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He’s reading the words he’s saying.
Dad has never read an announcement in his life. That’s something humans do because their brains suck when in front of a camera. I turn to Evan, taking my eyes off the screen for the first time. He shrugs. “Maybe … ah, shit. I don’t know.”
For once I could hug Evan for not making some stupid excuse for why things are happening the way they are. For once, he’s recognizing that something is wrong.
“Your orders are to remain in lockdown with your families until further notice. This is in effect worldwide, not just for Central. Please know that you are in no harm, and this is just for safety. These villains do not want to cause death and destruction—they are after one specific thing. We do not negotiate with villains. They will not get what they want.”
Stars fill my vision and I gasp for breath, gulping at air as I realize I must have forgotten to breathe. Evan ignores my near death and leans forward, focusing on the screen. Dad’s eyes are definitely reading something on the other side of the camera.
“I would like to announce that every Super in Central has been accounted for and is practicing lockdown in their residence. If you are concerned about your loved ones in other homes, please take solace in knowing that they are okay.” His eyes look directly at the camera now. “Every single one of you.”
“What about me?” I blurt out, temporarily forgetting he can’t hear me. “I’m not at home. You don’t know that I’m safe! Did you forget about your own daughter?” Evan’s rubix-cube coffee table crumbles into pieces as I slam it across the room. I yell to my dad’s face, “You’re lying!”
Evan tries to grab my arm but I pull away. “What else is he lying about?” My eyes flare with rage as Evan clamps a hand over my mouth and shoves me into the couch.
He says one worth through clenched teeth: “Listen.”
Dad’s voice fills the air again. “Your MODs will be turned on at the end of this transmission. Please await further instructions on when the lockdown will be lifted. Thank you, citizens of King City and Supers across the world.” Dad nods curtly and the screen goes black.
I shove Evan’s hand off me, grateful that he forced me to listen to the last part of dad’s message, but not grateful enough to let him know that. I leap over the back of the couch, sprinting to where my MOD has been sitting useless on the end table. It turns on just as promised. I laugh.
“I think maybe you need a padded cell,” Evan says from across the room as he picks up multi-colored cubes and puts them back into the large toy he uses as a coffee table.
“Sorry about that.” I kick a few pieces of it back in his direction. “At least you can put it back in the right order now.”
“The ice queen apologizes,” Evan mutters. “That’s a first.”
I ignore that. My MOD powers up as usual, a sequence of colors and logos and words that was so familiar to me for several years and now it feels like an eternity since I’ve seen it. With anxiety and excitement competing for space in my mind, I open my messages … and find nothing.
“Do you have any new messages?” I ask Evan. Maybe they aren’t working just yet.
He shakes his head without checking his MOD. “Dunno why I would.”
“Could you at least check?” I snap. He couldn’t be more nonchalant about something so serious.
His hand reaches in his pocket but then he stops. “You know what? No.” He crosses his arms. “I’m not checking. And I’m sick of you telling me what to do.”
I’m about to give him a piece of my mind when his pocket starts to ring. The look of defeat on his face is freaking priceless as he reaches into his pocket and accepts the call. A hologram appears in the air between us, showing a woman with long sandy hair and high cheekbones.
“How are you holding up, son?”
He rubs the back of his neck and gives me a quick glance. “I’m fine. How are you, Mom?”
“I’m wonderful. You know my penchant for freeze-dried dinner and zero communication with my scrapbooking club. Who needs friendship and home-cooked meals, anyhow?”
“It’ll be over soon,” he says. A border collie jumps into her lap and she pe
ts his head. “Hey boy,” Evan coos to the dog, whose ears perk up but quickly sag when he doesn’t see the source of Evan’s voice.
“Look there,” his mom says, pointing at the air where Evan’s hologram must be. “Do you see Nano? He’s right there. Evan, wave.”
He waves but the dog still doesn’t see him.
“I’ll let you get back to becoming a mad scientist. I’m going to call your aunts and check up on them. Take care of yourself, Nano.”
I smile at his nickname and wait until they’ve said their goodbyes before I comment. “Nano?”
“I was really big into nano-technology as a kid,” he says. “I invented tons of useless crap and she’s kept all of it at her house. You know how parents are.”
