“YOU GOOD?” SHERMAN wants to know as we leave. “You haven’t made any pointless commentary in, like, half an hour.”
She winces as soon as she says it, like she realizes just how dickish that came out. Thankfully, backhanded expressions of concern are my lingua franca. I don’t take it personally. Or rather, I can’t. I’ve burned through so many emotions this evening, I don’t have any brain chemicals left for offense.
The laser has been unloaded, forms stamped and signed. By all accounts, tonight’s mission was a success. All accounts except mine.
Hernando works for Hench. Hernando works for Hench.
“It’s nothing,” I mumble, in the direction of my feet.
“… Nothing?”
I don’t need a grilling. Not from her. “How’s the Super gene treating you?”
“Point taken.” Still, she shoots an over-the-shoulder glance at me as I mount up. “Jones? Talking about feelings isn’t my thing…”
“You’re telling me? I looked up ‘emotional constipation’ on Urban Dictionary, and they just had a picture of your face.”
“The point is, despite that…” She breaks off with a shrug. “Just. Sometimes it helps, y’know?”
I count the grooves on the roof of my mouth with my tongue. “Knew you were lying,” I say eventually.
“About what?”
“About us not being friends. You’re giving sage life advice. That’s, like, level two friendship. A couple more conversations and you’ll unlock my tragic backstory.”
“Ugh,” mutters Sherman, in that way that means she’s rolling her eyes. Our beautiful bonding moment is interrupted by the honk of the Captain’s horn. He leans out his window, tapping gloved fingers on the car door.
“You ladies want dinner or not?”
Within a few minutes, we swing into the lot of Happy Burgers (Artie’s budget carnist-friendly competitor). The Captain takes the drive-through lane. His emptied car rides higher on its wheels, as if in relief. I don’t see whether he dismisses his hologram while he orders, but it’s back in place when he returns, passing two take-out boxes through the window.
I’m not so brave. I turned my hologram off before I removed my helmet, and Sherman copied me. Costuming up at the warehouse is one thing, but we don’t need a panicked citizen telling the Super Squad that a squad of henchmen are targeting a fast-food joint.
The burger’s good. I know that objectively. The rich, meaty flavor bursts over my tongue. Doesn’t matter. I can’t taste the goddamn love.
I’m on my last bite, sucking juice from my fingertips, when my phone buzzes. I fish it out of my cleavage, waiting to swallow until I’m sure I can sink my half-chewed mouthful without choking. What if Hernando recognized me after all? What if he knows? It’s a relief to see Jav’s name on the caller ID.
“You answering that?” asks Sherman, bundling her greasy paper and lobbing it at the nearest trash can. It ricochets off the side.
“I—uh. Yeah.” I pin the phone to my ear as the Captain reminds Sherman that we’re henchmen, not littering delinquents, and sends her sulking off to dispose of all our trash properly. “Sup?”
It’s a fight to sound chill, and not just because I’m standing in a parking lot with two other criminals, having just driven away from the criminal-owned warehouse where my sister’s dad (also a criminal) works. Damn crush.
“I—I just…” I hear Jav swallow. “Sorry, it’s a lot.”
My mind snaps to hyperalert. “Was there an attack? You okay?”
“I’m fine. No attacks. Just … I’m still trying to figure this out myself, y’know?”
“Okay.” She’s not in danger. First good news I’ve had all day. “Wanna start at the beginning?”
“Actually, I’mma start from the end.” She takes a deep breath. “Riles, I quit Artie’s.”
“You what now?”
“I quit!”
“What? Why?”
Sherman returns, rubbing sticky hands on her jeans. She quirks pierced brows at my outburst. Even the Captain sneaks a peek in his wing mirror. I sink on the motorcycle seat, twisting to one side so I don’t have to look at them.
“Shit, Jav. Not because of me?” I don’t want that. I don’t. But I’d be flattered, all the same.
“No. I mean, not totally.” Another deep breath. “You know Cooper—sorry, Windwalker—beat the Ferocious Flamer last Saturday?”
That was less than a week ago? Damn. “Still can’t believe the Ferocious Flamer is the name he went for.”
“I know. Well, it got Windwalker serious attention. Boy’s moved up in the world. Passed initiation, got another star on his chest. He brought a bunch of heroes to Artie’s earlier tonight. And—well, you were the best with parties. Took two of us to handle their orders, what with how they kept changing their minds. Customers.”
“Customers,” I agree. We use the sort of voice most people use when they describe roaches. I nurse a vindictive delight that Matias found me hard to replace.
“I was serving,” Jav continued. “And … well.”
I see red. “If he touched you again…”
“No! Lay off the potato peeler.” Her sigh crackles through the speaker. “That’s the thing, Riley. He didn’t. He sat there, laughing with his friends, networking away. Even invited Brightspark, for fuck’s sake.”
“Brightspark?” Leader of the original Super Squad triad?
“Yeah! Plenty of cameras, too. Brightspark has big clout with the press—he’s backing Mayor Darcy for another term.”
Why our mayor would want to be reelected, given how many times the VC abduct her in any given month, I have no idea—but whatever. This isn’t about her.
Jav’s voice dips. “Cooper acted the perfect gentleman. A woman let him hold their baby, Riley. He was laughing, and the other heroes were taking selfies with the staff, and they were all so happy … All I could think was how fucking fake it was. How any of them could do what Cooper did to me, or worse. How no one’d do shit about it. How no one would care, so long as they got to keep believing these heroes protect our city…”
Jav’s voice strangles itself to silence. I get what she’s saying. She isn’t just mad at him. She’s mad about all of it. The us and the them. The public and our so-called protectors, who justify anything, everything, with a flash of their badge. Hero patrols are supposed to make us feel safe, but they don’t. Watching our Superpowered police force swagger around the streets just reminds us how powerless we are.
But Jav walked out on the summer job that was supposed to pay off her tuition bill from Ralbury. How does this fit into her five-point success plan?
“You quit,” I repeat.
“Uh-huh.” I picture her grin, down to the adorable bunny gap between her front teeth. “Plus, I gobbed on his burger before I carried it out to him. And when he asked for a refill, I spilled Coke all over his lap.”
My heart squeezes. “I’m so proud of you.”
“S’nothing,” says Jav, modest. She’s right. It really is nothing. Little, petty displays of dissatisfaction. But her glee is infectious, anyway. “Gave Matias my hat. Told him it was over, and if he didn’t start defending his staff, he wouldn’t have any. But since I’m down a summer job … Yours still hiring?”
We Hire Anyone.
“No!” The observatory, the waterfall of frozen steel—I only got out because I had a Super on my side. If Jav had been there …
Sherman squints. Even the Captain conveys surprise through that ever-present mask. I hunch, blocking out everything but the hush of Jav’s breath.
“Sorry, you know how it is—I got lucky. Can we catch up tomorrow? I got an early start.”
“Right, yeah. Should’ve messaged, I know, but…”
“You wanted to hear my voice, ’cause I’m irresistible. Later, babe.”
I hang up, tucking my phone back in my bra. The fear of near-discovery fizzes inside me like I’ve swallowed a soluble vitamin tablet. Jav’ll find work. I know it; she’s smart like that. It doesn’t matter what she does, where she goes—so long as she stays far away from Hench.