“James... Hey, James!” Rocky’s voice echoed from behind him in the hallway, followed by the slapping of his feet as he jogged to catch up. James kept walking, staring at his feet, not knowing where he was going.
“James,” Rocky said again when he caught up. He put a hand on James’s arm and stopped him. “What the hell’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” James said, meeting his friend’s eyes. What he saw—fear, bewilderment—did nothing to make him feel better.
“What can we do?” Rocky said. He was ready to jump into action, to do something. Later, when James calmed down, he would feel a wave of appreciation for his friend, but for now, he just felt empty.
“Nothing, Rocky,” James said, his voice sounding hollow in his own ears. “I need to go home now.”
With that, he walked away, leaving Rocky standing in the hallway, a lone figure flanked by countless heads peeking out of the classrooms. James reached the front of the school, pushed through the doors, and left.
Nobody stopped him.
It was a thirty-minute walk home, but James didn’t care. In fact, he got a savage enjoyment from the sweat that began to bead on his forehead and slide down his back. Cars drove past as he walked down the main street, but if they stared at him, knowing who he was and what had happened, he didn’t care.
When he finally got home, he found the front door unlocked.
“Mom?” he called out as he crossed the threshold and closed the door.
No response.
He walked toward the kitchen, savoring the cool air-conditioning. In the living room, the news played on the wall-mounted TV. His mom sat on the couch, her hands cupped around her mouth as she stared at the TV. The headline on the screen read, BREAKING: NEW YORK GOV. DECLARES ACT OF TERROR.
And slightly smaller below it: Supers Go into Hiding.
“The Supers arrived at the headquarters of the Super Intelligence Agency early in the morning, according to our sources. There was an engagement that quickly turned ugly, as shown by the destruction left in the aftermath,” the news reporter said. The scene changed to the building. It was now fully collapsed. A six-story building reduced to a pile of rubble. Firemen were still picking through it.
“Five people were killed in the attack, including two government officials, according to our sources. Many more are left wounded. SIA officials say that early in the morning on Friday, one Super was apprehended by local police due to disruptive behavior. She was transferred to the SIA building for questioning when the attack occurred. We are left wondering only why—why would the Supers, who vow to protect us, take innocent lives? For now, every member of the Supers is wanted for questioning, and if you have any information on their whereabouts, we encourage you to contact your local authorities—”
James turned off the TV and threw down the remote, disgusted.
“You know they’re not telling the whole story. Unprovoked attacks?” James said. “Derek would never do something like that.”
His mom just nodded.
He walked around the couch and sat down across from her. “No word from him?”
She shook her head.
“I’m sure he’s fine. He knows how to look after himself.”
“My boy’s a wanted criminal,” she said.
“They can’t arrest him. He’s innocent. He’ll probably fly back here sometime today, give us the whole story. Then we can work with him to clear his name. Everything will be okay.”
“James,” his mom said, her expression softening. “James, he’s not coming back.”
“Wha... That’s ridiculous. Of course he’s coming back. He always comes back.”
“At least not for a while,” she continued, standing and cupping his chin with her hand. “Listen, James, I need you to be strong.”
He shrugged out of her grip and stood up. “He’s coming back!”
She shook her head, her eyes shining. “It’s going to be a long time until we see him again.”
“You’re wrong!” he shouted, turning, then stomped up the stairs and into his room.
He shrugged off his backpack and flopped onto his bed. He stared at the ceiling, mind still reeling. She was being silly. Derek wouldn’t just abandon them. She would see. Tonight or tomorrow morning, he would show up and explain everything. They’d laugh it off and Derek would tell James he’d always be there for him.
Always.
At some point, James dozed off, and when he awoke, the sun was gone, his room plunged into darkness. His mind felt heavy and slow. He regretted yelling at his mom. She didn’t deserve it, but she was wrong. He hoped with every fiber of his being that she was wrong.
The clock read 8:00 p.m. He slipped out of bed and into the hallway. The door to his mom’s room was shut, though he could see light through the crack at the bottom. He went back downstairs and flopped onto the couch, turning on the TV and flipping through the channels.
Every news network was talking about the Supers. They sat around their stupid glass tables, with their stupid suits and ties and too much makeup, and talked and yelled at each other like they were authorities on the subject. But they knew nothing. None of them did.
Finally, James settled on one of the few channels not talking about the Supers, with some show about an angry chef and people trying to bake cakes while he screamed at them.
Every time he heard a noise outside, James jumped up, expecting to see his brother landing on the front lawn. But it was just a car driving by or a dog barking or adults talking loudly as they went on their evening walks. How could everyone be acting so normal?
