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I nod. None of my childhood things are still in the house. But I wasn’t exactly inventing things as a kid. I was learning nine types of martial arts and getting a high school diploma at the age of eleven. I’m not even sure where I put that diploma but it isn’t hanging on the wall.
Now isn’t the time to drudge up memories of my childhood and ponder about what life would have been like with a mother like Evan’s instead of a strict, law-making and enforcing father. I flip on my MOD, mentally noting that it could use another layer of duct tape. I scroll for dad’s name on my contacts and press the call button. My father has some explaining to do.
Evan raises an eyebrow as my MOD lets out an unexpected error message: access denied. no call permissions granted to this user.
Annoyance and apprehension flicker through me as I try making the call again, only to be met with the same computerized voice denying my right to call my dad. “Maybe it’s broken. What’s your number?” I ask Evan.
He snaps the last piece of his coffee table back into place and rattles off his number as I take care to type in each digit correctly. I send the call and his MOD lights up instantly. “He’s blocking me on purpose.” My words are whispered, their softness the total opposite of what I feel. My fist clamps around my broken, taped-together, worthless MOD—clenching tighter with each second as the device slowly cracks into pieces in my hand. I inhale a deep breath and let the particles fall to the floor.
“You need to call him.”
“Yeah that’s not happening.” Evan ducks into the kitchen and I storm off after him, only to realize he left to grab a broom and dustpan to clean up the mess I just created. I stand with my hands on my hips as he sweeps the former MOD and disposes of it.
“Call him, Evan. Now.”
As if siding with me, his MOD beeps and he takes it out of his pocket, quickly reading a message and dismissing it before I can read it over his shoulder. “I can’t call the president. Especially during a lockdown. I’d be fired.”
“You won’t be fired when he finds out it’s me.” I snatch for his MOD but he holds it above my head. That’s hardly a deterrent, as all I need to do is swing my leg behind his knees and knock him to the floor. Which I do one second later.
He tucks and rolls and is back on his feet in the next second. “You’re not using my MOD, Maci.”
His condescending tone makes me cringe. I match my tone with his, “Then you will use it.” He shakes his head, his jaw tight and his shoulder muscles bulging from under his black t-shirt. He has never looked hotter than he does right now. But I still want to bash him so hard in the face that he’ll never be handsome again.
“Call him.” The air crackles with the rising level of my power as it grows to match my anger. “Call him or I swear to god, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” His voice echoes throughout the pie-shaped room as I stand paralyzed, unable to comprehend that he just yelled at me. Evan. Mister Super Calm and Always Nice guy. I leave his question unanswered as he continues to yell. “Will you just stop? For one second, will you please just pull your self-centered head out of your selfish ass and be a decent human being?”
My jaw drops to the floor.
He yanks a lab coat off the hook by the door and shrugs it on. “I’m done babysitting you. I’m going back to work.”
White-hot rage boils up inside of me. My muscles twitch with the urge to smash every single thing in this room. I could do it faster than he could stop me. He can’t just insult me like that. He doesn’t even know me. “How dare you speak to me that way,” I hiss. “You are not a Hero. You’re just an isolated loser who plays with high-tech toys all day.”
He shrugs. “Breaking my shit and demanding that I do things your way may work in Central, but it won’t work on me anymore. You won’t get far in life by demanding that everyone obey you and throwing a fit when they don’t.” He opens the door and glances back at me. “And you still can’t fathom why everyone thinks you’re evil. Maybe you aren’t as clever as you think you are.”
A fourth uniformed man drops to the ground, dead from a bullet wound to the head. I hear footsteps from my right and spin around just in time to thrust my knives through another man’s chest. Blood splatters across my vision and I run to clear it away, taking out another person who dares to cross my path.
Filled with an annihilating rage, I stab and shoot and kill until my hands are sweaty as they grip the Xbox controller. There’s something to be said for committing horrible acts of violence in video games when you can’t do it in real life. I can see why Max likes it so much.
Hours have passed with no word from Evan. Glancing at the elevator has become a habit I can’t break. I don’t want to see him after how much he humiliated me, yet every time I look toward the cylindrical glass elevator shaft and don’t see him walking out of it, I get a little disappointed. It’s one thing to have felt totally alone at home a week ago—it’s another to actually be totally alone.
I tap away on the controller, clenching my teeth together until the sore spot on my skull aches. Stupid Evan with his stupid golden hair that’s always messy in a sexy way and his stupid voice that’s always raspy in a sexy way and his stupid mind reading ring invention that I can’t seem to take off my finger.
You there? I think. I still await some kind of answer even though I know he’s not listening. The ring sits dead on my finger when he’s not wearing the matching one. I feel like a total jackass for even attempting to use the ring because I don’t want to talk to him. After what he said, I’ll be happy if I never have to see him again.
I’m not selfish.
A sniper shoots my game character and I toss the controller aside. I’m not selfish, I repeat to myself, as if saying the words enough times will make them true. I just want things to happen my way, and when they don’t … I get pissed off. Evan should understand that. He should understand and just do what I freaking tell him to do. My fingers dig into my legs. The world wouldn’t end if he’d just agree with me.
Okay, maybe I am a little selfish.
Maybe I haven’t treated him as decently as I should have. Breaking stuff never fixes the problem, although it does feel amazing to direct my anger into something without caring for the consequences. I lay back against the couch as I think about what Evan said. I replay how I’ve acted in the last week and how I probably should have acted instead. Although I have a justification for every time I was a bitch to him—I know deep down that my behavior is not that of a Hero’s.
Excuses or not, I shouldn’t have treated him that way.
I may never become a Hero. But I don’t know the answer to that now. As far as I know, I’m still under consideration by the examiners. Once this stupid lockdown is over and that witch of a woman is depowered, maybe I’ll get a reprieve from my life as a failure.
With a sigh, I turn off the Xbox. I take deliberate care to place the controller back on its charger and tuck it away safely on the shelf. Then I change into a clean white t-shirt from the pile of clothes Evan set aside for me to wear, and I brush my teeth with Evan’s extra toothbrush and I pull my hair back with a rubber band I found in the kitchen junk drawer. I do all of these things as slowly as possible, because I am in no hurry to finish.
