Hero

by Perry Moore

  "Nice job back there, kid."

  I looked up, and Uberman was standing above me. My heart leaped into my throat and I hopped to my feet.

  "Uberman. It's an honor to meet you." He was going to let me touch his hand. I couldn't believe it.

  I wiped the gravel off my palms and shook his hand. I stood there awed and speechless.

  "This is the part where you're supposed to tell me your name."

  "Oh," I said. "Thom, my name's Thorn. I was just, you know, taking the bus because my car broke down and—"

  "Some pretty nifty powers you have there, Thom. You'd better be careful or you might put me out of business one day." He gave me a big chuckle and a mock punch to the shoulder. Humor wasn't his strong suit—he should stick with earnest. Still, who cared—God, he was touching me. My hand was buzzing from the contact with his skin.

  He wiped a long strand of luscious platinum hair out of his face and smoothed it back over his ear. An eternity passed as I stood there studying his face, trying to memorize every detail, every perfect feature. He didn't seem to mind. He let my eyes wander over his face. I was like a kid watching a Disney cartoon for the very first time, absolutely mesmerized by the wonder of it all.

  The lights from the camera crews lit up his face. Okay, so maybe his eyes were a little too far apart, and maybe that nose had been shaped so perfectly with a little help from the right nose doctor, using the old "deviated septum" excuse. I was still about to pass out from his beauty. My eyes worked him from his chin to his chest, from one ear to the other, and he soaked up the adulation like you'd bask in front of a sunlamp.

  My eyes ended up right above his left ear, where I spotted the Man in Black standing far behind him in the shadows by a piling underneath the freeway overpass. He was far away, small in the distance, but I could tell he was looking right at me, and even with his mouth covered by his dark cowl, I could tell he was frowning at me. His eyes worked like a mirror, and I could suddenly see myself standing there, my mouth open, gawking at Uberman with a dull grin plastered on my face, drool practically spilling off my lower lip.

  My eyes darted back and forth, distracted, between Uberman's bright face and the Man in Black's burning stare.

  "What is it?" Uberman whipped his head around to see what could possibly interrupt a fan's dream chance to worship him.

  But the Man in Black was gone, vanished into the shadows. Uberman turned back to me, and I felt guilty for not asking this sooner.

  "Is she okay?"

  Silver Bullet suddenly appeared next to us. "Is who okay?"

  "The woman you took to the hospital."

  Golden Boy suddenly materialized at Silver Bullet's side,

  his voice like an echo. "Of course she's okay. We took care of it."

  I didn't like the way this Golden Boy said we, as in not you. Even though he was wearing a mask, I could tell by his voice and attitude that he wasn't all that much older than I was. He stood with a strong, rigid posture, arms folded across his chest.

  "C'mon, Francis. We've got to go. Justice called a press conference." Silver Bullet tugged on Uberman's cape.

  "Okay, okay, just a sec," Uberman said to his less-popular teammate in a tone that reminded him you don't get to be Uberman by shortchanging the fans on their star-time.

  Francis? His name is Francis.

  Uberman shook my hand again and smiled sincerely.

  "I appreciate all your help, Thorn. Keep up the good work."

  Silver Bullet and Uberman headed back into the crowd. Golden Boy deliberately knocked his shoulder into mine as he breezed past. I stumbled, tripped over my feet, and the next thing I knew I was sprawled out on the pavement.

  The pictures in my jacket flew out of my pocket and scattered like a game of 52 Pickup.

  "Goddamnit!" I cursed like my dad.

  Uberman and Silver Bullet turned around and saw me on the ground, my family photos everywhere. They looked to Golden Boy for an explanation.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry." Like he'd just noticed. Jerk. Then, playing the good Samaritan, he began to zoom around snatching up my pictures off the ground. I was sure Uberman and Silver Bullet must have thought I was a clumsy goof who couldn't keep his balance in the presence of such greatness. Suddenly I was back on the basketball court and I wanted to knock that Golden shithead onto his Golden ass.

  I got to my feet, wiped more gravel off my cheek, and felt really stupid. The heroes crouched low to the ground and picked up my pictures. I saw Silver Bullet glance down at one of the shots and freeze for a second. It's still the only time I've ever seen him perfectly still. He looked down at the picture, then up at me, and then down at the picture again.

  A second later I saw him pull Justice aside from the crowd. He pointed at the picture and then nodded toward me. Justice looked over at me, and I held my hand up above my eyes to block out the glaring lights of the cameras. All of a sudden I wished I knew some of the Man in Black's tricks, namely how to disappear into the shadows.

  Uberman and Golden Boy each handed me a stack of my photos, and the next thing I knew I was shaking hands with Justice himself. Warrior Woman and the Spectrum stood shoulder to shoulder behind him.

  "I believe this is yours." Justice handed me back my picture. "And I hear congratulations are in order. Is this your first save?"

  Here they were, the League themselves, Justice himself, talking to me after a daring rescue. This was every kid's dream, and I was living it at that very moment. I should have been soaking it up, but there was a queasy feeling in my stomach, and once again I knew I was the world's worst liar. I couldn't take much of the credit.

  "I helped out a little, .that's all." I plunged my hands into my pockets. "It was mostly that other guy." I nodded to the shadows in the piling by the overpass. "The one in black."

  Warrior Woman and the Spectrum shared a look.

  "Dark Hero?" Silver Bullet snapped. "You don't want his kind of help."

  "He shouldn't even have the right to call himself a hero, not with those tactics." Apparently Golden Boy had to say something nauseatingly kiss-ass every time Silver Bullet spoke.

  Justice looked down at me. For the first time, I realized that he hovered a few inches above the ground, which made him slightly taller than everyone else. I had seen him on TV before and knew that he always hovered in the air, but until I saw him in person I didn't understand the effect. You always had to look up to him.

  "It's okay, Thorn. It's just that he gives people the wrong idea about what we do, always keeping to the shadows like that, administering his own brand of justice like he's above the law."

  "Like he has something to hide." Warrior Woman spit-shined her helmet.

  "We have to be very careful about the message we send," Justice said. "There are a lot of people who look up to us, you know."

  I felt all eyes on me again, and thought about my own secrets, and I wished I'd fallen through the holes in that bridge after all. I shifted my weight uncomfortably to my other foot.

  Justice then lowered himself to the ground and handed me a card.

  "Thorn, I came over to meet you because we think you have potential. With the right work ethic, the right amount of practice, and the right influence, you could be someone people really look up to." He squinted and studied my face for a reaction. "How would you like that?"

  I stared at the card in my hands. It was an invitation to League headquarters for a tryout. I thought for a second that he'd handed it to me by mistake.

  "You want me to try out for the League?"

  Justice smiled. "Only if you think you're ready."

  I scanned each of the heroes' faces to see if they were serious.

  "It would just be a tryout, for probationary status." Justice glanced at Silver Bullet, and I could have sworn I saw the speed¬ster wink at light speed. "If the tryouts go well, you'll be paired with a team to learn how to use your powers, train to be a hero."

  "Um, okay, sure. Thanks!" It hadn't struck me yet that Dad would kill
me if he knew any of this were taking place. Holy shit.

  Justice gave me a warm smile and put out his hand to seal the deal.

  "That's fine, Thorn, just fine." He shook my hand vigorously but carefully. It made me wonder if he had to be vigilant about his superstrength all the time. He probably could have ripped off my arm if he wasn't careful.

  "Uh, these powers of mine, well, they're really new, and I'm not all that good with them yet." I watched Justice levitate a little higher above the ground. I didn't want them to expect too much of me.

  "It's all right, son, we'll help you. See you next week." Justice returned to the press.

  Silver Bullet pointed at the invitation. "The time's wrong. We're going to meet in the afternoon instead," he explained, "because of the funeral."

  "Oh, okay." I nodded like I knew what he was talking about, even though I didn't. What funeral?

  The rest of the League shook my hand and left, until it was just me and Golden Boy. I saw Silver Bullet nudge his sidekick forward before he sped off.

  We stood face-to-face, and I noticed we were the same height. His serious expression didn't crack; mine didn't either. Neither of us said a word, and I wasn't about to break first.

  Then I saw something well up in his chest like he was about to say something, and he shook my hand.

  "Good luck."

  He sped off, and I tried to decide if he really meant it.

  After everyone left, I looked down at the picture Justice handed me: Mom's favorite picture. Mom, Dad, and me, surprises on our faces as the contents of a can of beer exploded under pressure.

  On my way home, I thought I saw the hint of a cape dis¬appear behind a corner. Maybe Dark Hero had witnessed that whole episode with the League, too. Maybe he could explain to me what had just happened.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I DECIDED I WASN'T going to run away like my mom. I wasn't sure how I was going to get past this computer revelation with Dad, but I knew I had to. I had a new purpose, something else to hide from Dad: I had League tryouts to attend.

  I leafed through the pictures of my mother and the life I never knew she had. Running away was about the dumbest thing I could do. I hated people who ran away from their problems.

  As I rounded the corner to my house my stomach growled. I'd be woozy the whole way home after using my powers, and now that the adrenaline buzz had worn off, I just wanted to pass out in my own bed for the next twenty-four hours. But that meant I had to go inside, and that meant I was going to see Dad. The first excuse I came up with was lame. Oh, you mean those pictures on the laptop. Well, it's this creative writing research assignment for school; I'm supposed to write from the point of view of a

  stupid lovesick girl. No way would he buy that. Then 'I thought about outright denial. What porn site? What are you talking about? Then I'd give him a look like What's wrong with you for asking a question like that?

  Then I thought I could be a little more inventive, maybe throw him a curveball first. See, Dad, it's like this, I was driving some friends home from this party because they'd had too much to drink, and I guess that since they were so drunk I didn't realize that by com¬parison I probably shouldn't be driving either—I never even saw that kid on the skateboard, he just came out of nowhere, and then we didn't know where to bury the body so we put it in the trunk and—-JUST KIDDING! I didn't kill anyone, really, I just like dudes instead of girls, that's all. . . .

  A wave of doubt washed over me, and I felt like I was going to yak in the bushes when I saw our little house at the end of the street. I thought about the look Dark Hero gave me while I was talking to Uberman. Like I was a big poser, like I was just some kid who didn't really save anyone on that bus. I didn't really even know how to use my powers yet. Try out for the League? Who the hell was I kidding? And what would they say when they eventually found out there was a reason I never had a girlfriend?

  Then I saw Dad's car in the driveway. I heard the motor humming and decided to wing it. As I got closer, I saw Dad in the front seat, only he wasn't moving. He was perfectly still.

  I looked in the window and saw his head slumped over on the steering wheel. The hair on my arms stood up. I listened to the motor whirr and watched for movement, but I didn't see any. I reached through the open window and nudged him on the shoulder. A moment passed and he didn't move.

  The back of my neck tingled, and I reached out to nudge him again.

  Then he bolted upright in his seat and looked out at me. His eyes were wet, his face red and swollen.

  Oh, God, this was way worse than I'd expected. He'd been bawling. I'd never seen him like this, not even when Mom disappeared.

  He looked up at me with pleading eyes. I opened the car door, lifted his arm around my shoulder, and helped him to the sidewalk, up the steps to the front door. He'd exhausted himself from all the crying. His arms drooped like limp noodles over my shoulder.

  "I'm sorry, Dad, I'm so sorry." It was all I could say. So much for improv.

  I helped him into his La-Z-Boy and propped the leg rest up for him. He stared forward with a blank expression.

  "You want me to get you something to drink?" If he wouldn't take a beer at this point, I certainly would.

  "Dad, I'm so sorry. I was just . . . It's just that . . . I—" I kneeled down on the floor. It seemed more appropriate to be on his level. I sighed, and for a second I wanted to cry, too. I couldn't stand destroying what remained of his dreams like this. I had no clue how the hell I was going to fix this. He couldn't even look me in the eye.

  Instead he reached for the remote control with his bad hand and mashed the messy lumps of flesh that used to be his fingers onto the buttons. Then I heard the report on the TV.

  "Again, for those of you just joining us, Captain Victory dead at ninety-seven."

  My head jerked toward the set. They were playing a montage of the young Captain Victory, ancient footage from his glory days, fighting Nazis, leading the charge up the beach on D-Day. Footage of Captain Victory, founding member of the League, as he welcomed in a new era of superpowered heroes, shaking hands with Justice and Uberman. I noticed in all the clips that Dad had been conveniently edited out, although I did catch a glimpse of his boot in one segment of the League locked in battle with the Secret Society of Supervillains.

  Dad wasn't crying about what he'd found on the com¬puter at all. I hadn't shattered his last hope for happiness.

  He'd lost his one, true hero.

  For the first time in my life, I thought Dad looked old. His face was drained of all color, his frame seemed less bulky than frail, and all his energy had left him. He suddenly seemed about thirty years older, and I wondered if this is how it would be one day when I was the one spooning him the Jell-O cubes in the nursing home. His arms shook as he pushed himself up from the chair, and I thought his legs would buckle.

  "Where are you going?" I asked.

  He kept walking.

  "To get my costume."

  He polished the buckle to his utility belt first. Then he ripped off part of his rag and gestured for me to help him polish the buttons. About an hour into it he decided it was time to speak.

  "You're awfully quiet. Want a beer?" Dad had already had a few.

  I really wanted one, but the thought of sharing a beer with Dad seemed really strange. I was torn, though, because he didn't usually offer. I'll pass.

  I heated up the kettle and brought him a cup of Sleepytime Tea instead. He didn't seem to notice it wasn't a beer, and he set it down next to his medals.

  "First person I ever wanted to be was Captain Victory." Dad smeared some polish neatly around the edges of a button and lost himself in a memory. "He had no reason to care about a kid like me."

  I reached for the jar of polish.

  "How did you meet him?"

  Dad chuckled to himself. "I figured out who he was, his secret identity. We used to play heroes at the home when I was little. At first, I never got to play Captain Victory; that was an honor reserved for th
e oldest boys. But everyone else found homes, and soon I was the oldest boy, so I got first pick whenever we played." Dad rubbed a glob of spit on the button to make it shine.

  "I guess I just paid attention, looked where no one else did. Hell, I'd followed every single story, bought every decoder ring for years. I remember seeing his picture in the paper as Captain Victory, and holding it up next to his byline—he was a great newspaper photographer, too, you know. Back then I guess it was all so new, they just made it up as they went along. He wore a pair of glasses—that's it—to cover up who he really was." Dad stopped rubbing the button for a moment and shook his head. "Can you believe that? All that stood between him and every Dr. Ice, Mr. Metal, or Nazi Ned figuring out his real identity was a pair of eyeglasses."

  I looked up at my father and thought about how careful my mother had been about hiding her private life. I wanted to ask him about her, but I couldn't even speak. This was the most he'd opened up to me. Ever. I stared down at my button. My fingers were cramping and I didn't feel like polishing anymore.

  "So I made an appointment with him at the paper, told him I had an important tip. I was probably only fifteen at the time— God, I had some balls. I put on my Sunday finest, marched right over to his desk in the newsroom, and sat down. He didn't even bother to look up from his phone call. He put his hand over the receiver and told me he was really busy and that he didn't usually take anonymous tips, especially from kids, and this would have to be quick, and what was it I knew that was so important, anyway. I told him I knew who Captain Victory really was. He hung up the phone and looked at me. Then I pointed at him, sat back in my seat, smiled, and said with utter confidence, 'I knew it.'"

  I caught myself smiling at the thought of Dad as a teenager, taking the piss out of some too-busy journalist and figuring out one of the world's great mysteries, just because he believed.

  "So I told him either he would take me on as his sidekick and teach me everything he ever knew ..." Dad took another sip of his tea. "Or I'd go to the rival paper with the story."