Invincible (12 page)

“Well, where is he now?!” Mr. Colfer says, probably speaking to someone on the phone. There was a brief pause before he continued talking again. “Well, find him! This is cannot get out! Do you understand what I’m saying?! Find him now!!”

I stop listening as we pass the door, my mind puzzled. What on earth was Mr. Colfer talking about? What kind of secret is he trying to keep? Who is this man he’s trying to find, and w
hat does he have to do with it?

We came to a stop at one of the doors on the right, and Jack opens it.

His bedroom was very classic and modern. It was vast, but not as much as the other ones from the house, with white walls and a tan ceiling. I look at his twin bed—which was perfectly made with a tan comforter, matching pillowcases, and two black dressers with two sliver lamps on each side of the bed—which was placed on the east side of the room along with a door that lead to his own bathroom.

On the north side was a wall with racks of two large cloths, and a brown wardrobe standing between them. Finally, on the west side was a tan couch and chair along with a small glass table, and a huge glass door that lead to a small balcony.

“Wow,” I gasp for the millionth time.

“You’re acting as if it's breathtaking or something,” Jac
k says flatly. “It’s not much.”

I look at him in disbelief. After seeing amazing cars, a butler, and a beautiful house, he would say something as average as that?

“It’s not much?” I repeat. “How could you say that?”

“I think we should start studying,” he snaps, ignoring my comment.

He sets his backpack on the bed, pulling out his books, and I was so stunned by his words, that there was nothing else to do but sit on the bed with him, and get to work.

During our studying, I continue to think about Jack and his now revealed selfishness. He had this amazing life going for him and he was just brushing it aside. Most people with that kind of status would be happy to show it off. But he didn’t.

Why wasn’t he even in private school?
I begin to think.
Surely a guy like him could get into anyplace he wanted. So why all the public schools and the carelessness? Why not acknowledge the fact that you’re filthy rich?

The words were already out of my mouth before they were fully conceived.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jack looks up from his textbook and stares at me, petrified by my words.

“Because I didn’t want you to know,” he says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as he returns to his book.

“That’s not good enough,” I say. “I want to know why you wouldn’t tell me.”

“Because I hate it, that’s why!” he snaps.

I thought his anger would scare me, but what really shocked
me were the words behind them.

“Why?” I
repeat.

“Because,” he sighs, “all my life I’ve been the rich kid, the scientist’s son. I’m always used because of what my dad does. By everyone I know.”

It’s not that I don’t value this lifestyle, but at the same time, I don’t want it to own me. I just want to be treated like everyone else. A normal person.” He hesitates. “That’s why I couldn’t tell you, Troy. You’re

a nice guy, and you’re my first real friend, but I did
n’t know if I could trust you.”

As the words sink into my brain, grasping Jack’s explanation of his morals, something begins to click. Something that Jack had told me long before, but was never able to comprehend until this moment.

“Does this have something to do with Rick?” I ask. “Why you guys stopped talking?”

He pauses for a moment, and then nods his head. “I thought he wanted to be my friend, but he only stuck with me because he thought it would make him popular. Once he saw what a failure that was, and he started football, he stopped caring, and I was nothing more than what he saw me as: a cashbox.”

So Jack lied. Rick treated people with respect, but not him. He was nice, but not to him. He might’ve been nice, but there was something inside of him that thirsted for popularity, for power. Something that he thought Jack might give him.

I wasn’t mad at Jack anymore. I now realize that he was only scared that I would only be friends with him because of his wealth. But he was wrong.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that, Jack,” I say. “Whether you’re rich or poor, you’re still all right with me.”

Jack smiles. “Really?”

I nod. It didn’t matter to me that Jack was rich. It didn’t make any difference. He’s still my friend, and nothing as superficial as money was going to change that.

“Yeah, of course.” I laugh. “Now, can
we please get back to studying?”

He nods, his happiness and relief radiating through
out the room. “Sure,” he says.

And from there, we continue our work, without any secrets, or tensions to stop us.

The next day during English class, the mention of my visit to Jack’s house never seemed to leave, and Jack’s reason to keep it that way seemed ridiculous to me.

“Last night, my dad wouldn’t shut up about you,” he says.

“You’re kidding,” I say, amused and disbelieved.

“No, I’m not,” he insists. “He kept rambling on about how bright you looked, and how you might be a good influence on me and things like that. It’s like he’s in love with you. If he’d have his way, he’d probably take you in himself.”

“Well, he’s too late for that,” I laugh.

Jack doesn’t laugh back, his face disheartened and frustrated.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s just that…he’s never talked about me like that before.”

It didn’t take long before I realized Jack’s problem.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No,” he says. “I’m not mad at you. I just don’t get it, you know? I mean, I’ve been trying to please my father for years, and you just do it in one day.”

I was slightly overwhelmed by what Jack was saying. I noticed the way his father acted towards him yesterday, as if he were his help rather than his own flesh and blood. I asked Jack about it during our studying, and he said it was never like that before. He always used to have an interest in him. That is until his mother died.

Was that the reason their relationship was so estranged? The reason Mr. Colfer walked away from his son and left him alone, begging for his approval?

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s fine,” Jack says. “I know you didn’t.”

After that, we didn’t talk for the rest of the day.

So it looked like I was back to being alone, with neither Jack, nor Taylor to keep me company. And it was better that way. I wouldn’t have time to hang out with them even if I wanted to. I was going to be busy tonight. Very busy. And t
hat was okay, too. I had to be.

Because t
onight, I would become a superhero.

It’s nearly one o’ clock in the morning. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Brad was asleep. He was so exhausted from work that I don’t think he’ll be getting up for the rest of the night. If he does, I stuff
ed a few things under the covers so he’d think I was sleeping. He won’t wake up right away when he sees it, so I should be good.

I get out of my pajamas, trading in my tank-top for a black low collared t-shirt, and my plaid red and blue bottoms for black denim jeans. I slide my feet into Brad’s old black leather boots, and after I break them in for a while, I walk towards the bed, and reach under it for the leather jacket.

It’s warm
, I think, rubbing my fingers against its soft, scorching texture. And I as put it on along with my gloves, it gives off an uncomfortable sensation against my skin, as if I were engulfed in flames.

I practice some punching and kicking to make sure that I’m comfortable with the attire. From what Ryan’s told me, there’s no telling what I’m going to expect tonight.

I look at myself in the mirror. Compared to the last time I saw myself, I could proudly say that I’ve achieved my goal. I looked different. I felt different. I didn’t feel like the Troy at school, the person who kept secrets, pretending to something he wasn’t. Now, I just felt like Troy, the person with no trace of his past, the person who stood up for himself, the person who would, starting tonight, try to make a difference.

I open the window and step back a few distances. My plan was to fly out the window, although I hadn’t really practiced it that much as I did

with my other powers. It seemed stupid not to make it a bigger priority, but for some reason, I thought it would just come to me naturally if I didn’t think about it so much.

It was too late to turn back now. With all the effort I’d put into this, it’d be a shame to have it all go to waste. And I’m certainly not a quitter. So I might as well pull it together, and enjoy the ride. If I didn’t make it, the best thing that I can hope for were
a minimal amount of dethatched limbs.

And before I real
ize it, I leap out the window.

Just as I’d
suspected, I was heading down.

As I screamed and waited to face my death, my mind goes back to my first experience of flight. How I gotten onto the ground when I fell off the tree. That was how I managed to sur
vive. I had to control my body.

I quickly arch my back, and in a matter of seconds, I’m flying above the house. From there, I arch again and head north
, facing the stars. My screams of fear seep into ones of joy as I swirl around, flying in the correct position, with my stomach facing the ground.

As the heavy wind presses against my face, I beam with excitement. I thought this would become a major problem all in itself, but there was actually nothing to worry about. Inste
ad of failing, I succeed.

I can fly
, I think.
I can finally fly.

Now that that was over, the real work of the night was about to begin.

I begin to use my super-hearing, and sadly, I could only hear the things that were passing by. It has become a recent problem these past few days, trying to listen to everything, and I mean, everything all at once. I stopped using my thoughts of Taylor to ease my mind, and ever since then, it hasn’t been able to

function right. Every now and then, I would get it, holding onto it for as long as I could, only for it to slip away seconds later.

But it would be different this time. I had to get this. And I had to get it right now. Maybe if I tried hard enough, I could force open the barriers of my hearing and expand it. Like a bubble, or a rubber band. That way, I could hear stuff from farther distances, instead of the ones around me.

I soar high into the sky, eliminating the chances of running into anything, then take a few deep breaths, and close my eyes, clearing as many thoughts as I could. But nothing happens; the sounds nearest to me still fill my ears.

“Come on,” I tell myself. “Budge! Budge! Why won’t you budge?!”

Frustrated, I open my eyes and calm myself, fearing that I might lose control of the hearing, and that my terrible headaches would return again.

I couldn’t get it. Why wasn’t I able to do this right? What else could I possibly do?

Try again
, I order.
You can do this.
Just think of it as a bubble, like you said.

I close my eyes once more, and take a deep breath. I clear my head of everything, and when I say everything, I mean
everything
. My mind was a complete blank, the pressure of getting this done correctly disappearing, with not even the slightest thought crossing my mind.

Suddenly, I could feel the elasticity of the bubble inside my mind. The feeling surprised me for a moment, and if I stayed distracted any longer, I would lose it. So I restrain my excitement, keepi
ng hold of my mind, and focus on the task at hand. I grab onto the bubble and expand it, clenching my teeth as slow tiny waves of pain pound through my head.