by Kay Cordell
With TechStorm standing by from the rooftops, Erin pretends to examine menus, read tourist pamphlets, and be very interested in electric guitars, all the while scrutinizing the interiors of the businesses. Especially the nooks and crannies. If there’s a clue to the location of this secret villain bar in one of the stores, it’ll be in the nooks and crannies.
For places she can’t just stroll into or “employee only” sections, TechStorm sends a small Scouter Bot in stealth mode for a peek. Another small Bot sits unseen on her shoulder, like a tiny parrot only she knows it’s there.
“TechStorm?” Erin whispers, staring at a black and white photo of a chain linked fence. She purses her lips and nods as if the image is giving her deep, artsy thoughts like a true art appreciator.
They’re checking out the two-story photography supply store that sits right on the intersection. She has already paced the entire first floor and now wanders the upstairs gallery.
“Huh?” TechStorm says. He still sounds like he’s not really there. Which, of course, he isn’t. Not really. But he’s usually more present, at least.
“You okay? You got real quiet there.”
“Yeah. I’m coming down with a bug. That’s all.”
“The person kind or the computer kind?”
“Definitely the person kind.” Even through his mechanical voice he sounds miserable.
“Ah, poor baby.” She pets the Bot on her shoulder, risking looking just a little bit crazy if anyone chooses that moment to pay attention to her. “But that means there really is a human somewhere behind the curtain.”
“Of course I’m human.” He sounds a bit defensive about it, if she’s interpreting the mechanical voice right.
“Well,” she says, determined to move past her apparent misstep as if it hadn’t happened. “I can bring you some chicken noodle soup. Just tell me where I can find you.”
“Can we just stay on task, please?”
“Oh. Okay.” Stunned at his brusque tone, she turns away from the fence photo. She takes in the details of the big white room as she crosses the space, feigning interest in a photo of an old, creepy carousel. “Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m not in the best mood when I’m sick either.”
They continue in silence, but after a few more minutes, Erin heads for the exit. Whatever they’re looking for isn’t here.
“Have you ever really wanted something,” TechStorm says quietly as Erin steps back onto the street, “but it feels like the whole universe is conspiring against you making it happen?”
“Growing up with three sisters? Yeah, that was basically everything every day. But if something is really important, you learn to fight for it.”
He falls silent again and Erin lets it be.
Their search of the remaining businesses yields no results. Her feet are killing her. Maybe flying has made her lazy.
Erin buys a Danish at a coffee shop with a good view of the intersection and sits at a sidewalk table, calling this part of the evening a stakeout. Even though she still isn’t sure what she’s staking out.
Or she could call it a night. TechStorm has his Bots posted in the area. What is she going to find that they can’t? The weather has gotten warmer, but it’s still a bit chilly to be sitting outside at night, even though she isn’t the only one sitting around out here. Thoughts of her PJs and freshly laundered comforter are awfully tempting.
And in the room across the hall, Carter. Waiting for her to come home and break his heart.
Maybe she’ll give her stakeout another hour.
“What are you doing right now?” Erin asks, hoping TechStorm’s mood has improved a little.
“I thought we were on a stakeout,” he says. She doesn’t think she’s imagining his teasing tone.
“Not TechStorm you. You you. Whoever you are, wherever you are. Are you concentrating completely on what we’re doing? Or is it like when I’m watching TV and doing my Statistics homework at the same time?”
“Normally, I concentrate on the task at hand, but I suddenly have a thing I need to take care of here, but don’t worry. I’m a really good multitasker.”
“You’re running errands on me?”
“I promise it’s an emergency.”
“Really? We can call it a night. Let’s pick this up tomorrow.” She’s already standing.
“No!” He says too loudly.
The couple at the next table look over, confused. One of them has that scrunched eyebrows expression, like he’s thinking, “Where do I know her from?”
Erin angles her face away from them. With any luck, they won’t place her.
“No,” TechStorm says again, quietly this time. “I want to see if anything turns up tonight.”
She settles back into her seat. “You seem to be feeling better.”
“You know what? I am. Must be your company.”
“My offer to bring you chicken noodle soup is still on the table.”
“I’ll definitely take you up on that. One day.”
8
Carter is the first thing Erin sees when the elevator doors open onto her floor. She immediately wishes that she’d snuck in through her window, but then slightly-less-immediately reminds herself that coming up the elevator had been a choice. She is not about to start sneaking in and out of the building just to avoid a friend, no matter how weird things might get between them.
Besides, his door is literally right across the hall from hers and they hang around all the same people. Figuring out how to avoid him indefinitely is a logistical nightmare.
Better to face this situation head on, like the superhero she is.
He’s talking to Common Room Camille, their neighbor from down the hall with a million photos of butterflies on her door. She’s possibly the only person in the world who says less than Carter.
She’s in her lavender robe and pajamas, her ever-present Canon camera hanging off her shoulder. The fat bag of popcorn tucked in the crook of her arm sends a buttery aroma wafting through the hall. She’s probably on her way to the common room. The girl practically lives in there.
Why couldn’t Carter fall for a nice, quiet girl like that? Wouldn’t that make everyone’s life easier? Although what does a conversation between those two sound like anyway? Like a tree falling when there’s no one around to hear it?
She’s obviously into him. Just look at the way she leans toward him and how she keeps tucking the same piece of hair behind her ear. And she giggles way too much every time Carter opens his mouth. The guy’s funny and all, but not that funny.
Carter notices Erin coming down the hall and then it’s clear he’s politely ending the conversation with Camille. Erin knows it’s done politely because everything he ever does is polite.
Too soon, they’re alone in the hall and facing each other between their doors.
Something smells really good. Better than the lingering whiffs of popcorn. Erin stomach grumbles in response. It’s after eleven and the only thing she’s had for dinner was that Danish.
“About tonight…” Erin says.
“Before you say any more—”
“I just…I want to be honest with you,” she starts, and once she has the first few words out, it’s like trying to stop a meteor the size of Texas hurtling toward Earth. And it had taken three of the League’s most powerful members to pull that off.
“You’re great, Carter. I love hanging out with you, but I just don’t like you like that. As more than a friend, I mean. And really, it’s not fair to you. I know how much you like to keep to yourself. That’s never going to be an option for me, or anyone who’s close to me. So when you think about it, we work better as friends, and that’s okay.”
She’s staring at his shoes by the time she finishes her speech and forces herself to raise her chin. Carter has this way of smiling with just his eyes, and that’s the look he’s giving her now. Like he isn’t phased i
n the least by her speech. Which, by the way, she’d practiced in her head all night.
“You’re taking this really well,” she says, not hiding her confusion.
“I have something for you.” He pushes open the door, and all those wonderful, mouthwatering smells hit her with their full force. She peeks in and gapes.
Laid out in the center of the tidy room, a checkered picnic blanket holds an impressive spread. With foil covering the dishes, she can’t tell what exactly he’s offering her. But it’s definitely not Hot Pockets and Cup O’ Noodles, the typical junk the students around here settle for. It’s real food.
Her stomach rumbles greedily at the sight of it. Her feet move toward it as if they have a will of their own. She manages to stop herself in his doorway.
“I thought you might be hungry.” Carter pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and leans against the doorframe next to her. “Tonight was terrible. Top three worse dates in the history the universe.”
“That’s a verifiable fact, yes.”
“Before you write me off completely, or even if you already have, will you please let me give you the night you deserve?”
“I don’t know…I just—And oh, my gosh, is that a bouquet made of fruit snacks?”
“Well, I almost got you flowers. Should I have gone for flowers?”
“No way,” she marches into the room and picks up the odd, colorful bouquet. “You made this?”
He nods, still leaning against the doorframe. The door remains wide open.
“Where’d all this food come from?” she asks.
“I made it.”
“You mean you made a call and placed an order?”
“I mean I made it.”
“You cooked all this?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“In the dinky community kitchen?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Have you been able to cook all this time?”
“Ever since my granny started forcing me to help her in the kitchen.”
How strange. To discover, after nearly two full semesters of friendship, that there’s more to Carter left to discover. That there are parts of him he’ll share with her before anyone else. If she wants him to.
She fiddles with the plastic corner of one the fruit snack packets, suddenly shy. Which is silly, because it’s just Carter and she isn’t into him like that.
“I think I love your granny,” she jokes.
“Not exactly what I was going for.” A smile flickers across his face. If she’d blinked at the wrong time, she’d have missed it.
She kicks off her shoes and drops to the picnic blanket, pulling her baseball cap off. “I guess I could stay.”
Carter steps in, shutting the door behind him.
9
“Do you miss your life from before you got powers?” Carter asks.
The food has been eaten. Carter even collected the dishes and took them to the kitchen for a quick rinse after making Erin promise she wouldn’t go anywhere. “Just leave them,” Erin had said. But Carter can’t stand to see dirty dishes laying around, the food residue hardening into a gross crust.
Erin laughed and promised she’d still be there when he returned. She hadn’t been inclined to move anyway. She’d glutted herself on the macaroni and cheese, fried cabbage and salmon croquettes that Carter had revealed, pulling the foil back one dish at time.
Then she went for the chocolate cake. When Carter apologized that it was store-bought because he hadn’t had the time to bake one from scratch, she rolled her eyes and made her slice twice as big as what she’d started cutting for herself. After all that food, Erin told Carter she was more likely to be asleep when he returned than to disappear on him.
Now they’re stretched out side by side on the picnic blanket. It’s surprisingly comfortable, especially after bringing down the pillows from Carter’s bed. Erin doesn’t want to move from the spot. Or maybe she’s just tired. It has been a long day.
Erin lies on her back, the fruit snacks bouquet resting on her chest. She won’t pluck a single packet from the bunch until she’s taken a picture of it. But her camera’s all the way across the hall in her room.
She thinks about Carter’s question before answering. “I like my powers. And I like making a difference and saving lives and all that. It’s the fame I could do without. Or, if it was just me, I’d be okay with that, too. I just wish it could be different for my baby sister.”
“Jocelyn?”
Erin nods. “Jos was always the shyest one of us all, the most self-conscious. And the way she changed, physically I mean, it’s going to be hard for her to have a piece of normal no matter where she goes. Not to mention the fact that when she looks in the mirror, the girl she’s always been is gone.
“And I tell her she’s beautiful every time I talk to her, but I don’t think that means much coming from her big sister. But what I really hate is how it changed who she is. She’s so unhappy. I just wish there was more I could do to get the old Jos back. I want my little sister back—Sorry. I’m rambling. I don’t normally unload like that. Or cry at the drop of the dime like a loon. I think I just need some sleep.”
She turns her face away, wiping away the threatening tears.
Carter props himself up on an elbow, leaning over her. With warm fingers, he gently guides her chin until she’s facing him again.
“Don’t apologize for letting it out,” he says, “and you don’t have to hide your face from me. Not ever.”
She rolls her eyes. “I hate crying. Especially in front of other people.”
“Wanna know what I think about sometimes?”
“What?”
“You’re constantly surrounded by other people, and you’re constantly helping everyone, the whole city. And you’ll save the world one day, probably on multiple occasions, because that’s what you do.
“But with the whole city expecting perfection from you, who can you be imperfect with? You don’t have to prove anything to me, Erin Everett. I already know how strong you are, with or without powers. No amount of tears could change that. So complain about the unfairness of life all you want. Cry if you need to, whenever you need to. I can handle it. Snot and all.”
She laughs. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at once.”
“And that’s the other thing. I don’t talk a lot, so somebody has to fill the dead air. Might as well be you.”
She laughs again, curls toward Carter’s warmth. Her forehead brushes against his chest. The heaviness of her eyelids is too much to resist, so she lets them fall shut.
“You know, Carter. I don’t think most people realize how funny you are. Because you’re so quiet.”
His voice is a soothing rumble in the dark. “The ones who matter know.”
When his arms find their way around her, she doesn’t mind.
“What else do you need to gripe about?” he says. “I know that wasn’t all of it.”
“Being famous sucks,” she says drowsily. “There. I said it. Me and my sisters never got the chance to do it like normal superheroes. Our secret identities went out the window on day one. And it just sucks. I sort of understand why TechStorm keeps his secret identity close to his chest. Even with me.”
Carter is quiet. Erin has almost drifted to sleep when he speaks again and her eyes flutter open.
“Maybe he wants to tell you,” he says. “Maybe he’s been scared you wouldn’t like him once you’ve seen what’s behind the curtain.”
Erin takes a breath to refute this, but stops short.
“Maybe,” she says. “Maybe not. It’s doesn’t matter. Let’s not talk about TechStorm right now. Let’s talk about Carter Neeson. Tell me more about your family.”
She doesn’t realize she has fallen asleep until she’s suddenly awake again.
“Were you saying something?” she asks.
“Nope.”
“Okay.”
“I’m about to get up and go,” she says. “But I’
m going to shut my eyes for like thirty seconds first.”
“Okay.”
“Carter?”
“Hmm?”
She really does mean to get up but this blanket is too soft and comfortable, and she’s with Carter, and this must be what Amber meant about Erin learning to just be.
“You really didn’t have to do all this for me. The food and the fruit snacks.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?” she asks sleepily.
“Because if something’s really important, you learn to fight for it.”
But her eyes are already closed and she’s already in that place between awake and dreaming where all the details of the day blur together into nonsense.
10
The ringing phone wakes her. Then there’s a rush of cold to her side when the body heat that she’d been snuggled against is stolen.
“Nooo…” she coos dreamily, rolling into the fetal position around the space left empty by Carter’s absence.
Carter’s voice is rough with sleep when he answers the phone, then says, “It’s for you.”
“Me?”
The big, red numbers of the alarm clock on his dresser read 2:12am. Erin stretches with her whole body, arching against the floor like a cat and Carter drops back to the floor, handing her the cordless phone. Groggy, she burrows against his warmth.
“Who knows I’m here?” she asks, then into the phone. “Hello?”
“Somebody had a good night,” Toya says.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“I’m not judging, girl. About time you got some.”
“Toya—”
“And anyway, your sister’s here. That’s why I’m calling.”
“What? Which one?”
“Jos.”
Erin sits up, bolt straight. “Is she okay? Does she look hurt?”
Toya whispers, as if afraid of saying something offensive. “Can she be hurt?”
“Why is she here?”
“I don’t know. Me and Nate and a bunch of us were coming in from that freestyle thing I told you about and she was loitering around the dorm’s entrance like a hooded, gothy lost little lamb. Not like you could take three steps across the hallway to ask her for yourself.”