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“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, having no idea what he just said. “I mean, you’re in Africa now, right?”

“Yep. Research.”

“So you’re hella smart.” Guess the nerd in him didn’t go through puberty.

“Something like that.” He smiles. Even though all Supers have perfect teeth, his are somehow even more perfect. God, what is wrong with me? The last time I swooned this hard over a guy, I ended up tackling him and trying to punch his face off. And, oh yeah, my brain reminds me—
that
was last week
.

I start walking—hoping Evan will catch the hint and leave. I won’t be making the same mistake with him. Nope.

Evan follows me, keeping with my snail-like pace. “So what are you up to?”

“Oh, you know.” I lift my hands. “Nothing.”

“I figured you wouldn’t be out in public so soon,” he says, scratching his elbow.

My curiosity goes on high alert. “What do you mean?”

“The drama at your party and all,” he says as if he can’t believe I’d forget such an event.

“Thanks for reminding me. That was a rough night.”

“I can imagine.” His MOD flashes and he gives it a cursory glance before shoving it in his back pocket. “So what consequences are you dealing with now?”

“I’d really rather not talk about it.” I glance up to find him watching me as we walk. “And I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’d really appreciate if you don’t tell anyone else about the party. At least, you know, for the next thousand years or so.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “No worries.”

A chant plays over and over in my mind.
Stop thinking he’s cute, stop thinking he’s cute. Must make small talk and not think about how cute he is.
“So …” My mind struggles to think of something to say. “What are you doing in King City?”

He adjusts his backpack and grips the straps near his shoulders. “I had a meeting in the medical department. I was trying—and failing—to obtain a sample for testing and research.”

“A sample of what?”

He drags his hand over his mouth as if he didn’t mean to say what he just said. I prod further. “A sample of what, Evan? Come on, I’m curious.”

“Villain blood.”

“Oh.” The mothership of awkwardness hovers over us as I wonder if he’s thinking I’m evil, or worse—if he’s thinking he would like to cut me open and take some of my blood.

He talks quickly, stumbling over his words. “I’m doing a side project involving Super DNA and trying to determine if there are any genetic traits that stand out at a molecular level in newborns. Something that could alert us at birth if the Super has a chance of turning evil in their lifetime, and if so, the likelihood of that chance. I’ve studied normal Super blood up and down but getting blood from a villain is much harder.”

“Yeah …” I play it off as if this isn’t subtlety about me. “It’s not like you can walk up to one and say, ‘hey bro, mind if I take some of your blood?’”

He laughs and the tension eases. “How would you even get villain blood in Central?” I ask. Villains don’t walk the corridors. They are cast out the moment they turn rogue, all their credentials to the underground world in the canyons shut off at the first whisper of their betrayal. I don’t see how Central would have access to blood like that.

“From the depowerings,” he says. “I don’t think they care about innovation. It’s really frustrating. I mean, what’s my job if I can’t research things that matter? Two villains were captured last night and depowered this morning. They have to do something with the blood they rip out, right?” He shakes his head and the vein in his neck bulges. “I’ve been trying, begging, for a sample but they keep denying me.”

A shudder runs through me. Depowering is the process of ripping out the outer layer of veins in a Super—the silvery veins that pump power from our chest to our body. I don’t know the details of the process, as that sort of thing stays confidential, but everyone knows it’s agonizing. Depowering leaves the villain covered in spidery scars from fingers to toes. I’ve only seen two depowered villains in my life. The memory of their lifeless eyes and grotesque bodies will forever haunt me.

“Well, good luck with that.” My lunch rolls around in my stomach, threatening to reveal itself if I keep thinking about the depowering process.

We walk in silence for a few minutes as we near the end of the main corridors inside Central. We come to a stop at the KAPOW docks where several public transportation pods line up to the right. To the left is an empty row for the private pods. Although I live close enough to walk home, Evan will be taking a KAPOW back to Africa. Who knows when I’ll see him again? I’m so not ready to end this conversation.

Evan isn’t treating me as if I’m an evil freak who needs to be locked up. Not only do I appreciate that, I’m drawn to him because of it.

Evan’s head tilts sideways. “What are you thinking?” He studies me as I’m lost in my own thoughts.

There’s no way I’d tell him the real answer, so I tell him the second most real answer. “Friday is judgment day. The examiners will decide if I’m a Hero or …” I study my fingernails, unable to finish the sentence.

Evan jumps in. “… or something else that is equally badass.”

“You can’t even pretend to think any other position on earth is as good as Hero status.”

He shrugs. “I’m fond of Research. Besides, you spent your whole life training for Hero. They won’t give you anything else.” I recognize the tone of his voice. It’s the same
I feel sorry for you
tone Max has perfected. “Try not to worry about it,” he continues. “I know you want to be a Hero, but you don’t have to be one.”

I scowl at this asinine remark, but he’s right. As the president’s daughter, I don’t
have
to do anything. Most Supers get married and work jobs in King City and have lives that are pretty much like the humans. Although all of the Super presidents have been Heroes, none of the former president’s chose the same profession. It would be easy, expected even, for me to just start a charity for humans and look pretty as I attend humanitarian events as a cherished member of the Super race.

There’s nothing wrong with that exactly … it’s just not me.

I swallow and a teardrop pools in the corner of my eye. I hold my gaze, staring into the nothingness to the left of Evan’s shoulder because I know the second I blink, that tear will roll down my cheek.

Evan shifts on his feet. “You’re only qualified for Hero. Or maybe Retriever. Try not to worry about it, it’s not like you’ll end up in food service.”

“That’s just it.” My voice is scratchy. “Hero. Retriever.” I hold up my left hand and then my right one. “I’m scared, Evan. What if they make me Retriever? I can’t stand waiting for an answer.” My teeth grind together. “The anticipation is killing me.”

His eyes light up. “You should see Pepper.”

“Pepper? I don’t—why?”

Evan’s tongue runs across his bottom lip as he breaks into a smile. His blue eyes shine like a child’s on the cover of a Christmas movie. “Think about it. Pepper needs a few days to design new Hero suits, right? He makes them all fancy and high tech compared to regular suits.”

“Okay …” I say, still not understanding.

He shoves my shoulder. “Go see Pepper. Act like you’re just dropping by for a visit. If the examiners are making you Hero then they would have told him so he can make your suit. You know how Pepper loves to talk. He’ll blab. Whatever he knows, he’ll tell you.”

“You’re a genius.” My hands clasp in front of my chest and it’s all I can do not to jump in the air and scream like a maniac. “A freaking brilliant genius.” I bob up and down on the balls of my feet, using all the strength I have to keep myself from running to Pepper’s without thanking Evan for his help. “This is the best idea ever. Thank you, Evan.” My arms wrap around his neck in what’s supposed to be a hug. But before I realize what I’m doing, my lips place a kiss on his cheek.

His skin warms beneath my lips.

Pepper’s studio is to the right when I exit the KAPOW. It’s so flashy you can see it from five minutes away. Two purple-flamed torches light either side of the door along with the word
PEPPER
in five-foot-tall neon letters.

A laser beam shoots out from the floor as I approach the metal double doors to Pepper’s studio. It flattens along the floor and zooms up my body and then back down before retreating into the floor. The doors swing open without making a sound, despite them being at least three times as tall as I am and twice as thick.

Pepper swooshes into view, clasping his hands together in front of his chest. He’s a tall black man, with shoulders twice as wide as Max’s, and that’s saying a lot because my brother is often talked about for his muscular size. He wears a fitted suit in the most beautiful opalescence fabric that shimmers in his studio’s bright lighting. The pants are a shiny black at the bottom that slowly morphs into a deep royal purple at the top of his shoulders.

As he moves, the fabric colors shift in the light, seemingly moving up and down like oil on water. It’s just an illusion but it makes me want to reach out and touch it anyhow. A tiny white Chihuahua with long legs dances around Pepper’s feet, eager to join in on the fun he thinks we’re having. His name is Chewy and I’m relieved to see he’s finally over his habit of biting feet.

“Maci,” Pepper says. His upper lip twitches in—disgust?—before his mouth bends into a warm smile. “It’s so lovely to see you.”

What was that? Did I imagine it? Pepper
likes
me, or so I’ve always thought. He and my mother were childhood best friends. Maybe his lips twitched like that because he was expecting someone else. Maybe he has a headache or something.

Ugh, what am I talking about? Supers don’t get headaches. It must be me. I’m the one who made his mouth twitch. He doesn’t want to see me. He thinks I’m evil.

Screw him! He doesn’t know anything!

My teeth grind together as I plaster a smile on my face. “Hello.”

Pepper sweeps out his hand, motioning for me to enter. “Did you have an appointment? I wasn’t expecting anyone until later.”

Chewy sniffs my ankles. “Um, no.”

Pepper’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “No worries, hun. You’re welcome to stop by any time. If you had an appointment I was about to question my sanity because I swear I cleared my schedule this morning.”

He gives me a smile filled with submersed tension again. “Would you like a latté?”

I accept his offer because the last time I didn’t, I got a five-minute lecture on how his coffee maker was imported from the finest shop in Brazil and that not accepting a latté of this magnitude is equal to turning down a free bag of thousand dollar bills.

He smiles in approval and Chewy follows him to the back room. Okay, he doesn’t sound like he’s feigning niceness toward me. As a suit designer, he wouldn’t have taken classes on deception like I have for Hero training. I force the anger inside of me to retreat; he wasn’t giving me a look when I got here, he was just caught off guard by unexpected company. I take in a deep breath. Calm down, Maci. Everyone is
not
out to get me.

As Pepper fetches my fancy foreign caffeine, I look around the studio hoping to find something that would enlighten me to why he’s acting so weird. The only thing different is the exceptional cleanliness of the place. Usually scraps of discarded fabric rest amongst sketches and notepads of ideas littered on the corner desk.

The interior of the studio is round with a sparkling white dome-shaped ceiling. The black-painted floor sparkles even more than the ceiling due to the circle of high beam spotlights aimed straight at the podium in the center of the room. The walls are one large glass computer screen that Pepper uses to design suits.

The podium, my favorite spot, is where I get to stand as he uses holographs to mimic his suit designs on my body and make changes as necessary. I climb the three steps onto the platform and gaze at my surroundings. The last time I visited was a week before my birthday. Pepper had me come in for measurements before I took my Hero Exam. Now I need to find out if he’ll be using them or not.

Pepper returns with my latté in a purple paper cup with his name on it in faux rhinestones. Chewy joins me on the podium, circling my feet as if I’m holding a bag of dog treats or something. As I reach out to take it, the cup crumples in his hand, sending searing hot liquid all over his arm. He curses, flailing his burned hand.

“Pepper, I’m sorry!” I leap off the podium, guilt filling my stomach.

“Not your fault,” he calls out behind him as he dashes to the computer wall and swipes his hand across the screen. Tiny holes in the floor flood the space with an inch of water before receding into the ground. The crushed paper cup flows into a new hole in the side of the wall and disappears. I watch in awe as the water drains as fast as it came in and my feet dry seconds later when a cold fog drifts over them.

Pepper stretches out his formerly scalded arm and flexes his fingers. “Ah, that’s better. I’m so sorry, Maci.” He swipes his finger across his wrist MOD and the wall briefly displays the time, 3:42 p.m. “I’ll get you another one.”

“No, that’s okay.” I brace for the verbal backlash that’s about to come. But he just shrugs and checks the time again—still 3:42.