On Saturday, Jess declines going to Crystal Springs with her parents to visit Claudia. Jess should be babysitting her younger brother, who also was “too busy” for a day trip, working on his project for an upcoming science fair, but Brendan is ridiculously self-sufficient. He hasn’t left his room all day.
Jess is in the basement, looking over her collection of antique DVDs, when she hears a car pull into the driveway. Panic races through her. What if her parents’ nemeses have found the house?
A door opens and shuts.
“Hey, Jess! We brought you food since you couldn’t go out.” That could only be Bells’ voice, bright and exuberant.
Jess grins and dashes up the stairs. She can see the Robledo’s cherry red car pulling forward at an impossibly slow pace. Jess laughs; Emma must be driving. She throws open the door, and Bells is waiting on the porch, holding two delicious-smelling bags and rolling his eyes.
“Princess is still parking the car,” Bells says, shaking his head. His hair is a vivid red today, shaved short on one side and long on the other. It was purple the last time Jess saw him, but this is normal; Bells thrives on constantly changing his look. The crimson locks fall in an artful fringe, framing his face; the color is vibrant against his dark skin.
Jess seizes him in a hug, and Bells exhales audibly. “Been working out, have we?” he asks with a grin.
Well, yes, but it’s not like Jess has superstrength. She knows; she’s got the numbers to prove it.
“Emma! What are you doing?” She calls to where the car is still moving.
“Parking,” Emma says, flipping her dark curls over her shoulder as she reverses once more, her hand on the steering wheel. “It’s gotta be perfect, you know?”
Jess shakes her head, takes one of the bags from Bells, and gestures inside.
Bells unzips his boots and toes them off, tossing them where the rest of the Trans’ shoes are scattered in the entryway. He follows Jess to the kitchen, where they set down the bags and watch Emma park.
Emma rearranges the car three more times before she’s satisfied and finally turns off the engine, steps out of the driver’s seat, and beams as the car locks behind her. She puts her hands on her hips, and her petite frame stands proudly in the driveway. She grins; her bright lipstick matches the car perfectly.
The sleek and shiny vehicle looks out of place among the dull cars on their modest street, especially because of the steering wheel mounted on the dashboard. The driver-operated car screams of old money and connections; it’s incredibly difficult for citizens to be approved for the privilege of driving. Even with Emma’s parents both working in prominent government positions, it took the better part of two years for her license application to get approved.
Jess also has a license, but she can’t tell anyone about it. The Smashmobile is driver-operated, and she’s qualified to drive it, but only in case of emergency. Claudia got her own driver-operated car for her eighteenth birthday, but that was a gift for being accepted into the League. Jess thought the whole thing was ridiculous: Claudia could only drive it secretly. It’s not like any of the middle-class Trans would have ever been approved for a license, let alone afford one of the coveted cars.
Still, Jess can’t really be jealous of her friend. Emma has to share her car with her older brother, and she always offers to drive all of them.
“You didn’t have to come over,” Jess says, even though she’s incredibly happy to see them. “I thought I told you to go to the movie without me.”
Emma takes off her sandals and tucks them neatly into one of the cubbyholes in the entryway shelving. Jess’ dad designated it for shoes, but he’s the only one of the Trans who remembers to put them away in their proper place. It usually only has his shoes, and Emma’s.
“No way,” Bells says.
“You ditched school yesterday,” Emma points out. “And you’ve been acting weird all week.”
Jess bites her lip. Emma’s very intuitive, but Jess can’t tell her about her superpower difficulties without revealing her family’s secret. She settles for looking at her feet. “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry…” Jess mutters.
Emma shrugs. “It’s okay, I mean, you don’t have to tell us, you know? But I didn’t want you to mope all weekend about whatever it is.”
Jess is seized by grateful appreciation and she wants to sweep Emma into a hug, but if she does that, she might burst into tears.
Emma nods, smiles, and steps into the kitchen. Bells pats Jess on the shoulder and follows Emma in. The two of them grab plates and utensils and usher Jess back downstairs. Jess is handed a plate of steaming tamales, and Bells and Emma plop down on the old, battered couches next to her and start eating and talking about the upcoming literary projects in Ms. Rhinehart’s class.
Jess can’t help but smile as the conversation surrounds her like a familiar and comforting blanket. She unwraps a tamale, inhales the delicious scent of the masa, and takes a bite. Jess nearly drops her fork when she tastes the seasoned beef. “Meat!” she says.
“Yeah! My uncle is visiting from New Bright City, and it was his birthday last weekend, so we went all out. You’re lucky I hid the leftovers in the freezer when I did,” Emma says brightly.
Jess takes her time, savoring every bite. “Your mom is the best. Tell her thank you when you get home.”
“Of course,” Emma says, elbowing Jess. “You know that also means next time you come over, she’s not going to stop feeding you.”
“I don’t have a problem with that.” Jess grins through her mouthful of tamale.
“Uh-uh,” Bells says, waving his fork. “Do you remember when we were like, ten, and I said I liked that rice milk that one time? Now Mrs. Robledo always puts it out whenever I’m over, and I can’t not drink it, even if horchata is too sweet for me.”
Jess laughs and then gets drawn into a conversation about their parents’ quirks. The afternoon might seem almost the same as it was before they arrived: no real plan, just hanging out in the basement. But instead of Jess flipping channels alone, she and Emma and Bells eat and make fun of Bells’ apt reactions to reruns of his favorite detective show.
Even though they’ve seen this particular season finale many times, Bells cries out and throws up his arms in frustration when his favorite character dies. His empty plate flips over, and pieces of corn husk and sauce fly all over the holoscreen, distorting the projection.
Emma and Jess groan in unison.
“Really,” Emma says, rolling her eyes. “Did you think it would end differently this time?”
“Shut up,” Bells says, picking up a husk and tossing it at her. He flops back onto the couch and winks a challenge.
Jess grabs Emma’s plate before they start chucking food everywhere. “C’mon, guys, it takes forever to clean this thing.” She looks at the holoscreen. There’s sauce splattered all over it and pieces of corn husk everywhere. Jess picks up what she can, but the image is still distorted. “I’ll go get a rag,” she says.
“You have a MonRobot, though,” Emma says. “Where is that thing?”
“Chả is charging,” Jess says. “I don’t think it’ll be a good idea, you know how it is with stairs—”
“Chả!” Emma calls loudly. “Please come clean this up!”
“Cancel clean order,” Jess says immediately, hoping her voice carries enough, but it’s too late; she can already hear metal clanging upstairs.
A few moments later, Chả’s oblong silver body comes tumbling down the stairs, bouncing off the steps with heavy thunks. The little lights in Chả’s display blink rapidly when it sees Emma and Bells.
Oh no, it’s going to try and impress them. No verbal commands will stop it now; nothing short of manually rebooting the MonRobot’s system or uninstalling the A.I. will stop it once it has a task in mind.
Jess slumps on the couch and watches helplessly as Emma directs Chả to the mess. The robot shakes eagerly, rolls right to the holoscreen, and starts the cleaning process. Chả’s display screen flickers orange to signal a “busy” mode, and it starts sweeping methodically, an inch at a time.
“You do realize this is gonna take an hour,” Jess says.
Bells shrugs. “You’ve got something better to do? Because this is pretty entertaining.”
Emma is directing Chả at the holoscreen. The robot is stalled, cheeping at Emma.
“Like this,” Emma says, moving in a circular motion, hips swaying.
Chả follows suit, spinning around the screen, whirring as it cleans. Bells is watching Emma; his expression seems wistful. Jess watches and smiles; it’s odd how someone who’s so animated can get so focused. Bells glances back at Jess and shifts when he notices her watching. Jess lifts an eyebrow and watches with delight as Bells starts to blush.
“You know, I think I have a lot of homework,” Jess says. “You two should go watch the movie. I’m cool here.”
Emma looks up. “What? No, we came over to hang out with you.”
“We’ll watch that movie next week,” Bells says, running a hand through his hair. No matter what he does, the overall effect is always unmistakably cool. The way he’s lying on the couch should look ridiculous: upside down, feet dangling over the back of the couch, lanky frame sprawled everywhere. But he looks as if he belongs in a fashion magazine.
“We could just… leave,” Emma says, waggling her eyebrows. “I mean, Brendan totally doesn’t need someone to babysit him; he hasn’t left his room for hours.” Brendan had actually come downstairs during an episode of The Gentleman Detective to grab a box of circuits, but he’d taken one look at Jess’ friends and squeaked, “Hi, Emma and Bells!” before dashing back up the stairs.
He is largely self-sufficient, if a bit socially awkward. Jess can’t blame him; Bells’ hair does look spectacular today.
“Yeah, but he might try and use the stove again, and last time he almost set the kitchen on fire,” Jess says. “You guys should go watch the movie. Chả is gonna take forever.”
“You know, we don’t have to use the holoscreen to watch a movie,” Emma says, glancing over to the shelf where Jess hides her DVD collection.
Bells’ eyes widen. “Jess! You still have that vision-tella thing?” He sits up, and his back goes rigid. “You know that we’re supposed to surrender any pre-Collective tech so it can be recycled!”
“I know,” Jess says. “But, um, my dad, when he was flipping this old house, found this storage locker, and I just really wanted to see if they had a sequel to that movie we watched last week.”
Several weeks ago, Shockwave had actually taken one of Master Mischief ’s caches in a successful raid and had found boxes of contraband tech and media. Victor hadn’t turned it in to the League yet, and Jess—Jess loved the stuff. She’d hidden a television and a box of DVDs a few months ago when they uncovered the first stash, and she and her friends have pored through every movie. Jess couldn't just turn in this new stash without looking through it. She put together a box of some of the tech—movies she didn’t like, electronics that didn’t work, random assorted cables, a clunky rectangular player that didn’t take the DVDs—and gave all of it to her father to turn in to the League. Jess knows the laws about pre-Collective tech are to conserve resources and she agrees that’s incredibly important, but she doesn’t see the point of banning most of the media produced before 2035. Why is Shakespeare allowed but Star Wars isn’t? The Collective banned most of Jess’ favorite films.
It was sheer luck that her parents found another cache just a few days ago. Jess hasn’t had time to go through the films, and had been hoping to watch them with her friends, but she hadn’t counted on Bells being such a stickler for the rules.
“Come on, these films from Old America aren’t that cool anyways.” Bells crosses his legs, leans back, and scrunches up his face. “Like the picture was all flat, and it’s boring, not being able to see it from whatever angle you want.”
“Really? I remember you really liking this one.” Jess presses the hidden lever under the bottom shelf, and the back panel opens to reveal her hidden compartment. She roots about and pulls out a colorful plastic case that’s decorated with Old America’s superheroes, before anyone actually had powers. The film was a lot of fun, and Jess liked the story a lot more than what passes for entertainment in the Collective. She waves the case and sees Bells’ eyes light up. “Yeah?”
Bells huffs in mock reluctance. “You know me too well.” He takes the case and reads the title and summary fondly. “Yeah, we can watch this again.”
Jess reaches back inside the compartment. “Didn’t I say I found the sequel?”
Bells’ mouth falls open, and he’s already making grabby hands. “I guess it’s all right,” he admits. “I mean, you’re going to turn all of it in after we watch it, right?”
“Right,” Jess says. “Here, help me with this.”
The television is a small, unwieldy block made of different types of plastic. The three of them pull it out from the hiding spot, and Jess pulls out the box with the DVD player and all the assorted cables. It’s been a while since they last used it, but finally it’s all set up, and they flop back on the couch. Jess leans back, and Bells slings his arm around her shoulders as Emma puts her feet up in her lap. Jess pokes at Emma’s socks, and they laugh when Bells tries to get the DVD player to accept a voice command.
“It’s not my fault this stuff is ancient,” Bells says.
Jess laughs, gets up, and, amused at the flimsy plastic, puts the colorful disc in the player. An old-fashioned menu pops up, and Jess has to use the arrows on the primitive machine to start the movie.
“It’s not that old,” Emma says. “My nana still remembers what it was like.”
“Really?” It always seemed like ancient history to Jess. In 2028, the solar flares that would ignite the events known later as the Disasters and throw the population into a time of social and economic peril and great food insecurity… any student could recite a version of the events that changed the world forever, and it always started with “in 2028.” “How old is your great-grandmother?”
“A hundred and seven,” Emma says. “She was born during the Disasters. She was old enough to remember when they formed the Collective after the war. She doesn’t really like to talk about it, though.”
“I bet. Everything must have been so chaotic,” Jess muses. “I mean, people springing up with powers for the first time?”
Emma nods. “Can you imagine making something like this today?” Bells asks. He holds up the DVD. On the case, a luridly costumed male superhero holds a swooning woman. “Captain Orion would have a fit.”
Jess laughs. “Yeah, if the Collective made movies with superheroes.” All the official entertainment is so boring. That’s one of the reasons Jess likes twenty-first century movies: people seemed to have free reign to be creative. Still, rules against fictional media about superheroes makes sense; the lives of the actual heroes provide enough interest. “I bet Captain Orion would be the one holding the swooning—”
“Ooh, Starscream?” Emma says with interest. “I heard they were on again.”
Jess shakes her head. “Nope, broke up, according to yesterday’s Gazette.” She never reads the entire newsholo, but Orion’s love life always makes headlines.
They gossip about Captain Orion’s romantic life and then get into a silly discussion about the most attractive heroes in the League. The movie is playing but they aren’t paying much attention. Jess lost track of the plot a few minutes in. She’s enjoying her time with her friends as they argue about who is hotter: Starscream or Copycat.
Emma and Bells are waving their DEDs at each other, flicking through their favorite holos. Bells’ projection of the official League holo of Copycat and Emma’s holo of Starscream keep bumping into each other, causing both holos to flicker.
“It has to be Copycat,” Bells says. “She’s got those stunning green eyes, you know?”
“Yeah, but Starscream’s jaw!” Emma says. “No, this holo isn’t a great one, no, I need a better—Jess! Help!”
Jess laughs, throwing up her hands. “I refuse to get in the middle of this. I’m a Captain Orion gal myself, but I will bring my desktop down so you can find all the pictures you want.”
Beeping as it wheels back and forth, Chả is still trying to clean the holoscreen. Shaking her head, Jess picks up the robot. She carries it up to the main floor and sets it down in the living room. “You can clean here,” Jess says. “I’ll do the holoscreen later.”
Chả cheeps in affirmation and starts vacuuming. It promptly gets stuck under the coffee table, meeping until Jess picks it up and turns it around. Chả chirps and heads down its new, clear path. Jess trudges upstairs, lingering outside Brendan’s room. She hears a few beeping noises, but that’s normal.
She grabs her desktop projector and goes downstairs, where Emma grabs it and syncs her own DED to it, to look up photos of Starscream. She gets distracted checking her notifications and then she gasps.
“Oh my God, there’s a new superhero over in Devonport.”
Jess looks over her shoulder at the projection. Emma waves at the air, closing all her open windows: various messages, homework documents, and photos of Starscream and Lilliputian. She enlarges the newsfeed holo from the official Heroes’ League of Heroes. “Oh, wow! He’s our age. The bio says sixteen.”
Emma pokes Bells in the shoulder, but he just shrugs and gets up to manually turn up the television’s volume.
Emma faces the holo toward them, grinning as she waves her hand to play a featured clip from a news segment.
“And what do we call you?” On the holo, Wilton Lysander, the most popular newscaster of all the latest superhero news, stands in downtown Devonport in front of its iconic fountain. With a broad smile, he holds his microphone out to the brightly clad hero next to him.
“I’m Chameleon!” Like most meta-humans in the public eye, Chameleon wears a mask; it matches his brightly colored rainbow-hued bodysuit and sits high on his face. A shock of dark hair spills over the forehead. The tight outfit shows off his broad shoulders and tapered waist, and Emma sighs and reaches out to trace the air around the projection.
Chameleon stands with a hand on his hip and points to the reporter. Then, in the blink of an eye, Chameleon turns into a duplicate copy of Lysander, from his coiffed blonde hair to his navy suit, complete with the matching pocket square.
“Amazing!” Lysander gasps. He turns to the camera and winks, gesturing theatrically. “Welcome, Chameleon, the newest and youngest member of the Heroes’ League of Heroes!”
Chameleon hands the pocket square to Lysander, who compares it to his own. The camera zooms in on the pocket squares; they match. Lysander is examining them when the second pocket square disappears. The cameras pan back to Chameleon, who is back to his own look. He winks at the camera.
Emma stops the holo. Leaning back on the couch, she grabs a pillow, clutches it to her chest, and squeals, “Isn’t he cute?”
“Can’t see half his face,” Jess says. “No idea.” She turns to Bells for his opinion, but Bells is staring at the television. “Bells? What do you think?”
“Like you said, we can’t see half his face. I can’t tell if he’s cute or not,” Bells says in a monotone.
“But it’s an incredible power,” Emma says. “I’ve never seen anything like that. Do you think he’s A-class? I mean, he’s working with the League already.”
“Well, they do like to introduce their younger members before they start on their own,” Jess says. “Remember Powerstorm? She was like, fifteen when she first started.”
Jess remembers it well; it was her sister’s introduction as a new superhero. For a time, Claudia had tailed along after the League and they had helped get her name out as she handled minor search and rescues and a few reconnaissance missions on the Villain’s Guild. Jess is pretty sure she was mostly fetching coffee for the members of the League, but Claudia played it up as a huge educational experience. Claudia was still in her training program when the League started introducing her to the public, but they always hand-pick the most promising to join the League. “He’s probably still in Meta-Human Training,” Jess says thoughtfully. “And if he’s a teenager, he probably hasn’t had a lot of time to practice control.”
“Well, the League doesn’t accept just anybody,” Emma says. “Bells, come on, back me up. Isn’t Chameleon amazing?”
“Do you seriously like him just because he has powers?” Bells blurts out, his voice sharp with annoyance.
“What?” Emma frowns. “No, I just think he’s cute and really cool, you know.”
“Like Jess said, you can’t see his face,” Bells points out. “So all you know about him is what’s listed on the League’s holo and this video. Kinda soon for a crush, don’t you think?”
Emma huffs. “How is this different than what we’ve talked about with any of the other heroes we find attractive?”
Bells gets up and grabs his backpack. “Whatever. I just realized I have to finish my history essay. I’ll see you in school.”
“Do you need a ride?” Emma calls, but he’s already at the top of the stairs.
The basement door shuts with a thud, and they can hear Bells’ footsteps echo through the house and then the front door open and close.
“I guess he’s walking.” Jess bites her lip; it’s not that far to the nearest bus stop.
Emma’s mouth is still open, and she’s frozen, staring up the stairs. She shakes herself. Her eyebrows knit and she turns to Jess. “What was that about?”
Jess and Emma finish the movie, but the mood has changed. Emma keeps biting her lip and looking toward the stairs.
“I’m gonna go see if he’s okay,” Emma says. “I feel like I should apologize, but I’m not really sure what for. Like how is me finding Chameleon cute different than Starscream or Copycat?”
Jess brushes through her hair as she thinks. She ties her hair in a ponytail as Emma watches her. Great, Emma knows all her tells; she probably thinks Jess knows something.
Jess has suspected for a while that Bells has feelings for Emma, who crushes on a new person almost every week. Her focus is intense but fleeting, and she always wants to talk about them. It’s only lately that Jess has noticed that Bells gets a withdrawn, resigned look whenever Emma talks about a crush, except a crush on celebrities or superheroes. Maybe Bells doesn’t care about Starscream and Copycat because they are older and unattainable, but he’s upset because Chameleon is their age?
“Maybe you guys should just hang out and talk about it,” Jess suggests.
Emma nods. “That’s a good idea. See you around, Jess.”
Jess cleans up in the living room and heads upstairs to charge her phone. She runs into Brendan at the top of the stairs.
“Mom and Dad are doing hero-stuff with Clauds,” Brendan says. A pair of goggles dangles around his neck, and he smells like burnt rubber. Jess isn’t sure she wants to know about the scuff marks on his face. “Mom said we can order food.”
“Cool, you want pizza?”
“Oooh, can you pick up a mushroom and cheese from Lenny’s? And also I need a few more parts from the hardware shop.” Brendan hands Jess a list.
Jess scowls. “I’m not running your errands for you, and we can just order delivery from Pizza Joe’s. Lenny’s doesn’t deliver, and I’m not supposed to leave you here alone.”
“I’m thirteen, not three. Look, I know they left the Smashmobile at home and I won’t tell them you took it out. You know, if you wanted to drive it instead of taking the minivan.”
Jess narrows her eyes, but the temptation of driving the sports car is too much. Besides, she can park in an alley across the street from Lenny’s. No one would notice her getting in and out of the car.
And she could get Thai tea from the shop next door.
“Fine,” Jess says, and strides to her parents’ office. When she finds the drawer with the Smashmobile keycard, a thrill of exhilaration runs through her. She grabs her backpack.
The modified sports car drives like a dream. Her mom’s logo is painted on the side, and inside there’s a complicated dashboard with a communication relay to League headquarters. Grinning, Jess runs her fingers over the console. She takes the car for a spin around the block, and then on a whim zips out of the suburbs. She laughs as the wind catches in her hair as she drives down the highway past the gleaming solar fields.
The desert landscape opens out in front of her; but she doesn’t want to risk running the car out of charge or worse, having someone mistake her for her mother and ask for help with hero stuff.
Jess zips around the outskirts of Andover, taking twenty minutes to herself. She imagines she’s flying. It’s thrilling, and then it’s too easy to remember she’s just driving a car. There’s nothing special about that, even if she’s controlling the vehicle instead of the computer.
She turns back into town and drives to the hardware shop to get Brendan his things. At least he knows what he wants, knows what he’s doing in his life, and he’s only thirteen. He doesn’t have any powers and it doesn’t bother him.
Then again, he’s also a super-genius.
* * *
Jess is grateful when Monday rolls around; she’s impatient to hear back from Monroe Industries, and Bells and Emma were both busy on Sunday. Being around both her parents is exhausting. She always feels like a disappointment, even if they don’t say anything about her lack of powers.
And they’re around a lot more now ever since the Mischiefs went missing.
The resident villains of Andover, Master and Mistress Mischief, have been her parents’ archenemies as long as Jess can remember. They’ve had countless confrontations over the years, all of them well-documented in the Andover Gazette, the local news holo.
The Mischiefs haven’t been around the past few weeks—no ridiculous electronic shenanigans, nothing flying through the air, no chaos whatsoever. It’s been strange, and while the rumors are that Smasher and Shockwave caught them and sent them to Meta-Human Corrections at last, Jess knows better.
Her parents have no idea where the villains are.
Even the usual sort of hero-work has declined since Chameleon was introduced, and with the lack of pranks from the Mischiefs, there’s been woefully little for Jess’ parents to do. Her father in particular has been using his extra time at home to focus uncomfortably on Jess’ future.
At least there were only a few awkward conversations over the weekend. Jess can’t say she’s looked forward to a lot of Mondays, but this is definitely one of them. She hopes, whatever the Mischiefs are up to, that things get back to normal soon.
School is routine, as always. In her classes, Jess takes notes idly and drifts off into daydreams. She’s fairly forgettable as a student. Freshman year she was known simply as “Claudia’s sister.” Her teachers were all excited at first, exclaiming different versions of “Claudia was so spectacular; I’m so excited to have you in my class!” But Jess fell short of all their glowing expectations.
Jess hunches down in her usual seat in the back of the classroom. The other kids greet each other as if they haven’t seen each other in ages. Elizabeth Phang sweeps her friend Denise Ho into a hug, and more friends swarm the two girls. The group talks eagerly before the bell rings for third period. Jess snorts; Elizabeth and Denise just saw each other during first period. But it’s not as though when lunchtime comes around Jess won’t be doing the same with her own friends.
Unfortunately, Emma and Bells aren’t in most of her classes. Now, they’re in AP World History, while Jess is in regular.
The bell rings, and the class comes to order; Mr. Liu starts by asking questions from the reading last night. Even though she knows the answers, Jess doesn’t bother raising her hand.
She’s given up trying to stand out. People tend to forget her and remember the Elizabeths and Denises of the world, that combination of confident, smart and pretty that always draws people in.
Jess is certain she’s none of these things. She could probably pass for cute if she tried hard enough, and smart, well, she works hard for her grades. She’s working on developing confidence, but it’s a constant effort. The only time she’s come close to being “known” was when she accidentally came out as bisexual during sophomore English class while talking about her favorite poem.
That’s old news now. No one really cares, but it was exciting at the time. Jess had a few overwhelming weeks of curious looks and some intrusive questions from over-curious students until Emma and Bells put an end to it.
The bell rings, and Jess shuffles off to her next class, only to be accosted by Darryl Flemings, Andover Heights’ most out-and-proud student. He smiles with teeth dazzling white enough to rival an Eversparkle holo. Darryl’s brown hair is slicked back with a copious amount of gel. He waves at her in greeting; his DED display is on, projecting distorted images and messages everywhere, and Jess can read a half-finished AHHS Club Event proposal flickering in the air. She doesn’t say anything, even though it’s incredibly impolite to leave your personal display on when you’re not using it.
Darryl’s nice enough, but he’s also incredibly intense, especially about the Rainbow Allies club. It’s not a terrible idea for an organization; the twenty-second century isn’t perfect, after all. Jess attended a few meetings freshman year but found, like most of the clubs on campus, it’s more a social organization than a service one. She doesn’t feel too bad about it; a lot of students identify but don’t participate in the club.
“Heyyy, Jess,” Darryl says, smiling at her.
Jess looks at the floor. “Hey, I’m on my way to class.”
“So, did you hear we’re raising money for—”
Jess pushes past him. “I’m not in Rainbow Allies.”
“I know, I know! It’s just that, you know, you’re always welcome, you know, and I know you’re part of the community—”
“Get to the point.”
Jess makes a quick turn around a corner. Darryl, to his credit, manages to keep up with her.
“We just need more volunteers to help us meet our fundraising goal for the quarter—”
“You’re fundraising for new T-shirts,” Jess says. “You guys don’t really do anything other than hang out together at lunch and occasionally wear the matching T-shirts.”
“Oh, c’mon, we totally petitioned the school board about—”
“It’s a ‘no,’ Darryl; I’ll see you around.” Jess steps into her English class. She frowns, hearing Darryl curse to himself before the door shuts.
The room is peaceful; lining the wall are familiar colorful posters about books she’d loved discussing or projects she had fun working on. This is an AP class, and it’s her only one. She loves Ms. Rhinehart, an eccentric woman who favors circular seating patterns and has no problem when students curse in class or even eat snacks. Ms. Rhinehart makes up for leniency with frequent written quizzes, challenging projects, and interesting reading assignments.
The door opens again, and Darryl follows her into the room. Ms. Rhinehart is the advisor for Rainbow Allies, but she’s got a laid-back attitude in contrast to Darryl’s gung-ho persistence, and raises her eyebrow as Darryl keeps talking about the fundraiser.
“Darryl, you’re not in this period,” Ms. Rhinehart says.
“I know, I just wanted to see if Jess wanted to help with—”
She places a firm hand on Darryl’s shoulder and points him toward the door. “Bell’s about to ring.”
Darryl casts Jess a frustrated look before he leaves, not before saying something sharply under his breath that Jess hears with a cold pang of hurt.
“Sorry about that,” Ms. Rhinehart says. “He gets a little carried away with his president duties; for some reason he thinks trying to raise money is the same thing as annoying people into helping him, even if they might not be interested.”
“I’m not a traitor to the cause,” Jess says softly.
“Did he call you that?” Ms. Rhinehart clicks her tongue. “I’m going to have words with him after school.”
Jess sits down and, with a sigh, pulls up the holobooks for class on her DED. The class starts with ten minutes of quick writing in their journals, and then moves on to a discussion of The Wasteland. Jess eagerly starts planning the visual project for their current assignment.
Lunchtime is much more fun, and she waves brightly to her friends in the cafeteria as they join the throngs of students lining up for food. MonRobots are distributing the lunches in an efficient fashion, ladling out government-issue vegetable chili with sides of tater tots and wilted salad greens. Andover Heights isn’t a particularly rich neighborhood, but a few students scattered throughout the cafeteria have brought their own lunch. Jess can smell the rich aroma of roasted chicken wafting from a nearby table.
She thinks about one of the twenty-first century movies she saw last week, where hamburgers were served at a typical high school lunch, and wonders what that must have been like. Not just the availability of meat, either, but the abundance and diversity of fresh fruits and vegetables. Ever since the Disasters, it’s been a struggle to grow enough food to feed everyone. Now everyone makes do with what can be grown from the little fertile land left.
The Nevada region is fairly lucky; they’re close enough to a huge swath of unaffected farmland from the California region, but most of the best quality produce is still sold to the highest bidder.
It’s always guesswork, which line has the most palatable food. Most of the produce sold to AHHS is just about to spoil, and the food usually borders on inedible. But it’s hard to ruin a simple potato, and Jess is fond of all its forms, particularly tater tots. They’re consistently good here, and by good Jess means not terrible.
Emma makes a beeline for the shortest line, but Jess redirects them to a slightly longer line to the right and is pleased when this particular line yields a fresh batch of tater tots.
They grab their lunches and find their usual spot outside. Students mill about, talking and laughing, and the orange-red of the landscape shimmers in the desert heat beyond the city. Jess steals Bells’ portion of tater tots and leaves her chili on his tray. She picks at her food as Emma talks about her morning.
Emma’s crushing on a different guy this week, having abandoned her previous idea that Carter on the basketball team is the most adorable person to ever exist. Today she thinks Jimmy from chemistry is the one for her. Bells listens while sketching a picture of a dragon and tosses his hair casually out of his face. It’s blue today, with dark purple streaks.
“The red not work out for you?” Jess asks.
“Too loud,” Bells says.
Emma laughs. “I didn’t know you understood what that meant.”
“Just liked the idea of two colors and wanted to try it,” Bells says. “Jimmy has streaks in his hair.”
“Yeah, so?” Emma says.
Jess shakes a container at them. “Who wants the rest of my tater tots?”
By the time school ends, a light drizzle is falling wearily. Bells and Emma get on the bus to their neighborhood; Jess boards her bus. It’s crowded, and Jess has to sit on a “seat” that already has two students on it; she’s mostly hovering in the aisle. The bus smells of damp hair and wet clothing, and a rhythmic rat a tat tat pings on the metal roof of the bus.
The route goes through Old Town Andover, a colorful area with signs in many languages. Even in the rain, a bunch of people mill around on the sidewalk. Jess catches sight of her favorite sandwich shop, and her stomach makes the decision for her; she follows the students getting off. She can always take the city bus home later.
Old Town is dominated by businesses run by immigrants. Nha Trang Bánh Mì is no exception. Jess has heard plenty of stories about the scenic coastal city in Vietnam for which it was named. Her dad was born there and has many fond memories of it. It's far from idyllic nowadays, especially with the recent conflict over joining the Southeast Asian Alliance. And this little sandwich shop isn’t the only nostalgic business; plenty of stores in the area are named for cities in countries to which there’s no way back, countries that are wasteland now.
Clutching the strap of her backpack, Jess waits in line. The bánh mì shop is crowded, and she can pick out snippets of Vietnamese here and there, phrases that she can recognize, mostly, and conversational bits and ends about people picking out snacks and chatting about their days. It’s a familiar cacophony of women behind the counter shouting out order numbers and menu items, scanning receipts quickly, handing out fragrant bags full of food.
Behind her, the in-restaurant patrons read newsholos and sip slow-brewed coffee; elderly men argue vehemently in Vietnamese. Amused, Jess watches as one man her grandfather’s age exclaims loudly while the other sighs in exasperation.
A woman steps in front of her and orders in Chinese—two specials, pickled vegetables on the side.
Jess gives the woman a cross look; she was here first, but to argue would be pointless.
“Also how much is this?” the woman asks, holding up a wrapped container of roast chicken and broken rice.
“Thirty credits,” the cashier responds in Chinese.
The woman scowls, cursing softly. Jess winces; didn’t she see the same entree last week priced at twenty?
The cashier shrugs and jerks a shoulder to the sign behind her that reads: ALL MEAT ITEMS ARE SUBJECT TO MARKET PRICE. “Do you want it?”
The woman makes a remark under her breath about the freshness of the entree and sets it down.
Finally it’s Jess’ turn. She smiles at the woman behind the cash register and gets an inpatient look and a jerk of the head.
“Hai nam đặc biệt,” Jess says.
“What?” the woman says in English.
Jess flushes, then says, “Two number ones, please.”
“You want everything inside?” The woman frowns, pointing at the picture of the sandwich on the menu behind them.
Jess knows the cashier is about to explain that the sandwich comes with pickled vegetables and raw jalapeños. “Yes, I know. All the extra vegetables and the peppers, please.”
The woman nods; the explanation is complete. Jess noticed she hadn’t asked anyone else to confirm their order.
The cash register dings, and then at the last moment Jess adds, “And a Thai iced tea.”
The cashier sighs but restarts the order, adding her tea and then ringing it up. “Five credits.”
Jess waves her DED at the scanner and then flops down at an empty table to wait for her order. She tugs self-consciously at her sweater, stares at the table, and listens to the other customers order their food. It’s a mix of Chinese and Vietnamese, and Jess can also pick out a few words of Malay and Thai. Everyone is ordering in their own language. Jess mouths her order to herself, taking note of how noticeably different the words sound when she says them.
It’s not that her pronunciation is terrible; it just that she should have known it was easier not to try in the first place. It’s as if they just look at her and know. Or assume that she doesn’t know, because of her age, which is mostly right, because Jess can count how many Vietnamese words she can say that aren’t food items.
But it’s her favorite sandwich, and her favorite tea drink, and it’s cheap and filling and the perfect afternoon snack.
Jess loves this area of Andover; the old neighborhood is a bit run down, but it’s part of what makes Andover wonderful and not just another a medium-sized town in the region that was once known as Nevada. Andover is a haven amidst this vast desert, far enough inland that tidal waves and earthquakes aren’t an issue. The city attracted many people fleeing first the uninhabitable nuclear meltdown sites immediately after the Disasters and then the epic third world war—the grand battle over resources.
It’s been about a hundred years since the war ended, but the world is still recovering, slowly. New countries and alliances were formed, and people are stronger than before. In the face of dwindling resources and lost farmland, innovative minds and new technology made survival possible.
Unlike Emma, Jess doesn’t have surviving relatives who lived through World War III, but her grandparents on both sides grew up while the Southeast Asian Alliance was still being formed. Unlike the original United States, Mexico, and Canada, which took only a few years to come together as a single Collective, the many small countries in Southeast Asia, still smarting from WWIII, didn’t reach a united front until 2108.
The conflict was long and bloody, and Jess’ parents were among many refugees. Although Vietnam and China no longer exist as they remember them, Jess’ parents try their best to pass on the language and customs of their forebears. Jess tries her best, but she wasn’t raised speaking the language; her parents only spoke English with her because they didn’t want her to have an accent.
The solar flares started a horrific chain of events—a number of disasters and the ensuing war—but it also awoke something strange and new, a latent gene that catalyzed a number of fantastic abilities in some people. The heroes who came after the flare and helped people survive became idols.
Jess opens her backpack and thumbs lovingly through her newest comic book, grinning at the unbroken spine, the glossy cover. She had splurged last week and ordered the newest edition of Captain Orion, and it just arrived in the mail. She’s been saving it to open and read this week, one page at a time so she can digest the newest story slowly.
Her friends always tease her for buying the print comics and not just the holos. Emma says that it’s just art celebrating the most recent and epic battles of the greatest superhero in the North American Collective, but Jess loves the comics even if she already knows all the stories. It’s completely different from seeing the events unfold on the news.
Jess takes out her journal, decorated with a blue sky and a few fluffy clouds; “Dream big,” in script in an inspirational font floats across the dream sky.
It’s old-school to write by hand, but Jess likes the way the words blossom under her fingertips. It’s not as if she’s ever going to type it up and send it anywhere. These scribblings and imaginings are for no one else.
Jess opens the journal to the last blank page and scrunches her nose. She left her character Xyra in a rather unfortunate predicament. An idea comes to mind, and Jess grabs a pen from the backpack pocket and starts to write, lost in the scene.
“Take that, and that,” Jess mutters to herself as her main character fights off a herd of bad guys.
“Number twenty-four!”
The crowded little sandwich shop has disappeared. Jess is in a forbidding forest filled with looming trees—and a little bit of sunlight, Jess decides, because it would make for dramatic lighting. Xyra does a spinning kick, sending another guy into unconsciousness, and Jess makes a note that she will probably have to name all these evil henchmen later. Some sort of army. Does the villain have a name yet?
The forest is foreboding, and then there are reinforcements, and all is lost except when a new warrior joins the fray, a stunning beauty with red curls and—
“You. Number twenty-four,” says a curt voice, and Jess is startled right out of the story.
Her sandwiches and tea are set on her table, and the worker mutters “Con nhỏ này,” before she goes back to the counter where responsible customers pick up their orders from the correct place.
Jess bites her lip. She does know that phrase; she’s heard it enough. That girl. It’s not really derogatory, but the only times she’s heard it was when her parents were talking to each other in annoyed, hushed whispers. They didn’t use her name, but she knew they were talking about her anyway.
She glances at the other people in the restaurant. Are they looking down on her, too? Looking down on her for not being fluent, not following procedure, not living up to her heritage, any of it. Jess often feels as if she's not Chinese enough in certain situations and not Vietnamese enough in others. It’s awkward when you're not quite one but not quite the other.
Jess sighs. She takes one sandwich out to eat now and stuffs the other in her backpack. She unwraps the sandwich and takes a bite. The juxtaposition of the crisp baguette and the thin slices of chả lụa chay is perfect with the pickled vegetables and jalapeños. There are few soy proteins that Jess genuinely enjoys, and the way the imitation chả lụa is seasoned, Jess really can’t tell it from the meat version. The Thai tea is sweet and refreshing, and she enjoys her meal for a bit before going back to writing.
Jess only looks up when she has to stop and un-smudge some of the ink on her left palm and hears a familiar voice.
“Oh gosh, why did you pick this place? It’s so fobby! My mom eats here!”
Elizabeth Phang and what looks like the rest of the AHHS volleyball team come into the shop, and no, no, please no—
A flash of reddish-gold hair.
Yup, it’s the entire volleyball team, which means Abby Jones, captain of said team, is also with this group, and they’re all going to see Jess sitting in the corner eating her sandwich with crumbs all over her face like an absolute nerd. Jess shrinks into herself and pulls her hood over her head.
Why are they here? Didn’t Elizabeth declare this place incredibly uncool ever since Jess tried to bring up the idea of selling the Vietnamese sandwiches as the AHHS Honor Society fundraiser at the fall harvest festival? (Elizabeth’s idea to sell cheesecake from the Pie Factory downtown was voted into the plan.)
Denise Ho, who Jess doesn’t quite mind so much, walks in after Elizabeth and laughs at her comment. “Well, yeah, but that’s the point! Team dinner means we try something new! And you know you wanna give them something authentic and awesome.”
Elizabeth grumbles, and Jess tries to finish her bite. Jess would leave, but it’s raining a lot harder now, and even though the bus stop is right outside, the next one won’t be here for another forty minutes.
Jess just hopes that her sweatshirt is inconspicuous enough. She doesn’t care if Elizabeth or Denise see her; she’s used to teasing from them.
The three of them actually used to be pretty good friends. The Asian community in Andover is close-knit, and their parents had sent them all to the same Chinese school. Although Jess could speak Cantonese well enough, she’d struggled with Mandarin and Vietnamese, especially the written forms. As there wasn’t a Vietnamese language school in Andover, her parents had settled on sending her off to Sacred Heart Chinese Language Academy every Saturday.
The school, with students of all ages, from grade school kids still learning their buh-pu-muh-fuhs to older students taking more advanced classes, was not without its cliques.
Jess, Elizabeth, and Denise were the only three girls in her grade level. The other students, mostly children of more-recent immigrants, had formed close friendships already at their Chinese language pre-school. Jess felt an immediate bond with Elizabeth and Denise. The trio goofed off during classes. After all, they weren’t being graded; they went every Saturday to stay out of their parents’ hair and learn a bit about the language and the culture.
Jess only went to the language school until seventh grade. She struggled at remembering the hundreds of different characters. It wasn’t as if her parents knew the written forms either, and as long as she could talk to them, she felt okay. She’d only kept going as long as she did because she liked hanging out with Elizabeth and Denise. Elizabeth liked making fun of the other students’ accents in English, at their fashion choices, at how they were clearly “fresh off the boat.” And that criticism didn’t stop with the other students, or fobs, as Elizabeth was quick to call them, but Elizabeth was critical of Jess’ everything, from her hair to the clothes she was wearing.
Jess was uncomfortable with that, and then one time her mom had been picking her up from the Chinese school with a younger Brendan in the back seat. Brendan was quite precocious but he didn’t care much for fashion; he was wearing three different hats from the colleges that were courting him. Elizabeth was waiting with Jess in the parking lot, and as soon as she spotted Brendan, she started laughing her ass off.
“Look at that kid. Gosh, he looks like such a nerd. What’s up with all those hats?”
“He is a nerd,” Jess said hotly, “But he’s also my little brother. And he’s amazingly smart and applying to colleges already.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. Sorry.” Elizabeth’s tone signified that she wasn’t really sorry that she’d insulted Jess’ little brother, and she went on to criticize someone else.
Jess didn’t want to go back to the school after that, and then middle school had started, and it seemed Elizabeth and, by default, Denise hadn’t wanted to spend time with her anyway. She spent a few lonely lunches by herself, but then she met Bells and Emma and never missed Elizabeth and Denise. Those two went on to join the volleyball team and tried to make the best of their high school career, and Jess, living in Claudia’s shadow, gave up participating in anything.
The varsity volleyball team is rowdy, still in their uniforms, and, yup, there’s Mrs. Delgado bringing up the rear. They must have just won a game and gone out to celebrate.
Jess chances a peek and sighs.
Abby is wearing her hair in a high ponytail, and a few errant curls are escaping from it, gently wafting on the nape of her neck. She smiles at one of her teammates and nods at what the other girl is saying, and then gets distracted by the menu on the wall. While the other girls are wrapped up in conversation, Abby looks around the restaurant, and her eyes light up when she sees the colorful stacked display of pastries and the Vietnamese desserts. She scans the room, and then locks gazes with Jess.
Jess freezes. She’s not invisible, but she should just be a faceless maroon lump in a school sweater. It’s the sweater; Abby is smiling—smiling!—at her because she recognized the dancing horse, the Mustang’s mascot on the sweater, and it’s because Abby is nice and school spirit or solidarity—
Oh good, she’s not looking anymore.
It’s not as if she would have recognized Jess anyway.
Jess hastily wraps the rest of her sandwich, stuffs it in her bag, takes another slurp of tea, and dashes out to wait for the bus in the rain.