The Ables

by Jeremy Scott

  I was pretty shocked to hear her say these things, even while some part of me knew she was right. And I was about to scoff and defend myself when she continued.

  “You’re not the only kid to ever suffer a tragedy, Phillip. It happens every day all around the world. What you have to decide is whether you’re going to let your depression define you or if you’re going to rise above it.” Finally, she put down the pen, raised her spectacles to her face, and turned to look at me. “I’m so sorry you lost your mother. I really am. I cannot imagine how hard it’s been for you, and I wouldn’t even dare to try. But you’ve let the bitterness and the sadness grip you for far too long. Look at Chad. Look at Donnie. Look at the rest of your friends. Henry’s in a wheelchair. Bentley will never be able to walk properly. Poor Darla can’t see or hear. Mr. Brooks spent the better part of three months in the hospital. ”

  “What’s your point?” My voice was a bit softer, not as defiant, but I was still not letting down my guard completely.

  “My point is that people suffer,” she continued. “It stinks; it’s not fair, but it happens. And there are only two kinds of people in this world, Mr. Sallinger: people who rise above that suffering and people who let it define them. I just don’t want to see you become the latter.”

  “Why do you care?” It wasn’t half as snotty as you probably think it was. Her harsh words had actually penetrated my defenses, and maybe some part of me had just been waiting for someone to grab me by the shoulders and shake some sense into me, literally or figuratively. And now that it had happened, I was genuinely curious why this old woman would show such interest in my personal development. The teachers in New York certainly never seemed to care that much. They would have just shaken their heads in pity at the little boy who lost himself in his own grief.

  “Because you’re the future, Phillip. You and your friends. In the coming years, you’re all that stands between evil and the rest of the world. If you don’t snap out of this, if you don’t grow up to be the hero I believe you can be, then we’re all doomed. There’s plenty of selfishness in the world’s villains; we don’t need our heroes adding to that problem.” I could tell by the sound of her voice at the end that she’d gone back to the papers in front of her.

  I brushed her off and headed for home, where her words spent the evening echoing through my head.

  ***

  All the other kids’ chatter about the upcoming third simulation had given Bentley and me the superhero bug again. Which was a terrible thing, because we were effectively blacklisted from all future SuperSims. It was like taking a dog to the public dog park but leaving him chained to a tree.

  So we decided to hold our own SuperSim. It was just one of our old practices out in the charred-out cornfield, but it was the closest we were likely to come to real action for quite some time. So James, Bentley, Henry, Chad, Freddie, and I all met one Friday evening. We split up into two teams and basically created a glorified capture-the-flag game on the spot.

  Chad’s invisibility gave him obscene advantages in a game like capture the flag, though I did my best to counter that for my team by repeatedly moving the flag with my powers. It wasn’t very fun, mostly because it was so fake. Like trying to play baseball with three people. And while even the SuperSim was, by definition, not the real thing, it still felt a lot closer than what we were going to be able to recreate on our own.

  “This sucks.” Henry was always the best at summing up the entire group’s emotions succinctly.

  “Yeah,” everyone agreed. We’d played two rounds of our fake little game, and exactly no one was having any fun.

  “Maybe this was a bad idea,” Bentley suggested. “Maybe we really are screwed. Maybe we’ll have to wait until we get to college to be heroes again.”

  Everyone hung their heads at these words, as no one wanted to go back to being a normal kid, not after what we’d experienced. Most of us agreed with Bentley, but no one wanted to say so because it would feel like the final nail in our coffin.

  But I had been spending time thinking about this very issue, and I had the perfect solution to the town’s ban on disabled hero kids: we would be heroes in some other town.

  “Maybe we don’t have to wait,” I said enticingly. “Maybe all we need … is a change of scenery.”

  ***

  Central Park had never looked so gorgeous.

  Of course, technically, I’d never seen it before—which might explain why I thought it was so gorgeous. The lights throughout the park were all sparkling, and because it was a Friday night, there were lots of people around.

  It had taken a full fifteen minutes to convince the group that we should go on a real-world reconnaissance mission and another fifteen after that to convince James that he could get us to Central Park even though he’d never been there—in the end, we used Bentley’s computer to show James some maps and photographs, and he finally agreed to try. He’d gotten us there on his first try, which I was sure would be a huge boost to his confidence while also expanding the services his business could offer.

  Even though there were lots of people around, there were pockets of deserted park area as well. Central Park, if you haven’t been there, is ridiculously big—way bigger than you think it is until you’ve been there.

  On my direction, we fanned out to try and find some place to sit and observe the park. We settled on a cluster of oak trees near a dirt path. It was relatively low lit, yet it afforded us a nice wide view of the park. After a few minutes of silently waiting, some on the team began to get restless.

  “Phillip, are you sure about this?” Bentley asked. “With Weatherby gone, our abilities won’t be hidden.”

  “Relax, Bent,” I assured him. “We aren’t going to be using any abilities people will see, okay?”

  “So, what are we supposed to do, Phillip?” It was Henry, of course. “Just wait for a crime to happen?”

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to sound confident enough to shut him up. “That’s what the real heroes do.”

  “That could be like looking for a needle in a haystack,” he continued. “We could be here all night and not see a crime.”

  “Henry,” I said calmly, with my best condescending tone, “this is New York City, my friend. There’s so much crime here, we probably won’t have to wait twenty minutes to find someone to apprehend.”

  Almost as though I’d planned it, there was a loud scream at just that moment. It came from our left, partway down the jogging path.

  Everyone looked at me in awe for a few seconds before I snapped them out of it. “Okay, gang. That’s it. Let’s go. James … advance us down the path in that direction,” I ordered, pointing. Everyone scurried in close and put a hand on James. “Okay, James. Let’s go.”

  Ooph!

  We appeared 100 yards up the path in the direction of the screaming. Another 150 yards up, there was a woman and two small children. She was shouting and pointing in our direction. “He’s got my purse!” Only then did I see the man running straight towards us, still 100 yards off or so but moving quickly. We weren’t under a street light, so he probably hadn’t seen us yet.

  “Everyone off the path!” I scampered to my right into a small grouping of trees and shrubs, and everyone else followed.

  “What do we do now, Phillip?” Bentley asked, sounding excited but nervous.

  My mother would have killed me for being in the park at night. She said it was an incredibly dangerous place to be after dark, and I surely would have been grounded. And once upon a time, I believed her enough to actually be scared of Central Park—even in broad daylight.

  But now … I wasn’t remotely scared. I’m not sure if I was being cocky or had simply lost enough innocence over the previous several months to no longer care. Surely any criminal I encountered in the park would pale in scariness to the people I’d been bumping into back in Freepoint. I’d faced off with a man in possession of nearly every power, for crying out loud. What could a purse-snatcher do to compete with that?
Besides, we were a bunch of superheroes. This man was just a human being.

  I walked out of the brush with a firm step, stopping just off the path’s edge. The man was only fifty feet away at this point, still running hard. The poor woman was still shrieking in the background.

  I glanced up the path about ten feet from my position and found the kind of tree I was looking for. It was a crooked old maple with two or three very low-lying branches. I reached up with my right arm extended and pulled one of the away-facing branches toward me with my powers. It creaked as it swung out over the path—about chest high on an average adult. I could tell it was building up pressure because I had to concentrate and focus more as I pulled it backward toward me.

  When it had completed a 180-degree arc, it was pointing straight at me. I simply held it in place mentally and peeked out around its leaves to see the purse-snatcher approaching. Twenty feet away. Then fifteen. Then ten.

  When he was five feet away, I finally made my presence known. “Boo,” I said sharply, simultaneously releasing the branch from my control. It whipped instantly back around to its original intended position, smacking the burglar in the chest with a loud thwack as it went by. It stopped him in his tracks and reversed him, sending him flying backward.

  I walked out onto the path as he tumbled through the dirt. He’d lost control of the woman’s purse in the fall, and it was lying just off the far side of the path in the grass. I concentrated for only a second before it levitated off the ground and zoomed straight across the walkway into my outstretched hand. I turned immediately and threw it straight into the bushes where my teammates were.

  The criminal was far from incapacitated and had begun to rouse himself … just in time to see me throw his prize into the trees.

  “Why you little …” he sputtered. He stumbled back a bit, losing his balance, only to suddenly return to a proper upright position again, this time brandishing the gun he had tucked in his pants.

  Oh crap!

  I hadn’t considered the fact that he might be armed, which was pretty foolish if you think about it. I’d assumed that taking him to the ground and relieving him of the purse would be the end of it. As though he’d be so shocked, he’d just give up and leave. I was too stunned to even think of the obvious solution: using my powers to disarm him.

  He didn’t have any idea what had hit him, and he was still a little dazed. But he’d regained his sense enough to point the pistol straight at my head. I knew I had to run, and that I had to run right away, but my legs wouldn’t respond as quickly as my brain was processing things. There’s no way around it … I froze. Choked.

  Right around the time I heard the sound of the gun going off, I heard two lightning-quick, distinct little sounds.

  Ooph!

  Ooph!

  And I was in the bushes again.

  James had saved my bacon, thinking quickly and getting me out of the bullet’s trajectory just in the nick of time.

  “Hey!” I heard the burglar yell behind me, no doubt wondering where his assailant had disappeared to. That was followed quickly by more yelling, this time from much further away. It was the police. The victim of the purse-snatching had finally managed to wrangle some more help. I leaned down and looked through the brush and saw two figures running full speed in our direction. I turned and looked at the robber, who still needed one or two more seconds to process his situation.

  Eventually, he decided to cut his losses and took off running down the path in the opposite direction of the cops.

  “He’s getting away,” Bentley said, sounding disappointed.

  “No, he’s not.” It surprised me to hear Chad’s voice. He sounded calm and confident. “Come on, James,” he said.

  Ooph!

  I jerked my head to the left, wondering what Chad was up to. I became a spectator this time. I saw nothing, of course, because Chad had gone invisible. At least, I assumed he had. All I could see was about a hundred yards or so of path, with the burglar moving away, getting smaller and smaller as he ran.

  Ooph!

  James returned. “Hi, guys,” he said, smiling. “I’m back. What’s he doing?”

  “Nothing yet,” I said anxiously.

  Not knowing what to expect, we watched, the intensity building as we watched for Chad to make his move.

  Turns out he’d already made it, turning himself invisible and then getting down on his hands and knees in the center of the path. The robber never saw it coming, obviously, and ran full speed into the invisible obstruction.

  Chad had lowered himself at the last second to ensure the burglar’s shins would be the point of impact, which sent the man tumbling into the air in a series of rapid cartwheels. He landed flat on his back on the dirt and instantly let out a loud groan.

  The cops came racing up the path just as Chad made it back to our position and turned himself visible again. The group let out a small cheer as everyone raved about how impressed they were with his quick thinking.

  “Good job, Chad!” Henry said, now seemingly completely over his original suspicion of the reformed bully.

  “That was amazing!” James cried. “He never saw it coming!”

  There were many pats on the back for Chad, and he deserved them. Some part of me—the selfish part—wanted to point out that I’d originally subdued the criminal and reclaimed the purse, but I said nothing. Even though a little praise of my own would have been nice, Chad definitely deserved his.

  I grabbed the purse out of Bentley’s hands and tossed it quickly back into the open path. The police had cuffed the burglar and had begun leading him back down the path the way they’d came. They were searching alongside the path for the victim’s belongings and found the purse easily.

  And that was that. The criminal was apprehended, and it was all because of us. While our classmates were practicing to face pretend criminals, we had already helped bust our first real one. And I’m not gonna lie: it felt awesome.

  Chapter 25: The Bully

  After the lopsided victory over criminal activity, the Ables began to increase the frequency of their unsanctioned field trips to the park. About once a week or so, we would go back to New York and attempt to find and stop a crime. We told our parents we were practicing and honing our hero skills on our own, and shockingly, they all bought it every time. We’d assemble in the cornfields, which still bore the scars of the fire that destroyed them, and then hop off to the big city to play heroes.

  It was mostly small stuff: a lot of purse-snatchers or muggers. Henry had once found a car illegally parked in a handicap spot and called the police anonymously. He beamed while we watched the traffic cop write the ticket. “Sometimes,” he boasted, “we don’t even need to use our powers to stop crime.”

  But I was quickly growing tired of the little fish. My thirst for adventure—for danger—grew, even though I wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Park hoodlums were easy targets, and honestly, something the cops could easily take care of without us. I wanted a real challenge. Someone more our equal … or at least more worthy of our powers.

  James, Freddie, Chad, Henry, Bentley, and I were now fairly inseparable. No one else at school was all that friendly to us as a group, not even the other disabled kids. We’d probably carry the stigma of our fall from grace for years, so we might as well go through it together.

  After our weekly Thursday evening trip to Jack’s Pizza, we were on our way back to my house, warm cheesy breadsticks in our bellies. Along the way we stopped for James to run into a little shop right on the edge of what you’d call the “downtown” area of Freepoint. A few moments after entering, he returned, beaming and holding a small rectangular box.

  “My new business cards,” he declared proudly, shoving the box out in front of him, arms outstretched.

  He carefully opened the box and removed a small stack of the cards. “I want each of you to have one,” he said as he began handing them out one by one.

  “I already have one,” Henry said half politely. “
Thanks.”

  “No, that’s the old one,” James assured him.

  “What’s the difference?”

  “There’s a new contact email address on there specifically for emergencies,” he explained as he went around handing out the cards. Then, as an afterthought, he said, “I charge $2 more per trip for emergencies. Plus, these also are printed in Braille as well as regular typeface.”

  “Why do you print them in Braille?” Bentley asked curiously.

  “I can’t read it if it’s not in Braille,” he said, closing the box on the remainder of the cards.

  “Why do you need to read it, though?” Bentley was still confused.

  “Well, for one thing, I can know it’s printed correctly,” James offered.

  The group started walking again while the conversation continued. Henry started it back off. “Wait a second, you can’t read the regular print anyway, though. You’re blind. Even if the Braille is correct, the regular print could still say ‘Billy the Babysitting butthead’ or something.”

  James was more confident with this answer. “Oh, I have my family at home verify the regular print.”

  “That still doesn’t answer why you pay extra to have the Braille printed on there.” The logic-driven computer inside Bentley’s skull wouldn’t let him give it up until it made sense to him. “Who else needs the Braille but you?”

  Henry jumped in. “Yeah, if the cards are for your customers … I mean, your customers aren’t blind, right? Aren’t blind people rare? How many blind people do you even know?”

  “I know Phillip,” he countered, making a fairly convincing point.

  But Bentley was still searching for logic. “Right, sure. I get that. But you know Phillip. Like, he’s you’re friend. You see him almost every day. You give him a card once, like tonight, but then you still have a bunch of Braille cards left over. You don’t give Phillip one every day.”