by Drew Hayes
“How can this not be about us getting back together?” He found he was having trouble remembering why he was objecting, and his beer-laden brain didn’t seem eager to dig up the reason.
“Together can mean a lot of things,” Sasha damn near purred, so close he could feel her breath in his ear. “This isn’t the complicated one.”
“Sasha, please.” Vince placed his own hand on the back of her head, trying to slow her down and steady himself at the same time. “I need to understand.”
Sasha pulled back a begrudging few inches with an exasperated huff. “For fuck’s sake, Vince, what is so hard to grasp? I MISS you. Yes, I want to be together again, but I also miss the way you smell and taste and feel. I miss holding your hand. I miss laying naked and exhausted next you. I told you I wanted to be together as a couple and I meant it, but don’t you miss being physically engaged with one another?”
“I do,” Vince admitted. “And I miss you, too. I’ve missed you all year long.”
“You don’t have to anymore.” Sasha pushed closer to Vince once more, this time with less furtive vigor and more careful delicacy. Her kiss was almost more a brushing against his lips at first, then as she drew nearer the force slowly grew.
Vince’s head swam, an unexpected cocktail of hormones, vodka, and beer all catalyzing into a mind-dissolving acid that was rapidly destroying his capacity for rational thought. He knew what he wanted to do - dear lord it was hard to focus on anything besides that - but he didn’t know if it was the right thing. Some part of him, a rapidly growing one at that, screamed that he could figure that out later. Sasha wanted this. He wanted this. It didn’t carry any implications about his choice. What could be wrong with giving in to some physical comfort?
* * *
“Promise me you’ll be here when I wake up.” Vince’s voice was still weak; the smoke’s damage to his vocal chords would likely have left him with a permanent rasp in other circumstances. His eyes, in contrast, were unyielding, staring up at her with absolute need.
She smiled and leaned down, giving him a careful kiss. It was strange that he never saw her apply anything to her lips, yet they still always tasted like cherries and root beer. He never would have imagined that combination before, now Vince couldn’t picture a world without it. Her dark curls tumbled against one of the burns on his face and he winced involuntarily, breaking their embrace.
“I’ll be here. You think I’m not going to stick around to make sure you’re okay? Give me a little credit here, Tights.”
Vince squeezed her hand with as much strength as he had, which was very little. “Thank you. For everything.”
* * *
“I can’t.” Vince pulled away, the jerking motion pushing him from a pleasant head swim into momentary disorientation. “I’m sorry, Sasha, I can’t. Even if you say this doesn’t impact my other decision, that’s not true. If I stay with you tonight, then we’re going to get back together. I know myself well enough to know I won’t be able to say no.”
“But... oh. So, I guess you already have an answer for me then.”
Vince nodded slowly, both out of respect to the importance of the situation and to let his brain regain its grasp on proper motion. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s... I guess I won’t say it’s okay, because we both know that isn’t true, but I understand. We had a lot come between us since last year. I get why you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore.”
“No, Sasha, it’s not that. I want to be with you. I want to be with you so bad that I’m barely able to say all this. I’ve just come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t ready for another relationship. Some of my wounds from the last one still haven’t healed all the way.”
Sasha let out a harsh snort of a laugh. “Fucking A, you’re giving me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech?”
“The what?” Vince’s knitted eyebrows and tilted head told all the story she needed to hear. Sometimes it was easy to forget that he’d grown up without the usual cultural experiences, like sitcoms or dating. Not to mention the fact that he was so stupidly honest. It was a bit maddening; however, it seemed that he truly meant what he said - the issues were his own, not with her.
“Never mind.” She moved a few feet away, trying to quiet her body’s vocal cries to keep at it until he touched her in all the ways she could remember too damned clearly. “This girl from your past, was it the one who took your v-card?”
“Yes. She was my first.”
“Must have been one hell of a lay. Sorry, sorry, I knew that was too much as soon as I said it.” She knit her hands together to stop them from trying to mosey across the divide between them. “So, I guess we’re just classmates now.”
“I like to think of us as friends.”
“Friends.” Of course he didn’t know how hard that would be. He hadn’t been down this road like everyone else. He was like a child in so many ways, seeing only possibilities where everyone else had already tasted bitter failure. He had no idea what he was asking, of her or of himself. He didn’t know the odds of them being able to make that transition were staggeringly low. He just believed it was doable, like he believed in so much other stupid bullshit. Yet he was always so goddamned happy. No one else she'd ever met was able to move through life the way he did, with surety at every decision and optimism at every outcome. So, maybe there was something to be said for taking the long shots after all. Perhaps stupid bullshit deserved a chance, if only once in a while.
“I think we can manage that,” she said, giving him an earnest smile.
144.
The return of the students, both normal and members of the HCP, marked the final chunk of the school year, with only nominal holidays to break up the work until summer vacation. The home stretch was a time when most hurriedly attacked their books in an often-futile effort to raise their grades before final exams. In the HCP it was much the same, and added into that frenzy of studying they also honed their respective skills. The final match was approaching, and it didn’t require a genius to figure out it would likely be a large part of the test to determine who would advance to next year. With Michael Clark gone, there were twenty-seven students remaining, all competing for the twenty spots in the junior year class. Even assuming no former students managed to snare a space, that left a best case scenario of losing seven classmates.
It was a trial by fire, an emotional wringer that would test even the closest of friendships. The system had been designed not only knowing that, but expecting it. The goal was, after all, to create Heroes that were able to rise to any challenge and not falter in the clutch. Of course, there were other challenges to meet along the way, and as the students stumbled back onto campus in droves, one pair of chaperones was dealing with theirs.
“While I can certainly appreciate Ms. Robbins’ intentions, encouraging the foliage to grow in such a manner has caused no end of trouble for the park officials,” Dean Blaine said, reading through one of many folders piled up on his desk. “Were you aware that shrubbery can grow so thick that the only efficient way to get through it is with a flamethrower? I was not, but now I have ample complaint letters detailing how that process works.”
“Candi didn’t mean for it go on like that,” Mary defended. “I talked to her, and she was just settling a debate on whether plants had ambitions or not. Admittedly, it got out of hand.”
“That is a spectacular understatement if ever I’ve heard one. Of course, it still isn’t as troublesome as having the very river you were on suddenly alter its course.”
“That one is my fault,” Chad said. “I had Walter shift the flow to take care of a different problem.”
“Ah, you mean the twenty-foot blazing pillar that manifested in the middle of a clearing?”
“That would be the one.”
“I suppose that is the lesser of two evils,” Dean Blaine admitted, shuffling to a different folder. “On the plus side, you seem to have gotten through without losing any students or allowing anyone to sustain se
rious injury. That much can be commended, especially since there are no healers in that class to cover up transgressions. Two years in a row; I suppose that makes it a hot streak.”
“There were injuries on the trip before ours?” Mary asked.
“And the year before that, and the year before, etcetera. Occasionally we get a good year, such as the one where Ms. DeSoto imposed her unusual brand of authority and kept people safe, but two in a row is quite rare.”
“Actually, Angela gave me several pointers of how to keep things from getting out of hand,” Chad said. “So in a way she’s partially responsible for both years.”
“Quite a humorous turn of events, seeing as she was the one responsible for the injury when she was a freshman.”
“Angela got hurt?” Mary asked. Dean Blaine and Chad immediately exchanged a poorly-disguised grin. She felt the tips of her ears turn red. Being a telepath meant not often being out of the loop. Two years ago she would have done near anything not to have other people’s thoughts buzzing about in her brain, but now it was quite annoying to sit next to these two pillars of mental silence.
“Very much the opposite. She got into what she would eventually describe as a ‘light tussle’ and caused broken bones in several of her classmates.”
“Angela is very strong,” Chad added for emphasis.
“I suppose that does make more sense,” Mary said, still a bit begrudging about their inside chuckle at her expense. “So, are we in trouble?”
Dean Blaine blinked a few times in surprise. “What on earth for?”
“All the problems. The fire, the river, the super-growing grass.”
“Heavens no, you did exactly what you were supposed to do. You solved problems as they arose and kept all of your charges safe. Forgive my brusque demeanor: I only needed to get some clarification around the incidents for my reports. Truth be told, you both did an exceptional job.”
“We did?”
“We did,” Chad assured her. “Really anytime there’s not a giant catastrophe involving the HCP interacting with the real world it’s considered a win. A bunch of competitive people with high-level abilities tossed into a social environment is often the recipe for some serious public gaffes.”
“You’d think I’d have heard more about that sort of thing.”
“We have an excellent PR department,” Dean Blaine explained. “Luckily it seems they will not be needed for this year’s trip. I do still have a good bit of paperwork to do, so while I appreciate you two coming down, I’m afraid I must politely request you head out.”
“Sure,” Mary said, she and Chad both rising from their seats. “Hey, Dean Blaine?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve noticed a lot of activities between the sophomores and the freshman. The party in November, chaperoning the river trip, helping with the carnival at the end of the year, all that stuff. There doesn’t seem to be as much interaction between the other classes. Do we start doing events with the seniors once we become juniors?”
“Sadly, you do not,” Dean Blaine replied. “Once you enter your third year in the Hero Certification Program, the demands on your time increase significantly, as do the tasks required of you. We try to add a little fun to the earlier years when we can, specifically because of how arduous the program becomes.”
“So this is the last year of fun?”
“Certainly not. It’s just the last year you’ll be able to view your classmates the same way. From here on it will be nearly impossible to ignore the truth of your situation: that every one of your friends is battling against you for a dream only a select few of you will get to realize. Casual socialization becomes much harder when done in the light of those circumstances.”
“Oh,” Mary said, not quite sure what to say or feel about Dean Blaine’s statement. He wasn’t wrong, that much was obvious, but she hadn’t really taken the time to think about it like that. As she and Chad left the office, closing the door behind her, the blonde boy gave her a courtesy nod then headed off toward the gym. In that moment Mary realized something else she hadn’t picked up on before.
That was how Chad had been looking at all of them from the very beginning.
145.
“And that’s... how you fucking... do it!”
Roy’s voice echoed through the nearly empty gym: only the equipment and Professor Fletcher were around to provide acoustic absorption. He dropped the weights, one thousand pounds per hand, to the ground in a concrete-cracking clatter. The ultra-dense dumbbells sent up a cloud of fine dust that drifted upward, almost all the way to Roy’s beaming grin.
“Seven reps. You definitely broke through that wall of yours.” Professor Fletcher’s face was hard to read, but if Roy had taken a stab in the dark, he would have gone with curiosity as the emotion of the moment. He had no idea how right he was, or how embarrassed Professor Fletcher would have been if he’d known it was showing. “And that big of an increase in only a week. That must have been some incredible training.”
“Was it ever. Totally worth every minute of it.” Roy was glad he could say this with honesty. Although Hershel had done the lion’s share of the work over break, he knew his brother had no regrets about the effort spent. He could still feel the pride practically glowing off the memories at the end of each day. Hershel was finally a part of being a Super, and for that he would have suffered hundreds of times as much pain as a few stiff muscles.
“I’m impressed,” Professor Fletcher finally admitted. “With a few months until your final match, if you continue to improve at this pace, I expect you’ll put on quite a show.”
Roy nodded solemnly. This was their first day back from spring break, and at the entrance had been the usual nonchalant piece of paper announcing a match. The worrying thing was that this time it was only a date, May 20. There were no lineups listed. It was possible they’d left them off because there was only one more unique combination of adversaries to pit against each other, but somehow no one was quite willing to bank on that theory. Nearly two years in the HCP had taught them to avoid assumptions. It was best to go in ready for anything.
“I’m going to try my best. Actually, that’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I wanted to see if you could help me come up with an exercise regime that would really push someone who is out of shape. Nothing too dangerous, just enough to make sure they are constantly hitting their limits.”
“Given the fact that you are several hundred pounds of relatively solid muscle and just curled a literal ton of weight, I’m guessing this isn’t for you,” Professor Fletcher speculated.
“No, sir. Actually, it’s for Hershel.”
“Is it now? While I can appreciate your concern for your brother’s health, especially given how he thought you would react to your trip, I’m afraid my time is supposed to be dedicated to helping those actually in the program.”
“It does help me,” Roy protested. “Look, it’s a little complicated, but I promise, this is part of my training.”
“How about you uncomplicate it and we’ll go from there?”
* * *
Vince thought he was the first one done with class on Mondays, so he was surprised to come back and find Nick sitting in the living room. He was reclined in a chair facing the television, and from the way his sunglasses sat slightly skewed, Vince wondered if he was taking a nap. Taking care to be quiet, Vince headed over to the boys’ side door.
“Good first day back?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Depends, is it your first day if you skip all of your classes? Aside from the HCP ones, of course.” Nick’s tone was distant, one he’d chosen specifically for this performance.
Vince shrugged off his backpack and let it settle to the ground. This was a new mood from Nick, and that usually meant things were going to get interesting. “Why’d you skip your classes?”
“Let me answer your question to my question with a question. Did you see the
announcement?”
“Yeah, final match is in May.”
“Then, given that it is currently late March, you can probably take a good guess at why I skipped my classes today.” Nick jerked himself out of the chair and took a few steps away, simultaneously smoothing out his hair and straightening his sunglasses. “I’ve had a rather unexpected hitch thrown into our plans. All my previous months’ efforts have been devising a myriad of strategies to use against Team Three. The sheet didn’t announce any such match up, which means I now have to account for how we would beat Two, Three, Four, or any strange combination of them, not to mention factoring in surprise elements like the potential of shifting a Captain’s team members at the last minute.”
“Are you okay? You seem stressed.”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“Sure, but that’s me. You’re very rarely stressed, and even less rarely do you show it.”
Nick let out a long sigh and desperately wished this character smoked. It would have made such a nice touch. “Damn your bouts of perception. Yes, I am stressed, because while I expected some sort of monkey wrench, I wasn’t quite prepared for no direction at all. It invalidates all logical planning. No team can realistically prep for every scenario.”
“It’ll be okay, Nick,” Vince assured him. “We’re a strong team, and we’ve only gotten better through the year. You’ve helped us get further than we would have without you. Just believe in the team and think of some fluid strategies like you did for the first one.”
“The first one had parameters, Vince, even if they were only knowing who we would face. I will give you that we have a solid team, much better than we did at the beginning of the year. For the most part everyone pulls their weight.”
Vince rolled his eyes. “For the most part? It’s okay to be positive, you know? I can’t think of anyone who doesn’t give their all.”
“I can,” Nick replied immediately. “You.”
“I... excuse me?”
“You. You don’t do your best. You don’t pull your weight. In our span at Lander you have won two, count them, two fights. Thomas in freshman year and Michael in our first match this year. Congratulations, that makes you tied with me.”