I replied flatly.
Mentally, Smokey seemed to gulp. Atalanta was another teen super and someone Smokey had started seeing fairly recently, after breaking up with his longtime girlfriend Sarah. Hailing from a small but wealthy island nation called Argo, Atalanta was a member of a superhero team known as the Argonauts and was incredibly powerful.
Smokey finally declared defiantly.
We both kind of chortled at that, and as I broke the telepathic connection, I realized that Avis was speaking to us.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “What were you saying?”
“I was asking what was on your agenda for today,” Avis said. “Are you heading back home soon?”
“Actually, Vestibule and her cousin invited us to brunch,” I answered, “which means we should probably eat something light as well.”
“Speak for yourself,” Smokey declared. “I woke up early to finish a paper, and I’m famished.”
“A paper?” Avis repeated. “What kind of paper?”
“History,” Smokey replied. “Jim and I–”
“Oh, snap!” I yelled, and then teleported.
Chapter 7
My visit to my grandmother’s homeworld of Caeles had ultimately had numerous effects on my life. For instance – in addition to getting saddled with a fiancée – my escapades there had also involved me crossing a temporal rogue, who at one point stranded me in the planet’s far past. I had managed to get back to the present, but not before encountering a future version of myself.
With respect to Earth, my time off-planet meant that I had necessarily missed time in school. Thus, when I came back, I was behind academically. However, rather than have me try to play catch-up, my mentor Mouse just decided to take over my schooling.
Likewise, Smokey missed significant class time during that same period (the full story of which I still hadn’t gotten yet). As with me, Mouse decided to step in. Long story short, we were both essentially being home-schooled.
On the day of the costume party, we’d actually had a history paper due. Mouse, showing more leniency than normal, had extended the deadline until the following morning. Sadly, I had pretty much put it out of my mind until Smokey mentioned it. Now, of course, I had to scramble.
After teleporting from the kitchen, I popped up in my room in the penthouse. Noting that I only had about ten minutes left before my work was due, I dashed into the study at super speed, frantically searching until I came across what I was looking for: a notepad and pen.
I had, on at least one prior occasion, tried to bang out a paper at the last minute by typing at super speed. All I succeeded in doing was destroying a keyboard that wasn’t meant to take the kind of abuse that comes from fingers pounding away at Mach speed. Mouse had offered to provide me with a specially designed keyboard that could withstand that kind of treatment, but I hadn’t taken him up on it yet.
In short, I had to write the paper by hand. Unfortunately, it took longer than expected, for various reasons. (For example, I was actually writing faster than it took the ink to dry, which meant that I inadvertently smeared it a couple of times and had to start over.) Eventually, however, I got it done. Then, after switching back to normal speed, I tore the completed pages off the notepad and teleported to Alpha League HQ.
***
I popped up in Mouse’s lab, a spacious room at HQ populated by numerous large worktables, incredibly sophisticated computer equipment, and monitors showing a continuous stream of data.
Mouse himself was nearby, fiddling with a piece of equipment on one of the worktables. Contrary to what his name implied, he was a big guy – roughly six-three in height and muscular, but not oversized like a lot of bodybuilders seem to be. Dressed in jeans and a dark thermal shirt, he merely glanced in my direction after I appeared.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” he remarked as he continued working.
Striding over quickly, I laid my disorderly sheaf of papers on the table next to him, saying, “There you go.”
Mouse stopped what he was doing and picked up the pages. For a second, he ran his finger along the perforated top of the pages, where I had torn them out of the notepad. His disapproval was obvious, but he didn’t make a comment. He then began flipping through what I’d written.
“This was supposed to be typed,” he noted as he perused my work.
“Was it?” I asked with raised eyebrows. “I don’t think I got that memo.”
“Ten points off,” Mouse said, tossing the pages back onto the table.
“Oh, come on,” I groaned. “You’re choosing form over substance. That’s a great paper, written or typed.”
“There are the seeds of some great thoughts in it, but from what I can tell they never get fully developed. Instead you just pile on a bunch of facts about the requisite time period, which results in you giving me a history lesson rather than any original thought, which is what I was after.”
“Man, you are hardcore. Anywhere else, that’s an ‘A’ paper.”
“Done with ‘B’ effort,” he added. “You wrote this, what – maybe five minutes ago?”
I just looked at him for a moment, then sighed. “More like two.”
“That’s sad coming from someone with your abilities,” he noted. “And I’m not talking about your powers.”
I simply nodded and looked down at the floor. I loved Mouse; he was like the big brother I’d never had, and his disapproval always stung.
“Fine,” I finally muttered. “I’ll do better.”
“I know you will,” Mouse stated. “Because next time, it’ll be twenty points off.”
We both laughed at that, and I found myself thankful, as always, that Mouse had a great sense of humor.
“So,” he droned. “The party?”
“Lots of fun,” I replied, without going into detail. “Thanks for suggesting I bring Smokey.”
Mouse shrugged. “You needed a wingman; he needed to get out of HQ… Seemed like a good fit. I’m sure you would have thought of it yourself, but I understand you had other things on your mind.”
His comment actually downplayed the facts. With my immediate family leaving Earth, my girlfriend breaking up with me, and a titular fiancée to look after, having “things on my mind” didn’t seem an adequate description. I was so busy with my own issues that I tended to overlook the fact that, for reasons of his own, Smokey had moved into Alpha League HQ.
His presence there wasn’t an imposition – all members of the League’s teen affiliate had quarters at HQ – but it was uncommon. That alone should have made me more attuned to the fact that my best friend had some things he was dealing with. I knew some of what was on his mind, but we hadn’t really talked in a while, and it had taken Mouse suggesting that Smokey accompany me to the West Coast to make me realize that I hadn’t “been there” (in terms of being a friend) as much as I could have.
“So,” Mouse continued, “does your presence here mean you guys are back?”
I shook my head. “No. We were planning to come back today, but got invited to a couple of social events, so we’re prolonging the trip.” Then I hastily added, “Unless you need me here for something.”
“No,” Mouse confirmed. “I mean, I’ve got some stuff going on, as always, but nothing you’re needed for.”
“Okay, great,” I said. “But there’s one more thing before I head back: have you heard fr–”
“No, I haven’t heard from Rune,” Mouse declared, cutting me off. It was the question I always asked these days, so he was ready for it. “As usual, the minute he makes contact, I’ll let you know.”
I merely nodded, not saying anything. Rune was another member of the Alpha League and was generally considered to be s
ome type of magician. In truth, he was one of an incredibly powerful, nigh-omnipotent group of beings known as Incarnates. I had recently helped them with a particularly difficult dilemma (which had required me traveling to a place beyond space and time), following which Rune had shocked me by stating that I was also an Incarnate. However, after we returned to Earth, Rune had performed some analyses and examinations that had caused him to reassess his original opinion.
“I don’t know what you are,” he’d ultimately admitted.
In brief, I apparently displayed some of the attributes of an Incarnate, but not others. In the end, Rune had left, saying that he needed to research a few more things and that he’d be in touch. That had been weeks earlier – before my family had left the planet – and I hadn’t heard from him since.
“Anyway,” Mouse continued, bringing me back to myself, “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. If Rune needs to speak to you when he gets back, he’ll find you.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” I replied.
Chapter 8
I stayed and chatted with Mouse for another fifteen minutes or so, then teleported back to my cousin’s penthouse. I popped up in the kitchen; no one was there but Henrietta, who was busy cleaning up. Upon seeing me, she seemed startled for a moment. By this time, she knew that I was a teleporter, but – unsurprisingly – hadn’t fully adjusted to my comings and goings in that regard. On my part, I had initially been nervous about displaying my powers around her, but Avis had vouched for her, saying that Henrietta would keep anything she saw or heard confidential.
Quickly recovering from her initial surprise, Henrietta stated that there was an omelet for me in the microwave. She also told me, without being asked, that Smokey had gone with Avis to work out.
Thanking her, I set the microwave for thirty seconds and then grabbed a fork from a nearby drawer. When the microwave finished, I told Henrietta that I was going to the roof to eat. Waiting until she acknowledged my statement with a nod, I then teleported.
Reappearing on the roof, I took a seat at the table where Avis and I had eaten donuts earlier. It was a beautiful morning, and I took a moment to simply bask in it. It seemed that I rarely got a moment to myself anymore, so simply having a little alone time was refreshing, in a sense. Glancing up, I thought it might even be a great day to go flying later.
Turning my attention to my omelet, I took a bite. Like everything Henrietta made, it was delicious – even reheated. I quickly wolfed it down. Then, trying to avoid surprising Henrietta again, I turned myself, the plate, and the fork invisible before teleporting back to the kitchen.
Henrietta was peering into the refrigerator when I popped up, probably trying to decide what to prepare for lunch or dinner. I quietly placed my plate and fork in the sink, then made them visible again. It felt a little like playing ding dong ditch – Henrietta had just cleaned the kitchen, after all, and here I was placing dirty dishes in the sink – but I got the feeling she’d prefer that to me simply appearing out of nowhere and giving her a mild heart attack.
Satisfied that I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I phased and then flew up through the ceiling, past the rooftop deck, and out into the open sky.
***
I spent perhaps an hour just soaring through the air, albeit invisible and phased. There was something about flying that always lifted my spirits (not that I was depressed or anything before). Simply put, it just gave me the feeling of being completely unfettered, like I’d left all my problems, worries, and concerns on the ground.
Eventually, however, I had to head back. It was getting close to the time when Smokey and I would have to go to brunch, and I think we both preferred not to be late. With that in mind, I began flying back to the penthouse.
I was probably a few blocks away when my cell phone rang. Deciding against answering it in mid-flight, I teleported the remaining distance to my cousin’s place, popping up on the roof. I immediately became visible and substantial, then pulled out my phone. Much to my surprise, it was Electra.
Remembering how our last conversation ended, I hesitated a moment, then answered.
“Hello?” I said, almost cautiously.
“Hey,” she responded.
I was expecting more, since she had called me, but she didn’t immediately say anything. It occurred to me then that she was working up to something, so I just held the phone, not saying anything.
Finally she let out a sigh and said, “I’m sorry about this morning. I wasn’t being completely fair to you.”
“It’s okay,” I replied. “I mean, it’s a crazy situation that we’re in. There aren’t any rules for something like this.”
“No kidding. I had a tough time explaining it to my dad.”
“What?!” I exclaimed, not quite believing what I’d heard. “You told your dad? Why would you do that?”
“Because he’s my dad,” she said matter-of-factly. “I mean, he’s never been a part of my life before, but now that he is, I want us to be close. That means sharing things.”
“Yeah, but you don’t tell him that your boyfriend has a fiancée. Nothing good can ever come of that.”
“Ex-boyfriend,” she clarified.
“Fine…ex-boyfriend,” I grumbled. “So what – you guys had some kind of bonding session, and you just opened up and told him everything?”
“Okay, first of all, stop making it sound trite. It wasn’t like that. He’s actually been asking me for a while if I’m dating anyone, and I’ve been ducking the question.”
“What do you mean, he’s been asking for a while? He’s only been out like a month.”
There was dead silence on the other end of the line, and I immediately realized that I had hit a raw nerve. Electra’s father – a former cape named Vir – had spent most of the last sixteen years in prison, albeit wrongfully. However, he had recently been paroled and was staying with Electra and her aunt. (One thing I had never told my ex, however, was that her father’s release was my doing; I had used up a special favor to get him out.)
“Let me clarify,” Electra finally stated. “He’s been asking since he was released. Basically, I admitted that there was a guy I liked, but the situation was complicated.”
“That sounds perfect,” I stressed. “Why couldn’t you leave it like that?”
“Because I don’t want our relationship to start off with me keeping stuff from him.”
“I get that, but you don’t tell him that your boyfriend is engaged. That’s ‘Dating One-oh-One.’”
“You’re not my boyfriend, and we’re not dating,” she shot back.
“In that case, it’s ‘Post-Dating One-oh-One,’” I countered. “However you style it, it’s not the kind of thing a girl tells her dad – not if she ever expects him to like the guy. Typically, fathers throttle guys over stuff like this.”
“Well, thankfully, I don’t have a typical dad.”
“What’s that mean – he’s going to garrote me instead?”
“Stop it,” she muttered, giggling. “Actually, he wants to meet you.”
“Huh?” I muttered.
“He wants to meet you,” she repeated. “It was actually the reason I was calling this morning, but the conversation kind of went off the rails, and you hung up before we could get back on track.”
I frowned. “But your father’s already met me.”
“Well, he briefly met a guy named Jim, but didn’t know that he was my boyfriend – at the time, that is.”
“Lucky me,” I mumbled.
“Anyway,” she continued, “how’d you like to come to dinner tonight?”
“If you’re talking about me and you, absolutely. If you’re talking about a meal with your dad, absolutely not.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Have you not been a part of this conversation? It’s a very bad idea.”
“Come on, Jim. You can’t be serious.”
“I can and I am.”
“Are you honestly saying that you don’t want to have
dinner with my father?”
“Pretty much.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s going to be the most awkward and uncomfortable dinner ever. Why can’t you see that?”
Electra didn’t respond right away. There was just this stony silence coming from her end of the line that felt so complete that I had to check to make sure we hadn’t been disconnected.
“Don’t you want to get back together?” she finally asked in a soft voice.
My brow crinkled. “Is that an ultimatum?”
“Of course not,” she spat out. “You know I’d never do that. What I’m trying to say is that, if we ever manage to become a couple again, you and my father will eventually have to become acquainted. But at that point, you’ll forever be the guy who was afraid to have dinner with him. Do you really want that albatross around your neck?”
“I’m not afraid to have dinner,” I insisted.
“Then what is it?”
I reflected for a moment, then let out a deep breath and said, “Basically, the last few weeks have been almost drama-free for me. More to the point, I’ve actually enjoyed it to a large extent. Somehow, though, I can’t shake the feeling that dinner with your dad will be major drama.”
“How about this then?” she countered. “If it starts getting awkward, you’re free to leave. Just stand up and walk out, zip to the door, or just teleport. How does that sound?”
“‘Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.’”
“Excuse me?” she said.
“Nothing,” I griped. “Why is this such a big deal to you?”
There was silence for a second, then Electra seemed to come to a decision.
“Even though we broke up, I still care about you,” she admitted. “A lot. I just want the two most important guys in my life to like each other. That’s all.”
Of course, she wasn’t close enough for me to read emotionally, but there was a power and sentiment to her words and tone that almost anyone could have picked up on. And with that, I realized that I wasn’t the only one thinking dinner would be uncomfortable; it would be awkward for Electra as well, but she was willing to deal with it, because ultimately, she was doing it for us. She was doing it so that – if and when we reconciled – a disapproving father wouldn’t be an additional hurdle we’d have to clear.
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