The Trials of Renegade X (17 page)

“Why bother even trying to catch them at all? Why not just shoot anyone with a
V
on their thumb and be done with it?”

Riley looks from me to Sarah, like he can’t tell if this is actually a serious conversation or not.

“Damien,” Sarah says, “don’t be ridiculous. You know the League Treaty prohibits that kind of behavior. Or at least you
should
know that, since you’re supposed to be studying it.”

“I don’t care what the League Treaty says. A piece of paper doesn’t actually decide anybody’s actions. And even if it did, it’s not like you’ve signed it or anything.” Plus, she’s not a hero, or eighteen, the age you have to be to join the League. But those are minor details. “I’m pretty sure the League Treaty frowns upon breaking into stores and trying to lure in bad guys. You’re the only criminal here, Sarah, did you notice that?” And I didn’t hear her saying killing all villains was a bad idea—only that it was against the rules.

Riley shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable. “Breaking into places is wrong. That’s not really what you do, is it?”

“I didn’t ’break’ in. I hacked in. It’s much different. You’re being babies about this, even though you both have hero genes. I thought you guys would understand.” She shrugs off Riley’s arm, shaking her head dismissively at us, like we’re the ones being crazy here, and goes to grab her backpack from where she left it against the side of the building.

While she’s busy, Riley gives me this worried look. Not accusing anymore, just concerned. As if his girlfriend just revealed that she’s some sort of vigilante psychopath. Which I guess she pretty much did. “Did something happen?” he whispers.

Did something happen? Let me think, let me think. Oh, I don’t know, I
might
have accidentally screwed up Sarah’s personality enhancer device with my uncontrolled electricity power, and I
might
have accidentally shocked her with it and caused some sort of crazy to take over her brain.

But I don’t tell Riley that. Plus, this isn’t really my fault, is it? I don’t know for sure that her gadget did this to her or that it was because of me. Sarah’s not
that
different. She’s always had a ruthless vigilante side. Maybe she’s just finally decided to go with it.

“You spend all your time with her,” I remind Riley. “Shouldn’t
you
know?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and gives me a sort of half shrug, looking a little guilty, like he’s a bad boyfriend for not noticing before now that something was up with her. “I’m sure she’s fine,” he says, staring at the ground.

“Me, too.” See? Miss Monk can take her stupid teamwork assignment and shove it, because us agreeing on something wasn’t as hard as she thought.

We might hate each other, but we have one thing in common. Well, two things, because, besides caring about Sarah, we’re both apparently big fat liars.

Chapter 12

I DROP A FLIER for the Heroes in the Park festival on the coffee table after dinner, pretending to look it over. There’s a picture on it from last year’s event, with white Christmas lights strung all over the statues in the Heroes Walk. I look closely, but I can’t tell whether or not any of the statues in the picture is Helen’s, since killing Kat’s grandfather earned her a space in the walk of fame. The flier also says there’s going to be a bonfire and free barbecue with the ten-dollar entry fee, plus some local folk bands are playing that I’ve never heard of.

The tagline reads,
Honor your favorite heroes in Golden City Park—fun for all ages!

I don’t really care how much fun it is, as long as it takes place on Saturday and has a reasonable price tag. Out of all the fliers for weekend events posted at the downtown library—where I stopped on the way home earlier,
sans
Riley, who opted to go to Sarah’s for dinner instead—this looked the most promising. After all, Kat’s going to be home this weekend, and, after two weeks apart, I plan to show her a good time.

A
really
good time.

I’m also going to tell her about my new power, which I haven’t mentioned to her yet. It’ll be much cooler to show her in person and not have her freak out or think I’m some kind of criminal. Or at least, if she does, to not think it’s a bad thing.

“What’s that?” Amelia asks, coming out of the kitchen, where Helen’s doing the dishes and Amelia was probably annoying her with an intricate play-by-play of everything she did at school.

“Nothing.” I quickly turn the flier over, so she can’t see what it’s about.

“Was that Heroes in the Park?” She reaches down to take it, but I keep my hand on it, pretending I don’t want her to see. It doesn’t matter, though, because now that she’s touched it, she just teleports it into her hands. “Yep,” she says, looking it over. “We went to this a couple years ago. It was really fun.”

“Well, you’re not going this year.” I snatch the flier away from her.

“Why?”

“Because
I’m
going. I don’t need
you
hanging around.”

She glares at me. “I can go if I want to. It’s open to everyone. Last time, we all went, as a family. Well, except Jess, because she was too little then. But she’s old enough now.”

“Uh, you’re not all coming. I just said I was going. Not you and the whole family.”

“It’s not
your
festival. You can’t stop us. Plus, Dad will buy our tickets.” She says that as if saving ten dollars would be worth having to hang out with them the whole night. “And Mom’s actually
in
the Heroes Walk, you know.”

“Oh, wow, really?” I roll my eyes at her.

She smacks my leg as she slumps down next to me on the couch. “And Dad’s been voted Most Beloved Superhero in Golden City a couple times. It’s really fun when people recognize them and want autographs. That’s what happened last time, and then we got to go backstage with one of the bands.”

“This isn’t going to be like last time, because
I’m
going and
you’re
not.”

“We’ll see about that.” She teleports the flier into her hands again and holds it away from me.

“Great. Just ruin my weekend, why don’t you.” I fold my arms and bring my knees up, pressing my feet into the edge of the coffee table, pretending to be sullen about it. As if she’s pissing me off and not just falling perfectly into my trap.

Amelia makes a disgusted face. “Feet go on the floor,” she says, like she’s the manners police. “And the festival is going to be fun. You’ll see.”

I won’t, because I will conveniently get sick or have too much homework—or possibly both—right as it’s time to leave. But, selfless person that I am, I will insist everyone goes on without me. And brings me back the signatures of the last band that’s playing. I don’t know who they are yet, but they’ve just become my all-time favorite, and I will
die
if I miss out on at least getting their autographs.

I’ll probably have to fake an illness to rack up those kinds of sympathy points. Something bad enough so that I couldn’t possibly leave the house and everyone feels a little sorry for me—sorry enough to pick up the souvenir I want that will ensure they’re gone the entire time—but not so bad that anyone gets any ideas about staying home to take care of me.

Amelia’s still sitting on the couch, just kind of staring at me.

“What?” I ask her. “Haven’t you done enough, or do you have more of my plans to ruin?”

She sighs, looking like she has something else she really wants to say, but then Gordon and Alex come home bearing ice cream, and I don’t find out what it was.

I get a text from Kat at around eleven. It says,
Impromptu party in the commons! Wish you were here. All my friends say hi.

I’m in the middle of putting my pajamas on, but I stop what I’m doing and type back,
I wish you were where I am, too.

Where are you?
she asks.

In bed. >:)

I finish getting dressed and then grab the phone to text her again right as there’s a knock on the door. I stay to the edges of the room as I go to answer it, since I’ve discovered the floorboards creak less that way.

Amelia fidgets in the hallway. She almost looks too nervous to speak, but then she says, “I’m here to tell you what I want. Because you
owe
me,” she adds, as if I’d already protested against it.

“Fine, but make it quick. Some of us have lives.” I wave the phone at her.

For some reason, she takes that as an invitation to push past me and stomp over to my bed. I wince as the walls rattle. She sits down and grabs my pillow, hugging it to her chest and resting her head against it. Then she frowns at the wall where I replaced the stupid poster she gave me. “You actually
like
Superstar?”

Superstar is a pop band made up of about eight teens—sometimes they lose a member to a solo career, only to replace them later—who won a contest for a record deal. They look more like the type of stupid band I would expect Amelia to be into, not me. Their gimmick is dressing up like heroes and villains in their videos, even though they’re not actually super themselves. Well, they weren’t, but their newest member is an actual
H-
bearing hero, and I’ve read on the forums that it’s causing major drama in the band and that they might break up soon. Which I hope is only a rumor, because their new, currently unfinished album is supposed to come out next year and I already pre-ordered it.

“They’re so
lame
,” Amelia says.

“It’s Kat’s poster,” I lie. Kat also thinks they are, as Amelia so eloquently put it,
lame
. “Did you, like, actually want something?” Besides getting her makeup all over my pillow and insulting my décor.

“Close the door,” she says, since I’m still standing there with it open, expecting this to not take long and for her to be on her way out in a few seconds.

She’s being kind of weird. I close the door and lean against it. “I know you think I owe you, and that I’m evil or something, but I draw the line at killing people.”

“That’s not what I want to ask you.” Her cheeks turn pink and she presses her face down into my pillow, leaving streaks from her mauve eye shadow.

One side of my face twitches. I may be having an aneurism. “Just tell me so we can both get this over with.” And so she can stop touching my stuff.

“Well,” she says, speaking directly into the pillow instead of to me, so her voice comes out really muffled, “Homecoming’s in a few weeks.”

“I know. I’m taking Kat.”

“To
Heroesworth
? You can’t do that.”

“Um, no.” Until she mentioned it just now, I hadn’t realized Heroesworth was even having a Homecoming dance. Though as long as they’re not at the same time, I don’t see a reason why we couldn’t go to both, especially since that means two sets of pictures to annoy Helen with. “I’m taking her to the one at Vilmore. Well, she’s taking me, technically. Though I will also be ’taking her’ later that night, if you know what I mean.”

“
Eww!
” Amelia squeezes her eyes shut in disgust, then opens them again. “You can’t go to Vilmore, either.”

“Why not?”

“Because Mom and Dad will kill you.”

“Yeah, but they can’t exactly stop me.” Good luck with that, parents.

Amelia shakes her head at me and my lack of respect for their authority. “Anyway,” she says. “About Homecoming.”

“Yes, now that we’ve established that you don’t think I should go to either one. You know, with all your kind words and sunny disposition, Amelia, I’m surprised the boys don’t
flock
to you.”

She buries her face in my pillow again. I cringe inwardly. She takes a few deep breaths—inhaling my boy hormones for courage, no doubt—then looks up at me, determination flashing in her eyes. “I want a date to the dance.”

“And I want a palace on the moon. Neither of those things is ever going to happen.”

“You don’t understand. I want
you
to find me a date.” She manages to meet my eyes for a split second before her face turns bright red and she has to glance away in embarrassment.

I inspect my fingernails. “What makes you think I have that kind of money?”

Her face falls, and she sprawls out on my bed, lying down on her stomach and still clutching my pillow. “I know it’s impossible,” she says quietly. “You’re right—you probably would have to pay someone to go with me, since nobody would ever want to on their own. And I know if you find somebody for me that they’ll only be going because you made them somehow, that they won’t
really
like me. But I’ve never been to a dance before. Or gone out with anybody.”

She presses her cheek to my pillow and sniffs loudly. It takes all my willpower not to make a disgusted face at her in her time of need. Even though I suspect she might be tainting my bedding with her tears of desperation.

“I don’t care if they like me,” she says, as if she needs to emphasize how low her standards are in case I set my sights too high.

“So, you’re saying to just get you a warm body. For your first dance.”