My worries followed me into my dreams, where I was chased around a racetrack by a band of homeless men holding paper bags while Jack stood on the sidelines holding a clipboard, complaining that I was running too fast.
I woke to pale fall daylight, surprised to feel refreshed and eager for the day’s events. After showering, I pulled on workout pants, a T-shirt, and hoodie. Leaving my socks and tennis shoes upstairs next to my backpack, I came downstairs to find Dad in the kitchen reading the newspaper over a bowl of oatmeal.
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re up early. Are you going for a run?”
We both looked at the window, where light, steady rain spattered against the glass.
“I thought I’d walk around Mt. Tabor Park and then go by Powell’s to look at books.” It wasn’t a complete lie; I probably would go by Powell’s City of Books later if I had time. “I just don’t feel like hanging around the house today.”
Dad poured another cup of coffee. “Okay. I’m thinking pizza for dinner. I’ll pick up one from Vincente’s on the way home.”
“You’re going into the office?” I was surprised because he hadn’t mentioned any big projects at work requiring extra hours.
“No.” Dad grinned. “I’m hiking Dog Mountain with some friends.” He made a face at the rain. “Hopefully it’ll clear up by the time we get there.”
I grinned back at him, glad he was doing something fun and relieved he’d be gone most of the day, since I had no idea how long Uncle Dan would want to test me. “Cool.”
After breakfast, I left Dad packing up his car. He was whistling Beethoven’s Ninth as he tossed his hiking poles into the backseat.
I walked the fifty blocks down to the warehouse; it would give me some time to think and to transition from Dad’s world into Mom’s world. I tried to put my weird stuff blinders on so I wouldn’t see any crime happening. It wasn’t too hard since the streets were Sunday morning quiet. I did catch a few oddities out of the corner of my eyes; I was sure some of the homeless people watched me very carefully as I walked by, a few even nodding at me in greeting. Had word of the incident with Harold spread already, or was I reading too much into their actions? One woman of indeterminate age, wearing several sweaters and at least two skirts that I could see, gave me a thumbs up as I walked past her. The gesture could be anything from an acknowledgement of helping Harold to just her way of greeting everyone.
I shut my eyes firmly to block out the sight of a man-sized preying mantis thingy lounging on third floor balcony of an apartment building near SE 20th. My supernormal hearing helped me walk blind for another block until I decided I was being silly.
As I neared the riverfront, I worked really hard to ignore the man who pulled himself out of the Willamette River wearing nothing but swim trunks. In the chilly fall, in the rain, in the murky river – I’m just saying. He saw me, gave a start, and then smiled as he walked off.
In the watery daylight, the warehouse looked much the same as it had the night before except for the Expedition parked next to Aunt Kate’s Mini. I assumed it was Uncle Dan’s. Once again, I rang the buzzer, and the door opened with no visible means of help. There wasn’t anyone in the reception area, but the lights were on today, revealing a bland room housing a brownish gray desk with a matching chair. It looked like the most boring office ever.
As I neared the door to the training area, it opened before me. The self-opening doors weirded me out, so I walked cautiously into the large space beyond.
The large room was as still as last night; the only change was the tall, sturdy man standing near the endurance course. Uncle Dan looked exactly as I remembered. Dark brown hair cut short, green eyes, and muscular arms crossed over a tight blue T-Shirt. He wore loose workout pants and running shoes. Aunt Kate stood beside him, also wearing workout clothes and holding an iPad.
Don’t be nervous, I told myself in defiance of the butterflies in my stomach. Marching over to my aunt and uncle, I dropped my backpack with a thud and mirrored Uncle Dan’s crossed arms.
“Hello,” I began, but before I got any further, I was grabbed in a bear hug from behind.
I didn’t waste any breath yelling. I kicked back but only grazed the leg of my assailant. I tried to twist around to squirm out of the arms gripping me, but when that didn’t work, I stomped on the foot, eliciting a startled exclamation. I braced my legs and bent over, pulling my attacker off his feet. He loosened his grip and I jumped away, turning quickly to face the person who dared attack me. I wasn’t very surprised to see Uncle Alex. I had thought my assailant smelled familiar – of cocoa and mint. I couldn’t forget the comforting smell of hot chocolate with peppermint he used to make for me when they visited.
He grinned at me, his brown hair tousled from the scuffle and his brown eyes gleaming with amusement. Smaller than Uncle Dan, Uncle Alex was the most relaxed of Mom’s siblings. He was her favorite. I think he may have been everyone’s favorite.
“Hiya, Ollie.” His greeting brought tears to my eyes. It was as if the intervening seven years since I’d seen him had never passed. I could picture myself running up to him for a hug like I used to as a little girl. “You’ve gotten stronger. Not bad, shaking me off like that.”
“She’s way behind in her training. She should have been able to break your grip much faster,” Uncle Dan said. Uncle Alex rolled his eyes.
As a kid, I’d always wondered how Emma could be so much fun when Uncle Dan was so uptight. He was always pushing her to train, even though she was too young to workout at the warehouse. Their home gym was seriously elaborate, filled with top-of-the-line equipment. We’d spent many hours making up training exercises and competing in friendly games that often devolved into fighting when I won, which was most of the time.
“Dan, geez,” Uncle Alex said. “Give the girl a break. Make her feel welcome.” He leaned toward Uncle Dan saying, sotto voce, “Make her want to stay.”
Uncle Dan ignored him with the air of long practice. He jerked his head for me to follow him towards the dangling ropes. “Today we will see what you can do so I can decide on your training schedule.” He pointed to the treadmill. “Warm up first, then climb the ropes and make your way to the climbing wall over there.” He indicated the furthest wall and pulled out a stopwatch.
I stared at him for moment before saying, “I’m warmed up.” I took the rope in one hand, surveying the length of it, stretching up and away from me to the rafters about fifty feet above us. I looked back at my aunt and uncles who were watching me: Uncle Dan standing with his lips pressed tightly together, Aunt Kate with her head bent over her iPad, and Uncle Alex, who gave me an encouraging smile.
From what I could tell from down on the ground, the path through the rafters to the climbing wall looked easy enough, like going over a deck before the final planking has been installed. There were some large gaps between some of the beams, but I was fairly sure I could jump those.
My grip tightened, and I knew I wanted to impress Uncle Dan, to amaze him,to show him I was fine without his stupid training program.
I pulled off my hoodie and let it fall to the ground. I stepped back, and then, with a running leap, I grabbed the rope at the halfway point and began hauling myself hand over hand to the top. Once up there, I gazed over the course, trying to map it out from this perspective. I was surprised to see a web of ropes had been strung from the beams to the ceiling, creating the illusion of a forest of ropes. This made the test easier and harder – easier because I had more handholds, harder because I had more obstacles to navigate.
I chose to balance across the beams instead of swinging through the web of ropes. As I twisted through the maze of wood and rope, I tried not worry about how long it was taking me to get through the course. When I arrived at the first large gap between the beams, I saw that the ropes didn’t extend across the empty space. That would have been too easy. There was one lonely rope hanging above the center of the gap.
I took a deep breath, leapt for the rope and just mana
ged to catch it. The momentum of my leap swung the rope enough that I could let go when it was closest to the other side. I landed firmly on both feet.
I stood for moment, catching my breath. I heard Aunt Kate say something to my uncles. I didn’t catch the words, but her voice was so like Mom’s that it triggered a memory of her telling me the best way to leap across a chasm. I felt a deep sadness that she wasn’t here to watch me right now. I shook myself and focused on the task in front of me.
After several more swings and leaps, I arrived at the climbing wall and clambered down to smile in triumph at Uncle Dan, who stood at the bottom.
He frowned. “You hesitated at the top of the rope. What if something was chasing you? You must be ready to move at all times. You took the longest route to the wall. Going over the beams instead of using the ropes shows you were thinking like a normal, keeping your feet on the ground.” I winced at his insult. “And your course time was abysmal.” He tugged painfully at my long ponytail. “You need to cut your hair. It could be used to grab you.”
I frowned at him, smoothing a stray hair back into my ponytail. I was not cutting my hair. I liked it long, and it was my hair anyway. I followed Uncle Dan back to the classroom area and slumped on the couch, crossing my arms morosely. Uncle Alex patted me on the shoulder.
“Dan, give her some good news,” Uncle Alex said.
Uncle Dan nodded stoically. “You show skill with dexterity and strength." He actually gave me a small smile. “You can be trained." He sounded like he was giving me a major gift.
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Did Aunt Kate tell you I'm just here so you can turn off my abilities? There will be no training." I made air quotes around the word ‘training.’
With a pained look, Uncle Alex said, “Ollie, you can't turn off your abilities like a light switch."
I turned to Aunt Kate accusingly. "You said…"
Aunt Kate said patiently, “Olivia, I never promised you’d be able to stop, only that you would be able to control your abilities with training. You must accept your heritage. Otherwise you will be a danger to yourself and others."
I looked around at the faces of my aunt and uncles: Uncle Dan, so intent on training me; Aunt Kate, so concerned with heritage and history; and Uncle Alex, so happy with his lot in life. Mom should have been there alongside her siblings, alive and joyful. I saw her ghost in the shape of Aunt Kate’s eyes, the curve of Uncle Dan's mouth, and the dimples in Uncle Alex’s cheeks. Strangely, for the first time since Mom's death, I felt comforted by her family.
Uncle Alex knelt beside me and took my hands in his. "Ollie, I miss her too, every day." His grip tightened a little. “You could look at your abilities as a way to honor her."
I met Uncle Alex’s eyes and nodded.
“What do I need to do?" I asked Uncle Dan.
Uncle Alex grinned and pulled me up to standing as Uncle Dan answered. “Now that I know what you need, I’ll design a daily training regimen for you. You’ll need to come here after school every day for two hours and every Saturday and Sunday for four hours." He led the way to the door and I figured we were finished for the day. “And once your significant ability manifests, we can work on training around that skill set."
How could I have forgotten about significant abilities? Not only do supernormals get the basic supernormal package-strength, speed, agility and stronger senses-each one of us gets a unique skill, our own special ability. Flying, burrowing through the ground, extra super strength, the list of possibilities was long. And there was no way to predict what my own unique ability would be.
Mom’s had been the ability to jump very high and over long distances. I didn't remember, or maybe never knew, what my aunt and uncles could do. Would mine mirror Mom’s, or would it take a different direction completely?
I felt a shock go through me. A supernormal’s significant ability manifested by age thirteen. I was fourteen. I turned back to my aunt and uncles.
Understanding the question in my eyes, Uncle Alex said, “I’m sure your ability will manifest now that you’re training.”
Chapter 7
It was just shy of noon when I left the warehouse. The news that my abilities couldn’t be suppressed any longer left me jumpy, feeling like I was a bomb about to go off. I didn’t look forward to the days, weeks, and possibly months of training ahead of me.
At the same time, there was a hollow place in my stomach over the realization that my significant ability was late in coming. Why did I care about having a special ability all my own if I didn’t want to stay in the supernormal life?
Too wound up to go home, I wandered towards the Eastbank Esplanade trail meandering along the waterfront, providing good views of downtown Portland across the river. SE Water Street led into a large parking lot shaded by the Interstate 5 overpass that ran parallel to the Willamette River. A camp of homeless people filled the space between two of the massive pillars holding up the freeway. Runners and walkers parked their cars a few streets away.
As I walked by the unkempt group of men and women, I scanned their faces for a glimpse of Harold, or the man who had stolen from him, but I didn’t see either one. I passed through the shaded underpass into weak sunlight. A light breeze came from the river, chilling the runners, walkers, and cyclists.
I wandered aimlessly, deep in thought. According to Uncle Dan, I would need to train for at least two hours every day after school; more if I was mastering some particularly difficult skill, like leaping from building to building. I guess if I was ready or eager to come into my heritage, the hours devoted to training wouldn’t feel like lost time, but a big part of me railed against giving up time with Anna or Jack. Assuming I still had the option of spending time with Jack.
It isn’t fair, I thought, as I kicked a stone and watched it bounce along the path in front of me before it came to rest against the foot of Vera Katz. The bronze statue of one of Portland’s favorite mayors, affectionately called Vera, sat on a bench in a friendly attitude in a small plaza, encouraging passersby to sit down beside her for a bit. I accepted the invitation with a sigh, though I faced the water, in the opposite direction of Vera’s cheerful gaze.
I let the traffic on the river distract me for a few minutes before focusing on my biggest worry. How was I going to explain my hours away from home to Dad? Though he wasn’t too intense about tracking my time, he would certainly notice when I came home just in time for dinner every day for weeks. Could I say I’d gotten a part in the school play? No, he’d want to see it. Maybe I could tell him I was taking up a team sport like soccer?
Frustrated, I gripped my hair near my scalp and then let go, running my fingers through the length of my hair, releasing it from the ponytail. Uncle Dan’s suggestion, or rather, order that I cut my hair echoed through my head. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. I shouldn’t have to give up everything from my old life.
What could I tell Dad? Not the truth, that was for sure. I was fairly certain he would have told me if he knew Mom was a supernormal. It was hard enough to imagine telling him I had abilities, but I couldn’t conceive of telling my father his dead wife had superpowers and had died defending Portland instead of as a helpless victim in the explosion. How would I even start that conversation?
Some of my strongest memories of my mother were of her telling me the rules of life as a supernormal, and one of those rules was about who could and couldn’t know about us. In general, no one could know of our existence. We needed to stay under the radar, or the normals would either deify or demonize us.
Like all rules, there were exceptions. Spouses were a grey area, but from what Mom said, most supernormals only told their spouses if they got caught in the act. Kind of like catching a cheating husband, I guess.
Unable to sit still any longer, I shoved to my feet and jogged over to the railing closer to the Hawthorne Bridge. I glance back at Vera and saw someone had taken my seat, wearing a cute red hoodie and looking in the opposite direction towards the Morrison Bridge.
I leaned against the railing, staring out at the water for a moment until something, the memory of an image or of a sound barely noticed, made me look back at Vera. As I did, a strong gust of smoke-filled wind blew past me. I started in shock. In the space of a breath, without a sound, the statue had gone from whole to shattered pieces. Instead of a smiling woman sitting on a bench, a smoking crater filled the plaza.
I felt the railing crumple under my palm. Letting out a shuddering breath, I forced myself to let go, leaving the impression of my hand imprinted in the metal. I took a step towards the crater, waiting for the unreal scene to right itself and go back to normal.
Vera’s head had been flung almost to the parking lot. Her crossed hands lay near a woman in running gear sprawled in the grass, and one bronzed shoe sat on the ground between me and the statue’s original location. Even the bench was gone, in bits all around the plaza. A strong whiff of cinnamon caught my attention.
“No, No,” I heard someone saying over and over. Oh, it was me. The words were an echo of seven years ago. The scene around me was almost the same, so close; the major difference was my mother wasn’t one of the bodies lying so still in the rubble. My breath hitched in my throat. I tried to fill my lungs, but I couldn’t seem to get enough air. I was six years old again, watching as my mother, a supernormal doing her job, ran toward the building where the terrorist group held ten hostages. The police had been baffled by how the terrorists got into the building; Mom and Uncle Dan had figured out they were supernormals. Mom was supposed to go and scope out the situation. That was all. But my school group had somehow ended up near the scene. Mom saw me, I tried to help, and she got killed. Even now, the memory made me cringe.
Sounds brought me back to the here and now. Several runners and walkers lay on the ground, in various stages of yelling and bleeding. I swallowed; now was not the time to get lost in my guilt over the past.
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