by C. B. Lee
Jess: yeah its stressful. you would have to be in the holovids for the campaign and stuff?
Emma: not so much, i mean they’re mostly using old vids, but i look like such a kid lol. anyways!! i can’t wait to see you. i would say don’t even see jess and wait until we’re all together but i know you guys already hung out
Jess: [IMG4020.ppg]
Emma: what. i cannot. believe. you are TOGETHER RIGHT NOW and YOU GOT THAI TEA WITHOUT ME??? aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Jess: ahaha. we’d call you but the network isn’t v good here, it keeps going in and out.
Emma: FINE. have all the fun without me
Bells takes another sip of his Thai tea as Jess posts more pictures of their week’s adventures into the chat. His heart sinks. If Samantha Robledo does run for President, Emma’s whole family will have to travel a lot, maybe move to New Bright City. Of the twenty-four Councilmembers who represent the populated regions of the Collective, three leaders are elected to represent the former countries of Canada, the United States, and Mexico. They have about as much power as the rest of the Council, but they make the most speeches.
Emma’s mama has been on the Council for three years. Emma doesn’t talk about it much, but with her mom working long hours at Andover Memorial Hospital, Bells knows she misses spending time with both of them.
From: Emma 12:41pm
are you ok
what happened to your caps in the main chat
To: Emma 12:41pm
I’M FINE. JUST DON’T LIKE THE IDEA OF YOU MOVING SO FAR AWAY
From: Emma 12:45pm
its a longshot, i mean kingston is probably gonna win again
To: Emma 12:45pm
IT WOULD BE SO COOL FOR YOUR MAMA THO
From: Emma 12:45pm
haha yeah
also manny wants to know what color your hair is today
To: Emma 12:46pm
GREEN AND PURPLE.
To: Emma 12:47 pm
[IMG-2049.ppg]
From: Emma 12:51pm
lol i just showed him. he’s jealous. he wants to dye his hair but my aunt won’t let him
To: Emma 12:51pm
TELL YOUR ABUELA HI FOR ME
From: Emma 12:51 pm
of course. she says she misses you too
To: Emma 12:52 pm
i miss you
From: Emma 12:52pm
miss you too, you huge dork. <3<3<3<3<3
Bells traces the hearts with wistful fingers. They’re friends, and they love each other. And yet, every summer, Bells comes back from Meta-Human Training hoping that his crush on Emma has faded, only to discover he’s still crushing. He’s been in love with her for some time, and most of the time that’s enough. But then the thought, what if, needles him. If I never tell her, I’ll never know; what if, what if, what if?
* * *
Emma comes back to Andover on an otherwise uneventful Tuesday. Jess and her family are visiting her sister Claudia in Crystal Springs, and she has complained often in the group chat about not being able to have a reunion with all three of them.
Emma: its only fair. you got to see him first
Jess: [IMG-9211.ppg]
Emma: don’t you make SAD FACES at me
Emma: so unfair
Bells stares at his reflection; the light catches on the few streaks of blue in his twisted hair. He tugs on a lavender V-neck T-shirt. He focuses on the streaks and turns them purple, a better match for his shirt.
Bells flops onto the couch in the living room to wait. It’s hot, and the air is heavy. He would turn on the air conditioning, but right now, all of their spare energy is redirected to Clairborne to power the irrigation system.
The sound of the home security system pinging an alert gets Bells to his feet, and he flicks on the feed, confused. Both of Emma’s moms’ cars are in the system, but this isn’t someone the system recognizes coming down the street.
The Broussard household is off the grid; it isn’t on any public registry. It’s shielded from view with holotech. Anyone looking for the house would see a clump of granite boulders at the very end of a deserted street and succulents growing everywhere. Maybe even too many succulents; his dad does like tending to them.
From a hidden porch tucked between two alcoves in the rocks, Bells walks out onto the street. Maybe Emma is being dropped off by a cousin or her moms got a new car; it can’t really be anyone else.
He turns around a boulder and stops short.
Emma is stepping out of the driver’s seat of a shiny new car. She’s a bit taller, or is wearing her hair differently, or maybe just carrying herself in a new way. Emma pushes her heart-shaped sunglasses to the top of her head and smiles brighter than the summer sun.
Feeling the flush in his cheeks, Bells dashes down the steps. Emma. What if?
“Oh, gosh, you did get really tall!!” Emma exclaims.
Bells picks her up and spins her around. “It’s so good to see you!”
Emma laughs delightedly, then squeezes his biceps. “Whoa, whoa, you’ve been working out! Since when?”
Bells sets her down and fights back a grin. “Uh, there was a lot of downtime at the art program and there was a gym, so. Wasn’t much else to do without leaving the facility.”
“You look great.” She smiles, that easy grin that is just for him. A pleased warmth courses through him, and he relaxes as Emma pats his shoulders.
“I, ah, thanks. You do too.” He doesn’t know how to express how much her presence has changed his day—his summer—his life.
Emma jerks her head at the car. “What do you think?”
The vehicle is a top-of-the-line model with a vintage, twenty-second century look. Emma is babbling about the brand, the color, how quick it is to charge, and, of course, the manual driving feature. It’s a huge hassle to manually operate a vehicle, what with the extra expense of installing a steering wheel and a manually operated engine and everything—and all the paperwork. Most people, like Bells, find it convenient to let the car programming take them where they need to go.
Still, Emma’s smile makes it obvious how much she loves the thing, so he smiles too.
“Wanna go for a drive?”
Bells laughs. “How long have you had your license? What, a day?”
She hip-checks him. “Shut up. A month. And I passed all my tests with flying colors. Come on, we can go all the way to Devonport and back with this charge.”
* * *
In the last week before school starts, the listless edge of summer drags on; the hot days stretch out endlessly. Even though it’s only been two weeks, it seems forever ago that Bells was in the trees among gray mists and soft green leaves.
The secret weighs on him, but on Tuesday afternoon he excuses himself from hanging out with Jess and Emma and takes the bus to Vegas for his appointment with his League rep and his design team and to pick up his gear.
Bells’ bus gets there late, and he rushes to find the correct address. A block away from the discreet office building that houses the center, Bells shifts into his Barry disguise…
He strides in, and the perky receptionist looks up. “Barry Carmichael! You’re late; you need to get to the design lab right away!”
“Sure thing,” Bells says. He salutes him and then listens to his directions to the lab.
The elevator takes him down two floors. He exits and in the hallway he recognizes—“Christine! It’s good to see you!”
“Crinoline,” she corrects.
“So it got approved? Your hero name? You got accepted into the League, that’s great!”
Christine sighs. “No, not really. I’m still a D-class nobody, apparently. And apparently, I should be grateful that I get to ‘work’ for the League. I ‘volunteered’ to do extra work here in the design lab—making suits, mostly.”
She stands up tall and takes on a lofty, affected voice. “‘Someone with your powers and class should be lucky they were even considered for training.’” She grimaces. “They don’t want me doing hero work. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with making the suits, since that’s what I wanted to do in the first place, but, they won’t even entertain the notion that I can be useful as a hero.”
“They’re not worth it,” Bells says.
“Hey, I know you don’t live around here, but we should hang out. You planning on coming to Vegas any time soon?”
“Maybe.” It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get to know the other meta-humans and other people at Christine’s parties.
Bells says goodbye and continues on to the lab. He’s nervous when he finally shakes hands with his League rep—Harris, who doesn’t look too happy.
During Harris’ very long spiel, Bells sits awkwardly, murmuring, “Yes, sir,” and “Of course, sir.” He nods as Harris talks about how the League isn’t just about fame and comic books and cheering crowds, it’s about respect and image and upholding the integrity of the Heroes’ League of Heroes. Bells knows all this. It’s why he wanted to be a hero; he wanted to help people, save the day, go head-to-head against major villains like Coldfront or Dynamite.
“Barry? Barry, are you listening?”
“Of course, sir.” He looks up at Harris and tilts his head. “And aren’t you supposed to call me by my hero name now?”
Harris rolls his eyes. “Kids these days. All right, Chameleon.”
Bells does a little internal victory dance.
It’s happening.
Harris folds his arms. “Being the youngest member of the League is a big deal, and everyone is very excited. But. Don’t expect any major missions until you’re of age.”
Bells wants to bring up Powerstorm and her early missions, but she didn’t start in her own territory of Crystal Springs until she had finished college. He must be an exception to even have missions.
Harris flicks at something on his DED, and Bells’ own DED buzzes as it receives multiple files. He opens the main folder: a manual, a guidebook, and several other files.
“You’ve been approved to do hero work in and around Andover County. Remember that this is the territory of Shockwave and Smasher, so they should have most things covered. Your job is to build your reputation as a hero.”
“Okay, building up my reputation. Got it,” Bells says. “Anything else?”
“Yes. For your combat training, we’ll have you shapeshift into popular villains. Since you’re still in school, travel will be limited to one weekend a month and restricted to Western regions. Do you have an issue with this?”
Combat! Bells is excited to prove his worth. “I’m ready.”
Rebecca, the suit designer, is chirpy and tall and speaks in high-pitched tones. When she gets excited, she talks faster and faster, and Bells has to ask her to repeat herself.
Now, it’s finally real. Rebecca measures him for his new outfit and listens intently to his ideas. They toy with the idea of a full bodysuit, but Bells doesn’t want to cover his hair, and Rebecca agrees. They aim for something simple: a half-face mask and matching bodysuit. Bells loves how the iridescent green fabric shimmers and how it picks up different hues in the light, like a secret rainbow. The fabric is stretchy and thin and designed to be easy to shift. Shifting his own clothing takes a certain amount of concentration, but with the supersuit he can easily slip in and out of different outfits.
Bells winks at himself in the mirror as he tries on his hero suit and barely listens to Rebecca as she walks him through the support features and the tech that can be linked to his DED.
“You’ll be able to make calls directly through the suit, and this function is a direct line to your League rep…”
“Oh? Cool.” Bells activates it with a simple gesture.
Harris answers in an annoyed tone. “Chameleon,” he says. “Hurry and finish with Rebecca; you still need to meet me afterward in the research center.”
Aw, this guy is no fun at all. He turns off the comm link and, after a quick run-through of the suit’s capabilities, realizes that the League is going to track their tech through the suit.
“Hey, will I be able to take this suit home?” Bells asks Rebecca.
“When we feel you are responsible enough, yes. For now, we’ll give you locations in Old Andover where you can pick up and drop off the suit. We’ll be making modifications as your missions progress to make it the best possible support for you. And you’ll have to check in with me after each mission; I want to see how efficiently this material works with your powers.”
“Pretty good so far,” Bells says, shifting into Rebecca and giving her a thumbs up.
Rebecca grins at Bells over her glasses, shoves her hands into the pockets of her sleek black coat, and asks, “Are you ready?”
“You already gave me my supersuit,” Bells says, but her mood is infectious, and he finds himself smiling as well.
“Transportation,” Rebecca says.
“The bus system is really good, and Harris said all my missions were gonna be in Andover County or Vegas, so it shouldn’t be a problem—”
“You don’t have reliable transportation of your own, and it is paramount that your assignments are completed on time.” Rebecca walks as she talks, not checking to see if Bells is following. They pass uniformed workers who are making a sleek new car with Aerodraft’s colors and a hover board with Arête’s logo.
“Even heroes with super-speed or flight are given a vehicle so they don’t use their powers getting from place to place. On your intake form you specified that you don’t like automobiles?”
“They’re all right.” Bells shrugs. “I mostly get around on my bike, or take the bus, or program the car if no one is using it.”
Rebecca clicks her tongue. “That won’t do. We’re gonna get you outfitted in style. Chameleon is going to be the newest, freshest face of everything. We can’t have you taking the bus to do your hero work. How would that look in holovids?”
She draws back a curtain and Bells gasps at the sight of a sleek motorcycle in shining chrome with green highlights to match his suit. He runs his hand across the handlebars; the metal shimmers, reflecting a myriad of colors. “I love the color,” he says.
“Have you ever operated one of these?”
Bells shakes his head.
Rebecca explains how to connect it to a charging port, how to turn on the engine, how to brake and turn. She unhooks the cable from the charging port, wheels the cycle out, and jerks her head at Bells. “Let’s get you out to the track!”
Bells takes the handlebars and follows Rebecca out the door; a group of people in matching League uniforms follows. They must be testing equipment too; they’re carrying an awful lot of boxes.
The motorcycle is heavy. Bells nearly loses his grip, and it almost topples over, but he catches himself in time. Someone laughs behind him, and he stiffens. He scoots to the side, catches the first technician’s eye, and jerks his head for them to pass, but they don’t. They linger, all watching Bells.
A paneled door opens at Rebecca’s gesture, and afternoon light streams in, so bright Bells is disoriented. He stands his ground, though, and holds on tight to his new motorcycle. The hot air shimmers above the paved track. The wind kicks up dust in swirling vortices. Beyond the track Bells can see bright blue sky and red and gold mountains rising in the distance. They’re in one of the most densely populated cities in the Collective, but looking toward the desert, it’s easy to believe they’re alone and there’s nothing but the sun and the sand and Bells’ heart racing faster than the wind.
Rebecca zips through the operating instructions with her lightning-quick speech, and Bells barely catches every other word.
“That’s it!” Rebecca puts her hands on her hips and beams at him. “Hop right on! And flip the�
��”
Bells throws his leg over the side, wobbles, catches his balance. He concentrates, trying to remember: hand print on the dash panel, flick to the right, and—the engine comes to life with a rumbling purr.
“Great! Any questions?”
“Wait, how fast does this thing go—” Bells trails off when the team of technicians unpack their gear and clusters around him with cameras and lights and reflectors and boom mikes and what? No one said anything about filming this.
“Ah, a speedster, huh? Let’s just say I packed this baby with enough firepower to go from zero to lose your breath in three seconds flat.” Rebecca winks at him.
An image of a comic book cover flashes in his head—himself, drawn in sheepish detail, sitting on a bus: The Amazing Chameleon arrives at the scene of chaos via the Andover Metro!
Rebecca gestures at the camera. “This is Chameleon test with cycle. Ready. One, t—”
Bells flicks his hand at the sensor, and the motorcycle roars with power, flying onto the track. His heart skips as the road races in front of him. This is nothing like a car: the air on his face, the smell of the dirt in the air, the feel of the machine under him.
Bells spots the track veering dangerously close to the edge of a cliff and he panics. He jerks the handlebars. With the sharp angle, the motorcycle skids out from under him, which pitches Bells forward toward the pavement.
It seems as though he’s moving in slow motion, but he’s going ridiculously fast, and this is is awful. No, no! He’ll hit the ground and he thinks of the ground, hard and unforgiving—
Bells reaches inward and pulls at his power; he doesn’t know what he’s doing, doesn’t know if shifting will help, but reacts on instinct first.
He skids, bracing for the sound of fabric ripping and skin and flesh being pulverized, but none of that happens. He hears a far-off crash, metal splintering into pieces, and then he smells smoke and burnt rubber.
Bells coughs. At least he avoided the cliff.
He sits up carefully and takes stock of himself. He doesn’t feel hurt. Maybe a bit bruised, but he doesn’t seem to be bleeding. For a second, his hands look like the cracked-gray concrete, but he looks again and they’re just his familiar dark skin.