by C. C. Ekeke
Greyson looked at the floor, ears burning. St. Pierre was right. Him freezing couldn’t happen again.
“Connie,” St. Pierre continued gruffly. “Greyson’s situation wouldn’t have happened if you and Israel had attacked Plymouth together.”
Connie gave her stringy hair a defiant toss over her shoulder. “Sorry,” she grumbled.
“Many things need to improve,” St. Pierre concluded. “We got tons to work on the next few days.”
The call ended, leaving dejected silence in the van.
“Well,” Letty said. “That’s less harsh than after you fought the Bombastics.”
Tom chimed in with can-do optimism. “Guess this means we’re improving.”
Greyson was in no mood to grade on a curve. In Richard St. Pierre’s eyes, they still sucked. “I liked him better as just our therapist.” That won laughing agreement from everyone else.
Later, they returned to their warehouse base across the Mississippi River in East. St. Louis. The hot shower felt so good, Greyson nearly married it. After everyone changed into civilian clothes, Letty said farewell and drove off. That left Kathy, Izzie, Connie, Tom, and Greyson in the parking lot gushing about the Plymouth battle for another hour. The highs and lows, the funny and life-threatening moments. Everything.
Since meeting them weeks ago, superpowers were the common thread connecting Greyson to this group of misfits. Chattering with his teammates, the belonging left him warm and gooey inside. “Anyone need a lift?” Tom asked once the discussion ran its course.
Greyson shook his head. “I drove.”
“Same,” Connie added.
“Me three,” Big Izzie said.
Tom turned to Kathy. “What about you, Kat?”
Kathy glanced around with a nervous smile. “Izzie’s giving me a ride straight home.”
Greyson and Connie exchanged an amused look. Straight into Kathy’s pants? her smirk suggested.
Greyson turned, barely swallowing a guffaw.
“Alrighty.” Tom graced everyone with a megawatt smile. “Until the next episode.” One puff of black smoke later, and Tom vanished.
Izzie and Kathy departed soon after in his truck.
That left Greyson and Connie.
“Wow,” she whistled as they strolled toward her Mini Cooper. “Do Izzie and Kathy think no one knows?”
Greyson chuckled. “Eh, let them have their fun in private. He’s a widower. She's separated from her husband.” Kathy and Izzie’s hidden affair was obvious to anyone with eyes and ears. Since the team had defeated Excessive Menace, those two always arrived and departed together. “Besides, the best way to get off the victory high is a good lay.” Going home and making love to Lauren had been the first thing Greyson had done after defeating Excessive Menace. Best sex ever, per both their opinions.
Connie eyed him in shock. “Didn’t know you had such a wild side, Hirsch.”
Greyson liked her calling him by his last name. He shrugged. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Connie.” They’d reached her car.
Connie turned fully and stepped in his path, inches away. “I’m ready to learn.” The breathy voice complemented her bedroomy smile.
WHOA. Greyson gulped and stared at his shoes. “Sure.”
“Greyson.” Connie guided his face up with delicate fingers until their eyes met again. Her other hand crawled up the front of his button-down shirt. The way she gazed from his mouth to his eyes communicated nothing short of come-hither. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” She swayed a bit, leaning in more toward Greyson, her lips slightly parted.
And he couldn’t ignore Connie’s tight, toned little body filling out that grey t-shirt and stone-washed jeans. Jumping Jehoshaphat…
Greyson’s head spun, sharp desire stirring in his loins. He’d had suspicions of Connie. A few lasting gazes here. A sexy grin there. Greyson had dismissed these as a misplaced crush.
But as his body felt pulled toward hers, Greyson knew better. If any blood was left in his brain. “Connie…” he gasped.
“What?” she whispered, lips nearing his.
Greyson took Connie’s hands in his and backpedaled. “You're great and tough and super pretty.”
“Super pretty?” She giggled, closing the gap between them, like this was a game. “Like a superpower?”
“Meaning…” Greyson drew Connie’s hands off his body. Inhaling deeply, he grounded himself and regained some clarity. No matter how she aroused Greyson, this couldn’t happen. “I find you attractive.”
Connie’s yearning curdled. “But…?”
Greyson sighed and stuffed both hands in his pockets. “Lauren’s the most important person in my life. Someone I see myself marrying.” He hadn’t even told Lauren that truth. “I won't betray her. No matter how great my rapport is with you.” Greyson did enjoy talking with Connie, training with her. Fighting beside her. But Lauren was his future.
Connie gave him a numbed-out expression as she took the hint. “You’re a good man.” She shook her head. “God, I’m such an asshole.” She marched away from him.
A pang gripped Greyson at leaving this unresolved. “Connie…” He reached for her.
Connie pulled away. “I have to go,” she murmured and kept walking.
“Wait…please.” Greyson grabbed her arm. “Besides, your car’s behind me.” Connie stopped and laughed despite the excruciating awkwardness. She wouldn’t meet his gaze.
Greyson moved around her until they faced each other. “You okay?”
“Other than wanting to die from embarrassment.” She glanced up at him, then back down, brushing stray locks aside. “I’m peachy.”
Greyson snorted. “Who still says ‘peachy’?”
Connie’s embarrassment morphed into defiant. “Me.”
That cracked the tension, making them both erupt with laughter that echoed across the lot.
“I’m sorry,” Connie said once they’d regained composure. She seemed openly contrite. “That advance…was so disrespectful.”
Greyson shrugged off the apology, not even bothered. “Connie, we’re cool. And I’m flattered, by the way.”
Connie blushed. “Okay.” She pivoted on her heel. “See you soon?”
Greyson smiled back. “Absolutely.”
Once her Mini Cooper raced off into the night, Greyson’s lightheadedness intensified. Probably from all the blood leaving his brain.
“Okay!” Turning to his car, Greyson found his walk painfully obstructed. “Time for a cold shower!”
Half an hour later, Greyson returned to a dark, empty house. Lauren was at a two-day bioengineering summit for the brightest scientists from Paxton-Brandt’s US-based genetics subsidiaries. Lauren had extended that into a weekend getaway to Lake Ozark with close friends. That gave Greyson time to figure out how he’d reveal his superhero moonlighting. He hated keeping secrets from Lauren, especially after promising to stop superheroing. But when the Hurricane asked for help, how could Greyson refuse?
“I’ll figure out something,” he assured himself, tossing his gym bag aside and shuffling for the bedroom. All Greyson wanted was to sleep for ten hours.
Something on the foot of the bed gave him pause. Greyson turned on the lights for a better look. And went rigid.
On the bed lay the hockey mask he’d worn against Excessive Menace. Not wanting to dump the souvenir, Greyson thought he’d hidden it well.
Beside the mask was a handwritten note on 8.5x11 paper.
YOU LIED TO ME.
Greyson went cold all over. “She knows.”
Chapter 5
“Uh-oh.” Hugo stood on the sidelines, unsure what to do.
A friendly outing of basketball was about to turn ugly. Hugo could distinguish the jumble of entangled arguments perfectly, with concentration.
One side had half a dozen towering basketball players, athletic and wearing loose-fitting jerseys. Each one, an asshole.
On the other side were Hugo’s six new friends. Each one a sup
er.
Vargas, bald and muscular, stood with teeth bared in his tank top and black shorts. Paul Davian, a lanky ginger with a ginormous nose, trash-talked eagerly.
Nikilesh Patel, a short and thickset Indian kid, let his stone-cold eyes do the talking.
Thin Shady, a skinny black kid, bounced up and down like he had ants in his pants, begging the basketballers to strike first.
Gabrielle, a chunky Pacific Islander, traded “Your Momma” jokes with the shortest ballplayer. Seriously.
The leader of the supers was Presley Lau. The slim and petite Chinese girl didn’t look like much, even wearing punk rocker t-shirts and her cropped hair spiked skyward. But Hugo sensed Presley’s hostile don’t-give-a-fuck vibrations while she berated men thrice her size.
Meanwhile, Hugo cowered on the sidelines. He wasn’t afraid of the basketballers. He was afraid of them seeing him use his powers. Afraid of a fight breaking out where he’d have to use those powers. Petrified. Thankfully, Presley’s crew and these ballplayers were the only people at this run-down single basketball court near Old Town. Centaur Court was the first basketball court built after the San Luis Obispo earthquake. And its rules were simple. Games went no longer than an hour if other teams were waiting.
These six giant-sized assholes had played for ninety minutes.
“Our game’s not done,” said one basketballer, pasty white with mousy-brown hair. He waved the crew off dismissively. “Get lost!”
“Rules are rules,” Vargas growled, sounding wolf-like even in human form. “Your hour’s up.”
“It’s our turn.” Presley stepped up fearlessly to the tallest ballplayer, a square-jawed and cinnamon-skinned braggart. “Leave the court.”
“Fuck your rules,” he barked, leaning down to mockingly meet Presley eye to eye. “We leave when we finish. I don’t care what you freaks want.”
His buddies chuckled in derision.
A spasm of anger flared through Hugo watching this. He hated bullies.
Presley sighed, glancing at her crew. “I know what your face wants.” She popped him in the mouth.
Hugo watched in horror as the man collapsed to a knee, holding his jaw. The next thing Hugo knew, all hell broke loose.
“Fuckfuckfuck,” he fretted, fear welding him in place.
Nikilesh stomped on one player, who was curled up holding his skull. Nik had to be using his psychic powers.
Vargas didn’t turn full werewolf. But he was still strong enough to toss his foe around like nothing. Thin Shady and Paul traded blows with two beefy basketball players, gaining the upper hand.
Presley rained down punches on her opponent, rocking his head back. He yanked something from his sock and swiped. Silvery metal flashed through the air. Presley recoiled, cradling her right cheek.
The towering brute lunged forward and hoisted her high off the ground by the throat. He thrust his knife at her exposed abdomen.
Hugo’s heart lurched. “NO!” The world slowed around him as he supersped into the fray. Weaving through the frozen brawlers, he lightly slapped the ballplayers on their chests.
For the bastard holding Presley, Hugo detached his hand from her throat and elbowed him harder.
When Hugo braked, every ballplayer got rocketed across the court and smacked against the fences.
Presley’s attacker went flying, squealing like a child before landing hard on the concrete. By the crunching chorus, he’d broken a few bones but wasn’t dead.
Presley dropped into Hugo’s waiting arms. “What the…” She swiveled her head in wide-eyed shock.
“Gotcha,” Hugo said calmly. She looked cute all flustered. “You alright?”
Presley stared at him, regaining her too-cool-for-school vibe. “Perfect ten.” The bloody gash on her cheek was already healing rapidly. In seconds, only a thin line of blood remained.
They stared at each other for a few awkward moments. Hugo smiled.
Presley raised her brow. “Wanna put me down, superhero?”
Warmth flooded his face. “Right.” He hurriedly placed Presley back on her feet.
Vargas cleared his throat. “We should go.” He glanced at the stirring bodies around them.
“No shit,” Presley agreed. The six supers fled from the basketball court. Hugo lingered, studying the carnage he’d caused. Jesus. His fear lingered. So did the thrill of cutting loose.
An arm grabbing his shoulders startled him. He looked up and jerked back. Thin Shady’s silhouette stood a few yards away, his arm stretching across the distance to reach Hugo. “Let’s go!”
The Samoan turned and quickly caught up with the others.
Once they were back and safe at the crew’s home, everyone joked like a brutal fight hadn't just happened. The collective nonchalance stunned Hugo. Still, he went with the flow.
Hugo hadn’t cared much for this abandoned midrise that Presley’s crew called home. It sat smack-dab in the Junction, San Miguel’s biggest shithole neighborhood.
Now Hugo enjoyed the lived-in feel, the rusted ceilings, and cracked walls. Everyone gathered in the main room on couches, deciding what to eat. Then Thin Shady started singing Hugo's praises. “Your speed was crazy!”
Paul and Gabby voiced their amazement. Hugo shrugged from his perch on a beat-up couch. “Didn’t want you guys getting hurt.” He shifted uncomfortably with all these eyes on him.
“How fast can you go?”
“About 500 miles-per-hour,” Hugo admitted. “But not for too long.”
Vargas whistled. Nikilesh and Presley exchanged an odd look. Hugo couldn’t help smiling.
“You’re a Swiss army knife of powers,” Gabby declared, making everyone laugh.
Hugo couldn’t deny that. He hadn’t revealed the full story behind his powers. Something told him not to.
Presley sat closest to Hugo, leaning in with a laser-focused gaze. “What other powers are you hiding?”
Her curiosity only emerged around Hugo’s backstory or powerset. “Another interrogation?” he groaned.
Presley appeared nonplussed by the accusation, gesturing at him. “I’m just trying to figure you out. We know you’re supposedly in high school, but not which one. We know you’re strong and fast, but not if you have more abilities.” She inclined closer, squinting her slanted eyes until they almost disappeared. “Who is Hugo Malalou?”
The other five all agreed in mocking fashion.
I could say the same about you all, he almost said. Six teenagers squatting in some abandoned Junction midrise. Presley worked at Beach Bum Burger, a minimum-wage job, yet they had many expensive toys and furniture. But Hugo enjoyed these new friendships and not having to lie about himself, enjoyed the escape from the hell of high school.
So he answered Presley’s cross-examination with humor. “Who am I?” He cleared his throat and pounded his chest before answering. “I’d tell you more if you stop pressing me, Presley,” he said, mimicking Presley’s voice and cadence perfectly. Another ability he possessed.
The group roared in delight. Even Vargas laughed.
Presley grinned, visibly impressed. “I see what you did there.”
“Wasn’t hiding it,” Hugo replied in his normal voice.
Presley raised her brow. “Get better jokes, joker.”
“Hater,” Hugo scoffed. “I got the best jokes.”
“And an inflated sense of self,” Presley remarked.
Hugo gestured at his strapping torso. “Does this look inflated?”
Presley’s gaze traveled hungrily down his physique. She arched an eyebrow. “Want my honest answer?”
“Lemme guess.” Hugo rubbed both hands together. A delicious tension was building. Hugo shifted closer. “A snarky remark about me being an inflatable action figure. Or an eye roll of disdain? Or sullen silence? Maybe a combo?” His grin widened. “Go on. I’ll wait.”
Presley met his gaze, struggling to find a reply. Her heartbeat spiked in Hugo’s ears. She tore her eyes away. “Motherfucker…”
“HAHA.” Hugo pointed victoriously. He had Presley’s number. “Checkmate, Priscilla!”
That drew gasps from everyone else. Fixated on one-upping Presley, Hugo had forgotten them.
Vargas reddened, visibly furious. “He knows your real name already?”
“He guessed.” Presley glared daggers at Hugo but couldn’t hide her subtle grin. “Meaning he’s not a total idiot.”
Nikilesh looked ready to bite someone’s head off. “You two done flirting so we can get food?”
The accusation jolted through Hugo. “We weren’t flirting,” he scoffed. Or did Hugo imagine the electricity between them?
He watched Presley’s reaction. Bored and blasé, as usual. “Grow up, Nik,” she said. “A guy and a girl talking doesn’t always equal flirting.”
Paul clearly wanted to comment but wisely didn’t after Presley’s warning glare.
Moments later, Presley was already over it and chatting up Vargas.
Hugo couldn’t help feeling somewhat deflated. Of course I imagined things. In hindsight, Hugo was relieved. He wasn’t really thinking about girls after the Brie drama. On that note, Hugo glanced at the time and stood. He wanted to be home before Mom returned from her hospital shift.
“You gotta come to our scary movie marathon this weekend,” Gabby exclaimed. “A full day of eighties and nineties flicks.” She clapped her pudgy hands excitedly. “We’re picking films tomorrow.”
“Not a scary movie person,” Hugo admitted.
“It’s no big deal if you can’t come,” Presley chimed in, hands in her pockets. “Just something fun that we do on occasion.”
“It’ll be so good,” Thin Shady pressed. “Presley’s getting ass-tons of Beach Bum Burgers from work.”
Hugo brightened. “You had me at Beach Bum Burger.”
That drew shouts of approval from everyone except Vargas, who scowled venomously.
“Cool.” Presley shrugged uncaringly, turning to hide her face. “Yessss!” she hissed under her breath.
Now Hugo was baffled. I didn’t imagine a connection?
The following day, the Presley issue still plagued Hugo. Simon would know. But his best friend wanted to meet in the gym after school, under a basketball hoop during the Songs cheerleading practice. Eight pretty, firm, and fit girls wearing short-shorts and Bearcat t-shirts gyrated in sync to blaring music. Their instructor, also a Paso High student, critiqued but never yelled or belittled like the main coach. Simon had somehow become the music supplier for their routines, affording him access to their practices.