Page 11 of No Capes
I have so many questions that I can’t think of a single one. I wipe my palms on my leggings. The smooth fabric helps me stay present.
A milky twinkle lingers on his mask from a splinter of the moon. Easy-going-ness glosses the rest of him, like enemies could corner him and he’d still crack a joke. He’s not carryingwhat my dad and I are. What Fox and his siblings are. Even Arielle. He’s free.
“Thereisstill the matter of what you’re going to help me with,” he continues, “But I need your trust first.”
Why would someone stage the explosion?I shake the thought away. Not now.
“I’m not going to help you,” I say. Everything about him, from the shadows swirling on his suit to the electricity lying in wait, screamsbad idea.
“I have total confidence that you’ll change your mind.”
I won’t.Although maybe I can find out what he wants another way. “You never told me what your name is.”
He chuckles. “And you never said thank you.”
His watch gives off two low beeps, which startles me right off my swing. He pretends not to notice. “Gotta go,” he says. “Think about what I said.”
“What, are you late for your League of Evil meeting?” I push. Now that he’s planted the seed, I want to know what his project is. I’m also itching to find out his name, since he apparently knows everything about me, and I have nothing on him.
“Something like that. But last thing, Roberts. Be careful who you trust.” Before I can ask anything else, he steps away, cloaked in the black sky, and vanishes.
I concentrate on the space where he disappeared, until I’m sure there’s nothing watching me back. I swing for a moment longer, then all I want is to go home. He has to be wrong. The logistics of exploding the minivan before it crashed are too convoluted, even for a city with Supers. He’s wrong.
He’s wrong.
I trudge home and remember—Fox. Math homework. Reality.
Wait.
We don’t have assigned lockers at school. We just picked one on the first day and our homeroom teachers gave out the combinations—they only have individual records. This D.S. charactercouldn’thave found my locker in a master database. There is no master database.
Hehasto go to my school.
The new kid. Aaron.
How could D.S. be anyone other than Aaron, the mysterious swimmer who’d appeared right after D.S. did? It’s too much of a coincidence, especially because I feel like I’ve seen Aaron before.
But…
If D.S. were anyone else… two others surface as candidates: Damian Scott Jr., whose initials are literally D.S., and Fox Levine, the only other person who would care about this car accident.
Except… D.S. knows too much about me to be someone new, Damian never recognizes me in school, and Fox hates meandwouldn’t wait so long to investigate something this big. Another thing: all three of them play sports, and the school always tests athletes for powers. Always. They wouldn’t be able to play sports if they were a Super.
Then, who is he? Could he really be Aaron or Fox? Could he really beDamian?After everything that’s gone wrong in the last three years, maybe the universe is finally giving me this one thing: Damian Scott Jr., helpingme.
As I settle into my bed for the night and wrap myself in fuzzy blankets, I don’t think of the car crash. Seared into my memory is that one sentence, in D.S.’s mocking voice,I just want to make sure you’re okay.
Five
“Let’s go camping next summer,” Kristen declares as she twirls her pencil. “I’m craving a campfire, and roasting marshmallows, and sleeping under the stars and such. I’d rather camp beside a gorgeous love interest…” She surveys our first period history class. Our classmates mostly ignore us, texting or finishing last-minute homework. Some of the popular kids, including Damian Scott Jr., huddle around Fox’s desk, watching something on his phone. They’re hollering about it, so it must be something gross, like some lady eating tubs of mayonnaise at a world record speed, which they watched last week.
“Camping sounds fun, until you remember bugs exist,” I say. I haven’t told Kristen about encountering D.S. last night. I’d planned to at practice this morning, but there had been too many potential eavesdroppers.
Kristen holds her face and groans. “Hallowfest is going to be a nightmare. My mom wants me to bring a date, one of her image constructing issues.”
“Oh darn. Not knowing who to bring to Hallowfest. The world must be ending,” I say. “Folks, be sure to call your local ice cream place, tell them to turn off their freezers and start eating. Gotta save the ice cream.”
“Dibs on the cookie dough.” Kristen’s eyes widen, the way they always do when she wants something. “Will you come to Hallowfest with me? It’ll be fun, Mads, I swear.”
