The Phobia of Renegade X

by Chelsea M. Campbell

  “Wonderful. What a successful mission.” I glare at Tristan. Though, if our mission had to go bad, at least I’m not the one who screwed it up this time.

  “Come on,” Kat says, sounding a little defeated. “We should probably get out of here before anyone notices this place has been robbed and the police show up.”

  Chapter 29

  “COME ON,” AMELIA SAYS, standing impatiently in our backyard. “You said you wouldn’t do this unless it was dark out, which it is, and you said you didn’t want to do it if Mom and Dad were home. Do you know how hard it was to get them to both leave the house at the same time? On a Thursday night?”

  I shrug. “Not that hard?”

  “No. I had to tell Dad that I needed him to get this one kind of ice cream he got me once, because I’m still getting over my breakup, but I had to pretend not to remember what flavor it was, even though I know it was mint walnut fudge chunk, and I said he had to go so he’d for sure get the right one.”

  “So?”

  “And then I had to tell Mom that I needed, you know, feminine products. And she said Dad could get them, and then I had to make my eyes water and tell her that after suffering complete humiliation at Prom recently, I couldn’t take even one more ounce of embarrassment, and could she please please please go with him and get them for me? Now Dad thinks I can’t even remember what kind of ice cream I like, and Mom thinks I’m a complete mess! And I’m supposed to be watching Alex and Jess, but I left them unattended in the house, and if Mom and Dad find out, they’ll think I’m a bad babysitter and I’ll never live it down!”

  “Jess is asleep and Alex is watching TV. What are they going to do, burn the house down?”

  “Some babysitter you are. But I guess you’re right—burning the house down sounds more like something you’d do. And that’s not the point! The point is, I did all this work to get rid of Mom and Dad, and they’ll only be gone for, like, twenty more minutes—”

  “You could have sent them on a date night.”

  She glares at me. “I did all this because you said you’d practice the flying test routine for reals if it was dark out and Mom and Dad weren’t home, and now all those things are true, so.” She gestures to the open sky above us.

  I look up and my stomach drops just thinking about it. I’ve been going up to the ceiling in her room all week now, but… Okay, even though her room’s on the second floor and technically it’s high up, and even though I’ve been super aware of that this whole time, it turns out it’s not at all the same as, like, flying that high above the ground for real. In open space. And even though there’s no way I’d do this during the day, it’s still only eight o’clock at night, which means pretty much anyone could still look over here and see me practicing. And know what a loser I am. And that would kind of make me wish I was never born, so…

  “Not happening.”

  Amelia makes an annoyed sound in her throat, but she doesn’t seem too surprised. “You have to. You said—”

  “I know what I said, but I… I have a lot of homework to get through.”

  “Yeah, right. And it’s going to take longer for you to argue about this than it will to actually do it.”

  “We’re really behind with our Advanced Heroism assignment. Riley’s depending on me.”

  She snorts. “For what? I thought you guys already figured out that note you found.”

  “We— How do you know about the note?” We found it last night on the floor of the gallery, in the main hallway on our way back out. One of the robber’s must have dropped it at some point, but I guess we were so panicked on our way in that we didn’t notice it. It was a crumpled up scrap of paper that said, The abandoned Heroes Hideout across from the tire factory.

  Which was obviously a location, but none of us knew what the hell Heroes Hideout meant, except for Riley, who explained that it was one of those pizza places you go to as a kid that has singing animatronic animals and games and stuff that you have to put tokens in to play and pizza that mostly tastes like cardboard. Then me and Kat—and, okay, also Tristan—said it sounded just like Villain Varmint’s, which was the version we all went to as kids. Except Tristan claimed that Villain Varmint’s actually had really good pizza, making it the superior franchise, which me and Kat quickly shot him down on, because “good” is not a word I’d use to describe any of the food in that place.

  But pizza quality aside, going to an abandoned Heroes Hideout sounds pretty creepy. Creepy enough that maybe that note actually belonged to a serial killer or something and not one of Frank’s goons. Which I would have said out loud, since I knew we were all thinking it, but then Tristan started whining about how there was no way we were going to this place, whatever it was, because we had no way of knowing if it actually had anything to do with Frank or not, and that even if it did, there was a pretty slim chance that it would have anything to do with the painting we’re trying to find. I didn’t want to sound like I was agreeing with him, plus it’s not like we’ve got a lot of other leads to choose from—or, like, any—so I kept my mouth shut about the creepiness factor and said we were definitely going to check it out. This weekend, during broad daylight, when the chances of running into serial killers and/or deranged clowns will hopefully be as low as possible. And who knows? Maybe a creepy abandoned children’s pizza place is Frank’s idea of a free storage facility for stolen artwork.

  “I know about the note,” Amelia says, “because Riley told Zach, and Zach told me. Duh.”

  Riley better not have told Zach everything, like that we’re working with Kat and Tristan. Not that I think Zach would tell on us, but apparently he would blab to Amelia, and she really doesn’t need to know. “So, you and Zach are—”

  “Still broken up, okay? And don’t try to change the subject. This is about you, not me, and I know you don’t have that much work to do, and I know you’re just stalling because you’re scared.”

  “What? I am not—” I choke down the denial. “Look, we’ve been over the routine in your room. I memorized all the moves. I’ve even been flying back and forth across the ceiling.” A couple times. Badly. But it should still count for something. I’m sure I can wing it during the test, which is only two days away. Or possibly chicken out and flunk out of school and disappoint everyone I know. Either one.

  “It’s not the same. And I know this isn’t the gym, and there aren’t any hoops set up, but doing the test won’t be like practicing in my room.”

  “I thought I could do this if we waited until after dark, but I can’t. The neighbors might see.”

  “They probably won’t, though. And if you can’t do this when someone might see, then how are you going to do it in front of Uncle Ted?”

  “I…”

  “We’ve been working really hard at this. You’ve been working really hard. And if you can’t do it now, then I don’t see how you’re going to do it on Saturday and prove him wrong. And Mom and Dad are going to be back soon, and I’m pretty sure they think I’m crazy now, and I won’t be able to send them on another errand, so—”

  “Fine, Amelia.” I can’t believe I just said that. But she’s right. I know I have to do this.

  She looks tentatively relieved, like she’s still not sure I’ll go through with it. Or maybe she’s just scared of what the outcome will be—that I might totally screw up, proving I have no chance at this after all. “Okay, we’ll pretend that the top of the house is where the ceiling is—”

  “The ceiling in the gym is higher than that.”

  “I know. I was just trying to give us something to go on, but if you want to go higher—”

  “I don’t.”

  “Okay, then act like the top of the house is where the ceiling is. Go up, pretend to touch the ceiling, then zigzag through the hoops. The imaginary hoops that aren’t really there.”

  I close my eyes real quick, then open them again and start floating upward, before I can give myself another chance to chicken out.

  “Don’t float!
” Amelia says. “Fly.” She makes a zooming motion with her hand. “Actively. Like we practiced.”

  That’s way easier to do with an actual ceiling, when I know how far I have to go, but I try anyway. I still hate the feeling of leaving the ground, even though it’s gotten a little easier over the past week and a half, and I feel like a complete idiot doing this in the backyard. I imagine all the neighbors glued to their windows or on the verge of rushing outside to get a better look.

  I go past the top of the house, then fumble to come back down to the right height, then reach up again and pretend to touch the ceiling. I make the mistake of glancing down at Amelia, to see her reaction to it, and then I feel like I’m going to throw up.

  “You’re doing great!” she shouts through cupped hands, even though I know it’s not true.

  And even though the last thing I want the neighbors to see—if they’re watching—is Amelia telling me what a good job I’m doing, like I’m a little kid learning to ride their bike without training wheels for the first time who keeps crashing and burning and needs the encouragement.

  I’ve been up higher than this—way higher. That’s what I keep telling myself. We’ve practiced this enough in Amelia’s room that I know the first hoop will be on the left. I go through the movements, which I’ve practiced a million times on the ground and in my head, if only a few times while flying. Left, right, left, right, left, right, then turn and do it all again. At one point the feeling that I’m going to fall overwhelms me, and I flail out my arms a little before I regain my bearings. Which would have meant touching one of the hoops, which would have lost me major points if this was the real test. My heart races, and I try not to think about it, or to hesitate too long. I pretend like I did it right and move on—another tip from Amelia, or more like from her third-grade drama teacher, who told it to the stars of the school play while Amelia and a couple of the other extras were eavesdropping.

  “Oh, my God, you’re doing it!” Amelia squeals.

  She doesn’t have to sound that shocked about it.

  I screw up at the end and kind of fudge going through the last hoop, because I am so ready for this to be over. Then I move too slowly toward the ground, and Amelia motions for me to hurry it up and to keep my arms tucked in.

  When I finally land again, I feel numb, like none of that could have just happened. Then it hits me, and I still can’t believe it, but there’s this moment where I feel like I could do anything. Like maybe, just maybe, I could even pass the flying test.

  Chapter 30

  ALL THE SUPERPOWER MAKE-UP tests are on Saturday. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, because on the one hand, I have to go to stupid Heroesworth on the weekend, plus I’m super nervous and way stressed out, which isn’t exactly how I like to spend my time off. But on the other hand, at least this means no one I know will be around to witness how freaked out I am.

  Or to watch me completely fail. Not that I’m going to, I mean, because I’m totally going to pass this thing. Even if I feel like I might start hyperventilating.

  Amelia actually wanted to come with me. She said that as my coach, it was not only her job but her “privilege” to see this through. And to be there for me and stuff. But I told her there was no way that was happening, because I really don’t need witnesses. And she pointed out that if I do a really amazing job and totally show Ted, won’t I want someone else to see that? And to maybe get a picture of the expression on his face?

  She had a point, but I told her not to get ahead of herself and that if I actually manage to stick it to Ted, she’ll just have to settle for my description of it.

  Kat, Riley, Sarah, and Zach all texted to wish me luck. Which is cool of them, but also kind of just reminded me how my entire future depends on this. Riley also offered me a ride to Heroesworth, which I was this close to taking him up on, because unlike Amelia, I know he would wait outside if I asked him to, and because maybe it would mean feeling slightly less alone.

  But in the end, I said no. I walked here, by myself, because I thought maybe it would help take my mind off things, or at least serve as some kind of warm up, but now that I’m here and still feel like I’m going to die, I can say with some confidence that it didn’t work. Like, at all.

  Before I head into the gym, where Ted is no doubt waiting to fail me if I’m even one second late—I double check the time on my phone first, just in case, but I still have a few minutes—I remind myself that I can do this. Ted’s just some stupid douchebag who, through no fault of my own, I happen to be related to, and who happens to hate me. Well, that second one might be a little bit my fault, but he also hated me on principle, before we ever even met, so I don’t think it counts. But he’s just some idiot who doesn’t matter, and it’s just the school gym, which I have, like, blown up before, so it should be scared of me.

  And maybe I didn’t have a whole lot of time to prepare for this test, but like Amelia said, it’s really only a couple of moves, and I’ve got them down. Well, pretty much, anyway. And I know what I’m supposed to do this time. Besides actually practicing it, I’ve gone over it in my head, we’ve gone over it out loud, and we’ve watched a million videos of other people successfully doing this routine. All I really have to do is be able to fly, follow the moves, and don’t touch the hoops. And not touching the hoops is the only thing I really have to worry about, because that’s the only part I haven’t been able to practice in real life. But I’ve watched people do it—I’ve seen how they keep their arms and legs in close—and Amelia made me do a second run the other night, before Gordon and Helen got home, and she said I did way better that time and that I didn’t even touch them. I mean, they were imaginary hoops and she was just guessing, but still.

  Totally nothing to be worried about.

  Then my phone chimes with another text. It’s from my mom, and for a second I sort of stop breathing because I think she’s texting me to wish me luck. But then I see that she’s not. I mean, she is texting me, but it’s not about the flying test. Because why would it be? She doesn’t even know when it is, plus she’s the last person who would wish me luck for something like that.

  The text says, Xavier’s just dying for you to come over for dinner tonight! You can watch my little sweetiekins while me and Taylor slip out for a while.

  Little zaps of lightning run up and down my back. There’s this moment where I’m so pissed at her, I want to throw my phone against the wall. But of course I don’t. Though I do consider texting her back and telling her off for, well, everything, because how can she even ask me that? It’s just one more drop in the gigantic bucket of her not caring about me.

  I delete her text and turn my phone off. Then I take a deep breath and step into the gym.

  Ted’s just standing there, waiting for me, looking really bored. He glances up at the clock when he sees me. “You’re my last make-up test. Five more minutes and I would have left.”

  “That’s when my test is supposed to start.”

  “I don’t tolerate tardiness. Especially when I didn’t believe you’d show up.”

  Too bad he showed up. This would be so much easier if he’d, like, gotten sick and had to have someone else fill in for him—someone who doesn’t have it in for me. But then I guess I also wouldn’t get to see his face when I totally prove him wrong.

  “Before you try and pull anything,” he says, “let me just remind you that this is the only make-up test you’ll be given, meaning it’s the last chance you’re going to get. So if you’re going to pretend to have another emergency, be my guest, but know that that’s it for you. Do you understand?”

  Ugh. “Yeah, I get it.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m ready to take the test.”

  He scoffs. “I’m trying to give you an opportunity here. Back out now and you don’t have to humiliate yourself. Because I will tell Gordon when you fail to fly at all. My brother deserves to know the truth about you.”

  “Dad already knows I ca
n fly.” You know, from when he, like, pushed me off the tallest building in Golden City.

  “We’ll see.” He gestures to the starting line that’s taped on the floor. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  I walk over to the line. My back’s to him, so I can’t see how badly he’s judging me. The hoops look really high up, higher than I remembered, now that I’m standing directly beneath them.

  But it doesn’t matter. This is what I’ve been training for. And yeah, the idea of going up to the freaking ceiling and performing like some flying circus monkey for someone who hates me is still way terrifying. But not as much as it was three weeks ago, back when it felt completely impossible.

  “Any second now,” Ted mutters.

  I want to tell him to shut up, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. So instead I ignore him and make sure I get a good look at the ceiling. I note where all the hoops are. I imagine zigzagging through them, in order, then back again. My heart’s racing and I feel dizzy, but I also know I can do this.

  Everyone’s counting on me. It feels like my whole life depends on this moment.

  I lift off from the ground. And even though I can’t see Ted, or the shocked expression that must be on his face, I hear him gasp. I make a point of flying actively, as Amelia calls it, instead of just floating. I’m slower than the people in the videos we watched, but I don’t look down, just up toward my goal, and that helps.

  I touch the ceiling. I ignore the urge to look at Ted.

  My heart is beating super fast, and I can’t believe I’m doing this. I move to the left, like I practiced, and go through my first actual hoop. It’s big, but not as big as I was picturing, and I’m so sure I’m going to make a wrong move and hit the edges. But I don’t.

  I zigzag to the right, moving slowly but steadily through the next hoop. I keep it up, making my way through the routine. Sweat beads on my forehead and slides down my nose. I wipe it off with my hand and almost elbow one of the hoops. I freak out a little bit after that and accidentally look down, and then I kind of freak out a lot. I can’t breathe. There’s this moment where I panic, thinking my flying power isn’t going to work and I’m going to fall and I’m going to die and this is all going to have been for nothing.