Sidekicked (24 page)

“I think so.”

“That must have been hard for you,” he says.

“You have no idea.”

“Yeah. I think I do.”

Gavin pulls me over to the bench by the bus stop, and we sit down. I put my head in my hands, and he leans back and winces a little with each breath. Whether it's the old wound or a new one, I can't tell. “You should get yourself checked out,” I say.

“It's not serious,” he answers. He tries to fasten the coat, but it won't close far enough and he manages to pop a button, then just lets it go.

“And you're sure you're okay?” I ask again, looking over my shoulder.

Gavin nods. “Listen, Drew. I want you to know, I had no idea how tonight was going to turn out.”

“You mean the Suits?”

“I mean you,” he says. “I had my suspicions about the Suits.”

Maybe Gavin's not as dim as I wanted him to be. I think about Jenna inviting both of us. So that she could keep an eye on us. So that we could keep an eye on her. She knew, too.

“You think it was a setup?”

“The mayor makes good bait,” Gavin says. “Probably even better than a sidekick. Hard to resist.”

“Like zombies at a brain-eating contest.”

I think about the looks on the Jacks' faces when the Fox burst through the window. They hadn't been expecting it, at least. Or maybe they had, and they thought they could take her—the three of them together.

And maybe they could have if we hadn't been there.

Maybe, in some messed-up, backward, upside-down way of looking at it, we just saved the mayor
and
the Fox.

“If it was a trap, it was only half sprung,” Gavin says. “Two Suits managed to escape back through the roof. The Fox only caught one.”

“Clubs?” I ask, hoping she made that that malicious little baton-throwing worm squirm.

“Diamonds,” Gavin answers, then points at the headlights of the oncoming bus. “Still. A win's a win. Score one for the forces of goodness and light, right?”

He holds out a fist, and I cringe for a moment before I realize what it's for. I give it a bump. “Win's a win,” I repeat.

“You'll want to clean off that cut before you go home,” he says. Then gets up and waits for the bus to stop. I look back at the smoking hotel. One Jack down.

All part of the plan. But I'm still not convinced. Can't quite believe that the Fox would purposely endanger so many people, the mayor included, just to get a shot at the Suits.

I think about what Jenna said. Back on the bleachers. That it works the other way, too.

Then I follow Gavin onto the bus, smoothing my bangs down over my forehead to hide the cut. “So is that why she invited both of us?” I wonder out loud as we board, but Gavin shrugs.

“Or maybe she just did it because she's a girl,” he says. “And girls are nuts.”

By the time I get home, Mr. Masters is already sitting in the living room with my parents. Chatting and drinking tea. I can hear him before I even open the door. He's always in the right place at the right time, not a minute before. He looks better than he did yesterday. At least he has shaved. And the sweater vest is paisley this time.

“Drew. You're home early,” my dad says as I open the door.

I try to look normal. I spent the bus ride cleaning myself up as best I could, though I let Gavin keep the coat.

Mr. Masters stands when I walk through the door. I catch the look in his eye.

“So, how was the party?” my mom asks. “And where's your jacket? Isn't it cold outside?”

They don't know.

Mr. Masters puts one hand on my shoulder. The other is tucked in his pocket.

My mother puts her hands on her knees, as if ready to get up, probably to hug me again, but she suddenly stops. The look on her face is chiseled in stone. My father's too, his cup halfway to his lips.

Mr. Masters quickly tells me the story. Apparently the party was boring and Jenna wasn't feeling well, so we decided to leave early, several minutes before the attack, in fact. When everything went down, we were already on the bus, headed to go get coffee.

“But I hate coffee,” I tell Mr. Masters.

The head of H.E.R.O. shakes his head. “Make it pancakes, then. Point is, you weren't there. When your parents hear the news, they will flip. It's your job to keep them calm.” Mr. Masters glances at his watch. I can see the second hand clicking away. “Is everyone okay?”

I nod, still wondering how he could possibly know all this already. I want to ask him, but there's no time. Not now, anyway. I've got to hurry and get my mask back on.

“All right. Ten seconds. Smile. Act like nothing's happened.”

Mr. Masters puts his hand back on my shoulder and stuffs his other hand into his pocket.

My mother finishes lifting herself up and walks toward us. My father takes a sip of tea.

“Yes, Andrew,” Mr. Masters says to me, “how was that party?”

Only after Mr. Masters leaves do I learn that he was actually there to drop off some notebook that I apparently “left on my desk.” I have no idea whose notebook it is sitting on the coffee table—it's certainly not mine—but I take it up to my room anyways. Inside, the pages are blank.

My parents don't find out about the attack until they are ready for bed and my father turns on the news. I can hear them furiously whispering about me through the walls:
“That's the second close call this week,”
and
“He could have been killed.”
I'm not sure how much longer I can hide it from them, even with Mr. Masters's help. I make a note to do a better job of concealing my H.E.R.O. stuff, just in case they go snooping around my room. I listen for their footsteps in the hall. At one point I think I can hear my mother breathing right outside my door and I duck under my covers, pretending to snore. Then she goes away.

The news is twice as long that night. I know because my parents leave their television on and I lie in bed and listen. Once again, the Fox is the star of the show. By the time the cops and reporters flooded the room, the three of us were gone and two of the Jacks as well, leaving only the hero with her catch, pinned to the wall with a sword to his throat, his left eye cracked. Broken. No good to him anymore. Clubs and Spades had escaped the same way they had come, through the new skylight they had made in the ceiling. The mayor's three bodyguards were taken to the hospital along with four other guests, though none of the injuries were serious. Some witnesses reported seeing a rock man or a golem of some kind, but none of the OCs managed to get a picture of him. They were all too busy running for their lives. I lie in bed and wait for the mayor to say something, to call us out, but when he finally does give a little speech, he simply thanks the Fox “and all the other nameless heroes who helped to stop this vicious attack and bring the Jack of Diamonds to justice.”

Sometime around midnight I get a message from Jenna. It says:

You were wonderful. Thanx.

And I fall asleep smiling for once. It was a terrible date, but for the moment I don't care. Because whether anybody knew it or not, we did something right.

And because even being a nameless hero is still better than being no hero at all.

I
t's Monday. Turkey burger day. With carrot sticks and applesauce. Edible, if you can stand applesauce that tastes like tin and turkey that tastes like mulch—or at least what I imagine mulch would taste like. Mike would say it's all about how much ketchup you put on a thing, but the truth is, some things just can't be covered up.

It's Monday, the day after the day after the day I narrowly escaped death again, and thus the day after the day my parents wouldn't let me out of the house. The event at the hotel, the break-in, my own strange behavior—it was all starting to add up. They were more than suspicious. They were paranoid. I couldn't blame them. I just don't know why they had to watch me brush my teeth or sit with me at the table until I finished my cereal.

So I spent my Sunday avoiding anything sidekick related in the hopes of calming them down and preserving my identity. I did manage to sneak away and spend an hour on the computer. I took five minutes to answer my fan mail—one message from mikevanderB telling me I was “messed up” and that the whole thing on Saturday was “killer” and that the next time he hears about something like that through Eric via
Gavin
, he was going to show me what electroshock therapy must feel like—and then I spent the rest of the time reading various accounts of the mayor's rescue, looking for casual mentions of the three teenagers who had helped the Fox save the day, but there is little room in the spotlight next to Justicia's champion; the Fox soaks it all up. Still, that doesn't stop me from smiling when I step off the bus Monday morning.

I walk down the hall, listening to the clueless masses brag about their parties and their rock concerts, all the while thinking that I, for once, had a more exciting weekend than any of them. While they sat through another tweeny vampire movie, I—Andrew Macon Bean, Beanhead, the Beanie Baby, the kid most of them ignored and some of them unfortunately didn't—I had actually saved the mayor's butt. In fact, I
personally
dragged said mayoral butt through a veritable war zone, dodging laser blasts and flying clubs and falling chandeliers. If I was a full-fledged sidekick and out of the closet, I would probably be in costume right now, accepting a medal on the steps of city hall rather than stuck in English class, counting the syllables in sonnets. Still, medal or no, I feel different. Special. Like I finally have a secret that's worth keeping. As I pass my fellow sidekicks in the halls, we high-five. Gavin and I nod and wink almost like we are friends. Just last week we were huddled in the school basement licking our wounds. Now we grin at each other stupidly. And for the first time in too long, I can't wait for fourth period to come.

I walk down the stairs into the school basement, thinking that our rescue of the mayor will earn us cool points or sticker stars or trips to Disney World or whatever it is that sidekicks get for saving elected officials from gangs of supervillains. I figure at the very least I'll get a reprieve from having to sniff test tubes and eavesdrop on teachers, that Mr. Masters will look at me a little differently from here on out. Maybe I'll get bumped up to ready reserve status or get to do more combat training with the rest of them. After all, I actually managed to not get stabbed two or three times. That has to count for something. I suspect Mr. Masters will be beaming. I'm almost positive there will be pizza.

Instead, we find a red-faced and sweating Masters, whose green-and-orange sweater vest looks like something a serial killer might wear, pacing in front of us like a preacher at a pulpit while we take our seats. I sit next to Jenna, who looks serious as always, but I see that Gavin has the same birthday-cake-eating expression I do.

“By circumstances that aren't entirely clear to me,” Mr. Masters says in a voice that is both hoarse and harsh, “three of you were in attendance at the charity benefit to stamp out hunger when it came under assault by the Suits two days ago.”

“We totally
rocked
that party,” Gavin whispers to Jenna under his breath. I suddenly hope that if Gavin and I are ever fighting crime together and get interviewed by Eyewitness News, he lets me do the talking.

Mr. Masters holds on to both sides of the podium as if struggling to stay upright. I can see the blood vessels in his forehead throbbing. His nails are bitten down to the quick. He doesn't look like a man brimming with pride. “I understand that you three followed the Code to the best of your abilities, and I want you to know that I took that into account when considering your fate,” he says.

Our fate? I look back over at Gavin, whose brow knits faster than my grandmother.

“You would think after the events of last Wednesday that I could count on you all to stay out of trouble, not go looking for it,” Mr. Masters chides, taking me, Jenna, and Gavin in with one glance, making me suddenly wish that we didn't all sit next to each other.

“And this time,” Mr. Masters adds, “there are consequences.”

“Oh, this doesn't sound good,” Mike groans, sinking down in his chair.

“This most recent encounter has only confirmed that you are all too involved. Had this confrontation gone differently, had the Fox not arrived in time for the rescue, H.E.R.O. might be answering for the lives of the mayor and any number of civilians. Worse still, I might be in your living rooms right now, explaining to your parents why you didn't come home. In light of this and other events,” Mr. Masters continues, “and in consultation with the Fox, I have decided that the current environment is simply too risky for further sidekick involvement.”

I can see where this is headed. Mike is right. It's not good. Mr. Masters takes a deep breath, then drives the nail in.

“I have accepted the Fox's recommendation that the H.E.R.O. program be temporarily suspended.”

“What?” the three of us say at the same time.

Eric spins around in his seat looking for confirmation, making sure he read Mr. Masters's lips right. Gavin looks like a little kid who's just caught his parents filling his stocking on Christmas Eve. Mr. Masters tries to calm us, but he might as well be trying to put out a forest fire with a water pistol. Gavin, Mike, and Nikki are spewing protests, and Eric is signing so fast no one can possibly follow him.

Only Jenna seems unfazed. I try to read her expression, but she's a sphinx, her lips pursed, her face fixed, as if someone had just sculpted her into the seat next to me.

“That doesn't make any sense,” Gavin complains. “The Jack of Diamonds was captured. We helped save the mayor. You can't cancel the program.”

Nikki follows right behind. “Yeah, so, like, now that some of us are actually in some serious danger, now that we have somebody to fight,
now
we are going to
stop
learning how to be Supers?”