by R. J. Ross
"I asked," Al says quietly as they watch the steps being pushed up to the plane. His eyes are glued to the two coming down the steps, Century, their leader, and a thin, tan male carrying a ratty bag, wearing punk clothes. The wind blows his hair up, revealing the shaved sides clearly.
"THAT'S who they sent?" Flint asks, his jaw falling open. "He looks like a worse punk than the guys Jimmi's running around with!" He catches the depressed look on Al's face too late.
"I... we will try," Al says, squaring his shoulders from where they slumped. Flint reaches out, clapping the shorter hero on the back.
"We'll try," he agrees. He's going to have to live with this punk? He feels his right eye starting to twitch. The kid is probably one of those wanna-be bad boys.
The sliding doors open and Century walks through them, followed by the kid in question. Those glowing red earrings show up even without the light reflecting off of them, Flint thinks with a hint of surprise. How does that work, LED lights?
"Flint, Alonso, good of you to come meet us," Century says, heading straight for them. He drops a massive hand on the kid's back, shoving him forward. "Vinny here's been looking forward to meeting you."
The boy looks bored, Flint thinks as he and Vinny shake hands, but that changes slightly when Alonso moves forward. "Nico says you're the one he wants me to impress as a Cape High kid," Vinny says, much to all three of their shock.
"You didn't have to announce it, Vinny," Flint hears a voice say from the kid's earring.
"It sort of slipped out," Vinny says with a shrug.
"So what about the rest of us?" Flint asks, wondering exactly who this kid really is. "Not going to try and impress us?"
"Nope," Vinny says, looking him straight in the eye. "Do you want me to?"
He doesn't like this kid, Flint decides. He's a smart aleck.
***
When I was a kid, well, when I was fourteen I took up dirt biking. My dad taught me on this ancient piece of crap bike that didn't work more often than it did. The motorcycle that Nico made me is as far from that dirt bike as the moon is from the sun. I stare at in, taking in the twisting swirls of metal that represents flames, the shiny chrome rims, the--
"Where in the hell does a seventeen year old get a bike like that?" Flint demands from behind me.
"Nico and Zoe built it--with Jack's help," I say, heading straight for it. "I'll follow you to your place, alright?" I can't wait to get on the streets--
"It needs a license," Century says. "I'll get one for you, but until then you're off the streets, boy."
But--shiny--I'm seriously close to crying right now, not that it shows on my face. At least I hope it doesn't. "This way," Flint says, walking away.
"My bike--"
"I'll get it taken care of," Century says, patting me on the shoulder and pulling out a phone. Reluctantly I follow after Flint, feeling that this spy mission just took a turn for the worst.
"Can I ask," Alonso says, making me glance over, "why did you take this job?"
I hesitate, shoving my hands in my pockets. "I'm..." what? Not sure, myself? The wind flips my hair and I shove it out of my eyes, scowling slightly as I think. "A cape kid shouldn't be left alone," I finally say, picturing the faces of the zoo kids. "It's too dangerous."
"You'll be alone," he points out, “to a point."
"Yeah, but I'm not that same kid from the past," I say coldly, thinking of how I would deal with Collector or his lackeys if they came after me now. Alonso blinks and I realize he's staring at my hair. I reach up and pinch out the flame that started on a few strands. Not cool, man, not cool, I need to calm down. All these changes in such a short amount of time are making me lose it.
I need to cook something. Cooking helps a lot. I spent that year in the zoo watching cooking shows on television, committing it all to memory, visualizing it in my head. It was the only channel that came through clearly. At first it had annoyed me, and I kept flipping through the channels, hoping another would work. Then I started to enjoy them. Now I consider myself a very decent cook. Good enough to keep the zoo kids from complaining and some of them are extremely picky eaters.
"It's over here," Flint calls from the parking lot. He's standing next to a red mustang. I let out a sigh, slinging my bag over my shoulder a little better and heading for the car. "You're not starting tonight," he tells me. "Tomorrow you'll be going to her school--that's where she met the gang she's hanging out with. You'll have to do what you can to get close to her. I've got a file of pictures of the gang members we know, you'll see them when we get to my place," he says. "If you screw this up, I'll light you like a match, boy."
"Mmhmm," I say, sliding into the passenger seat and staring at the people taking my bike away.
"I'm not kidding, boy," Flint says sharply. "I'm a pyrokinetic--"
I look at him, holding up one hand and doing a trick I've almost mastered during my time at school. The entire hand lights on fire. His eyes widen and he curses. "So THAT'S why they stuck you with me!" he says.
"Yep. You're supposed to be my mentor," I tell him. "They aren't going to scratch her, are they? Because I'm positive they won't let me go all the way back to KC to get Jack to fix it. I owe him my debut for that thing."
"Your debut?" he asks. "Who's Jack?"
"Cold Steel," I say.
"The super villain? The guy that rides sewer lids and fights with Kid Liberty?" he asks.
"He's a Liberty, too," I say, wondering what he's so surprised about. "He's got a girlfriend and is pals with half the school--well, much as a bully can be pals," I add idly, watching out the window as he starts to drive. I sort of get the feeling Jack's trying to get on my good side, too. Not sure why, really. It's a little flattering, though, I guess. Having a friend instead of another zoo kid might not be so bad... even if he IS a super villain.
Flint goes silent, pulling up to a decent looking house and parking in the garage. "We're here."
"You got a kitchen?" I ask as I get out.
"What?"
"Do you have a kitchen?" I repeat slowly, seeing as he misunderstood me.
"You should have told me you were hungry, we could have gotten drive-through."
"I don't eat drive-through."
"Yeah? Well you're going to starve, then, ‘cause I don't cook," he snaps. "We might have a frozen dinner in the fridge," he goes on, getting out of the car and heading into the house.
"Where's the nearest grocery store?" I ask as I get out of the car.
"What?"
"I'm going grocery shopping. I cook," I tell him, closing the car door and looking around. There's room for my bike. Sweet! "Are you allergic to anything?" He's staring at me like I'm an alien, and I almost feel like one at the moment. I don't usually get that long of a strange look when I announce my hobby.
"It's... down the street two blocks, turn left on Grundy, and about a mile down," he says finally. "Do you... I dunno, need some cash?"
I hold out a hand to him and he digs out his wallet, pulling out a couple of fifties. "Thanks," I say before running off.
Now don't picture me leaving a trail of dust behind me, I'm a decent runner for a cape kid, but Carla runs circles around me. Literally! She can sometimes go so fast that you see an afterimage. Me, I'm about run of the mill in our class, faster than Ward, absolutely faster than Jack, but the Rosenthorn twins leave me in the dust. I think I can clock about 80, maybe 90mph at my top speeds. Good thing I don't need to be that fast to run a couple of miles.
I pull to a stop in the parking lot of Walmart, a bit surprised that this is where he sent me and then shrug and head inside, grabbing a cart along the way. Sure I look like a punk right now, but everyone has to eat, right? So why is the old guy that's supposed to be greeting me looking at me funny? I ignore it, heading through the front and into the grocery area. It feels a little awkward, doing the shopping. Blackjack and Banshee do all the shopping for the dorm, since they're paranoid about letting us out on our own. Then again, usually we have some ra
ndom super villain lurking in the shadows and ready to attack. Now all I've got is a group of punk kids somewhere--
I stop, seeing a familiar face.
Nobody told me Jimena was going to be here.
***
Jimmi is bored, and a bit irritated. "This sure is some big Sunday night date," she drawls, not really wanting Tank to grab her in public like he is. Sure it's just a hand on her hip, but she's irritated with her boyfriend at the moment. "Weren't we going to the movies?" she asks.
"We don't have cash for the movies," Tank says, giving someone a dark look. None of the others are here, though, she thinks, following his eyes. All she sees is a dark haired teenager pushing a cart. He’s probably doing his mom's shopping or something. It's seriously not that big of a deal, she thinks in irritation.
"What's wrong with him?" she asks.
"What?"
"You were glaring at him, so what's wrong with him?" she asks. "He's probably doing his mom's shopping."
"He was staring at you."
"Tank, glowing orange eyes," she says dryly. "Everybody stares." At one time she had felt self conscious about that fact, hiding them behind sunglasses or even fake prescriptions, but now that she's in a gang of supers she has nothing to hide. She's one of a group. Except... she shoves that thought down before it surfaces, not letting herself worry about it.
"I don't like him," Tank says coldly, still following the teenager in question. He's going to start a fight, she thinks irritably. He might be her boyfriend, but that's no reason to follow people in a grocery store!
"You're being paranoid," she snaps, pulling out of his hold. "He's shopping for groceries, for crying out loud--look, he's even checking dates on the bags," she says, waving a hand over at the guy. She stops, though, seeing his glowing earrings and punk haircut and frowning. He looks like that, but he's doing the grocery shopping.
Maybe there is something going on, she thinks, going quiet as they follow the teen. Tank doesn't even notice how she's now willingly going along with this. He's got a scent, and just like that ugly, slobbery dog of his, he doesn't plan on letting go. She watches as the teen tosses various seasonings into the cart before he heads to the meat section, sorting through it with an expertise that doesn't go with his looks. The cart is half full before she realizes it, and he's tossing in vegetables. He's cute, she thinks idly, he’s skinny and sharp looking--not even close to as big as Tank, of course, but cute.
The people shopping don't seem to feel the same way, she notices as they move away from the teen unconsciously. She sees a little girl about six staring at him with a curiously awed expression on her face. Jimmi goes stock still, her heart beating double time.
"What?" Tank asks.
"He's a super," she whispers.
"What?"
"My dad--if you ever go shopping with him, you see that look on kids' faces. That guy's a super."
"You're imagining it," Tank says. "I'm a super, I never get that look."
She looks at him, shrugging his hold off again. "Maybe they're used to you or something, I don't know," she says, "but I give you odds he's one." Maybe she's imagining it, though, looking for supers in the shadows, or something. Idly she grabs a pack of gum and gets in the line behind the guy they've been following.
He checks out, grabbing all of the bags out of the cart, and walks out of the store. Jimmi puts the gum down and chases after him, forgetting about Tank entirely. She comes out just in time to see a familiar red mustang pull to a stop in front of the teen.
"I figured it'd be easier if I picked you up," her "uncle" Flint says as the teen opens the back door of the mustang and puts the bags in.
"Uncle Flint!" she calls, starting for them. A hand grabs her wrist and she looks at Tank. "What?"
"Who's that?" Tank asks.
"My Uncle Flint," she says. "Would you let go already? I want to meet the new guy!"
"No, I don't think so," Tank says, hauling her closer. She lets him, because her attention is on the teen who's staring straight at her. The wind blows his hair up, and for a moment she thinks it looks like a lighted match. The thought makes no sense, though, since his hair is black.
"Jimmi?" Flint asks.
"Let's go," the teen says, getting in the passenger side. Flint hesitates, looking at Jimmi with a strange expression before taking off.
"What was that?" Tank demands, turning her so he's glowering at her. "Out to make a new friend? We were following him just a moment ago!"
"He's one of us, Tank!" she protests, pulling away.
"He will NEVER be one of us," Tank snarls. "Get in the truck. We're leaving."
"But--"
"Get in the truck, Jimmi!" he snaps.
***
"You could have introduced yourself," Flint says as he drives us back to his place.
"With her growling boyfriend right behind her?" I ask, snorting. "No thanks. They followed me for half an hour without introducing themselves. I really doubt they want me to."
"That boyfriend of hers," Flint says as we pull into the driveway, "is he a tank?"
"Don't know," I admit, "I haven't spent enough time with Trent to know for sure." I get out, grabbing the groceries from the back and heading into the house. "I'm not exactly the type that can pick up on whether someone's a cape or not," I admit as I start putting things away in the empty fridge. He hadn't been kidding--he obviously doesn't cook. "The boyfriend is going to make things harder," I say mildly as I sort out the things I want. I'm starving, and something simple sounds decent. A burger will do.
"He avoids us," Flint says, dropping down on a lay-z-boy and flipping the television on. I suddenly feel like a housewife, but honestly it's not that new of a feeling. "I think he knows Alonso's a super."
"Does he know he's Voltdrain?" I ask. Honestly I'd never heard of Voltdrain until Nico brought him up, but that fact sort of shocks me, as well.
"No clue, it's not like he comes to the family barbecues."
"Barbecues?" I say, washing my hands and getting the burgers ready. "I like barbecue. Do you do dry rub or wet rub in this area?" He looks at me as if I'm speaking a foreign language. "Never mind, I'll ask someone that actually cooks."
"Your appearance is really throwing me off right now," he points out as I toss the burgers into a skillet. "The whole cooking talk is really... off."
"I cook for all the zoo kids," I say, getting a salad ready and whisking up my own dressing. "I'm second in command, or so they tell me." I pull out the condiments, tossing together an easy combination topping for the burgers.
"The zoo kids?" he asks. I'm feeling the most comfortable I've felt all day, I think as I flip the burgers and glance over at him. "That story--I know that one. They're the kids that were kept as display for a depraved norm. Some of them for--"
"Over a year. I was at a year, almost," I say casually, waiting for his response. "They stuck us in glass boxes and fed us through little holes. There weren't any doors. The bathrooms were in a corner in the back. We had to come up with our own ways of having privacy for that. It was really boring," I summed it up too easily. There are a lot worse words than boring that apply to that year.
"I see," he says quietly. "Why didn't you burn your way out?"
"There was only so much oxygen in my box," I say flatly. I knocked myself out so many times in the middle of the night, trying to burn through the glass. It was never enough.
He looks pale, I think as I put the burgers together and carry plates out to the front room. I hand him one and sit down on the couch with my own, not mentioning the dining room table covered with junk. It's good to eat. I finish off my meal without a word, completely ignoring the unspoken tension in the room. I feel it, don't get me wrong, but I have no reason to respond to it. It had happened, we'd been let free. Now I have new problems to deal with.
"Do you... want to talk about it?" he asks after finishing his own food.
"Nope, but we all do once a week," I tell him, standing and taking his plate and min
e into the kitchen. "America's Son comes and talks with us." I glance at my watch. "Right about now, actually. He's a pastor, so he's pretty good at helping the rest of the group work through their issues."
"What about you?" he asks quietly.
"I don't have any," I say. "It happened. I got over it. Life goes on." My phone rings, and I sigh as I put down the dishes and pick it up. "Yo," I say.
"It's time for our session," Ken says with a little smile in his voice. "Want to do it over the phone or should I come over?"
"Phone's fine," I say. I halfway expected this to happen, but arguing with an S class tank--
I stop, realizing belatedly. "The boyfriend's not a tank," I tell Flint bluntly.
"How do you know?"
"Because I spend half an hour with the biggest tank on earth every week. There's a definite natural reaction to a tank. He doesn't get it."
***
This kid, Flint thinks, isn't natural, especially not for a fire type. He's cool-headed and stable, even discussing a tragic past with a bland expression and an attitude that says he was never bothered by it. He can hear the teen talking with America's Son in the other room--they're talking about cooking, it sounds like, with America's Son doing the questioning. This is his weekly therapy session?
Then America's Son asks something strange. "How is it, not being surrounded by the zoo kids?"
Vinny goes quiet for a long moment. "I feel... a bit lonely," he says quietly, "off."
"Don't worry, Vin, you'll find someone you can take care of down there," America's Son says gently. "In the meanwhile, I want you to do me a favor, okay?"
"Yeah? What?"
"Jack says he's been promised your debut when you get back. I don't like the idea of it happening without you two practicing first. Unfortunately, you're in different states. So when you come up with a new move you have to Skype us and show, okay?"
"Fine," Flint hears the boy say. He stops listening as he hears someone pull up into his driveway. Idly he gets up, heading to the window and watching as the bike Vinny had brought with him is unloaded into his driveway.