Worm

by John Mccrae Wildbow

  I headed for the front door of the school. As crummy as I felt, I could relax a bit, now. Crisis averted. I’d send Charlotte a text, then see about meeting up with my dad. I wanted to leave. There was nothing for me here. Only ugly feelings.

  Except the difference from then and now was that I felt a hell of a lot more like an Emma than a Taylor.

  Speak of the devil. I could sense her by the front door, hanging out with a group of her new friends. I changed routes and found a door in a stairwell, and stepped outside that way.

  The problem was the gate. A short wall surrounded the grounds, and I couldn’t quite bring myself to climb it, not with the attention it would attract. Going through the exit at the parking lot would take me in the opposite direction I’d wanted to go, and I was in something of a rush.

  And maybe a part of me didn’t want to run. Avoiding her was one thing, but going five or ten minutes out of my way to circle a whole city block just to keep out of her way was something else.

  I walked briskly for the gate.

  She saw me, walked to intercept. Fuck her. Of course she’s starting something. It can’t be easy.

  She placed herself between me and the gate. She was almost playful as she stepped right, then left to cut me off as I changed direction. I was forced to stop.

  A sly smile was plastered on her face. I was aware of the others looking. The people who were sitting outside, the guards… her friends were approaching to join her.

  “Sneaky, sneaky,” she said. She looked like she was having a ball. ”Trying to avoid me?”

  I didn’t reply. I was a little spooked at how quickly my bugs were responding to my irritation. Half of my psyche was saying ‘fight’, the other half was saying ‘ignore her’, and the bugs were only listening to the first half. The second half was needing a bit of a push on my end.

  There were few people in this world that had truly earned my hate. I’d put a bullet through the last one’s brain.

  Emma? I couldn’t care less about her. That was what unsettled me.

  20.03

  “ Yes,” I said. “I’m trying to avoid you because I have someplace to be.”

  “I’m hurt, Taylor. It’s been a while since we had a chance to talk. We used to be friends, don’t you remember?”

  “I remember,” I replied. Didn’t want to get caught up in this. At the same time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to back down, either.

  I glanced around at the others. I needed a better term for the people who’d stayed, a name for that particular clique. They’d approached us, interested, but were hanging back enough to indicate they weren’t about to jump to my defense. Couldn’t blame them. The last series of events in Brockton Bay weren’t the sort that rewarded heroes. These people had made it through by playing it safe and avoiding trouble.

  Emma’s friends weren’t the same way. They approached, offering Emma backup and support. They didn’t join in, though. Emma was point-man here. She was in a mood to start trouble, I could tell, and everyone present knew it.

  The guards? They hung back, even further away than the ones on the periphery. Two or three of them. As I saw it, they were backing Emma up. If I smashed her teeth in or tore her ear half-off like Sophia had once done to me, they’d stop me, and I’d get in trouble. I’d get delayed from getting to where I wanted to be.

  “Changed your look? I have to say, you manage to make any style look great.”

  The sarcasm was subtle. There was also a glimmer of a memory in there; she was referencing something. I brushed it aside. I doubted I wanted to think too hard on it.

  “You’re not impressing anyone,” I said.

  “So hostile,” Emma said. “Is that part of your new image? Being rude? Keeping everyone at arm’s length? If anyone’s trying too hard, it’s you.”

  Oh, I just had to take one look at her expression to see that she was reveling in the irony. She didn’t give a damn that the accusations she was directing at me could be turned against her. For her, it was all about the reaction she got out of me. Victories, both big and little.

  And all the while, she was oblivious to what I was holding back: tens of thousands of bugs, insects and arachnids, worms, centipedes, snails and slugs. I restrained them in the same way I might keep my fist clenched, resisting the urge to swing it at her.

  It wasn’t just the idea of hurting her. That was almost secondary. It was the idea of catching her right now, when she had less of a hold over me than she’d had in years. To see the look on her face in the moment before the bugs forced themselves into her airways. The dawning comprehension, the realization of what she’d brought on herself.

  One action, and she might experience a share of the fear, the frustration and disgust I’d experienced over the years. The hopelessness, the helplessness in the face of someone with more power to throw around.

  I could imagine the bugs flowing into her mouth before she thought to cover it, flowing into her nostrils until she covered that. I could imagine the moment she realized she’d have to swallow if she wanted to breathe. I might even dismiss the bugs from flying around between us, just so I’d have a clear visual of it. More likely that she’d throw up, but I’d have a minute or two before the heroes mobilized-

  “Zoning out on me, Hebert? Or did you spend too long outdoors and bake your brain?”

  “I don’t know what to say,” I admitted.

  “Big surprise.”

  “…because I don’t really think much of you anymore. I’ve dealt with drug dealers, vandals, looters and thugs, and the gangs that were roving the city trying to get their hands on young girls. Hell, I was there when Mannequin attacked the boardwalk.”

  All true. Except… I ‘dealt’ with them in a more direct fashion than I was implying.

  “Big girl. So brave,” Emma said.

  I saw one or two people on the periphery of the crowd shift position, irritated. They weren’t my allies, not exactly, but Emma had just lost points, belittling what they had been through.

  “I have a bit more perspective,” I told her. “I’ve seen how shitty people can be. I’ve seen people who were desperate, fighting just to get by. Others preyed on people, in the midst of it all. I can’t say I respect them for it, but maybe I understand it.”

  “You’re-” she started.

  I cut her off, talking over her, “And the thing is, even after seeing all of the starving people, the ones who ate trash or stole to make it through the next twenty-four hours, I think less of you than I think of them.”

  I could see her eyes narrow at that.

  “You’re insulting me?“

  “I’m stating facts,” I replied. “Talking to you even now, I’m realizing how small your world is. You think of popularity and high school, of looking nice. That’s not even one tenth of a percent of what’s going on in the world at large. Yet you’re trying so hard to climb to the top of this tiny, sad little hill.”

  “You’re missing one key fact there,” she said. There was no smile on her face now. “You’re beneath me on this little hill. So what does that make you?”

  “Emma, you’re snarling at me and insulting me, trying to make jabs as if each little gesture will give you a higher spot on the totem pole, but there’s no point. I’m not even a student here.”

  “You’re a dropout. A failure.”

  I sighed a little. “I really like this approach of yours. You started off really subtle, and in the last minute alone, you’ve descended to flinging basic insults at me, trying to see what sticks. Except I’m really not bothered, and you’re doing more to make yourself look bad.”

  Maybe I should have let her play it out a bit more and try a few more aimless jabs before I called her on it. Didn’t matter.

  One member of her entourage piped up, “Who do you think you are? Talking to her like that?”

  Another. “You think you sound so smart, telling her what she’s-”

  The girl stopped as Emma raised one hand. Emma was glaring at me. How long had it
been since I’d seen anything besides glee and mean smirks? Something substantial, and not just a look of fear as she huddled with her family at some fundraiser, or being shocked when I’d slapped her in the shopping mall.

  Was Emma actually angry?

  The Taylor of months ago would have appreciated at the realization, she might even have found it healing. Not caring about what she said now came with an equal measure of not caring about her reaction. I was almost disappointed.

  “I’ve seen you break down in tears one too many times to buy that you don’t care. You’re a wimp, Hebert, a coward. You just want to look strong, pretend you’re something other than what you are.”

  “No,” I replied. “I just want to go to lunch with my dad. If you want to stroke your own ego, you can do it after I’m gone.”

  I didn’t feel better, as this played along, somewhat in my favor. I was still angry, I still wanted to hurt her, to see the look on her face. But that feeling, in combination with what I’d mentioned to her earlier, when I’d said how small high school seemed in the grand scheme of things, it made my emotions seem out of proportion. Monstrous.

  And punctuating that monstrous line of thinking was the bugs. Reflecting my feelings, it almost made for a throbbing sensation, insistent, the swarm working to move toward me, being pushed back with a semiconscious thought the next moment.

  She was getting to me. It just wasn’t the way she’d intended.

  “You keep trying to run, Hebert, like a coward. You should thank me.”

  “Thank you? I’d love to hear this one.”

  “God, if you just would have pretended to grow a spine a little sooner, everything would have been fine.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “People who stand up for themselves get respect. If you would’ve tried this a little sooner, laughed more at the pranks and jokes, stood a little straighter instead of cringing like a whipped dog, it would have worked. We would’ve been friends again. You’d have been part of the group, and things would have been peachy. But you put it off too long, you made yourself into a victim. It wasn’t us.”

  I could feel a few ideas fall into alignment.

  “You’re talking about Sophia. You mean she would have let me into the group.”

  “That’s part of it.”

  Now we were talking about Sophia. About Shadow Stalker. Emma knew that the two were one and the same, and I knew as well, but I couldn’t let on.

  Still, it was leverage.

  “That’s a lot of it, I bet. How demented are you, that you think I’d fucking want to be your friend, after all the shit you pulled?”

  “Are you really better off where you are?”

  “Now? Yes. Then? Fuck, even then, yes! I called you pathetic a minute ago, but Sophia’s worse than you. She was a sad little basket case who lashed out at people with violence and barbed words because it was the only way she could deal. The only real advantages she had were the fact that she was attractive and how you were misguided enough to look up to her, which is laughable unto itself.”

  “Watch it,” she said.

  “I would’ve thought you were better than that, but no. She brought you down to her level, and you saved her from becoming a deranged thug, and made her a popular deranged thug instead.”

  One of her friends stepped forward, no doubt to bark a retort, but Emma pushed her away.

  “Watch it!” one of the guards called out. “Hands off!”

  He was perfectly content to let this argument slide, but a push was too much? Whatever.

  Emma turned to her friend, “Sorry.”

  “Whatev,” the girl muttered back. She didn’t look too happy.

  Emma turned to me, and she had that mean, sly smile, like she had all the confidence in the world. “You want to play hardball, Taylor?”

  “I want to go meet my dad for lunch. I’ve already said. You’ve been playing hardball for years. You can’t really top using my mom’s death to taunt me unless you’re willing to pull a weapon.”

  “Sure I can,” the anger had faded, and she was cool, calm. She seemed to relish her words as she said them. “You killed your mom.”

  I didn’t have a response to that. My thoughts were momentarily a jumble, as I tried to process how that was even possible.

  “Remember? You were at my house when you got the call? You were supposed to call your mom. She was dialing for you when she got in the accident.”

  “Pretty weak, Emma. I don’t really buy it, and I don’t think even you buy that I’m at fault.”

  “Oh, but there’s more. See, your dad thought so. Your dad blamed you. He blames you. Remember? He kind of disconnected? Stopped caring about you? You eventually went to my parents to ask if you could stay over some, until he found his feet?”

  I could remember. It had been the darkest period following one of the darkest moments of my life.

  “My dad gave good old Danny a talking to, and your dad said he couldn’t get over it. He thought you were responsible, blamed you because you didn’t make the call you were supposed to, and your mom had to drive over, worrying something was wrong.”

  I could visualize it, fit this information into the blanks.

  Emma continued speaking, and her words were in parallel with my own train of thought. “Ever think about how distant he got? Maybe how distant he is, even now? He loves you, maybe, but he hates you too. He dished all the dirt to my dad, and told him how if you’d just called, if you’d picked up when your mom tried to call you from home, he’d still have his wife. He’d still have a woman who was fantastic and smart and beautiful, someone way too good for him. Now all he’s got is you. You, who he took care of more because he had to than because of anything else. Does he even like you, now?”

  Did my dad love me? Yes. Did he like me? That was up for debate.

  A hollowness had settled in me. I wasn’t sure how much of it was what Emma was saying, how much was my thinking back to those days, and how much was an extension of the dissonance I’d been feeling since I stepped foot on school grounds.

  I glanced at the others around us. They were quiet, watching. They weren’t leaping to my defense or joining in on Emma’s side. Observers.

  Emma, for her part, was smiling, mocking me with her smugness, waiting for the reaction.

  I exhaled slowly.

  With all the time I’d spent around Tattletale, it wasn’t hard to see what Emma was doing. Identifying the weak points, then making educated guesses, making claims that were difficult to verify, but devastating in their own right. She didn’t have powers, but she did have the background knowledge of me, my dad and that period of my life.

  If I’d ever been close to using my power on her, it was here, now. The fact that she was using my parents against me? Trying to fuck with me on this level?

  I drew in a deep breath, then exhaled again. Be calm.

  Was it true? Possibly. But it would be next to impossible to verify, unless I was willing to discuss old, ugly memories with my dad. Right here and right now, the information had only as much weight as I gave it. I had to react to it like I might one of Tattletale’s headgames.

  “Okay,” I said. “Are you done? I’d like to go now.”

  The anger was bleeding out of me. If that was all she could do, on the spur of the moment, I didn’t need to worry anymore.

  The smile on her face remained, but it wasn’t quite so smug, now. “I’m sorry. I should have realized you’re a heartless bitch. You don’t even care.”

  “I don’t think I really believe you,” I replied. “But even if I did, whatever. I’ve dealt with people who are smarter than you, I’ve had to handle people who are scarier and meaner than you. I’ve even had to work with people who are better at manipulating others than you. You don’t have the slightest-”

  I stopped. My phone was vibrating.

  There were too many possibilities for what it could be. Issues with the Ambassadors, my dad, Charlotte…

  I turned away
and answered the call, putting the phone to my ear.

  “Taylor,” my dad spoke.

  “Hi dad,” I said.

  “How’s the work?“

  “It’s not,” I said. “I got a call from someone I’ve been working with on and off, and stopped by the school. Where are you?”

  “The boat graveyard. We’re trying to do some problem solving, and it’s slowing us down. Which school?“

  “Arcadia. Want to meet me halfway? The…”

  Through the single fly I’d planted on her, I could tell that Emma was striding towards me. With only a split second to decide on a course of action, I decided to let her hit me.

  She struck the phone out of my hand, and then shoved me into the wall that marked the perimeter of the school grounds.

  Emma didn’t say a word, but she was panting. Was she trying to think of something to say? She pulled me away from the wall, only so she could slam me against it again.

  I could have laughed. She wasn’t strong, she wasn’t intimidating.

  I thought about saying something. You’re out of cards to play. You’ve dropped past insults and you’ve descended to brute force, now?

  I didn’t get a chance. A guard advanced on us and pulled her off me.

  The guard sounded almost casual as he kept a grip on the back of her shirt and one of her wrists, fighting to stop her from struggling. “Now we’re off to see the principal.”

  Figured. I glared at him. “So you stand back until a fight erupts, and get both attacker and victim in trouble?”

  “The job’s to stop students from hurting others or getting themselves hurt. Not about to step in the middle of an argument, or I’d be running around all day,” he said.

  “I’m not even a student here,” I replied.

  “Didn’t figure you were, with how fast you were in and out. That’s why it’s your call. You can go, do that thing you were talking about with your family, or come back to the office with me and the girl.”

  “What’s the difference?” I asked.

  He shrugged, then grimaced as she continued to struggle. “We’re supposed to take any troublemakers to the office along with students who might be willing to testify. You’re not a student, but maybe you plan to be, so it’s up to you.”