was pouring on us!
“Sprinklers! Run!” squealed Derek.
With that, the SFC gathered their laptops, designer purses, and smart phones and disappeared. Café Blasé was completely empty. Except for me. I didn’t move. I had already looked up and knew there wasn’t a sprinkler malfunction. There was a girl malfunction that had manifested as a giant rain cloud directly above my head.
The downpour lasted my entire walk home, contained to a three-foot perimeter around me. I wanted to go inside, but I was in a bit of a pickle. My desire to be horribly depressed in private was impossible without taking the storm with me. The last thing I wanted to do was spend the night sobbing and mopping, trying to clean up all the water before Dad got back from working at the club.
I sat on the front steps and let the rain do its thing. At least my sadness could cle
an the porch.
All I could really think about was how Charlie and I had failed to fix me. I stretched out and onto my back, thinking it would force the cloud to change position, maybe even throw it off completely, but the cloud stayed put—and I got a face full of water.
I leaped up, engulfed with anger.
I glared at the cloud as my vision turned red. My throat burned. I knew this feeling—it was the same one I’d had when Besty blocked me from entering the art contest. I opened my mouth, sending a bolt of fire into the cloud, drying it up instantly.
I smiled. “Take that, you jerk!”
Turning to finally go inside, I spotted a large envelope leaning against the front door. I wasn’t expecting anything, so it was a lovely surprise to see my name on it, typed with what looked like a typewriter. No return address. This was either from someone really cool or someone really old. Possibly both.
I looked into the settling darkness. I felt like someone was watching me, but I couldn’t be sure. If there was anything I had learned in the past few days, it was that my senses weren’t very sensible. Time to go inside. Shower. Tea. Then envelope.
* * *
Three hours and six minutes later:
Yeah, admittedly, that was a stupid idea.
The envelope was less of an everyday message and more of a life-altering-confusing-rip-out-your-hair-mind-blowing puzzle. Inside it, I found a newspaper article. It was about a “freak” ice storm that had encapsulated my house twelve years ago. There it was, our little bungalow with its stained-glass windows, completely frozen. Giant icicles hung from the drainpipes, like they do midwinter when Dad constantly reminds me how often “those pointy suckers kill people.” So it seemed normal, until you looked at the scene surrounding my house. People were wearing shorts and sunglasses. Kids were buying ice cream from a nearby truck. I looked at the date again—July? I guess that was the “freak” part of the storm, huh?
I was only about six months old in July, which meant my mom was still around. It was bananas to think that we were in that house at the moment the picture was taken, all three of us together. I couldn’t remember what that was like at all.
Sitting at the kitchen table, I flipped the article over again, examining it for any clue as to where it came from. My Calming Chamomile tea had gone cold, but I didn’t care. Apparently, my house was the only one in the whole town hit by this random storm. Why hadn’t Dad ever told me about it? And why would someone send this article to me? Looking around at the trail of wet footprints I’d left after the rain-cloud incident, it seemed rather obvious—it had something to do with my stupidpowers. Were they active way back then, when I was a baby? Had someone figured it out? I realized the more important question was: Who sent this?
I knew where to start, and he was pulling into the driveway right then.
CHAPTER NINE
TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES
“You really should be in bed,” Dad said with a yawn as he cracked open a beer.
“Agreed. But, what the hell-liocentric worldview is this and why would anyone send it to me and who would that person be?” I handed him the envelope and article.
Dad turned the envelope toward the light. “This was on the porch?”
“Yeah.”
“Interesting,” he said calmly.
“That’s it? That’s all you got?”
He returned the newspaper article to the envelope before putting it in his back pocket.
“Look, that was a really weird thing that happened years and years ago,” he said.
I waited for him to continue.
Spoiler alert: He didn’t.
“And?”
“And,” he paused, “and there were a few people who really latched onto it. You know, conspiracy theorists. Wanted to annoy us all the time.”
“Like who?”
“Just people who want to make big deals outta nothin’.” He shrugged.
This made absolutely no sense. My dad. Dad. This man who wanted to know every single little detail of my day every day. This man who made safety his job didn’t know who these “conspiracy theorists” were?
He frowned at my befuddled look. “What?”
“So, I shouldn’t be concerned about this? Like, a crazy person sending me an old clipping isn’t something I should worry about?”
He shifted in his chair. “It doesn’t mean they’re crazy. Or dangerous. Just means they want to start this garbage up all over again. Don’t feed the fire, Veri. Nothing is wrong.”
Was he right? He was Mr. Safety, after all. And there were certainly more than enough things I was already worried about. I relaxed.
Then he opened his mouth again. “So, has anyone approached you?”
Great. “You mean, like someone with a hacksaw and bloodshot eyes?” I asked.
“Veronica,” he said, and groaned.
“Daaaaad,” I said with a groan right back at him. “Do you know who sent this? It really sounds like you do.”
“I don’t,” he answered way too quickly.
“Was it She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?” I asked.
“Why would your mom send this to you?”
“Why are you answering questions with questions?!” I poked his arm. “And why are you being so mysterious?”
“I’m not. You are being dramatic.”
That was the most ridiculous, stupid, repugnant, irrational thing I had ever heard. (And, no, I don’t actually know what “repugnant” means, but it sounds appropriately foul.)
“Listen,” he said as he took my hand in his, “I know that if anything weird or scary happened that you would tell me. Just like you told me about this, right?”
Oh, geez. He was guilt-tripping me and didn’t even know it. “Right.”
“We’re all we got, so let’s take care of each other. Which means telling each other the truth and not worrying about strange mail.”
I nodded in agreement while guilt gnawed at my heart. It was true; my dad was all I had, and I was all he had. That was the biggest reason to keep my powers a secret. (Other than eternal humiliation, I mean.) If anyone found out, who knew what would happen to our little family?
Dad smooched me on the head as he headed to the living room. “You’re so much like me it’s ridiculous. Also, a bit annoying.”
“Oh, shush, you giant booger.”
“Love you, kiddo!” He clicked on the TV.
Well, freaking wonderful. That conversation left me even more confused. Could Dad have possibly seen my stupidpowers? Nah, that wasn’t like him. If he had seen anything, he would have said something, right?
Yep, Veronica, he would have said something. Just like you did when you got your powers.
* * *
The next day I was eager to tell Charlie about the newest mystery in my life, so I invited him over.
“Who do you think sent it?” Charlie asked after I’d laid it all out.
“My dad thinks it’s a conspiracy nut, and maybe it is … but maybe it’s her.” I felt my cheeks warm up.
“Do you even know where your mom is?” Charlie asked.
I shook my head. “But what if it is her, Charlie? What if she has these powers, too, and she’s trying to reach out? I mean, it makes sense, right? Maybe that’s why she went away.”
“Whoa,” Charlie chuckled, “that would be rad, but why wouldn’t she just stop by for tea or something? You two could boil the water with your powers.”
“I don’t know, but—” I stopped short as I scanned the search results for the article. No matter what we typed in, we couldn’t find any record of that ice storm, let alone the article about it.
“It’s like it was wiped out of our town history,” Charlie said. “Are you sure it happened?”
“Yeah, even Dad says it did. I don’t understand why something this big wouldn’t be anywhere on the Internet when I can easily find a detailed analysis of every episode of The Golden Girls!”
“Conspiracy!” Charlie thrust his arms in the air like
he had just made a goal.
I wondered if he was right.
* * *
I spent the weekend getting ideas together for the SFC. The dance was less than two weeks away. It was time to push into high gear. Charlie stuck around and helped, despite not being the happiest camper about my new role with the SFC, and I was grateful. At least he agreed that their combination vampire-horses theme was problematic. Unfortunately, on Monday he had a much bigger problem waiting for me before lunch.
“Slow down, Charlie!” I said as I tried to understand the garble coming out of his mouth. He was talking a million miles an hour, but in a whisper.
“I—I was just in the library napping. Betsy was there, too. She was uploading her photos there since the art room is a smoking ruin. She walked away while they were transferring and I—I saw you!” he huffed and puffed.
“Betsy had a picture of me?” I said as I grabbed my sparkly blue lunch bag from my locker. “Whoop-de-doo. She’s the class photographer.”
He looked over his shoulder, darting suspicious glances at everyone before leaning in closer to me. “You. Were. Green.”
Wait, what? “We gotta delete those pictures, Charlie. Like. Now!” I was already dashing down the hall.
I peeked through the library window. Inside, Betsy was hunched over a computer with an angry look on her face—but it was hard to tell if that look was just her normal, everyday anger.
“What do we do?” Charlie whispered as he peered over my shoulder.
“I guess we have to distract her. Then delete the pictures. Then run for our lives before she rips our spleens out through our noses.”
“That sounds about right,” Charlie said.
Getting Betsy to move would be easy. Although I mean “easy” as in “putting one of us in the line of great physical (and probably emotional) harm.” There was only one other problem.
“If I get freaked out enough, my stupidpowers are going to do something,” I reminded Charlie.
My So-Called Superpowers Page 7
