Page 23 of No Capes
“Right, that would expose them. But obviously most people don’t have powers.”
Kristen slides down in her chair and whispers even more quietly. “Remember that court case when the Super test started?”
“Not really.”
“The one about discrimination? That coalition of Supers sued, said testing violates their right to privacy?”
“Oh right.” The Court ruled that registering Supersisdiscriminatory except where there is the potential for endangerment (if Supers are cops or politicians), or extreme advantage (if Supers are competitive athletes), since powers almost always come with increased strength and speed. Supers can’t join the military either, because of mutually assured destruction with other countries.
“Do you think someone could slip through the test?” asks Kristen.
She studies Phil. “Why is he trying to seem like one of them? Bigger than a hero?
For as long as I’ve known Phil, he’s acted like that. It’s why people love him. “I’ll add that question to the list,” I reply.And where the heck is Aaron?
Eight
An opportunity to talk to Phil Bridges comes much sooner than I expect. When I arrive home that afternoon, following a three-hour coloring session with Lily, I find my dad wearing a button-down shirt and a silk tie.
“Suit up, Madaroni,” he says. “We’re going to the Levines’.”
My backpack hits the floor, making the wood wail with a resistance that matches mine. “Seriously?”
“I heard there will be crème brûlée.” That’s dad-speak for:there’s positively no way out of this.
About twice a year, my dad and I are cordially invited to dinner at the Levines’. As in Fox Levine’s house. Fox lives with his older sister, Brynn, and younger brother, Jamie, off the life insurance from their parents’ deaths. Brynn likes to invite their parents’ old friends over for dinner to make herself feel better. My dad and I usually go, but we leave shortly after Brynn brings out dessert. The benefit of staying to commiserate after the dessert runs out is remarkably not worth it, especially since Arielle and Phil are generally in attendance.
I scowl at my dad the entire 15-minute drive and am lightheaded by the time we pass Capital Cliffs. The cliffs aren’t quite haunted—there’s no chilling folklore or unfinished adventure attached to them—but they’re always shrouded by clouds and the gray ocean.
My dad’s truck sputters up the drive to Levines’ country house. It’s freshly painted white with a door the color of an electrocuted strawberry. Hedges with just the right amount of neglect line the house and its brick walkway, and it still has the welcome mat where Fox and I used to drive ladybugs around on his toy cars. The backyard has a panoramic view of the cliffs, which you would think would not be highly desirable for anyone whose parents died there. But Brynn is nostalgic. And maybe a little bit crazy.
The door swings open before we can ring the bell.
“Mr. Roberts!” Brynn exclaims, “And Madeline. I’m so pleased you could make it.”
Brynn greets us in a flowing dress. She’s Arielle’s age and works as a part-time tutor. Otherwise she manages her brothers and the affairs their parents left behind, which must be terrible. A step after her is the youngest Levine, Jamie, who has a beaming smile that he gives easily. The three Levines all have gold hair, lean frames, and shamrock green eyes. It’s clear that Jamie, who just started middle school, will be tall.
“Good to see you too, Brynn,” says my dad, who crosses the threshold first. Wafts of sugary smells greet us, as if a confetti cake has exploded in the oven.
“Thanks for having us.” I hand over the crusty baguette that we picked up on the way.
Brynn displays a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. The air of tragedy. makes her even more striking. If she knows that, she doesn’t flaunt it. I follow my dad, resolving to be nice to her. It’s impossible to resent Brynn.
Twenty or so people are gathered in the living room. They hold full glasses of wine and none of them is close to my age. Arielle and Phil are not among them. Yet. My dad winks and heads into the mob. “Whoever makes it to dinner alive wins,” he whispers.
Jamie tugs at my sleeve, looking adorable in his sweater and jeans. “Everyone’s downstairs. Wanna go check it out?”
“Lead the way, big guy.”
He brings me through the front hall, which is decorated with antique frames and artifacts from the family’s travels. It’s a museum. Photos I won’t look at fill the walls, but the photos hold nothing to the long scratch of purple crayon on the door leading to the basement stairs. Memories aren’t always stored in photos.
“Do you play the clarinet?” Jamie asks. “Someone in your family used to play here, but I can’t remember if it was you or Arielle.”
“Arielle.” We trot down the carpeted steps. “Are you thinking about playing?”
“Yeah. All my swim coaches are pulling the ‘you’re Fox’s brother and we expect you to win everything’ card on me, and I don’t love that kind of pressure. Gotta do something else.”
“I get that.” All of my coaches expected me to be like my sister too, including my sister. It was insulting, because I expected myself to be even better.
