by John McCrae
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.”
I didn’t respond right away. For one thing, I was going to relish the sight of Emma finally getting the short end of the stick. For another, I couldn’t shake the notion that this was some kind of trap. For so long, it had been two steps forward, and one step back. Why should things be any easier now?
I picked up my phone and put it to my ear to see if the call was still connected. “Hello?”
“Taylor?” My dad was still on the other end of the phone.
“It’s okay,” I said. I met Emma’s eyes. “Emma tried to pick a fight. They’re taking her to the front office now.”
There was a pause on his end. “…Do you need me to come?“
“You said you were busy with something. I doubt anything will come of this, so don’t stress over it. Want to meet tomorrow?”
“Okay. Good luck.“
“Thanks. Love you,” I said. The memories Emma had just stirred up flickered through my mind’s eye.
“You too,” he replied.
I hadn’t taken my eyes off Emma. She glared at me up until the moment the guard hauled her around, forcing her to march toward the school.
“You, in the sleeveless t-shirt, and you, girl with the haircut,” the guard said, “And you, the blonde in the purple shirt. You’re witnesses. Inside.” He’d named two of the people who’d been hanging outside, both with the telltale look of people who’d stayed in Brockton Bay, and one of Emma’s friends.
There was some hesitation from a girl with the right half of her head shaved. Her friends nudged her, and she joined the group.
Eyes were on us as we collectively headed in the direction of the office. Emma pulled her hand free of the guard’s grip, and sullenly marched at the head of the group. Once or twice, she tried to change course, but the guard gave her a little push to keep her moving. It meant that every set of eyes was on her from the moment where we entered the school to the point we reached the front office.
Principal Howell had given up on managing the late arrivals when we turned up, and was on the phone at the very back of the office. Seeing us, she looked almost relieved to have a distraction. One finger pointed the way to her office, and she quickly wrapped up her call, cupping one hand around the mouthpiece to drown out the babble of voices from the gathered students.
We had to take very different routes to get there, with the counter in the way. By the time we arrived, she was seated behind her desk. Emma and I took our seats in front of the desk, with the guard and the three witnesses lined up behind us.
The principal wasn’t terribly attractive, an
d her roots gave away her bleached hair. Just going by her appearance, and by the colorful blouse and scarf she wore, she didn’t give me a sense of an authority figure. I didn’t get the sense she’d stayed in Brockton Bay these past few months.
Then she spoke, and my initial impressions were banished the instant I heard her hard tone. “Collins? Thirty words or less, give me the rundown.”
The guard answered her, pointing to Emma, “Extended argument was initiated by the blonde one. The one with the glasses tried to back out. Blonde escalated to pushing and shoving, I stepped in.”
“Okay,” she said. “Witnesses, any commentary? Keep it short.”
“What he said,” the girl with the half-shaved head said, sullen. “The one who started it, I think her name was Emma? Yeah. Um. She’s a bitch.”
This was somehow surreal. I wondered if I was caught in some kind of trap. The Ambassadors didn’t, to my knowledge, have anyone with a power that could mess with my head. Maybe Haven or the Fallen had someone like that, capable of trapping me in some kind of warped world where things actually turned out okay, leaving me in a state where I never wanted to leave.
Such a world wouldn’t necessarily have Emma in it in the first place, though. Or Greg.
“Emma didn’t do anything wrong,” the blonde in the purple shirt said. “There’s a history. She was only responding to some stuff that happened before.”
“I don’t care about what happened before,” the principal said. “I care about keeping the peace. We’ve already had three fights with weapons, and the day isn’t even half over. No less than ten fistfights. Nearly a third of the students attending this school were in Brockton Bay during the recent crises. Some were Merchants, others were members of the white supremacy groups, and many more either found or are still taking refuge in a territory held by the current crime lords of Brockton Bay. Friction is inevitable, I’m certain many of my students have post traumatic stress disorder, and any number of students haven’t yet made the transition from being a survivor to being an ordinary student.”
She leaned her elbows on the desk.
“That’s fine. I’m willing to accept trouble as a fact of life, given recent events. It would be unfair to hold you-” she paused to eye me, the girl with the hair and the boy in the sleeveless t-shirt, “-to the same standards as any other student, given what you’ve been through.”