Hero

by Perry Moore

  I saw we were going to pass Uberman, who was standing at the door, and I wanted to tell Ruth that we should go another way or wait a minute or two, but I didn't want her to pick up on the fact that I was avoiding him. The woman was pretty damn intuitive, and I knew she'd put two and two together.

  "Thom."

  Just before we got to the door, I turned around and saw Larry.

  "Not now, Larry." I turned back toward Uberman. Soon I was going to pass by him close enough to smell the peppermint on his breath.

  "But, Thom—"

  I turned around exasperated. "What?"

  "I've been trying to tell you I was happy you shook my hand; people usually don't like to touch me."

  "Why's that?"

  I felt an uncontrollable urge bubble up in my stomach, and

  the next thing I knew I'd thrown up right in front of Uberman.

  * * *

  The refreshments they served were worse than the kind we got in school whenever they had to throw together some lame recep¬tion for parents night. I took a halfhearted bite of a cookie to get the taste of throw-up out of my mouth and chucked it in a wastebasket when I couldn't figure out if it was peanut butter or gingerbread. Ruth took a sip of her Kool-Aid and handed me a Dixie cup.

  "Here, drink this, it'll make you feel better." I took a sip, and they must have put way too much powder in the drink, because it burned my throat as it went down.

  Sooz from human resources stood at the podium in the front of the room and tapped the microphone. High-pitched screeches whistled through the room.

  "Is this thing on?" Feedback howled, and everyone covered their ears.

  "If I can have everyone's attention, please." She put her finger over her lips and shushed the crowd. The chatter died down, and a hundred eager heroes listened attentively in hopes that they'd hear their names called for the next round.

  "You can all continue enjoying the refreshments. In a few moments, we'll be posting the results. Thank you." Good thing the woman didn't do crisis intervention and management. The poor thing had zero people skills, and I'm not even going to mention her hair.

  "I just wanted to say thanks for coming in." Golden Boy was upon me in an instant and he shook my hand intently, the hint of a smile creeping around the corners of his mouth. "Sorry things didn't work out."

  The news hit me like he'd flung a pillowcase of bricks into my stomach. After I ruined all that expensive equipment, I suppose I didn't really harbor much hope for making the cut, but still, to hear that they didn't want me after all was incredibly painful, especially coming from this jackass. I did my best to make sure none of my emotions showed on my face, and I shook his hand back.

  "Maybe next year," he said, and then sped off. I wish I'd yacked on his boots.

  Sooz and the receptionist caused quite a stir in the crowd when they brought out the lists. The heroes gathered around them and tried to get an early glimpse as they taped the lists on the wall. The two women disappeared in a sea of costumes as the entire room converged on the spot.

  Miss Scarlett flew up into the air, flipped over, and pumped her fist and hollered "Whoo-hoo!" Guess she made it.

  Some wannabe heroes reacted with elation; others hunched their shoulders, despondent. I didn't see any reason to stay and punish myself any more than necessary, so I put Dad's coat back on and made my way to the door. On the way out, I saw Ruth standing in the corner, her back turned to the crowd. She pulled a flask out of her poncho and poured the remainder of its contents into the Kool-Aid.

  I stormed down the hallway and looked for the nearest exit. I mean, who were they to cut me? Sure, I didn't know what the hell I was doing, but I had to have more sense than the pizza delivery girl. Besides, they were the ones who'd invited me to join in the first place. I didn't ask for this, and it wasn't fair for them to get my hopes up like that. They were seasoned enough to know whether I had the right stuff to make it before I came to embarrass myself. Maybe this was someone's idea of a sick joke; maybe the reason I'd never heard of Justice was because he and my dad hated each other, and maybe the reason Justice invited me in the first place was to be cruel to the son of his ex-mentor. What kind of a prick does something like that? I mean, shouldn't he be figuring out new ways to save the world instead of spending his spare time humiliating kids?

  And where the hell was I, anyway? I looked down the corridor, a long stretch of industrial pilings and detritus that cast long shadows on the concrete. I thought I saw something moving in the shadows. I spotted an exit sign at the end of the complex, and I could have sworn I saw a black cape swirl behind one of the pilings, but I was too mad to care.

  I was the one who'd stopped the threat and saved the day back in the Simulated Training Area. I deserved to make that team more than anyone else. I wasn't going to let them get away with this. They weren't going to walk all over me. I turned around. I was going back to give those assholes a piece of my mind.

  I walked back into the reception room, and pushed through the crowd toward the dais and the podium. I bumped into Polar Pete, who sizzled when he smacked into Miss Scarlett, who was busy telling more stories about herself to a captivated Warrior Woman. Justice hovered on the dais, his back to the crowd, in intense discussion with Silver Bullet and Golden Boy, who were probably plotting new ways to torture me, new ways to kick dirt in my dad's face. Golden Boy didn't like the plan, because he was shaking his head.

  Well, they were going to have to do a whole lot better than this if they wanted us Creeds to feel bad. If they thought they could hurt me or Dad just by messing with my head at a tryout and cutting me from the team, they had another thing coming. If there's one thing we Creeds knew how to succeed at, it was failure.

  I approached Justice, ready to chew him out. I was going to tell him off for abandoning my father when he needed him the most, remind him that he was supposed to live up to his name, and not just when the cameras were rolling. I poked Justice on the shoulder with my index finger like I was mashing a beetle into his back. He turned his head, and I spun him around by his shoulder. Shock registered on Silver Bullet's and Golden Boy's faces. My lower lip trembled and a new thought suddenly entered my head. Screw the speech; I wanted to clock him. I clenched my fist, and Justice looked at me, surprised.

  "Congratulations, Thom. You made the team."

  CHAPTER NINE

  SOMEONE FOLLOWED ME on the way home from the tryout. I wasn't sure at first, though. It wasn't until I got to the parking lot of the gay bar that I was certain.

  I'd passed by this strip mall about a hundred times since I'd found a message scrawled on the side of a stall at the Exxon down the street, that this was where men came to meet men and do whatever happens next. I still hadn't worked up the courage to set foot inside. So far the most I could do was come to the parking lot and watch to see who went in and who came out. There was this one spot on a generator out by the Dumpster where I'd pull myself up to sit and watch. Since the light above the generator was burned out, people rarely noticed me up there.

  I knew I probably wouldn't meet my soul mate in the parking lot, or even inside the bar, for that matter. But I felt a glimmer of hope—maybe tonight would be different. Things had been going well, and I wanted to celebrate. If the League wanted me, maybe someone else would, too. Why not reward myself with a little people watching, at least? What harm could it do? Besides, it wasn't like I was going to go inside or anything. Just the thought of going in was enough to make my insides drop into my bowels. I hoisted myself up on my usual spot on the generator, wiped the grime off my palms, and wished I'd brought some gum or water, because I already had cotton mouth.

  I watched a bat flutter in and out of the glow of a street¬light until I finally grew a pair of balls and decided to go in. My boots landed in the gravel with a loud crunch. I put one foot in front of the other and fixed my eyes on the front door of the bar. Abruptly, without a sign of who threw it, a rock landed near my feet.

  Someone was following me. I froz
e in the light of the streetlamp and listened. I could hear the wings of the bat flap¬ping above me, but nothing else. I crouched down and ducked between two SUVs and waited. A shadow moved by the generator.

  I could either make a break for the front door of the bar or I could crawl around the labyrinth of parked cars until I reached the entrance to the parking lot and run like hell for home. I looked at my watch. My dad would be expecting me back from my game soon. My tongue felt numb and my teeth began to chatter. There was no way I could go inside; I'd be trapped.

  Then I heard footsteps in the gravel, and the crunching sound grew louder as they approached. I rolled under one of the SUVs, popped up on the other side, and made a fast break for another row of cars closer to the parking lot entrance. The footsteps stopped.

  I looked over at the entrance. I could make it with one more sprint through the last row of cars. I started running full speed. My hand latched on to the side of a Subaru. I spun around the last car, slipped on the gravel, and skidded before landing in a cloud of dust. I coughed and peered through the dust behind me into the darkness. I couldn't see anything for a second, but when the dust cleared I thought I saw the fluid contours of fabric, a cape maybe, flowing in the distance. Maybe my head was playing tricks on me for doing something I knew I shouldn't be doing. This was clearly not my scene; I was here out of desperation. Didn't I have standards? Didn't I want more than this? Suddenly the thought of someone finding me here turned my stomach. What would Uberman think? I sprinted as fast as I could out of the parking lot, past the neon Purple Cactus sign, and when I was too exhausted to run anymore, I stuck close to the bushes and jogged with my head turned over my shoulder, suspicious of any shadows the rest of the way home.

  I yanked off my tie and toweled off my face with it as I walked up the driveway. Who was following me?

  I bet it was that rat fink Golden Boy. Probably volunteered to do the League's routine security check. I can hear him now: I don't think we should just run his Social Security number, not this one, Trust me, I have a feeling.

  I thought about my fist connecting with his jaw, and the anger felt good. For a second. Then I felt ashamed about enjoying the thought of a fight. Anger was just a momentary cover-up, an emotion that masked your true fears. What really scared me is that maybe it was Dad who was following me. I was hiding more and more things from him every day.

  "How'd you do, kiddo?"

  "Good," I said. I followed his voice out back to the deck. "We won."

  Dad flipped a burger on the grill and pressed down on it with the spatula. The grease dripped on the charcoal below and sizzled.

  "How'd you do, kiddo?"

  I hoisted myself up on the wood railing of the deck and sat. "Fine." I watched my legs dangle beneath me. "Scored fifteen points."

  "Hm." Dad moved a burger over to the middle of the coals. "How'd you do on D?"

  "Twelve rebounds." This was becoming an interrogation.

  Dad looked up from the burgers and studied my face.

  "Nice jacket," he said.

  Shit. I'd forgotten to change clothes. "Sorry, Dad. Can I borrow it?"

  "Sure, all you have to do is ask."

  He flipped another burger on the grill.

  "You look awfully hot. You didn't shower?"

  Was he testing me? The man could always tell when I wasn't telling the truth. But if he was the one who'd followed me to the parking lot, how could he have gotten back here in time to have the charcoal going like that? Dad's fast, sure, but that fast? He didn't have superpowers, like me. There was supposed to be a limit to what he could accomplish. But he was so stealthy. ...

  "Why don't you go get us a cold beer."

  Oh, God, he said us. He definitely wanted to talk. This was it, he knew everything.

  How could I have been so stupid? I was so distracted about the League tryouts that I'd totally forgotten about the broken laptop. He probably took it to a shop and had some computer guy behind the counter fire it back up, only to see a naked shot of Uberman and his giant man-breasts fill the screen.

  "No thanks." I swallowed and felt my Adam's apple run up against the collar of my wet suit. "I'm not thirsty."

  "Okay, then." He flipped a burger into the air. "You can get me a new one." Dad crumpled his empty beer can in his good hand.

  I walked into the kitchen and thought about walking straight out the door and making a break for it. Instead I found myself walking to the fridge and opening the door, like I was a robot Dad had built in his garage workshop and programmed to get him beer. The cool air of the refrigerator felt good against my hot face. I grabbed a beer sitting out alone on the shelf as if he'd left that one intentionally for me.

  I closed the door and paused. Something was odd. I opened the door again and looked inside and saw that the beer had been sitting on top of a laptop computer. A brand-new laptop computer.

  "Dad, someone left a laptop in the fridge."

  I tossed him his beer across the deck. He stuck out his good hand and caught it without looking up from the grill.

  "How about that." Dad grinned and turned to me. "I got a big promotion, Thom. They made me a foreman." He tapped the beer against his leg, excited about his news. "And they gave me a sizable raise."

  My mouth grew into a wide smile. I hadn't seen Dad this happy, this appreciated, for as long as I'd been alive.

  "That's great! Congratulations! You didn't have to get us a new computer, you know, we could have managed with only one."

  "I didn't get us a new computer. I got you a new computer." Dad tossed the beer back at me, and I snatched it out of the air. "You'll be going off to school soon. Certain things a young man needs these days to get ahead." Dad took the burgers off the grill and set them on the platter. "And I intend to give you all of them. Things are finally looking up." He inhaled deeply and savored the crisp edges of the burgers.

  "What about the old laptop?" I asked.

  "I'll pick it up from the shop tomorrow."

  "I'll get it," I was quick to offer, maybe too quick.

  "With what?" Dad made a skeptical grimace. He was the breadwinner.

  "I got a new job."

  "Another one?"

  "I mean, I just picked up a few extra shifts at the cafeteria. Let me pay for it. Please?"

  Would he pick up on this? It was only a half-lie. With my League probationary stipend, I did have enough money to get the laptop out of the shop. And I really did want to take care of it—even if there wasn't anything to cover up—to thank Dad for getting me a new computer I didn't deserve.

  "Okay," he said. "You can get it." He smiled, pleased at the responsible, grateful son he thought he was raising.

  I couldn't believe it. All his dreams about me and my bright future were still on. He didn't know a thing. Now I felt worse than ever about lying to him. If I made the League, I wouldn't exactly be packing up my laptop and extra socks and underwear to move to the state university next fall. The League's state-of-the-art technology would make a laptop about as relevant as Pac-Man. Still, I was thrilled for him about the pro¬motion. I believed everything could work out somehow.

  "You okay, Thorn?"

  He looked at me, his eyebrows raised, a little sad, a little con¬cerned. His sincerity made my stomach rumble with guilt. You can always tell when someone asks how you're doing if they really give a shit, if they really want to know. "You seem like you've got a lot on your mind lately. Now I'll have to work some crazy hours while I'm getting used to the new responsibilities, but if you ever want to talk, just say the word and I'm here, okay?"

  I pressed the beer to my forehead and felt the cool conden¬sation on the can drip down my eyebrows.

  "Okay."

  He grabbed the platter and grilling utensils and headed for the back door. With his hands full he said, "Hey, pop open that beer for me, would you?"

  I wanted to take the platter out of his hands and ask him to sit down because there was so much I needed to talk to him about. I considered telli
ng him everything, but I couldn't make any sound come out of my mouth. Suddenly I didn't even know how to begin a sentence.

  I grabbed the aluminum tab and flipped it open. The beef exploded and sprayed fizz and foam all over my face.

  Dad smiled and opened the back door with his foot.

  "Gotcha."

  CHAPTER TEN

  MY ALARM WOKE ME up at 5:25 a.m., and instead of hitting SNOOZE, I hopped out of bed, threw on my sweats and sneakers, brushed my teeth, and went for a run. I chucked a full half-quart of Breyers mint chocolate-chip ice cream in the garbage on the way out the door. Had to be in perfect shape if I was going to make the League. They were a pantheon of the world's greatest heroes; there would be no second-stringers and no love handles.

  Running always gave me time to think. It wasn't like practicing with a team, when I always worried if I was fitting in with everyone else. When I ran, I never thought about screwing someone else up or ruining the team's chance to win. It was a solitary activity, and sometimes that felt nice.

  It also felt nice to think about my first practice with my very own try out squad for the League. I wasn't worried yet about competing with the other squads for the few slots on the big team. I was just proud to be a part of a team, and I was ready to dedicate myself to something I believed in, to work hard enough to see what my best could be. The sun was coming up, but the streetlights were still on, so I jogged at a strong pace, bathed under an even glow. I wondered who else would be on my squad. Pure excitement drove me to run all the way across town, and I found myself in the parking lot of the rec center where I tutored. I finished off my marathon with a few wind sprints. It was so early in the morning that hardly any cars were there, which left me plenty of room to run.

  Light poured out of the windows to the gym, and I figured I had time to fit in some weights before my shift and tryouts. I jogged inside, and my sneakers squeaked against the shiny floor of the hall and the noise bounced off the concrete walls. I turned the corner and stopped short of the court when I saw something coming at me from the opposite end of the hall. It was a basketball, and it rolled at me until it came to a full stop right beneath my feet.