Heroine Complex

by Sarah Kuhn

  Had Aveda been spotted here, doing whatever it was that had landed her in the security office?

  Did Maisy have some kind of exclusive “scoop” on the incident?

  Could this situation get any worse?

  “Lucy,” I muttered, nodding toward Maisy and Shasta. “Let me and Nate distract them. You slip into the security office and find out what’s going on. And then we’ll figure out how to get Aveda out of here without causing a scandal.”

  “Roger that,” Lucy said.

  I sped up, ignoring the hammering of my heart as I planted myself in front of Maisy and Shasta.

  “Uh, what’s up?” I said.

  Terrible opener, but it got them to look at me—and away from the security office while Lucy darted through the door.

  “Well, good gosh-dang! Aren’t you Aveda Jupiter’s escort?” Maisy’s eyes immediately diverted from me to Nate, who’d positioned himself behind me, distracting them further. “Goodness, that monkey suit you were wearing at the benefit did not do justice to your physique,” she purred, laying a hand on Nate’s arm.

  I stiffened, consumed by a stab of . . . something. The closest feeling I could liken it to was the idea that someone was trying to steal my favorite toy.

  “We heard tell of an Aveda Jupiter sighting over here,” Maisy continued. She linked her arm through Nate’s. “I imagine you’ve got the inside word on that? You two seemed awfully cozy at the benefit.”

  “She’s just doing a little shopping,” I said, making my tone firm. “And she’d really like to be left alone while doing so.”

  “Shopping, eh?” Shasta examined her zebra-striped nails. “So she has time for that, but can’t find a moment to send us that promised statement about the Yamato incident?”

  Ugh. I’d completely forgotten about the statement. I tried to catch Shasta’s eye, but she was really into her nails.

  “I really must have a li’l ol’ girl time meet-up with her,” Maisy said, ignoring both me and Shasta. “I know soup dumplings are her favorite, and the most adorable place just opened up down the street from me. Probably the most authentic xiaolongbao I’ve had outside of Shanghai.”

  Oh, brother. There was something deeply ironic about the fact that so many of the “exotic” food items that had gotten us teased and bullied by our white classmates were now fetishized by white hipsters.

  I bit back a retort about 1) how terrible her exaggerated accent was and 2) how there was no way mass-produced dumplings spat out by some trendy place in Maisy’s neighborhood were more “authentic” than the ones handmade by Aveda’s mother.

  “We could go shopping together,” Maisy continued. “I have so many style ideas for her.”

  “Aveda doesn’t need any ideas,” I blurted out, unable to hold back this time. “She likes her style just the way it is.” And before I could stop myself, I added, “Potential nip slips and all.”

  An awkward silence descended as Maisy and Shasta turned to stare at me. And for the first time since I’d known her, Maisy looked uncomfortable.

  “Um, yes. Well.” Maisy arranged her features back into their usual carefree expression and smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her bright yellow skirt. “I’m sure Aveda would love the cute vintage boutique I just found in the Mission—so much more original than the clothes you get at corporatized chains. I hate those.”

  “Which is why you’re at the mall,” I said. “And not just any mall, but the biggest, most touristy mall in the city.” I didn’t know where all these words were coming from, but I couldn’t seem to stop them. There was that unhinging feeling again, loosening my tongue and obliterating my impulse control.

  “It can be fun to mix mass fashion with your own unique POV,” Maisy insisted. “I’m sure Aveda would agree with me.”

  “I know she wouldn’t,” I countered, verbal vomit going into full effect. “And do you know why?”

  Maisy shrank away from me and glanced at Nate, as if to say, “Please, sir, protect me!”

  “Because,” I said, “if there’s one thing Aveda can’t stand, it’s overdressed pseudo-hipsters who pretend to be her friends and then threaten to post ‘nip-slip’ pictures of her on their stupid, sensationalistic, overhyped blog things in order to leech off her hard-earned and actually deserved fame.”

  Maisy’s mouth formed a perfect O.

  “I would never!” Her hand fluttered to her chest. “My posts about her revealing outfit were nothing but flattering. And I didn’t even post the photo I had of her actual nipple, ah, revelation.”

  “She would never!” echoed Shasta, making an unsuccessful attempt to do her own fluttery hand thing.

  “Oh. You so would.” I took a step forward. Maisy dove behind Nate, her grip on his arm tightening. “Aveda has eyes everywhere. We know you were trying to stir up some kind of salacious mean girl bullshit. We know.”

  To emphasize my point, I did the I-see-you thing where I pointed at my eyes with my index and middle fingers, then pointed at Maisy, then back to me again. It was ridiculous. It was also immensely satisfying.

  “Not so mousy today,” Maisy murmured. “When did you decide to grow a backbone, Rude Girl?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I growled. It was a pretty good growl. “What matters is this: you need to leave Aveda alone and stop posting all your snarky bullshit about her appearance. Enough with the tearing down other women and encouraging everyone else to look at them through a male gaze-centric lens. Just . . . enough. And keep your grabby hands off her escort.”

  I jerked my head at Nate. Maisy retracted her claws from his arm so fast her hair daisy fell to the floor. She slunk off, Shasta trailing behind her.

  “Man,” I heard her mutter. “What a gosh-dang cun—”

  “Was that necessary? Telling them off like that?”

  I turned back around to see Nate gazing at me, his expression amused.

  “What?” I said. “I got rid of them, didn’t I? Plus I’m protecting Aveda and her image. Maisy’s posts totally encourage the fans to make even shittier comments than usual. I know how damaging that can be; I wrote a paper on superheroines and male gaze-centrism in grad school.”

  “And the bit about the ‘grabby hands’?”

  “I could tell Maisy was making you uncomfortable.” My lips started to twitch and I tried to school them into a more stern expression. “I can’t have her disrespecting you in Nordstrom, of all places.”

  His lips were twitching, too. “I do have a frequent shopper card.”

  I gaped at him. “C-card?”

  He shrugged. “They have an excellent selection of black T-shirts.”

  “You’re serious?”

  He finally allowed the smile to overtake his face. “I’m always serious.”

  I lost our stand-off and laughed. He joined me with his own harsh burst of a chuckle. It was such an odd sound, but it gave me a frisson of pleasure, my heart doing that hoppy thing in my chest.

  “Guys? Where’d the Evil Overlord and her minion slink off to?”

  We turned to find Lucy emerging from the security office.

  “We got them to leave,” I said. “Is Aveda okay?”

  “Yes,” Lucy said. “But I need you to remember what you said earlier about getting her out of here without causing a scandal. Save the fire for later, okay?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just . . . don’t get mad at them right now.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Them?”

  “What were you thinking?” I halted my furious pacing and glared at the two figures seated in front of me. “Scratch that—you obviously weren’t.”

  “Any more faux-Mom clichés to bestow before we get out of here?”

  “Beatrice Constance Tanaka,” I spat out, well aware that this did nothing to diminish my Mom-like aura. “You do not get to
talk right now.”

  I resumed my pacing. Pacing in the Nordstrom security office was frustrating business. There wasn’t a lot of walk room in the small, gray cube. And I kept worrying about accidentally pacing into one of the giant TV screens or other pieces of complicated-looking equipment used to monitor the store. An hour ago one of these screens had captured Bea and Aveda trying to exit the mall with a pile of expensive scarves and cardigans they hadn’t bothered to pay for.

  “You told me to comfort her,” Bea said accusingly. I could practically feel the teenage hate-rays coming off her, but I willed myself not to step back. “The bunny vids went only so far. She was sick of being cooped up, so I thought we could have some fun. Not that you’d know anything about that.”

  “And I assumed once the security guards learned my true identity, they’d simply let us go,” Aveda interjected. “It was supposed to be a little adventure.”

  “An adventure in shoplifting?” I retorted.

  Aveda crossed her arms over her chest. “I was tired of reading about Aveda 2.0 being so much better than the real thing,” she said. “We were initially just going to go shopping, but when Beatrice suggested perhaps we should up the fun factor by doing something a bit naughty . . . well. I was just so bored—”

  “I dared her,” Bea interrupted. “I dared her to see if she could get away with it.”

  “And Aveda Jupiter does not back down from a dare,” Aveda said.

  “A dare?” I said, incredulous. Frustration and anger boiled inside of me, a potent stew threatening to rise up. Heat ghosted across my palm.

  Not now, I thought at the fire. This is not the time, okay?

  “I don’t see what the big deal is,” Bea said. “We dressed her up all incognito. So no one would recognize her.”

  Aveda was outfitted in a way I could only describe as bag lady meets teen runaway: crocheted hippie-dippy crop top, oversize jeans that concealed her cast, and a flashy sequined belt that had likely come directly from Bea’s closet. The ensemble was topped off with a floppy-brimmed hat and a pair of sunglasses that took up a full third of her face. Her crutches were propped up against the wall next to her.

  I tried another stern glare, as if the sheer power of my angry eyeballs would force them to apologize. Instead they just stared back, matching pouts in place.

  My frustration flared again. My palm heated again.

  Sooooo not the time, I reminded the fire.

  “Fine,” I said, curling and flexing my fingers. “Since nothing made it out of the store, they aren’t pressing charges—as long as they can release you into the custody of a responsible adult.” I pointed to myself. “Responsible adult, right here. Let’s go.”

  I headed for exit, hoping they would follow me without protest.

  As I pushed open the door, I was instantly aware of two things: Nate diving in front of me and a brilliant flash of light. I squinted, momentarily blinded. The brightly colored blurs surrounding me resolved themselves into people-like shapes. Including one particularly vibrant shape in a yellow dress.

  “We spread the word about Aveda Jupiter doing a little shopping and whaddya know? The fans decided to congregate,” Maisy said, shoving a mini digital video recorder in my face.

  Shasta stood next to her, her red lipstick a smug slash across her face.

  And around them a mob of people had closed in on the otherwise benign Nordstrom shoe department. A buzz swept through the crowd. I tried to retreat, backing into the security office, but Bea was already pressed up behind me.

  “What’s going on?” she bleated.

  Nate turned to Maisy. “I told you, Marley: Aveda was just leaving,” he said. His hand found the small of my back.

  “It’s Maisy,” Shasta corrected.

  “No need to protect me, Nathaniel,” a voice called out behind me. “I’m always happy to greet my glorious public.”

  And then Aveda Jupiter—the real one—was pushing her way out from behind me, half-walking, half-hobbling into the spotlight of Maisy’s recorder. A delighted murmur rippled through the crowd and I was nearly blinded again by the flash of several dozen phone cameras.

  “Fuck,” I muttered.

  I turned to Nate, hoping that some kind of resolution to this disaster in the making would be reflected in his dark eyes. But his gaze remained locked on Aveda. I scanned the crowd for Lucy and caught a glimpse of a lacy dress flitting through the far right corner of the crowd. Probably trying to find an alternate exit.

  Silence had overtaken the crowd, all of whom seemed to be hypnotized by Aveda’s charisma. They were waiting to see what she would do next. A sickly feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.

  “Oh em gee,” Bea murmured. “She is legit cray-cray.”

  I turned to respond and was instantly silenced by two things: the fact that Bea was now clutching Aveda’s still-very-necessary crutches, and the look of flat-out admiration on her face. Apparently, “legit cray-cray” was my baby sister’s ultimate role model.

  “Aveda-girl!” squealed Maisy. “Give your pal Maisy a little ol’ scoop! What are you doing at the Nordstrom security office? We heard you were shopping.” She gave me a disdainful look. “But surely there’s more to it than that.”

  “It’s all very top secret,” Aveda said. “Which is why I’m wearing this ridiculous disguise.” She preened as more phone cameras went off.

  “You look amazing,” breathed Maisy. “But come now, give your fans a hint!”

  Aveda took off her sunglasses and gave the crowd a dazzling smile.

  “I’ll just say one thing,” she said.

  The crowd seemed to lean in as one, hanging on her every word.

  “Nordstrom may be home to a great many delicious clothes. But even the yummiest of sweater sets have their demons.”

  She punctuated that with a broad wink.

  The crowd contemplated this for a few moments before letting loose with a titillated murmur.

  “What does that even mean?” I sputtered. “I think Aveda’s quip skills are out of practice.”

  “Forget that,” hissed Nate. “We have to get her out of here. And keep her from hurting herself further in the process.”

  “All right, all right,” I grumbled. “Let me handle this.”

  I took a deep breath, brushed my sickly feeling aside, and marched over to Aveda.

  “This hat is remarkably useful for demon-hunting,” Aveda was telling Maisy. “The wide brim forces you to focus.”

  I clamped a hand on Aveda’s arm. She tried to jerk away, but I held on tight.

  “No more questions for Miss Jupiter,” I said. “She has to . . .”

  BANG!

  BANG BANG!

  Before I could figure out what, exactly, Aveda had to do, that sound pierced the air, a harsh triple-knock that shocked everyone into silence. I whirled around, searching the crowd for the source.

  BANG!

  It appeared to be coming from . . . the piano? The usually benevolent Nordstrom piano perched by the escalator?

  Seriously, what now?

  The piano lid flung itself open and a blurry gray blob flew out and landed with a wet splat on the keyboard. It squashed against a few of the keys, producing a dissonant pseudo-chord.

  “What is that?” someone shrieked. “Save us, Aveda!”

  Keeping a firm grip on Aveda’s arm, I moved closer to the piano, trying to get a better look, then instinctively looked up, searching for a portal. But there was nothing. Only this one gross thing, terrorizing the crowd and making a bad situation even worse.

  “Demon?” Aveda murmured.

  “It’s . . . a hand,” I said, scrutinizing the blob. “A really disgusting hand.”

  The thing was all pockmarked and desiccated-looking, its wrist a jagged stump ringed with dried blood. Each finger was topped by a yellowed claw.


  Before anyone could congratulate me on my astounding powers of observation, the hand popped itself into the air and landed on its fingertips atop the keyboard. I noticed it had a strange mark on the index finger: a crude black line with four hash marks through it. A tattoo, maybe? Were tattoos big in the severed hand community?

  A hush fell over the crowd as the hand thing stilled. Everyone was frozen in place, waiting to see what it would do next. Even Maisy was quiet.

  The hand uncurled its index finger. The movement was rickety and labored, as if each joint needed a moment to adjust. As if it couldn’t quite figure out what movement was.

  My mouth went dry. It was that same type of movement I’d grown all too used to the past few days. Lurchy, zombie-like.

  It was like the Aveda statues.

  It was like Tommy.

  It was . . . what was it?

  The hand depressed one of the piano keys, producing a clear C note that rang out through the silence of the store. Then it started to play. Its movements were still lurchy, but it jerked itself over the full length of the keyboard, coaxing a lilting melody to life. There was something eerily familiar about the tune, but I couldn’t quite place it.

  It definitely wasn’t “Eternal Flame.”

  “What the . . .” I muttered.

  “Never fear, citizens! I’ll take care of this!” Aveda bellowed, wrenching out of my grasp. She wobbled forward and I grabbed her arm again.

  “Stop that,” I hissed. “You can barely walk. Just let me—”

  “Let you what?”

  Before I could respond, the hand spun around and launched itself into the air, aiming directly for Aveda’s neck.

  I didn’t think. I just leaped in front of her.

  The hand landed against my neck with a slap, its fingers wrapping around my throat. It felt like Jell-O, cold and slick and gloppy, pressing into my windpipe with such force that white spots exploded around the edge of my vision. I was dimly aware of someone screaming, of someone yelling my name. I fell to my knees, my fingers clawing at the hand wrapped around my throat, trying to pry myself free from the Jell-O Fingers of Steel. I was dimly aware of Nate- and Lucy-shaped blobs moving toward me, but a shimmery film rose up in front of them, a thin wall of glassy material that looked like bubble solution. It wrapped itself around me, forming a dome that closed me off from everyone else. I gasped for breath, desperate for a little bit of oxygen. For air-like sustenance. For anything at all.