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“So you’re hella smart.” Guess the nerd in him didn’t go through puberty.
“Something like that.” He smiles. Even though all Supers have perfect teeth, his are somehow even more perfect. God, what is wrong with me? The last time I swooned this hard over a guy, I ended up tackling him and trying to punch his face off. And, oh yeah, my brain reminds me—that was last week.
I start walking—hoping Evan will catch the hint and leave. I won’t be making the same mistake with him. Nope.
Evan follows me, keeping with my snail-like pace. “So what are you up to?”
“Oh, you know.” I lift my hands. “Nothing.”
“I figured you wouldn’t be out in public so soon,” he says, scratching his elbow.
My curiosity goes on high alert. “What do you mean?”
“The drama at your party and all,” he says as if he can’t believe I’d forget such an event.
“Thanks for reminding me. That was a rough night.”
“I can imagine.” His MOD flashes and he gives it a cursory glance before shoving it in his back pocket. “So what consequences are you dealing with now?”
“I’d really rather not talk about it.” I glance up to find him watching me as we walk. “And I know it’s a
lot to ask, but I’d really appreciate if you don’t tell anyone else about the party. At least, you know, for the next thousand years or so.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “No worries.”
A chant plays over and over in my mind. Stop thinking he’s cute, stop thinking he’s cute. Must make small talk and not think about how cute he is. “So …” My mind struggles to think of something to say. “What are you doing in King City?”
He adjusts his backpack and grips the straps near his shoulders. “I had a meeting in the medical department. I was trying—and failing—to obtain a sample for testing and research.”
“A sample of what?”
He drags his hand over his mouth as if he didn’t mean to say what he just said. I prod further. “A sample of what, Evan? Come on, I’m curious.”
“Villain blood.”
“Oh.” The mothership of awkwardness hovers over us as I wonder if he’s thinking I’m evil, or worse—if he’s thinking he would like to cut me open and take some of my blood.
He talks quickly, stumbling over his words. “I’m doing a side project involving Super DNA and trying to determine if there are any genetic traits that stand out at a molecular level in newborns. Something that could alert us at birth if the Super has a chance of turning evil in their lifetime, and if so, the likelihood of that chance. I’ve studied normal Super blood up and down but getting blood from a villain is much harder.”
“Yeah …” I play it off as if this isn’t subtlety about me. “It’s not like you can walk up to one and say, ‘hey bro, mind if I take some of your blood?’”
He laughs and the tension eases. “How would you even get villain blood in Central?” I ask. Villains don’t walk the corridors. They are cast out the moment they turn rogue, all their credentials to the underground world in the canyons shut off at the first whisper of their betrayal. I don’t see how Central would have access to blood like that.
“From the depowerings,” he says. “I don’t think they care about innovation. It’s really frustrating. I mean, what’s my job if I can’t research things that matter? Two villains were captured last night and depowered this morning. They have to do something with the blood they rip out, right?” He shakes his head and the vein in his neck bulges. “I’ve been trying, begging, for a sample but they keep denying me.”
A shudder runs through me. Depowering is the process of ripping out the outer layer of veins in a Super—the silvery veins that pump power from our chest to our body. I don’t know the details of the process, as that sort of thing stays confidential, but everyone knows it’s agonizing. Depowering leaves the villain covered in spidery scars from fingers to toes. I’ve only seen two depowered villains in my life. The memory of their lifeless eyes and grotesque bodies will forever haunt me.
“Well, good luck with that.” My lunch rolls around in my stomach, threatening to reveal itself if I keep thinking about the depowering process.
We walk in silence for a few minutes as we near the end of the main corridors inside Central. We come to a stop at the KAPOW docks where several public transportation pods line up to the right. To the left is an empty row for the private pods. Although I live close enough to walk home, Evan will be taking a KAPOW back to Africa. Who knows when I’ll see him again? I’m so not ready to end this conversation.
Evan isn’t treating me as if I’m an evil freak who needs to be locked up. Not only do I appreciate that, I’m drawn to him because of it.
Evan’s head tilts sideways. “What are you thinking?” He studies me as I’m lost in my own thoughts.
There’s no way I’d tell him the real answer, so I tell him the second most real answer. “Friday is judgment day. The examiners will decide if I’m a Hero or …” I study my fingernails, unable to finish the sentence.
Evan jumps in. “… or something else that is equally badass.”
