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Max bursts into the living room, his white blonde hair ruffled and about two haircuts overdue, an Xbox controller in his left hand. “Maci-Maci-Bo-Baci,” he says, holding his other hand out for a high five. “Villains of the world better watch their backs, because Hero Maci gives no mercy.” He drops his hand, completely unaffected when I don’t raise mine and slap it to his. “Hey, maybe they can use that in your nickname. No Mercy Maci? Sounds kinda cool.”
I don’t look away, and I don’t start crying, and I really don’t yell at him, although all three things come to mind. I just stand in the middle of the living room where I’ve been standing since I got home and found Dad reading his email. Maybe if I pretend I’m not here, everyone else will too.
“Maci wasn’t awarded Hero,” Dad says. I watch the floor. “Maci failed.”
The awkwardness is palpable. I’m paralyzed. Completely immobile in this spot in the living room that’s in front of Dad, behind the couch and to the right of my brother. The white fibers of the carpet blur together with the warm tears pooling in my eyes, making everything look white and hazy.
The worst kind of silence falls over us. It’s a silence so thick it’s actually loud. A piercing sharp void of nothingness fills our entire underground house in the canyons and I fear my head may explode, taking a chunk of the canyon with it.
The deep wail of the Hero alarm interrupts the silence, stomping it out like an old cigarette.
Wee wooo wee wooo wee wooo
Every MOD screen in the house, including Dad and Max’s BEEPRs, light up. My heart aches with the realization that a mere twenty-four hours ago, I was convinced the next Hero alarm would be for me.
But once again, just like every day of my life up until now, I get to stay here as Dad and Max dive into their rooms, tug on their Hero suits, and activate their BEEPR, accepting a mission to save humans and defeat evil. Controlled chaos fills the room as Dad steps into his boots and they close up around his legs and Max lowers his red-and-white mask over his shaggy hair.
“For King City,” Dad says, holding out a closed fist.
“For King City,” Max echoes, pressing his knuckles to Dad’s. That dorky move is
definitely not in the Hero manual—it’s just something they started doing when Max became a Hero two years ago.
Our impenetrable concrete front door slides open when Max presses his palm to the lock. A metallic car zooms up the tunnel outside our door and comes to a sudden stop. It’s the King City Accelerated Passageway to Operations Worldwide, and it’ll take him to anywhere in the world in just a few seconds. “Love you, Mace,” he calls over his shoulder before stepping into the KAPOW.
The three words he tells me every time he goes on a mission somehow mean more today. Max is withholding judgment on me until he gets all the facts. That’s my brother. An all-American freaking all-star.
Dad swooshes past me, staring at his BEEPR. A new KAPOW pod waits just outside the door, ready to transport him on a mission that, like every mission, could possibly end his life. Like Max, he turns back before slipping out the door. I open my mouth to tell him I love him too and that I’m so, so sorry. But he doesn’t say what I expect him to say.
He stares me right in the eyes. “Your mom was a Retriever.”
The bare limestone walls of my bedroom mock me as I push open the door. When I left my room this morning, I thought I would be returning home a Hero. I even made my bed for the occasion. Now I’m nothing.
I’m a failure.
Ripples of power seize through my body. I breathe in through clenched teeth and slam the door behind me. It smashes hard into the doorframe, the wood splintering at the hinges. Great. As if Dad needed another reason to be pissed at me.
As if I needed another reason to be pissed at myself. Shit, Maci, what is wrong with you? Why are you ruining everything you worked hard for?
I deserve to be a Hero. I should be a Hero. My chest heaves with my heavy breathing and my face turns hot as I relive every detail of my encounter with the examiners. Humiliation and anger flows through me.
My fist plummets into the wall, landing with a thundering echo that rumbles through the room. The polished rocky surface cracks beneath my hand as I cry out in pain. Dust and chipped bits of rock fly away, leaving a fist-shaped crater behind. Blood pours from my splintered knuckles and I wipe it on my suit. Pain radiates throughout my fingers. I wince as the bones press back together and my torn skin seals shut.
Dust settles and I glance at the wall. Whoa. Cracks stretch from floor to ceiling. My heartbeat quickens. Why did I do that?
Slumping to the floor against the transparent wall, I press my hands to the glass. My room is on an overhanging part of the canyon, displaying hundreds of feet below me as if I were floating in air. Far below, the humans ride donkeys along jagged paths, using binoculars and zoom lenses on their cameras, hoping to capture glimpses into the Super world.
When I was a little girl I would stand in my room and wave, thinking they could see me. They couldn’t, of course. They’re so far away they look like ants to me, and to them Central is just a massive wall of glass near the top of the canyons. An architectural masterpiece, for sure, but nothing more than the canyons themselves—a vast mysterious land they’ll never be able to step foot in.
Standing on those rocks amongst the humans, are dozens of kids. Human kids who adore Maci—not me, the Maci who is locked up in her bedroom rotting in a pit of depression—but Maci, President Might’s daughter. The girls dress up as me for Halloween in little pearly white spandex suits (whose crap material would do no protection in the real world); black boots, gloves, and an eye mask that ties on with elastic. They wear light brown wigs and carry trick-or-treat bags with the King City crown logo and frolic around for a night, pretending to be me.
Those kids deserve to have me as their protector. I refuse to let them down.
My MOD rings, bursting out Crimson’s ring tone before I have time to freak and hope it’s someone from Central calling to award me Hero status. My foot is closer to my nightstand than I am, and since I’m really feeling sitting on the floor in the epitome of self-pity wallowing, I kick out and knock it onto the floor.
“Answer,” I say. A hologram appears over where the phone rests on the floor. Crimson’s face hovers a few feet in front of mine. Her white-blonde hair goes down to her butt crack in cascading waves. She has dark eyes with arched eyebrows and her signature crimson lipstick. The hologram cuts off at her neckline, but I know there are two brilliant boobs hiding under her tank top. Crimson has everything I don’t have.
Including Hero status.
