I turned around in the passenger seat to look at him. “That’s a lie. No one ever gets used to it.” To prove my point I kicked my feet up on Sarah’s dashboard, effectively covering a picture of Connor flexing his biceps with a glob of mud from my shoe. Rylan laughed to himself.
“Okay, enough about the car,” Sarah said. She swung into the parking lot of the pizza parlor, stalling with a clunk, clunk, clunk before cutting the engine altogether. “He has feelings too.”
“She knows it’s just a car, right?” Rylan whispered to me as we pushed through the doors of the restaurant. It was one of the only eating establishments nearby that didn’t shut down once the sun set. Todo, the large bearded owner, once told me and Sarah that he wasn’t afraid of any criminals. No wonder—the guy was built like a sumo wrestler.
We took a seat in a booth near a row of televisions mounted on the wall. Sarah ordered our usual—a pepperoni pizza and a large breadstick bucket with extra cheese sauce—while Rylan ducked into the bathroom.
I fiddled with the straw in my cup of water, absentmindedly staring at the TV above our booth. The evening news had just started, and Kip Snyder, the weatherman, was in the midst of predicting how much snow Morriston was likely to get over the winter. Sarah loudly cleared her throat from across the table.
“Do you need a throat lozenge?” I asked politely. I’d watched her sneak looks at Rylan the whole ride here; I knew where she was about to go with this.
Sarah rested her elbows on the table. “He’s a cutie.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“He’s afraid of you,” I countered.
She scoffed. “Not for me. For you.”
“Hmm…”
“Oh, come on, Abby! Yes, Isaac is gorgeous, and my God, the boy can sing, but he looks like someone is eternally shoving a stick up his ass.”
“I never said I liked Isaac.” I liked someone who I thought was Isaac, which may or may not have been the same thing.
Sarah pulled the straw out of my drink and flicked a drop of water at my face. “Just think about it.”
“I…” I trailed off as Rylan returned from the bathroom, scooting into the booth beside me. He ripped the paper off his straw and stuck it in his water glass.
“What did I miss?” he asked.
“Nothing at all.” I shot Sarah a look when she winked dramatically, then allowed my attention to drift back to the television. The weather report had finally ended, but a bright red stripe across the bottom of the screen declared a report of breaking news. The entire restaurant stopped eating to stare. Todo dropped a glass in the kitchen, and it shattered to the floor. Rylan braced his hands on the table, his eyebrows furrowed.
“What’s he doing now?” Rylan asked. His voice was sharper and louder than I’d ever heard it. He was afraid.
My shoulders twitched in a semblance of a shrug, but I didn’t answer. The restaurant watched silently as live footage showed Iron Phantom firing a round of bullets into the front window of a fancy uptown jewelry store. The super ran inside before exiting with a bag strapped to his back. He started down the street, but Red Comet intercepted him, knocking him to the ground. Iron Phantom rolled onto his back. He fired off another shot, and Connor ducked as the bullet whizzed by. That moment of hesitation was all Iron Phantom needed. He bolted for a boarded-up building at the end of the block, dodging Fish Boy, who sped down the street on his motorcycle. Iron Phantom knocked in the door with one firm kick before slamming it behind him. Red Comet raced after him, police and media not far behind. When Connor finally opened the door, with the officers’ weapons trained on the building, there was nothing to see except a brick wall. Iron Phantom was gone.
“We should get out of here.” Rylan grabbed my arm and pulled me from the booth. “He was only a few blocks away. We’re too close for comfort.” The pizza parlor was emptying out, most diners begging Todo for take-out boxes. Sarah swiped a handful of lollipops from a bowl beside the cash registers, and we rushed to her car in silence.
Predictably, my house was empty when Sarah dropped me off. I headed up to my room, my mind racing. I didn’t care how much my brother would rage when he finally got home—something about that scene wasn’t right. The Iron Phantom I knew wouldn’t do that. After spending so much time convincing me he was innocent, he wouldn’t—
I halted, noticing a piece of paper taped to my window, fluttering against the glass as if it were begging to be let in.
Crossing the room, I unlatched the window and pushed it up. I half expected him to be standing on a tree branch outside, his lips quirked up in the constant state of amusement that I’d come to associate with the super who visited me after dark. But he wasn’t there. All I had were five words scribbled in green ink:
That wasn’t me. I swear.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The auditorium was abuzz with theories when I stepped inside the door. Iron Phantom is a murderer. Iron Phantom is going to take over Morriston and force us all to wear black. Iron Phantom is the most entertaining bit of reality television since that matchmaking show got canceled last spring.
I leaned against the doorway, apprehensive to walk through the sea of chatter to find a seat. If I had to hear one more person spewing fallacious gossip, then Iron Phantom wouldn’t be the only villain in town.
“Hey, Abby.” Rylan entered the auditorium and climbed the three steps into the sound booth. “You made it home okay last night, then?”
“Yeah. I’m guessing you did too?” The last I saw of Rylan, Sarah was dropping him off in the school parking lot, where he’d taken his own car home.
“Safe and sound.” He pulled out a chair, taking a seat amid a tangle of colored wires scattered across the table. I watched as he chewed on his thumbnail and flicked a switch on one of the boards on the desk. The lights hanging above the stage turned purple, and Rylan quickly programmed something into the computer on his right. He hit another switch, and the lights glowed gold.
“That looks complicated.” Standing on my toes, I peered into the sound booth and watched the numbers scroll across Rylan’s computer screen. “Is it complicated?”
“Not really. Mrs. Miller wrote out all the lighting cues. I just have to enter them into the computer, and it remembers them from there.” We looked to the stage, where Rylan made a few lights swivel in circles and flash red and white, turning the room into an afternoon disco party.
“See?” He glanced over at me before returning to the screen. “Not too difficult.”
I snorted. It didn’t sound difficult, but the pile of wires and hundreds of buttons on the board sure made it look impossible.
“Want to try?” Rylan asked. He pushed open the door of the sound booth.
“No thanks. This show’s already off to a rocky start. If I break something, Mrs. Miller might have a heart attack.”
“Nah, she’ll just shove her Director’s Stick down your throat. Come on.” He cleared his backpack off the folding chair beside him. “It’s a piece of cake, I promise.”
Apprehensively I sat on the edge of the seat, my fingertips digging into my knees as I awaited further instructions.
Rylan showed me a piece of notebook paper covered in Mrs. Miller’s swoopy cursive. “Okay, so I already did the first couple lines … um … let me see if I can find you something really difficult—”
“Rylan.”
“Kidding. I’m just kidding. Oh! Here, try this one.” He pointed to a string of numbers halfway down the page. “Literally all you’re going to do is make a blue light swivel across the stage and then hit this blackout button right here.” He jabbed his finger at a large square button on the upper right corner of the lighting board. “Annnnd … go.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, now. It’s recording, so if you don’t go, you’ll mess everything up.”
“What?”
“Go!” Rylan shook the paper at me. “Type a five-one-seven into the computer. Quick!”
“Oh my God, I can’t stand you.” I laugh
ed as I punched in the numbers. At the front of the auditorium, to my surprise, a blue light began its journey across the stage.
“Eight-eighteen!” Rylan instructed. I did as he said, and a second light panned in the opposite direction.
“Four-one-two!” Four white lights began to shimmer like rainwater and I turned to Rylan with a scowl.
“That’s not what you said was going to happen.”
“I omitted a bit.” He shrugged. “Oh, Abby! Blackout button!”
I slammed my hand down on the board, and the lights shut off all at once. A few screams filled the auditorium, followed by nervous laughter. Rylan flicked on a lamp at the corner of the desk, bathing us in a bright yellow glow. He slowly brought the houselights back up while keying a few more numbers into the monitor. I sat back in my chair. Between Rylan’s frantic directions and the fact that his voice was louder than I’d ever heard it, I was left dazed.
“See, Abby? You’re a pro.” We sat still for a moment, staring at the stage. The lights flickered, casting shadows on two girls goofing off while doing cartwheels. Sarah joined them, and they collapsed on the floor, giggling. Rylan pulled his keyboard toward him, bringing up a pair of soft pink lights that twinkled on the castle and the small-town backdrop.
I’d never thought about it before, but I kind of liked the view from the back of the auditorium. When I was onstage, everything was all action and adrenaline. Go, go, go. Back here it was quiet. Peaceful.
“Hey, Abigail?”
The rhythmic tapping of Rylan’s keyboard was interrupted when Isaac leaned over the wall of the sound booth.
“Yeah?”
“Uh…” He swallowed hard. “I just wanted to say that I’m … I’m sorry about tripping you yesterday. It really was an accident and—”
“She smacked her head on the floor,” Rylan grumbled, barely audible. Isaac didn’t appear to hear exactly what Rylan said, but he shot Rylan a look all the same.
“Anyway, I’m sorry,” Isaac said. “Here.” He rummaged through his bag. “Do you like chocolate? I got you a bar of chocolate.”
I reached out, my fingers brushing his as I took the candy bar. A jolt shot through my chest. My eyes widened as the red wrapper crinkled in my fist, identical to the wrapper that was once left in my room by a certain super—
“Abby! Isaac! Has anyone seen my leads?” Mrs. Miller’s cardigan covered with sparkly pumpkins fell from her shoulders as she shuffled up the aisle to locate us.
Isaac waved a hand in the air. “Back here, Mrs. Miller!”
I couldn’t move. The candy bar weighed my hand down like a brick.
“Oh!” A bony hand fell over Mrs. Miller’s heart. “I swear you two disappear faster than that superhero. What’s his name? Iron something…”
“Iron Phantom!” a freshman boy in the second row yelled.
“He’s evil, you know!” another girl shouted, though her high-pitched giggles said otherwise.
Isaac took a step away from the booth, adjusting his backpack, frown lines creasing his mouth.
“Isaac,” I started.
“Abigail, I need to run lines at the top of act one. Can you help me?” He took off down the aisle before I could answer.
I glanced at Rylan. His fingers tap-tap-tapped across the keys, but he smiled when he caught me watching. “Break a leg, Abby.” Offering me a hand, he helped me down from the sound booth.
“What’s up with you and Rylan Sloan?” Isaac demanded when I took the stage beside him.
“What do you mean?”
He sat on the steps leading up to the castle, flipping a page in his script with much more force than necessary. “Never mind. Scene two. Let’s start there.”
* * *
Iron Phantom’s name wasn’t mentioned the rest of rehearsal. I tried to grill Isaac for information to see if I could glean more similarities between the two of them, but he dodged all my questions like a pro, pressing my script harder into my hands and forcing me to recite entire scenes with my eyes closed. As soon as Mrs. Miller called it a day (she wasn’t crying this time; it was pretty impressive), Isaac darted out the door.
His silent treatment was right on par with Iron Phantom’s. I’d expected the super to contact me again, but he was disappointingly silent. Not another note, not a word, not even a breath. Maybe he was afraid that I would blame him for yet another crime, but that was the furthest thing from my mind. I knew he was innocent. The real Iron Phantom would have disappeared right in the middle of the street—he wouldn’t have run from the police, and he certainly wouldn’t have shoved his foot through a door, hiding in a building before teleporting.
Which made me wonder if the Iron Phantom from the surveillance video had teleported at all.
Someone was framing him, and I wanted to know why. And if the man who dressed up in an imitation of Iron Phantom’s super suit had any connection to the microchip that the real Iron Phantom had stolen from city hall, then I knew there was only one logical place to start my search: my father’s office.
* * *
I hadn’t wanted it to come to this. The mayor and his entire cabinet had switched offices to a skyscraper farther uptown after the fire, and the last thing I wanted was to go poking around. I never enjoyed visiting my dad at work. Everyone there was so serious, rushing around with harried looks in their eyes—but not rushing so fast that they made it obvious that they were harried—griping about the best spots to place new traffic signals and the rise of potholes in suburbia and who might challenge my father when it was time for a reelection. There was a lot of arguing without any action—except for drinking coffee. Walking into city hall always had a way of making me feel impossibly small, and as I stepped out of the elevator in my dad’s new building, I knew today would be no exception.
“Abby, sweetie!” A middle-aged woman dashed out from behind the reception desk, her heels clicking on the clinically white tile floor. She smiled down her pointed nose at me. “I’ll call your daddy to come get you.”
I grimaced. This woman was probably nice, but she, like all the secretaries before her (whose names always seemed to start with a B—like Bertha and Betty and Beatrice), had a tendency to treat me like I was five.
“No, that’s okay,” I told her. “I’m, er, actually here to…” My voice wavered. What would Iron Phantom do in this situation? He wouldn’t stutter, that was for sure. He would straighten his shoulders, clench his jaw, and charm the pants right off her.
“I’m actually here to surprise him.” I plastered a smile on my face. “There’s this little game we play. He leaves a gift for me; I leave one for him.” I shrugged bashfully. “I know it’s dorky—”
“Not at all! Oh, aren’t you the sweetest little thing!” Her voice got all high-pitched like she was praising a puppy for finally learning not to pee on the carpet.
“The absolute sweetest,” I agreed. I took a step to the side of her desk, looking down the narrow hallway. “My dad isn’t in his office, right? That would sort of ruin the surprise.”
The receptionist tapped her keyboard. “No, I believe he’s in a meeting for the next half hour.” She shooed me toward the hall. “You go make his day, sweet pea.”
The bitter taste of guilt coated my tongue as I hurried away, but I ignored it.
Supervillain Mission Impossible: officially under way.
Dad’s office was easier to locate in this building than it was in city hall. Instead of hiding in the back corner of no-man’s-land behind oak double doors and a tapestry of the American flag, it was only just around the corner, next to a fake potted fern and a black-and-white photograph of the Morriston Bridge. Much homier, but not exactly my dad’s style.
I checked for the patter of approaching footsteps before ducking inside. The room was clean, just the way he liked it. His computer hummed on the glass desktop. I didn’t know the password, but I could settle for snooping through his drawers.
The top one was full of manila folders and a package of thumbtacks. I p
ulled each item out, careful not to disturb the papers, and placed them on the corner of the desk—right beside two school photos of me and Connor in our awkward braces phase.
Contracts, housing permits, notes for speeches written in chicken scratch—nothing helpful. The second drawer was full of last year’s Halloween candy. That was interesting in a rather bizarre way. I couldn’t save candy for a month, let alone a year.
The bottom drawer yielded something that might have been halfway helpful—an empty brown envelope wedged behind a three-ring binder. Three letters were written on the front, underlined in bright red ink: E.D.D.
Kneeling on the floor behind the desk, I struggled to come up with a meaning for the envelope. It had to be significant; Dad’s pristine office made it obvious he didn’t like trash lying around. Initials, perhaps? But I didn’t think I knew an E.D.D.
Soft whistling filled the hall outside the door.
Dropping the envelope back where it belonged, I crouched farther under the desk. Don’t come in here. Please don’t come in here. I’d reached my lying quota for the day, and I didn’t know if I’d be able to make up another excuse on the spot. Maybe I could say I dropped an earring? Or I fainted. Or—
“Shake your flippers. Shake, shake your flippers, yeah!”
Thank God. I stood, pushing my hair from my eyes as Fish Boy opened the door and stepped inside the office.
He froze when he saw me. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here? This is my dad’s office.”
“I’m aware.” Hunter shut the door behind him. He pulled his mask up a few inches to scratch his cheek. “Your dad left his tie clip in here.” He reached for a small silver bar sitting on a coaster. “Your brother and I are doing a superhero photo shoot with him on the roof. It’s for the Morriston Gazette or something. Do you want in?”
“I’m not a super.”
Hunter slapped a webbed hand to his forehead. “Duh. Sorry, I forget sometimes. I’m filming the whole thing for social media if you want to check it out later.” He leaned back against the wall, flippers crossed at the ankles. “So … what are you doing here?”
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