Aberrant Trilogy 1: Super Charged (14 page)

“I need to find out more about this Flagrant guy,” I say. “If he’s really the first person to come after the Vestige, and he saw my face, I need to watch my back…and make sure that Mom is on the lookout.”

“That’s true,” says Mae. Then she squints her eyes. “Do you really think he will be able to hunt down your house?”

I shrug. “Maybe. Depends on how good his investigation skills are.” I finish kicking my shoes off and rub my feet. The bottoms of them are surprisingly sore. “I wish there was some way to disguise myself,” I mutter. It seems too late for that.

“What about Super Guy’s costume?” she asks. “That could be real as well, couldn’t it?”

I laugh.

The infamous costume. I remember my father answering question after question about the costume back when he used to frequent the conventions. People wanted to know how high-tech Super Guy’s visor was. They wanted to know if he could be tracked back to his secret identity by using the order form for the T-shirts. It was so simple, but so iconic.

In the end, the costume was basically an under-armor T-shirt emblazoned with a purple bolt of electricity. For the pants, those were running pants, and his shoes were normal sneakers. It was the visor that did everything.

Big enough to cover most of his face, Super Guy wore a pair of sunglasses that were curved and completely black. On the inside there was a computer display, something similar to the short-lived Google Glass. On it, Super Guy could control the screen with his eyes. It would tell him things like how fast something was moving, how far away from a target he was, how much energy he had, and also how powerful an opponent was.

I don’t think that measuring the power of his opponent is realistic, but the other things that the visor did were do-able with today’s technology.

“I guess the costume could be real,” I answer Mae. “Though, I bet if it
is
real, it’s probably expensive. Can you imagine ordering a real superhero visor? That had to be a large chunk of change for my father, if he ordered one.”

“But, it would come in pretty handy if villains like The Drone really were a threat,” Mae reasons. “Where do you think it could be hiding? You know if it exists that it must be hidden somewhere.”

The options are endless. However, one place is scratched off the list.

“We know it’s not at the publishing house,” I say. “It could be anywhere after that. My mother’s house. Maybe at my grandparent’s house, up in the attic somewhere. Or perhaps my dad was smart and rented out a security box for it somewhere…”

The ideas start to make my head ache, and I rub the sides of my forehead, groaning.

“There’s plenty of time for looking around,” I say. I glance at my watch. Time is getting away from us. I only have a few hours before my trip back to Maine. “In the meantime, what am I going to do about my shoes? They won’t let me back on the train without them.”

“I can lend you money to buy some new ones,” says Mae. “Then I think we should stop by your mom’s place before you head north and take a look through your father’s boxes. Maybe he has the missing piece of the Vestige hidden somewhere. We can also see if your mom knows anything.”

I fold my arms. Do I really want to see my mom after the way we parted ways? The anger is still fresh, and now, with all the superhero developments, there’s a little fear peppered in as well.

But, I guess Mae is right.

“Alright,” I say, swallowing my pride. “We’ll go. But, shoes first.”

23

Home

Shoe shopping does not take long. Even though I’m picky, I manage to find a reasonable pair of shoes to replace my ruined sneakers on the clearance rack and thank Mae profusely as she pays for them.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says as I slide the shoes onto my feet. “You can get me back another time. What I’m more concerned with is having you not ruin these shoes like you did your other ones.”

I tighten the laces and tie them into a double knot.

“I don’t know how else to prevent that other than to not use my flying abilities,” I say.

But, Mae has a look in her eye that she’s onto something. She brings a hand up to her chin and strokes it a few times.

“You know, I have an idea,” she says.

“I was hoping you would,” I reply, and watch as Mae examines my damaged shoes. I was going to chuck them into the trash straight away, but Mae looks at them like a surgeon would look at an X-ray.

“I think we can do something with these,” she says. She points to the areas that are blasted open. They aren’t the entire sole of the shoe, but rather the part where my toes connect to the balls of my feet. It looks like I did too many ballet moves with these shoes because the toes are all torn apart. “See here?” she says. “I bet we can file down these edges and turn these into some practice shoes for you. If the energy is concentrated in your toes, then having holes in the rubber will give it someplace to go.”

“But, what about my new shoes?” I say. “I doubt I’ll have a chance to swap out sneakers when trouble comes up.”

“I’m getting to that,” says Mae, pointing at me. “I bet there’s a way that we can hinge your soles,” she continues. “You remember those awful skate shoes - the ones with the wheels that flipped out and let you rollerblade around on them?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I always asked for those for Christmas and Mom would never get them for me. She said that I’d break my neck with them.”

“Well, we don’t need you breaking your neck
now
with all this flying. Not only are destroyed shoes not good for controlling where you want to go, but what if something goes wrong and you end up injuring yourself because your shoes are not designed for these energy blasts?”

I hadn’t thought of that. My shoes before were pretty tattered to begin with, but if they had been these new ones, the shoe might have been too tight on my foot and ended up coming off, taking my foot with it. That would be way too painful for me. I gulp.

“So, you think you can modify these shoes so that they have little escape routes for the energy?” I ask.

Mae nods.

“Leave that to me. I’ll work on some designs and get them back to you in a few days. I’m sure that will be enough time to work on them. But, for the meantime, you’ll have to take it extremely easy with your new shoes. I’ll work on modifying these old ones as a prototype. If they work, then I’ll fix your new ones.”

Once we have the details all settled and I have my new shoes on, we head out and make our way towards our neighborhood.

We were always lucky to grow up next to each other. Our houses are only a few streets apart and we originally met when we were in grade school. Now that we’re in high school, Mae’s friendship is more important to me than anything.

It doesn’t matter where you go to school or where you live - going to high school is the most torturous experience of your life. I can say that from experience. There will always be bullies and jocks and cheerleaders. But, there will also always be nerds, people wearing too much black makeup, and off-beat girls who join backstage at the drama club to build cool sets. Mae is that last girl I described.

We pass by the high school on our way to my house. The walk is long, but it feels refreshing after all the sitting I have done today. I’ll be doing a lot more of it on the train ride back to Maine.

A few streets away from the school and we arrive at my house.

It’s one of those houses that is shaped like all the others on the street, but if you look at the details, you can tell that it’s ours. My mom has dressed up our tiny front yard, surrounded by one of those spiky iron fences, with little flower gardens and tiny display items. There’s one of those gnomes that is the color of stone poking out from behind a bush.

I push open the gate and lead the way down our brick walkway and up onto the front steps.

When I get to the door, I pause.

Mae encourages me.

“You’ll be fine,” she says.

I sigh, preparing for the worst. Then I push open the door and step inside.

Mom is sitting in the kitchen reading something on her iPad. She looks up when she hears the sound of us walking down the hallway.

“Hello?” she calls out.

The door was locked and I had to use a key to get in, but still, it would be a little strange to have someone just walk in when you are supposed to be home alone.

“It’s me,” I announce myself and step into the dining room with Mae right behind me.

I can’t really read Mom’s expression. Her features are slack, but her tone is surprised. She turns in her chair and gets to her feet.

“You didn’t tell me that you were going to be home,” she says. To my surprise she comes over to me and kisses me on the cheek. That hasn’t happened for a while. Maybe my going away is turning out to make changes in both of us.

I return the kiss and then motion to Mae.

“I brought Mae along.”

Mom smiles at Mae, though it’s only a slight smile.

“Of course. Mae, I haven’t seen you in so long. How are you?”

Mae lets out a fluttery laugh and gives Mom a peck on the cheek and a quick hug.

“I’m doing fine, Mrs. Boding. Keeping your son out of trouble for the afternoon.”

Mom looks at both of us, sizing us up.

“What brings you back to the area?” she asks. “Your grandparents know that you’re here, right?”

“Of course,” I reply. “Grandpa gave me money for the train, and I had a little spending cash for food and stuff. I mainly wanted to see Mae.”

Mom nods and returns to her spot at the table. There’s a cup of coffee sitting next to her tablet and she takes a sip of it.

“Are you making new friends up in Maine?”

“Not really,” I say. “I saw Robby again. He lives not far from Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Otherwise, what’s the point? I’m going to be back here in a couple weeks anyway.”

“Grandpa told me that you were getting into a tussle with some boy from the football team?” Mom raises her eyebrow. I know what she wants to say, that I’m supposed to be there to keep
out
of trouble.

I cut her off.

“That wasn’t my fault,” I say. “And it wasn’t a big deal. Just a bunch of jerks who pushed me in the lake on my way to school. I guess it was some kind of hazing thing.”

Mom frowns.

“Well, just keep your distance from them,” she says, holding the mug in front of her.

Suddenly she notices the rip in my shirt collar and risks.

“What happened to your shirt?”

Mae gives me a look and I stutter for a moment. I almost forgot about that.

“Uh, I…ripped it on the subway. It got caught when I tried to squeeze around a corner.”

Mom rolls her eyes.

“You need to be more careful,” she says. Then she turns her attention back to her tablet. “I have a lot of reading to do for work, so if you kids don’t mind, I’m going to get back to it. Let me know when you’re heading out. I can pack you something to eat on the train or something.”

I nod and turn to head out of the kitchen, but Mae stops me. She clears her throat and gives me the raised eyebrows that mean I’m forgetting something.

My shoulders slump and I turn around, heading back into the room. There’s no getting away from telling Mom at least
something
about what happened earlier. I just don’t want to say too much, so I err on the way of telling her not really anything specific - just prodding her for some leads.

“So, I went to the publishing house today,” I say.

This sparks Mom’s interest. She sits up.

“You did? What for?”

Mae nudges me onwards.

“I was doing some research for a paper for school. You know, Principal Thompson told me that I could bring my standing back up at the high school if I did an extra essay about something that I’ve learned outside of my classes. I picked Dad’s writing process. So, I was in the archives looking through his notes.”

Mom laughs, setting her cup down with a clink.

“Your father definitely had tons of notes,” she says. Then she brushes her hair out of her face and looks off, as if remembering a time long ago. She sighs. “I remember buying your father his first few notebooks back when we were dating. That was in high school. He didn’t have a car to get to the store in town, so I would go there for him and stock up on paper.” She smiles, and this time it’s genuine. “Little did I know that I was starting an avalanche of paper.”

We all share a laugh. It feels good to have the mood brightened, and I haven’t heard Mom talk about high school in years.

It seems like this is a good segue into the information that I’m looking for. I straighten my shoulders, make sure my feet are planted firmly on the dining room floor, and go for it.

“Part of my paper is about Dad’s inspiration,” I say. “For
Super Guy
. Did he ever talk about his inspiration with you?”

“Are you a reporter now?” Mom asks with a slight wink. She straightens up and takes a deep breath. “Let me think… You know, your father was always quiet with his writing. He went someplace to be alone and only when he was finished did he let anyone know what he was writing about. So, anything about his inspiration would have to be down on paper somewhere.”

“Do you think we have some of that stuff here?” I ask.

Mom thinks for a moment.

“You know, we might have something up in your father’s old study. Don’t ask me where exactly. I haven’t been in there in a while…” Her voice trails off, and I can tell that the happy memories are quickly giving way to sad ones. But, she stiffens her pose and finishes with a smile. “You can go look around if you want. Just don’t leave a mess for me to clean up.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I say and turn to head out of the kitchen.

Mae gives Mom a small wave.

“It’s really nice to see you again, Mrs. Boding,” she says.

“The same to you, Mae,” says Mom, her tone lifting. “You need to stop by more often. I would like that a lot.”

“I will,” says Mae, and then she follows me up the staircase to Dad’s study.

24

Costume

Dad’s study is exactly the way that he left it. Mom couldn’t move things around even if she wanted to. The memories are too painful. With every box that needs to be gone through, at least fifty memories will be unearthed. So, the easy solution is to just leave things where they are and pretend that they aren’t there.