Othergirl

by Nicole Burstein

  The phone buzzes with a new text message. I know that it’s Toby, of course I know that it’s Toby, but I can’t look at it. I’m too embarrassed. I know that there’s no rational reason to be embarrassed, because this isn’t a date and any emotional significance I’m giving to this situation is purely in my head, but I am.

  Finally, after a few deep breaths, I brace myself:

  Cool! I’ll meet you at yours at 2!

  Toby looks so different out of his school uniform, but I guess I do too. He immediately tells me that I look nice, but I think he’s just being polite, because I’m wearing a big jumper that I knitted myself last winter, hoping that I might have had a growth spurt by now. My fingers curl up with anxiety under the too-long sleeves. Don’t ask me why I decided that this would be the perfect outfit. I must have tried on everything I have before I put this jumper on and left it there. If everything else fails, I’m able to hide myself quite well within it.

  I guess he actually looks nice too, but I’m too nervous to even look at him properly, let alone actually say anything about it.

  ‘So, this is cool,’ he says when we reach the bus stop.

  ‘Yup,’ I reply.

  I bounce on my toes. He does the same. I check my watch. So does Toby. Neither of us says anything for a while.

  ‘Uh … Just so you know, the others couldn’t make it today. There’s a Faecraft sale on at the Games Workshop. But you’re cool if it’s just the two of us, right?’

  ‘Right! Yeah, sure! No problem!’ My voice comes out much louder and more high-pitched than I intended.

  This whole thing has become ten times more awkward than I ever thought it could possibly get. My only hope is that Erica and Jay will already be at the cinema when we get there, so that she can save me from dying of cringe. You’d think that if I had a crush on a boy (and, to be honest, I’m still not completely comfortable calling it that), that I’d want to spend as much time with him as possible. It’s not like that at all. Every nerve ending in my body is telling me to run away as fast as I can and hide for eternity.

  When the bus comes (finally!) Toby gallantly steps back and makes a point of letting me get on first, like he’s trying to be a gentleman. When I find a seat he takes the one right next to me, and because we’re both wearing jumpers and big coats, he suddenly feels really, really close. I catch myself holding my breath, and I realise that if I turned my head our faces would be just inches apart. We endure the bus ride in total silence.

  It’s strange because I spend so much time with Toby in school, and we talk so much, and yet this feels so entirely different. Is it me making it different, or is it him? I feel like this isn’t the Toby I know, the one with the messy tie and raggedy school blazer, his school trousers coming down past his feet and ending up threadbare at the hems. I know that Toby. That Toby is comfortable and funny and safe. This Toby wears Converse sneakers, has fixed his hair with some gel or product or something and looks like a proper boy, a boy that might actually go on dates. I’m hyperaware of the breadth of his shoulders, and the lines on his hands. I have no idea how or why I’m here with him, and that frightens me far more than any fireball Erica could conjure.

  Just before we reach the road to the cinema, the bus takes an unexpected turning. Everyone is looking out of the window, and then at each other.

  ‘Sorry about this,’ the bus driver announces. ‘Seems we’ve been put on a diversion. Sit tight and we’ll get around it.’

  By the time we get to the cinema, we’re too late for the showing we wanted to see, but it doesn’t matter anyway because there’s a police cordon around the area and a couple of fire engines are parked up nearby. We can’t even get close.

  Toby goes to find out what’s happening. I scan the crowd for Erica.

  ‘Apparently there’s a fire in the industrial yard next door,’ Toby tells me when he returns, and sure enough I can now see a faint pillar of black smoke rising up and mingling with the cotton-wool clouds, staining them an ashy grey.

  ‘They’re trying to control the blaze,’ Toby continues explaining, ‘but because there are gas cylinders in one of the outbuildings, they have to evacuate the area, just in case they blow up.’

  ‘Yikes.’

  ‘Yeah, blows, right?’

  I try to smile at Toby’s lame joke, but I’m too focused on what’s going on behind the cinema complex.

  More fire engines and other emergency vehicles are on their way; I can hear their sirens wailing in the distance. I’m thinking that there might be something in all of this. That this could be the opportunity Erica’s been waiting for. It’s then that I spot her heading towards the cinema from the other direction, on her own, looking down at her phone with an anxious expression. I wonder where Jay is, and guess from the look on her face that Erica is thinking the same.

  This might be one of those moments where you can see your life splitting in two and going down very different paths. In one world I go over to Erica and tell her that it’s finally time for her to save the day. I tell her to dash to mine to get the costume, before flying back and helping the fire crews with the imminent disaster. In the other world I stay right here with Toby as the professionals do their thing, and then Jay turns up and he and Erica move their date elsewhere. Flamegirl doesn’t save the day and everything continues exactly as it has been, with Erica remaining frustrated and me content as life goes on unchanged.

  But even as I’m thinking about the possibilities, I find that I’m wandering away from Toby and over towards Erica.

  ‘Hey,’ I say.

  ‘Lou!’ Erica cries, throwing her arms around me. ‘I’ve been wandering around for twenty minutes already, and Jay isn’t even here. He couldn’t have stood me up, could he? Please tell me he hasn’t stood me up!’

  ‘I’m sure he’s just stuck on the buses. They’re all on diversion,’ I explain.

  ‘But he rides a motorbike,’ Erica reminds me.

  ‘Traffic, then?’ I shrug.

  ‘What’s going on anyway? Why aren’t they letting people into the cinema?’

  ‘Erica …’ I pause, giving myself one last chance to back out. But I can’t. ‘Here are my house keys. You need to go back and get into costume, quickly. This could be your chance!’

  ‘What are you talking about? How?’

  ‘There’s a fire in those warehouses behind the cinema. And there are gas cylinders in there. If the fire spreads and they overheat, they could blow up. We learned about this in chemistry, remember? You could get them out of there.’

  ‘And then what?’ she asks, already panicked.

  ‘I don’t know – try and fly them away somewhere safe? Allow them to cool down far away from the fire?’

  ‘Right. Yes. OK, I can do that.’

  ‘This is your chance. It’s daylight, and the police are here and everything.’

  We look at each other, and for a moment I think she’s going to cry. Then she dashes away in the direction of home, and I wonder if I’ve done the right thing, because I’ve not seen Erica look that scared in a long time, and what if this all goes horribly wrong? I glimpse that other, parallel world, where I didn’t say or do anything. But I’d never forgive myself if I’d known there was an opportunity for Erica and we’d missed it. It would feel like a betrayal. This is my job after all; it’s why Erica needs me.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Toby asks, coming right up next to me. ‘Want to see if they open up the cinema again – they might start the film a bit later – or go get something to eat?’

  Now that I know Flamegirl is going to be making an appearance, Toby doesn’t seem to matter nearly so much. All that anxiety vanished as soon as I went into Sensible Mode.

  I suggest that we grab some greasy food from the chicken place across the road, just for something to do. I don’t know how long Erica is going to be. I’m thinking about how lucky it is that I finished patching up the suit this morning, but then I’m also wondering how on earth she’s going to get the zip at the back
all the way up without my help. It’s possible, just awkward. We get some chicken strips and fries in brown paper bags that go see-through from the grease, and a couple of giant cups of Coke. I have to manoeuvre carefully to make sure I pay for myself – I just know that Toby is going to offer and then it will all just get far too weird. So I order and pay for my food straight away, leaving Toby to fend for himself.

  Maybe I’m imagining it, but when we emerge from the restaurant there’s a certain static in the air, a buzz of something unfamiliar. Butterflies crowd in my belly as I notice a helicopter patrolling high above us, and now there are extra police and firemen milling around the cordoned-off zone. I hear the most senior-looking officers muttering the phrases ‘large-scale evacuation’ and ‘highly flammable’. I think of those gas cylinders, hot and volatile, and hope that Erica remembers enough from her chemistry revision to be able to sort it all out safely.

  There’s an urgent crackle from the nearest police officer’s radio, and suddenly everyone is looking up to the sky. Only I know what we’re all waiting for.

  She appears like a burst of sunbeam through a low cloud. It’s thrilling. Bystanders are gasping and pointing and it’s like the rest of the world has stopped moving. I want to know what she’s thinking, what she can see, and whether she needs help with a plan. Except that I can’t have anything more to do with this situation. We can’t risk anyone finding out our true identities. I have to pretend to be just another random bystander.

  Flamegirl lands right next to the small conference of police and firemen. She stands strong, hands on hips and face fierce under that black mask, as she asks what the problem is and how she can help. I’m slightly too far away to hear what they say in reply.

  Next thing I know, Flamegirl is flying high above the cinema. I watch as she dives down towards the roof of the warehouse building, but I can’t see much more because of all the smoke. Then she’s back, flying up again, and her arms are clasped around a heavy-looking canister. She climbs higher and higher, until she’s nothing more than a distant speck against the clouds. I presume she’s looking for somewhere safe to set the cylinder down.

  And then, the explosion.

  It’s a massive fireball of red and orange with thick black smoke rising out in ugly tendrils. We shield our eyes and cower from any potential debris that may be falling, and by the time we all turn back to the sky, Flamegirl has gone.

  My heart feels as if it’s going to beat its way right out of my chest. Did she mean to do that? Is she OK? Or did her nervous, overheated hands cause the explosion accidentally? Did she blow herself up? I’m panicking now. This is all too much for her – I’ve pushed her into something deadly before she can handle it. If she’s been hurt, it’ll be all my fault.

  But as the smoke begins to clear, we see her again, hovering high above us, her hair trailing golden like it might be made of flame too. She waits for a moment (regaining her composure?) before she takes a quick dive back down to the warehouse building.

  She retrieves another cylinder, flies it up as high as before, and once again it explodes. Explosion after explosion rocks the sky until the spectators don’t even scream any more. We watch in awe, as if some grand fireworks display is happening just for us, each blast joining to form a great tentacled octopus of smoke high above. After each boom I wait until I see her fly back downwards before I let myself breathe out. I regret not finding a way to test this side of her powers further. How much explosive heat can she handle? What is too much? And then, a thought that gives me a chill as it sneaks into my brain: what if there’s no explosion that she can’t endure?

  Finally, apparently content that the site is clear and safe, she jets out and over us, landing back next to the group of police and firemen.

  I presume that she’s checking in with them, making sure the job’s been done and that she’s good to go. At first I wonder why she isn’t rushing over to me, why she’s not even looking in my direction, and then I remember: she can’t. I’ll admit it hurts a little bit, if only because I feel like I’m involved too – I am the one that sewed her costume and told her what to do after all – but the rational side of my brain reassures me that Flamegirl needs this moment alone. For the safety of our true identities, she can’t be seen with me right now. I send her a text, telling her I’ll meet her back at my house, and I smile when I see her reaching for the newly sewn zip pocket on her upper arm and checking her phone.

  Then I remember Toby. He’s still standing just behind me, his fast food discarded at his feet, and most of his Coke fizzing in puddles on the pavement.

  ‘That. Was. Awesome!’ he says. ‘I mean, you did see that, right? A Vigil! Here! In our own town! The guys won’t believe that they missed this!’

  ‘You’re OK if we head back home now, right?’ I ask him. ‘I mean, who knows if the cinema is going to open up again this afternoon, and that was all very exciting and everything—’

  ‘No worries, no worries. I think I’m going to go to the Games Workshop anyway. You know, to tell the guys!’

  ‘No problem.’

  We’re standing a good metre apart, and I can see that Toby’s desperate to go and share the news about a new superhero on the beat. I, meanwhile, am bursting to get back to my place to check that Erica’s OK, but it seems strange just abandoning Toby here. Neither of us knows how to say goodbye – handshake? hug? – but in the end I give him this stupid little wave (my hand completely enveloped by my jumper sleeve) and turn and dart for the bus stop.

  ‘Going viral’ is a phrase I thought I understood. But I never imagined what it would actually be like to be stuck in the middle of a virtual whirlwind.

  All I can do is listen, and seem politely interested whenever anyone brings up the subject of Flamegirl. Which is pretty much all the time. All Monday morning my teachers have been struggling to keep the class under control as rumours and gossip fly between the students. The excitement ripples as kids turn to chat and show each other the latest pictures and news on their phones.

  ‘How are you not more excited by all of this?’ Toby demands at lunchtime. He demands it rather quietly, because we’re sitting opposite each other in the library trying to get on with some extra maths work.

  Toby has more reason than most to be extra-excited by everything Flamegirl. He was there. He’s like a celebrity by proxy. Year Sevens have been following him in the corridors all morning, daring each other to go up and speak to him, and suddenly he’s got dozens of friend requests on Facebook.

  ‘It’s another superhero. So what?’ I don’t even have to act my disinterest by this point. A whole morning of catching everybody else’s conversations and listening to Toby go on about who from the popular crowd has ‘added’ him has been enough to tire me out.

  ‘But this isn’t just another superhero. This is one that belongs to us! And, need I emphasise just how absolutely amazing she is?’

  ‘Maybe I’m just not as interested in the whole superhero thing as everybody else,’ I suggest.

  Toby’s staring at me.

  ‘What?’ I whisper-shout.

  ‘Seriously? You’re seriously trying to tell me that even though you were right there, standing next to me when it all happened, when we saw someone flying right before our eyes, that you’re just not as interested as everybody else? Did you not see her? Did you not hear those explosions?’

  ‘Toby, she’s just a person.’

  ‘A person who can fly! Who we might have walked past one day on the high street!’

  ‘But still a person. Who we don’t know.’

  He mutters something I can’t make out and then goes back to his maths equations. I watch him for a while, trying to think of something I could say that would bring his attention favourably back to me. I wonder what it would be like if I told him the truth, that I’m secretly the mastermind behind the whole thing. Would he think that I’m as awesome as he obviously thinks she is? Would he think about me in the same way he just gazed into space, thinking about her?


  Erica was horribly sick when she finally got back to my house on Saturday. I was there before her, as she had to hang around and talk to the emergency services, as well as do some interviews with a couple of local journalists who were there to cover the fire. After she climbed through my window, I helped her to the bathroom and combed her hair away from her face with my fingers as she puked.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I asked. She’d never reacted this way to anything we’d ever done in practice.

  ‘No,’ Erica slurred. ‘I’m dying.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Probably not.’ She laid herself down on the cool bathroom tiles of my floor. ‘What’s happening to me?’

  ‘Did you do anything different? Have you ever felt sick before and not told me?’

  ‘No. But then I’ve never flown as fast as that, or as high as that. And I’ve never been in the middle of an explosion either. And everyone had their phones out filming me. Did you see that? Everyone!’

  ‘Well, it could be G-force. Possibly.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Well, basically it kind of means you might have squished your brain a little bit when you flew, because you were going so fast. Like when you’re on a roller coaster.’

  ‘I hate roller coasters.’ She moaned again and then rolled over so that I couldn’t see her face.

  ‘Or it could be all the excitement. Or maybe nerves.’

  ‘I can’t go having a freaking panic attack every time I save the world! What kind of stupid superhero would I be then?’

  ‘Well, let’s just hope that this is a one-off then. Probably is. This was the first time, after all. It was bound to be a bit scary. And answering questions about it all straight away couldn’t have been easy.’ Sometimes I wonder if I can possibly sound too sensible. ‘Maybe you should stay here tonight so that I can watch you? You know, in case it’s a G-force concussion-type thing?’