The first examiner’s voice pierces through some unknown speaker, echoing off the smooth walls, louder now that the Atrium is empty. My rapid pulse tunes out the gentle hum of power running through me. This is it.
“We will now read the results for Maci Might, born on the 19th of May, daughter of President Might who is of Hero status and Sofia Might, deceased. Sister of Max Might who is of Hero status and unnamed twin sister, deceased.”
I shift on my feet. I know it’s standard protocol and they have to say it, but come on. She died at birth so my dead twin sister hardly counts as a person. And the mention of my mother too? Thanks for the buzz kill. Examiner Hugo Havoc, one of Max’s favorite Heroes of all time, speaks up next.
“I am impressed with your quick restraint of Bammer. Although Snapback proved a challenge for you, you executed the upmost diligence and resourcefulness in restraining him. Retrievers were called and the victim saved. Well done.”
I bow my head in thanks then turn my attention to the third Examiner—the one who is a thousand billion million years old and named Lucy. Max calls her Lucy-fer. She peers at me over the bridge of her knobby nose and the fine lines above her lips crease.
“Laceration on left arm. Deduction of ten points for injury to a human.”
“What!” I twist my human around, finding the injury in question. Licking my thumb, I wipe it across her arm, smearing a long drip of blood away. The wound underneath is a small puncture that’s barely the width of my pinky. My panic subsides. “That’s a scratch. Not a laceration.”
“It barely hurts,” the human says.
All eyes in the fishbowl glance at each other. Two seconds pass. I’m going to lose my mind. Examiner Lucy writes something on her paper. One more second passes. Good god, could she move any slower? “Very well. Deduction of five—”
My heart stops.
Hugo Havoc coughs. “-er, four points for injury to a human.”
“Four points?” I blurt out, unable to control myself since my emotions have completely taken control. “It’s barely an injury! She’ll be fine in the morning.” The room is empty now but I gesture to the general area where Snapback held me pinned to the floor. “I almost lost it over there and you deducted nothing for that. But four points for a dumb scratch? Can’t you make it two?”
Hugo Havoc frowns in the sort of way my dad does when he doesn’t want to let me down. “Protecting the humans is our number one duty. You can capture a hundred villains and lose one human life and you would have succeeded in nothing at all. Four point deduction remains.”
If it weren’t for the pain in my chest, I’d swear my heart wasn’t beating. Four point deduction. My fingers tighten around the human’s shoulder as the weight of what just happened sinks in. Sixteen years of training for this moment and I won’t get a perfect score like my brother did two years ago and my dad did a hundred years before that. I’m barely aware of the human wiggling again but I’m sure as hell not letting her go. They haven’t awarded me Hero status yet. Only scores of ninety-five and above get Hero status. Anything less and I’d be stuck as a Retriever for the next decade. No thank you.
I straighten my spine, determined not to lose control in front of them. My four point deduction will have to do.
“Maci Might, daughter of President Might and the late Sophia Might.” Lucy-fer ends her sentence in what feels like the middle of it. Suspense must be her favorite pastime. Just say it, I repeat in my head. Just say the words that I am a Hero now and put me out of my friggin misery.
She clears her throat. Shuffles her papers.
A bead of sweat and/or blood runs down my forehead. Just say it!
“It is with regret that I must inform you—”
Wait.
WHAT?
“The board has made a unanimous decision—”
Why does Hugo Havoc look so sad? What is happening here? Why won’t the human shut up already? I’m barely squeezing her.
Lucy pauses. “—it was a unanimous decision, Maci—”
“I saved her!” My fingers dig into the human’s flesh as I shove her forward, presenting her like a trophy, alive and well. “I saved her life—” the words choke in my throat, as if I can’t say them fast enough. “You can’t do this to me!”
Lucy blinks. “—to deny your request to be granted Hero status.”
Moments. Seconds. Minutes. Time—if you subscribe to a linear way of thinking—passes. I don’t know how long.
Emotions, I’ve always been told, are stronger for Supers. Humans allow emotions to control their actions, letting deep sorrow or happiness fill them wholly and control their life. But Supers are superior to humans in every way. What a human considers a small amount of hatred is enough to turn a Super into a villain.
Keep your emotions in check, Dad always says. Especially for you, Maci. The Supers do not trust you. You cannot let them see you lose control. I can still picture the look in his eyes when he told me those formidable words last night.
Do not lose control.
I promised him I wouldn’t.
But I guess that’s what happens when I rip the wooden stake out of the human’s hand and shove it into her heart.
“Dad, please.” I hold up one hand in surrender, hoping he will stop reading the words on the MODular wall screen in our living room command center. He doesn’t.
“—challenged our authority by demanding a two point decrease in her awarded point deduction—”
“I get it Dad, I get it. God. Please stop.” My words catch in my throat as I fight back tears that threaten to spill over my eyelashes and roll down the flesh of my slowly healing cheek. Dad presses both hands on the wall in front of him as his shoulders slump and he heaves a sigh. At one hundred and sixteen years old, my dad doesn’t even look thirty, with surfer blonde hair and smooth, unwrinkled skin. He sets his attention back to the screen where Hugo Havoc sent my father a copy of my Hero Exam scores, along with a regaling tale of how I behaved during the grading process.
A shadow of bird wings floats across the wall and I follow it outside to find a California condor soaring up and down and around in circles on this beautiful summer day. The south wall of our house is made of glass that bubbles out, overlooking the Grand Canyon. Most Supers live here in King City, the city built into the canyon, so villains would never be able to attack.
It also means news spreads quickly through our city. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone is talking about the results of my exam despite the confidentiality laws. As if the memories of what happened earlier today aren’t already etched into my mind, my dad insists on reading them aloud. “After careful deliberation, the board and I decided that an award of Hero Status was not prudent given the student’s unfounded anger at being awarded a passing grade and then—”
I let out a loud half sigh, half groaning noise to drown out his words, wishing he would just shut up and stop rubbing salt in what is most definitely the worst emotional wound I’ve ever had.
“—slashed through the droid’s heart as if it were a vampire.” He drags his finger across the screen, shutting it off. He turns to me.
I can’t meet his eyes so I stare at the geometric crown shape in the center of his chest. It’s the emblem of our city. His is purple. Out of the ten thousand Supers in the world, only he gets to wear a purple one as president of King City. The job carries many burdens and I’ve seen him stressed out before. But the look he gives me now is the worst one I’ve ever seen.
“You killed a droid?” His eyebrows draw together as he watches me, trying to find some kind of explanation on my face. Worry lines appear in his forehead and around his lips. As I force myself to look at him, I’m met with bloodshot eyes. It’s the look of someone who stayed up all night anxiously awaiting his daughter to make him proud. At this moment, for the first time in his life, he looks thirty-five.
“If you think about it, it’s not such a big deal.” I force my brain to remember all the logical explanations and excuses I had thoug
ht up on my walk back home. “It’s not like I killed a real human.”
“Training droids are designed to have flesh, a beating heart, and faces that show emotion. To blatantly murder one is to show a complete lack of humility for human life. I can’t even—” Dad runs his hands through his hair. “I fought for you to have the same opportunities as other Super children. But you decided to present the examiners with a neat little package of evidence that you should be depowered. This is exactly the sort of evil tendencies they would be looking for in you. What were you thinking?”
His words cut through me like ice. How dare he act as if I did this on purpose? I fold my arms in front of my chest. “I was thinking they are bias jerks for denying me the title I rightly deserve.”
“You do not speak of your elders that way.” Dad’s voice is sharp, as close to yelling as he ever gets. I’m grateful the couch is between us. Not that Dad would ever hurt me, but, sometimes Supers have difficulty keeping their anger from lashing out and shattering anything in its path. I should know.
“I have been on your side every day, Maci.” His lips break into a smile but his eyes are far away. He’s not smiling at me now; he’s smiling for what used to be. “From the second day of your life, when chaos and hate manifested in that hospital and took your sister and mother away from us, I have fought for you.”
His words inflict a serious blow on my heart and it isn’t from the power in his veins. We don’t talk about the unknown villain who attacked the hospital the day I was born. We don’t talk about Mom, the blonde beauty with bright blue eyes whom I’ve never met even though her picture rests on the mantle. And we never, under any circumstance, talk about my twin sister. I think we both like to assume that fate took the life of the evil twin that day. Because if fate chose the wrong twin …
“I fought for you to be allowed Hero training even when no one wanted to admit you. I fought for months in Central—late nights, bio testing—all to have the laws changed for automatic depowering of Super twins. I wanted you to have a normal life. I didn’t want to brand you based on a fifty-fifty chance.”
“And I’m grateful,” I interject, only to have my words wiped away with a wave of his hand.
“You are my daughter and I love you. As president, I must uphold you to stricter values than the rest of the Super race. You let me down, Maci.”
“I’m—” I sigh and stare at the floor. Apologizing now wouldn’t mean anything.
“This isn’t all bad news.” Dad abandons glaring at me and grabs a soda from the fridge. “I spoke with Hugo before you got home. I asked the board to reconsider.”
Suddenly the floor isn’t so exciting anymore. “What did they say?” The words spill off my tongue sounding like one four-syllable piece of gibberish.
Dad inhales and gives a little shrug, drawing out his answer an agonizing five extra seconds. “They will reconsider Hero status and give you an answer in seven days.”
“Dad-thank-you-thank-you-dad-you’re-the-best.” Another seven syllable smooshed-together mega-word as I throw my arms around his neck. He laughs and pats my back.
“And the good news is they’ve agreed to keep you in a sub-Hero department if they decide on Hero status.”
“Sub-Hero department?” I try to say it with a smile on my face because I’m a team player worthy of Hero status, but disappointment seeps through.
“A sub-Hero job is the next best thing, Maci.” Dad’s stern, I’m-the-President-I-know-what-I’m-talking-about, look comes back. “I’d say you’re getting off pretty good for killing a droid.”
“You can overrule this you know. You’re the president.”
He glances at the TV which has been idly on, tuned to a human football game. He watches as a member of a team called the Texans scores a touchdown in slow-motion replay mode. “I did overrule. I got them to reconsider.”
“But Dad!” The mature and responsible part of my personality cringes, but the little kid inside of me pushes it away. “They’re going to make me a Retriever.” I roll my eyes so fast my eye sockets hurt. “I’ve worked really hard in training to be a Hero. I deserve Hero.”
“You do deserve it. But I’m afraid you’ll take what you get.”
“Surely you can change their mind.” My fingers twist and flex. My heart shreds into a thousand pieces, making the swollen gash on my face feel like candy and rainbows. “I want to help people. I need to help. I’m better than Retriever level, Dad.”
The television volume increases. Dad’s attention is solely on the game now. “The examiners will review your files and make their decision. I’m done talking about this.”
My hands form fists at my sides. Every member of the Super race contributes an important part to society and Heroes are only a small fraction of Supers. I should be happy, grateful even, if the examiners make me a Retriever. My only other options would be to find a boring job in Central or marry and become a housewife.
That’s fine for most Supers, but I’m not like everyone else. I have the strength of my brother and the reflexes of my dad. Despite my twin chance of being evil, I’d like to think I have my mother’s love and compassion for people. If the entire Super race wants to think I’m the evil one, then let them. It’ll just make my victory even sweeter when I prove I’m a true Hero.
Colors dance across the television. The sportscaster goes on and on about how the team has really proven themselves this year. The human gives me an idea. I’ll prove my worth. I’ll figure out a way to change their minds in the next seven days.
“I’m going to be a Hero,” I announce as my fingernails cut into my palms.
Dad nods while watching the screen. “Or sub-Hero, which is just as honorable.”
He may have given up too easily, but I won’t. “No thanks, Dad. I’d rather die than be a Retriever.”
Max bursts into the living room, his white blonde hair ruffled and about two haircuts overdue, an Xbox controller in his left hand. “Maci-Maci-Bo-Baci,” he says, holding his other hand out for a high five. “Villains of the world better watch their backs, because Hero Maci gives no mercy.” He drops his hand, completely unaffected when I don’t raise mine and slap it to his. “Hey, maybe they can use that in your nickname. No Mercy Maci? Sounds kinda cool.”
I don’t look away, and I don’t start crying, and I really don’t yell at him, although all three things come to mind. I just stand in the middle of the living room where I’ve been standing since I got home and found Dad reading his email. Maybe if I pretend I’m not here, everyone else will too.
“Maci wasn’t awarded Hero,” Dad says. I watch the floor. “Maci failed.”
The awkwardness is palpable. I’m paralyzed. Completely immobile in this spot in the living room that’s in front of Dad, behind the couch and to the right of my brother. The white fibers of the carpet blur together with the warm tears pooling in my eyes, making everything look white and hazy.
The worst kind of silence falls over us. It’s a silence so thick it’s actually loud. A piercing sharp void of nothingness fills our entire underground house in the canyons and I fear my head may explode, taking a chunk of the canyon with it.
The deep wail of the Hero alarm interrupts the silence, stomping it out like an old cigarette.
Wee wooo wee wooo wee wooo
Every MOD screen in the house, including Dad and Max’s BEEPRs, light up. My heart aches with the realization that a mere twenty-four hours ago, I was convinced the next Hero alarm would be for me.
But once again, just like every day of my life up until now, I get to stay here as Dad and Max dive into their rooms, tug on their Hero suits, and activate their BEEPR, accepting a mission to save humans and defeat evil. Controlled chaos fills the room as Dad steps into his boots and they close up around his legs and Max lowers his red-and-white mask over his shaggy hair.
“For King City,” Dad says, holding out a closed fist.
“For King City,” Max echoes, pressing his knuckles to Dad’s. That dorky move is
definitely not in the Hero manual—it’s just something they started doing when Max became a Hero two years ago.
Our impenetrable concrete front door slides open when Max presses his palm to the lock. A metallic car zooms up the tunnel outside our door and comes to a sudden stop. It’s the King City Accelerated Passageway to Operations Worldwide, and it’ll take him to anywhere in the world in just a few seconds. “Love you, Mace,” he calls over his shoulder before stepping into the KAPOW.
The three words he tells me every time he goes on a mission somehow mean more today. Max is withholding judgment on me until he gets all the facts. That’s my brother. An all-American freaking all-star.
Dad swooshes past me, staring at his BEEPR. A new KAPOW pod waits just outside the door, ready to transport him on a mission that, like every mission, could possibly end his life. Like Max, he turns back before slipping out the door. I open my mouth to tell him I love him too and that I’m so, so sorry. But he doesn’t say what I expect him to say.
He stares me right in the eyes. “Your mom was a Retriever.”
The bare limestone walls of my bedroom mock me as I push open the door. When I left my room this morning, I thought I would be returning home a Hero. I even made my bed for the occasion. Now I’m nothing.
I’m a failure.
Ripples of power seize through my body. I breathe in through clenched teeth and slam the door behind me. It smashes hard into the doorframe, the wood splintering at the hinges. Great. As if Dad needed another reason to be pissed at me.
As if I needed another reason to be pissed at myself. Shit, Maci, what is wrong with you? Why are you ruining everything you worked hard for?
I deserve to be a Hero. I should be a Hero. My chest heaves with my heavy breathing and my face turns hot as I relive every detail of my encounter with the examiners. Humiliation and anger flows through me.
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