Super Powereds: Year 3 (42 page)

Angela glanced at her watch. She had an hour break before her next aboveground class, time she usually spent grabbing a lazy lunch. Some of that could be spared, as long as he kept it quick.

“A little,” she replied.

“Thank you. I needed to ask how you chose me to host the sophomore party last year. The time is drawing close, and I presume it’s my duty to elect a sophomore to carry on the tradition.”

“You presume right,” Angela said. “Well, for me, it was easy. I just asked Shane for the background on you young’uns and picked the person best suited for it. I’m guessing you don’t have any friends or siblings in the sophomore class?”

“I do not,” Thomas confirmed. “My social circles have been somewhat limited, I now realize, to almost entirely HCP students in my year.”

“Don’t sweat it, we all do that,” Angela said. “There’s a bond between people you’ve tried to viciously knock unconscious. Not totally sure why, but there is.”

“So it seems. Back to my dilemma, do you have any advice for making my selection?”

“If I had to say anything, I’d say you have two criteria that need to be filled for a good party-host candidate,” Angela said. “First, they need a house. Can’t very well have much of a party in a dorm room. Anything in the Lander Lounge area should be good. Second, they should have come to your party last year. It allows you to play the ‘passing of a torch’ card, along with a healthy dose of guilt. Plus, people who were at the one last year already know the deal. You don’t have to explain a whole lot to them.”

“I’d thought there would be many other factors to weigh,” Thomas said. “Social capability, overall power to enforce peace, that sort of thing.”

“Oh yeah, that’s great information if you can get it, like I did,” Angela agreed. “But since we established that you can’t, I just gave you the bare-bones package.”

“Ah,” Thomas said, realization setting it. “Capability to host, and willingness to do so. I see now.”

“That’s part of why I picked you last year; you’re quick on the uptake,” Angela said. “All right, I’m going to go get lunch, if we’re good here?”

“Yes, thank you, you’ve given me some direction to work in.”

“Better work fast. Traditionally, you need to give them at least a month and a half to prepare,” Angela said as she stepped onto the lifts.

Thomas made an odd, strangled noise in his throat. “You gave me less than three weeks.”

“Yeah, but I’m waaaaaay more irresponsible than you,” Angela countered, giving him a theatrical wink as the lift carried her upward, toward Lander’s normal campus and away from Thomas’s silent fuming.

*              *              *

“No fucking way,” Eliza said, crossing her arms over her torso for emphasis. “Not happening.”

“Your opinion is heard, considered, and summarily dismissed,” Nicholas replied.

Jerome said nothing; he merely watched the two building toward a world-class bickering session with the detached resolve of a father who hasn’t slept in several nights. The three of them sat in Nicholas’s apartment, having their first face-to-face team meeting since Mary’s visit. Nicholas had taken two days to think over their conversation before requesting to meet with his associates. Once he told them why, Jerome understood why it had been a difficult decision.

“Dismiss it all you want, I’m not doing it,” Eliza reiterated.

“You will,” Nicholas disagreed. “Mary set down terms for continuing to interact with my former colleagues. One of those was that I had to go on a public outing with them in order to allow everyone to be aware of and adjust to my presence.”

“Yeah, goody for you, but Jerome and I aren’t coming along.”

“Eliza, Nathaniel’s people planted a very well-planned, perfectly timed, insidiously hidden explosive device. If not for fortune and Jerome’s power, one or both of you could be dead right now. There’s no secret that you and I don’t always see eye to eye, but you’re both members of our Family. The last thing I want is to see either of you dead,” Nicholas said. His voice softened slightly, and from just his facial expressions, one could have believed he was totally sincere . . . unless they knew how skilled he was at faking such emotions.

“More like you didn’t want to answer to Ms. Pips for our deaths,” Eliza muttered. “Even if I buy that line of reasoning, why should we come with you? Why not watch from afar? There’s no need to expose our identities to these people.”

“Except that they are valuable, useful assets,” Nicholas reminded her. “The only reason Nathaniel didn’t get his hands on me is because Alice Adair had enough power to completely neutralize him. Since it seems I’m going to be entering into their social circle, bringing you two along will mean that you can join me at outings and what-not. It gives you reason to be right beside me. That fulfills your duties as both bodyguards and snitches. It’s a win-win.”

Eliza mulled this over. He made strong points, but they all favored Eliza and Jerome. Nicholas was not the sort to do anything for another person unless he was seeing some gain from it as well.

“Those are great reasons for us to come,” Eliza admitted. “But until you tell me why you insist we be there, I refuse. I will take this all the way up to Ms. Pips if I have to.” There it was, the trump card. It was a double-edged play, because if he called her on it, she had to follow through. If Ms. Pips didn’t agree with her thought process, then it would make Eliza seem flighty and weak. Those were not qualities one wanted Ms. Pips to assign to them.

Luckily, it seemed Nicholas had already been prepared to concede this point. “Mary demanded it,” he said, the barest touch of embarrassment in his voice. “She doesn’t seem to care about the fact that you’ll be spying on me, and, by extension, them, but she’s only going to tolerate it if she has the chance to check you out as well.”

“So if Jerome and I don’t go, you’re cut off from the Melbrook group,” Eliza surmised.

“Correct. At that point, I can either write off the loss of incredibly powerful allies, or I can go against Mary’s will and see how full of bluster her threats were.” Nicholas dearly didn’t want the second option, not after the memory Nick had forced upon him. Mary had seen his darkest fear, his deepest secret, his soul laid bare. He didn’t want to cross her, if it could be avoided.

“Well then, this shouldn’t be a discussion of
if
Jerome and I will go.” Eliza leaned back against the couch’s soft cushion and daintily crossed her legs. “It should be a discussion of where we’ll be having our five-star dinner while you convince us. Word to the wise, you never go wrong with Wagyu beef.”

78.

The cold cheese sandwich on Walter’s plate did little to entice him toward eating, and not just because it was cafeteria quality. His appetite had been shot all week, ever since his team’s first trial. Despite having two of his three best friends in his roster, along with an assortment of other Supers he considered quite skilled, Walter’s team had been summarily crushed. They’d lost their flag in under fifteen minutes, and been beaten in three physical confrontations. For most of the team, it was disheartening, and somewhat scary. For their captain, a man currently staring at a cold cheese sandwich, trying to figure out why he’d purchased it in the first place, the loss had nearly destroyed him.

Walter was so focused on his plate that he didn’t immediately notice when someone sat down at the table next to him. He wasn’t expecting company; this was a Tuesday, which meant the others all had classes during his only time for lunch. He usually ate a quick meal, and then hurried off to study or train. Today, it seemed, was going to be different.

“Walter Cross, correct?”

Walter looked up from his sandwich, unsurprised that the guest at his table was a fellow member of the HCP. The fact that it was one of his seniors, however, did startle him a touch, rattling him out of his fugue and into speaking.

“Yeah. You’re Thomas. I met you last year.”

Speaking about anything linked to the HCP while aboveground, even something as innocuous as a party, had to be done with exceptional care.

“That’s right, you and your friends ended up at a party at my house,” Thomas confirmed. “Which, actually, is what I wanted to talk with you about. That party, it’s something of a tradition.”

“I’d heard about that,” Walter said. He’d done as much digging as possible when the invite had come last year. He knew it was a way for the sophomore class to officially welcome the freshmen who had made it that far, telling them they were part of the HCP. The party had certainly accomplished that goal; nothing like watching Cameron slug it out with Roy Daniels to send the message that this was where they belonged.

“Good,” Thomas said. “Hopefully this next part will not surprise you, then. I’m here to tell you that you, and by proxy your housemates, have been selected to throw the party this year.”

Part of Walter wanted to ask how Thomas knew he lived in a house, but then he thought better of it. Subtlety was a course in their school, after all; he really shouldn’t be surprised that the older students had skills for information gathering. Had Walter asked, he would have learned that Thomas had employed the favorite tactic of Subtlety Heroes all over the nation: he’d gone and talked to a telepath.

“I really appreciate it,” Walter said, his words tentative. “But I don’t think I can do that.”

“May I ask why not?”

“I need to double down on my . . . studying,” he replied, careful emphasis put on key phrases. “I was part of a group project last week, one we failed badly. We’ve got several more coming up, and I have to make sure we don’t get any more failing grades.”

“That is very important; your group’s grades should be your top priority,” Thomas agreed. “However, this party should be your second. The purpose it serves, welcoming strangers to an existing community, is a vital one. You should know this quite well.”

“I do, I really do, I just . . . couldn’t someone else do it?”

“That would depend on you,” Thomas informed him. “From the information I gathered, you seemed like the best fit. You have the house, you are responsible enough to be in charge of your group project, and you understand the need for the event. If you can find a better fit, then by all means, feel free to pass the burden of duty to them.”

Walter gave his head a little shake. “I don’t even think I should be leading my group project,” he admitted, his voice soft and fragile. “I feel like we could have passed the last . . . test, if only we’d had someone better leading us.”

“You might be right,” Thomas said. “Maybe you’re not the best pick for leading a group, or for hosting a party.”

“Gee, thanks,” Walter grumbled. It wasn’t untrue, but he sort of wished Thomas hadn’t just come out and said it like that.

“Still, that changes nothing,” Thomas continued.

“What do you mean?”

The older boy leaned forward, his dark eyes so serious that, for a brief flicker of a moment, Walter thought Thomas was about to start a fight right in the middle of the cafeteria.

“I mean, it changes nothing. It doesn’t matter if you aren’t the best pick for either of those roles, they have still been thrust upon you. They are yours, no matter what. Do not waste your time lamenting your fitness or fearing there could have been a better choice made. If you’re afraid you are unfit to lead, then work every day to make yourself better. That, and quitting, are your only options. Pissing away time on questions that have no relevance gets you nowhere. It doesn’t matter if you should lead. You 
are
 the leader. Own it, and make yourself the best you can be. If you can’t face your fear and do that, then you should turn in your resignation today.”

Walter gulped, and not just because Thomas’s words had come dangerously close to touching on the real subject of their discussion. The intensity of his admonishment had nearly knocked Walter from his chair. He suspected this speech wasn’t entirely for him, but rather than asking follow-up questions, he just nodded his head enthusiastically.

“I understand,” Walter said quickly. “I’ll throw the party.”

“Good,” Thomas said, appearing to somewhat come back to himself and dial down the intimidation. “Good, I . . . you are the best fit, you know. Whether you believe it or not.”

“Thanks,” Walter said. “I, uh, I need to get going to my next class.”

“By all means,” Thomas said. He watched as the younger boy with the light curly hair and glasses hustled out of the cafeteria, pausing only to drop an untouched sandwich in the trash. Thomas remained at the table for some time, quietly reflecting on the words that had come unbidden from his mouth. What he’d said hadn’t been wrong, but it also hadn’t been just for Walter. No, Thomas knew as soon as he spoke that those words were meant for him. He’d done everything he could to avoid the truth; he’d bucked it for as long as possible. Now, it stared him in the face, refusing to fade back into mental smoke.

Face your fears, or quit. That was what he’d told Walter. And, more importantly, himself.

79.

Mr. Transport had the fork, laden with pasta and sauce, halfway to his mouth when his phone rang. This was not the ringtone he used for his general calls, nor the flippant one he’d assigned Mr. Numbers, nor even the festive one he had rigged to ring when Sally Daniels called. This was a ringtone associated with a single number, a line used only in very certain circumstances. His fork clattered to the plate as Mr. Transport grabbed his phone from his pocket and put it to his ear.