Suck It Up (23 page)

37

Reunions

Birnam was right. His room hadn't been touched. Even his tattered copy of
Watchmen
still lay on the bed where he'd tossed it. The only thing that was out of place was Morning's sense of time. He'd been away less than a week, but it felt like months.

Morning stood in front of the mirror on the back of his door. He had never worn a tuxedo before. He was thankful for the instructions that came with it. Otherwise he never would have been able to figure out where to put all the studs, or to wear the cummerbund with the pleats facing up, not down.

He was dazzled by how it changed him. The jacket's padded shoulders made him bigger. The shoes' thick heels made him taller. The tux made him handsome in a way he'd never thought possible. The outfit's bold lines and crisp pleats seemed to carry into his face. His jaw was squarer. His cheekbones were higher. His nose seemed longer and stronger. It was an outfit for a superhero.

He smiled at a thought. If they refused to admit him to the Fire Academy, and let his superhero costume be a firefighter's turnout gear, then a tux would be his second choice.

The sound of voices outside his room yanked him away from the mirror. The party was beginning.

He moved to the dresser to collect his wooden charm. He scooped it up and started to slip it in his pocket. He stopped, turned it over, and stared at the blue Maltese cross with FDNY. Then he remembered the one time in the studio when he hadn't touched the wood for good luck. It had been before he nailed the perfect take. Maybe the charm wasn't so lucky after all. Maybe it was even bad luck. He tossed the wooden disc toward the bed. It skipped off the cover of
Watchmen
and landed on the bedspread.

When he stepped out of his room, an explosion of sound knocked him back on his heels. It blasted up from the thousands of Leaguers crowding the parade ground.

Birnam rose from below the edge of the walkway. Wearing a black tuxedo, he rode in the pod of a giant cherry picker. “Your chariot awaits you!” he shouted over the cheers as the pod drew level to the walkway. He swung the small door open.

Morning stepped in and Birnam began maneuvering the pod down toward the sea of adulation. The roar melded into a thundering chant for Morning. As he beamed and waved, he scanned the throng for familiar faces. He picked out several classmates, and found the lens of Portia's camera pointing up at him.

For the next hour he was mobbed by Leaguers and signed autographs until his hand cramped. He kept seeing Portia's camera thrust above the pushing crowd like the head of an electronic ostrich.

He finally caught a break from the crush when a band began blasting a song from the stage floating on Leaguer Lake. Birnam also pulled Leaguers away as he began a Q&A session in the grandstand and addressed the rumors going around about Worldwide Out Day being in the near future. He dodged the most direct questions. He wanted the airing of Morning's commercial and the simultaneous launch of IVLeague.us to be a complete surprise. The only hint was the huge screen that had been hung from the graduation platform.

Morning retreated to the row of quaffeteria stations set up on the edge of the parade ground. Reaching the Vegan Veins stand, he perked up at the sight of his old friend, Dolly.

She gave him a knuckle tap, congratulated him for his transformation from class klutz to the school's most famous graduate, and slid a Blood Lite across the counter. “The usual.”

“That's another thing that's changed,” he said, sliding the drink back. “I'm a recovering vegan.” The phrase popped out of his mouth. He knew he'd heard it somewhere before but he couldn't place who had said it.

Dolly's ears pulled back like a curious cat's. “A recovering vegan?”

Hearing it again triggered the details. Portia had said it the first time they'd met. “Yeah, for some reason I've lost my taste for soy blood substitutes. I've gone animal.”

“Well, if I had to deal with Lifers all day,” Dolly said with a sardonic smile, “I'd need something stronger too.”

“Hey, Morning,” someone shouted.

He turned toward the voice. Rachel Capilarus, in a tight red dress, moved toward him. Watching her approach, he remembered she didn't just walk, she conquered space, and harvested hearts with every step.

When she vanquished the space directly in front of him, Morning's pleased expression wasn't lost on Dolly. “Okay, I'll let you two catch up.” She disappeared behind the drink station.

Rachel gave him a wry smile. “Are you so famous you don't remember me?”

“No one forgets Rachel Capilarus,” he said, then made a big show of looking around. “Except maybe her date.”

She threw her head back with a throaty laugh.

He didn't miss the chance to check out the roof of her mouth. It was more alluring than ever.

“The truth is,” she explained, “I'm dateless.”

“C'mon, you're kidding.”

“Nope. I'm the gorgeous cheerleader whose reign ends the day after graduation.”

“But you had Dieter Auerbach wrapped around your little finger. Isn't he here?”

“Couldn't make it,” she answered. “So he said. But I think he was jealous.”

“Of who?”

“You, of course. For being so right.”

“How was I right?”

“You predicted the future.”

“I did?”

“Yep. You told him you were going to turn into a superhero named Moth-Fire who gets his power from drinking fire and flies around the world saving Leaguers like us.”

As she spoke, a vision suddenly blinded Morning. A ball of fire rushed at him. It was so real he felt the searing heat on his face. He jumped back. Then the fire was gone, replaced by Rachel's face. Her forehead was wrinkled with concern.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, fine.” He shook off the lingering vision. “Believe me, I haven't turned into Moth-Fire.”

“What's in a name?” she quipped. “If the rumors are true, you'll be known as the superhero who led us out of the woods.”

Her words infused him with pride. Then the intoxicating effect of her praise was cut short by another vision. This one was no hallucination. A Handycam pushed toward them.

“Moth-Fire?” Portia echoed from behind her camera. “Great name for you, Morning.”

He quickly took in Portia's white dress and her shiny dark hair falling in long curls over her bare shoulders. He also noticed that her high heels made her much taller. Whatever boost he had gotten from his shoes, she had doubled. He tried to chase her away with a glare. “Can't I have a moment to myself?”

Portia swung the camera to Rachel. “Hmm, you have a funny definition of ‘myself.'”

Rachel gave the camera a friendly wave. “Hi, I'm Rachel Capilarus, an old friend of Morning's.”

“Portia Dredful,” Portia said, continuing to shoot, “a new friend of Morning's.”

Rachel flashed her radiant smile for the camera. “Well, since rumor is that tonight's all about putting the old behind us and bringing in the new, he's all yours.” She started away.

“Rachel,” Morning protested, “wait.”

She tossed a wave and moved toward the lake as the band started a new song. “Catch me later, Moth-Fire, for a dance.”

When Portia swung her camera to get Morning's reaction, he pushed his hand over the lens. “What else are you gonna do to ruin my big night?”

She yanked the camera away, turned it off, and jammed her free hand on her hip. “You know what, Morning? You wouldn't be having a big night if it weren't for me.”

He shot back a derisive laugh. “Talk about having it backward. If it weren't for me, you and your mother would be back in New York hanging out with alien-abducted Elvises and two-headed wrestlers.”

His words stung, even though she knew it was exactly the kind of thing
she
would say. She wanted to lash out with the truth of what she'd done for him. But she didn't want to be thanked. She didn't want him thinking he owed her. She didn't want a mercy friendship. She tried to strip the anger from her voice. “Morning, ever since I visited you in the dressing room yesterday, you've been pissed at me. What did I do that was so wrong?”

His eyes bored into her. “You don't have to do anything. You just have to be you.” He turned and hurried away before the throb in his gums got worse.

Portia refused to let the tightness in her throat creep any higher.
What's the point of crying,
she told herself,
when it wasn't just him insulting me, it was part of me, in him, insulting myself!
It made her want to jump up and scream,
Is there an exorcist in the house?
If she could exorcise the inner Portia out of him, she
might
get through the night.

She yanked a compact from her camera bag and checked her makeup. When she lowered the mirror, her eyes fell on a tall figure at the edge of the crowd listening to Birnam. He was a young man with wavy black hair. Something about him seemed familiar.

As she started forward for a closer look, he turned his head. The shock of recognition stopped her. It was the guy from the studio, the twisted preppie. But what was he doing here? And why did he look different?

Seeing her, DeThanatos grinned and moved closer.

Watching him glide across the ground in his tuxedo, she focused on the easier of her questions. What was different about him? As he reached her she grabbed the answer. “Yesterday you were a blond.”

“True,” he acknowledged. “My internship takes me to all the departments in the studio, and yesterday was hair and makeup. I did the wig myself. Not bad if it fooled you.”

Her eyes widened as her first question couldn't be answered any other way. “But if you're here, that means you're a, a…”

DeThanatos nodded. “Yes, a Leaguer. But you fooled me as well. I had no idea you were one—”

“I'm not!” Portia blurted. “My mother and I are guests.” She smiled with pride. “And the first mortals to visit Leaguer Mountain.”

“I see,” he said with a wry smile. Then he spread his hands in an elegant gesture. “Welcome to our closet.”

“I'd hardly call it a closet.”

“It is unless you're Morning McCobb. We're all in the closet until Worldwide Out Day.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Did you hear the rumor about the big day?”

“No, what is it?”

He glanced around to make sure no one was close. “Out Day isn't going down exactly like Birnam is selling it.”

His conspiratorial tone piqued her interest. She wanted to raise her camera and start shooting, but it would probably shut him up. Without lifting the camera, she pressed the record button. At least she could get some audio. “Really?”

He waited until someone passed by. “There's a hidden agenda that's got nothing to do with kinder gentler vampires.”

“What do you mean?”

DeThanatos paused again to let a laughing couple pass. “I can't talk about it here. Too many good ears in the room.”

Portia brimmed with excitement. “Where can you talk about it?”

“Outside the mountain, during the broadcast of Morning's spot.”

Her excitement skidded to suspicion. She thought only four people knew what was about to be aired on national television: Birnam, Morning, Penny, and herself. “How do you know about that?”

“Another rumor.”

Then she remembered what he'd said about Morning's commercial in the studio. “Wait a minute, you said you wanted to see it when it was ‘all wrapped up, neat and tidy.'”

“And I will,” he explained. “It'll be on YouTube before midnight.” He gave her a flirtatious wink. “If you want to know the real truth behind Leaguers, meet me outside during the commercial.”

She had to make a decision. To trust her instincts and not go, or throw caution to the wind.
What would Christiane do?
The answer came the instant she realized the story of Morning McCobb wasn't a groundbreaking documentary anymore. It was a scoop. She might even uncover a conspiracy. “How do I get outside?”

“Same way you came in.”

“We were blindfolded when we came inside,” she explained.

His eyes darted toward the nearby jam of people.

She followed his look and saw a commotion in the crowd, like someone was trying to push through.

He spoke quickly. “At the front of the school, across the courtyard, there's a tunnel. Follow it to the red button, press it, and you'll be outside. See you then. Gotta fly.” He hurried away toward the Academy building.

Two burly Leaguers burst through the crowd and raced after the young man. Portia tried to follow them, but heels aren't running shoes. She saw him dash and dodge through bystanders. Then his tux flattened and collapsed to the ground as a bird soared upward and disappeared in the glare of lights. When she looked back down, the two men chasing him were gone. So was the empty tuxedo.