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I call his personal MOD number as I lean against the corridor wall near our house. I haven’t walked far, just far enough to ensure no one lurks around the corner to eavesdrop on me.
Jake answers after a few rings. “Hey...Jenn.” Laughter and television sounds come from his end of the phone. “What’s up?”
“I don’t know who Jenn is, but this is Hero Maci Might.”
He laughs heartily, like I had just told the mother of all hilarious jokes. “I know. Where are you?”
“I’m at home. Listen, I need to talk to you.” When he doesn’t say anything a few seconds later, I add, “It’s kind of a huge favor.”
“Pizza sounds fun,” he says over the loud roar of teenagers cheering about something. “I’ll meet you there.”
“What the-” I say, stopping when I hear him whisper something into the phone.
“I’ll message you coordinates. Be there in five.”
Jake’s message comes through as promised and a few minutes later, I’ve followed the coordinates to an abandoned KAPOW loading dock directly under Yellowstone National Park. His hair is shorter than the last time I saw him. It’s buzzed on the sides and pushed forward with watermelon scented hair gel on top. I frown when I see him. I liked the long sleek hair better, but only because that’s the part of him that makes me feel like I can trust him. In a species of mostly blonds, he also has dark hair like me.
“Hey,” he says with a half-smile. He shifts slowly from his left foot to his right foot and back while he stands, hands shoved in his pockets. “Sorry about that call. I was being sneaky.”
“I figured that much,” I say. “But you called me Jenn so I’m guessing you weren’t with a girlfriend who’d be pissed if she saw you talking to another girl.”
He laughs. “Find a girl who wants to date a dark-haired Super and I’ll give you a million dollars.”
He’s so pitiful looking with his big brown eyes and hopeless lovesick expression that it almost makes me want to hug him and tell him that things will get better. But for all I know, my comforting words could be a lie; I have no idea if it gets better. Lately, it feels like I don’t know anything at all.
“Thanks for meeting me,” I say instead of sorry no one likes you. If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re cute. “I need a big favor and I’ve been told that only a Retriever can help.”
His friendly smile disappears. “I can try, I guess.”
Without giving away too many details, I tell him I’m on a Hero mission and I need to investigate the depowering machine for clues that would help solve my mission. I don’t tell him that Heroes aren’t allowed access to the machine’s new whereabouts. Instead, I stretch the truth a teensy, tiny bit. “So since they moved it to a more secure location and everything’s been all crazy lately, they haven’t had time to update the Hero’s BEEPR databases.” I point to the BEEPR on my wrist and laugh like it’s just the silliest thing ever. “So these things are basically useless. Anyhow, I was hoping you could take me to the machine real quick so I can finish this mission.”
Jake’s lips slip under his teeth. He sighs. “Do you want the legal answer or the real one?”
“Both.”
“I don’t know how to say this...but we’ve been instructed not to personally deal with you unless another Hero is on the scene.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
He frowns and looks at the floor. “I don’t know. I think the elders don’t trust you. They said it was just a temporary measure, but no Retrievers are allowed to communicate with you.” He takes a deep breath, looking guilty as hell. “We’re also not allowed to tell you that we’re not allowed to talk to you.”
“Wow. So much for transparency.”
His hand slips out of his pocket and touches my elbow. “I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “I’m being shunned by my own people. For something I have no control over.”
“I’d help you with the depowering machine if I could, but only members of the Retriever Squad know its location.”
Just when I think things can’t get worse, I’m thrown in front of another brick wall. “Guess I need another plan. Thanks anyway, Jake.”
He nods. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I say. He starts walking in the opposite direction but I stop him. “Hey Jake? Any girl who judges you by your hair color isn’t a girl worth dating.”
He waves an apathetic hand in my direction and turns back around. “I know, I know. Thanks, Mom.”
Fifty miles into my run to South Africa, I know I’ve made the right choice to forgo the quick KAPOW ride. My legs ache with enthusiasm for running. I haven’t had a hard training session at SLAM in weeks and my body can feel it. My frequent human fighting missions help a little, but for the most part I’ve been sedentary while trying to find this machine. I flex my fingers as I run, taking deep breaths and slowly letting them out. I won’t make this mistake again. My body thrives on exercise. It clears my head, strengthens my muscles and heals over all the confusion and emotional turmoil in my heart. Maybe I’ll run everywhere from now on.
