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For now, at least.
“What’s up, hooker?” Crimson leans toward me, pulling down her eyelid with her middle finger as she applies eyeliner. She must be calling me from her wall screen where she can see her own reflection in the glass. It’s efficient, I guess, although distracting.
“Er … nothing,” I say. And it’s true in a way.
“Have you seen your Hero suit design yet?”
I shake my head. Crimson’s Hero suit is, of course, a dark red, skintight masterpiece that shines like vinyl but is actually a praseodymium composite with Kevlar accents for durability. It cinches tight at the waist and laces in a corset up the back. The front plunges into a heart-shaped neckline that displays her greatest assets.
I haven’t put a ton of thought into my Hero suit but I hope I can capture villains without mesmerizing them with my breasts first.
She switches to the other eye. “Just calling to tell you that Ian finally got the balls and asked me out, so I have a date tonight. I’m hoping we can push back your birthday celebration until tomorrow?”
“Sure, no problem.” She doesn’t need to know that with all the crap I’ve been through today, I completely forgot we were supposed to have dinner. Oh, and that it’s my birthday.
“Awesome. Ian and Max should be back within the hour. They had to stop some high school gang thing—well you already know,” she laughs, placing the cap back on her eyeliner and reaching for mascara.
“I do?” I ask like a total dumbass, before I remember to keep my mouth shut on the whole I’m not quite a Hero yet thing. Luckily she’s focusing more on her own reflection than on the red pooling in my cheeks.
“You have a BEEPR now, right? You can see the missions without my help anymore.”
“I … er …” I mumble, knowing the only good lie is one you tell a villain. But a teensy lie right now won’t hurt anything. I hold up my empty wrist. “They’re uh, still working on mine. Some kind of delay.”
“Delay? Mine was ready when I signed my Hero contract.” She caps her mascara and fluffs her hair by shaking her head back and forth. “I guess crime rates were up when I became Hero. They needed me immediately, ya know?”
“Yeah.” My back straightens as my teensy lie branches off on an equally small tangent. “They said I have to wait about seven days so they can get my BEEPR and … paperwork ready.”
Crimson cocks an eyebrow. “I don’t believe that shit.”
I dry my palms on my pants, grateful she’s not in the room with me where she’d be able to hear my rapid heartbeat. “You don’t?” I ask, weighing my options—do I stick with my lie or admit I’m a failure?
“They’re obviously just trolling you because of the whole dead twin thing. The examiners are so old fashioned. They need to get with the program.”
“Right,” I say, relief replacing my dread.
“You’re not evil, Mace.” She rests her hands on either side of her screen. “Date time! Love you.” She kisses the air and hangs up.
Yep. That’s my best friend.
The doorbell plucks me out of my Hero daydreams and back into the real world, where, uh no one ever rings the doorbell. Scrambling to my feet, I head to the living room where there are no new messages on the MOD. My fingertips press to the door, but then I hesitate. Supers don’t just show up unannounced. We’re not like the humans who have Girl Scout cookies or door-to-door salesmen. Although I’d give my right arm for a box or two of Thin Mints right now. Thin Mints always take the pain away.
Maybe it’s a Super child who took a walk instead of the KAPOW and got lost in the tunnels. Or, even better for my master plan of convincing the examiners that I’m good, it could be someone badly injured who needs my help. Shaking away my momentary caution, I press my hand to the door and it slides open.
A tall thin Super in a navy blue bodysuit tilts his head. I can’t see his face under the shiny fabric but it’s almost as if he’s smiling. “Maci Might?”
My fingers tighten on the doorframe. Not many Supers wear their facemasks in Central. That’s more of an outside world thing. No worries—I’ll rip this door out of the wall and slam him into next week if I need to. “Who’s asking?”
“Yep,” he says, grabbing my hands and flipping me over his shoulder in one lightning-fast move. “It’s you.”
“Tell me where the hell we’re going.” I sit rigid across from the mystery man in the KAPOW. This pod is a personal one and it reeks of old pizza. My thighs hurt from straining to keep my knees from touching his in this cramped, one-person pod.
We’ve been riding for ten minutes since he so very rudely captured me and threw me in this pigsty, despite my wailing on his skull with my fist and random kicks to the area just around his groin. I was too short to actually kick him in the groin.
With each fleeting second of the KAPOW zooming three hundred miles an hour, I lose the flicker of hope that maybe this is some intern at Central come to take me to the examiners where they will tell me they’ve made a terrible mistake and are awarding me Hero status ASAP. Central is thirty seconds away from my house. I haven’t been more than ten minutes out of Central in years.
And now we’re rounding on the eleventh minute.
“I know you’re capable of speech, you know.” I lean to the right where the Not Intern is watching the blurry nothingness out the window. “I’d like to know where I’m being taken.”
