Action Figures - Issue Two: Black Magic Women (24 page)

“Yeah,” Matt says at last. He tries to keep the sting of rejection out of his voice, but he’s not entirely successful. “I get it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, no, it’s cool.”

“Do you mind if I walk Carrie home? I’ll meet you guys at Coffee E in a bit.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Matt passes me without a word, dashes out the school’s front entrance.

“That was all kinds of unpleasant,” I say.

“Yeah.” Sara quietly drops an F-bomb. “I’ve been waiting for him to do that for, like, forever. I thought I was ready for it. I had my answer all figured out, rehearsed it and everything.”

“It’s easier to turn someone down when he’s not standing right there in front of you.”

Sara sighs. “Yeah.”

“For what it’s worth, that was maybe the gentlest friendzoning I’ve ever heard.”

“Not gentle enough.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why aren’t you interested in Matt? I know he can be...oh, how to put this?”

“Frustrating? Confusing? Challenging?”

“Let’s go with D: all of the above. But he really isn’t a bad guy at all, and he obviously has it for you bad.”

“That’s part of the problem. Matt’s very...hm,” she says, thinking. “I guess
passionate
is the right word. He has strong feelings, about everything, but especially about me. Knowing someone loves you that powerfully? It’s intimidating.”

“I guess I get that,” I say, “but I’d think it’d be comforting too, having that kind of love in your life, something that pure and sincere.”

Sara shrugs. “Maybe, but I don’t think I’m the right person for that kind of love. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a little broken.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “Sara, we’re
all
a little broken. That doesn’t mean we’re not worthy of love.”

“It doesn’t mean I want Matt’s love, either.” She winces. “Sorry, that sounded way harsher than I meant it to. All I mean is, I don’t feel that way about him. He’s my friend, and that’s all I want him to be. It’s better that way. For both of us.”

Keep telling yourself that, Sara. Maybe you’ll convince yourself it’s true.

TWENTY-FOUR

Wednesday and Thursday pass predictably. Relations between Motherland and Daughterville continue to improve (however, sanctions against the independent nation of Daughterville have yet to be lifted); school is school, although the anticipation of February break next week has spirits high and homework loads low; Missy is back to her normal, chipper self, and our group screw-up has gone without further comment; my website design class provides ample opportunity for some outrageous flirting between Malcolm and me; and my afternoons and evenings? Well, I’m getting a lot of recreational reading done. I remain thankful that Mom didn’t think to confiscate my personal library. If she had, I’d be a gibbering lunatic scrawling demented rants on my walls in crayon.

Okay, it wouldn’t be that bad.

Maybe.

I’m halfway through my (by my rough estimate) ten thousandth reading of
The Hobbit
when I start to nod off. It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve had a nightmare, so I’m less anxious about falling asleep. I make a mental note to mention it to Mindforce tomorrow when —

Oh, right, the grounding thing.

What do I do? Skip a week? Or make up an excuse to not come home right after school — and in doing so, risk getting caught in another lie, thus undoing all the repair work I’ve done on my relationship with Mom? Decisions, Decisions...

Carrie? You awake?

Hey, Sara. Yeah, more or less. What’s up?

I think there’s been another demon summoning. I just brought up my dinner.

Oh, no...

At least this time I was already in the bathroom.

Have you heard from the Protectorate?

No, but they usually call you.

Nuts, right, they do. And guess where my phone is?

Problem: my phone is in my mother’s clutches. You have Mindforce’s number, though, right?

Good call.

No pun intended.

Heh.
The brainphone goes quiet for a few minutes.
Huh. Looks like the Hero Squad is off the hook for this one.

What?

Yeah. I heard Concorde in the background, and boy, he was in a mood. He insisted we stay put this time — not like we have much choice. I know my parents wouldn’t let me out of the house at this time of night.

I look at my alarm clock. It’s almost 10:30. Yeah, neither would my mom, even if I weren’t grounded, but it’s weird for the Protectorate to tackle this one without us; the last two demons were tough enough to put down with both teams in play.

Nothing we can do about it,
I say.
All we can do is hope for the best and check in tomorrow.

Does that mean you’re going to bust your grounding for your weekly head-shrinking session?

Hm. I guess it does.

Mom, is it okay if I stay late today for my math tutoring? I say. Oh, okay, no problem, honey, she says, you’ve made some nice progress on your grades, I don’t want to see you backslide.

And that takes care of that.

I spend the last day before vacation counting the minutes until school lets out, so I can (I can’t believe I’m saying this) go to my weekly therapy session. I’m far from alone in my excitement; focus is at a premium today, and everyone is more interested in what they’ll be doing for vacation week. From the sound of it, Disney World is going to be packed with Kingsportians.

(Kingsporters? Kingsportites? Kingsportions?)

Malcolm asks about my vacation plans. I have none, and tell him so, thinking it’s leading into an irresistible invitation, but alas, his family is also Florida-bound — annual tradition, he says. The charm of the Magic Kingdom has worn a bit thin for Malcolm in his old age, but not for his little brother, who would be crushed if his big bro stayed behind.

“Can’t disappoint my buddy like that,” Malcolm says. How could I hold something that sweet against him?

The final bell sounds. Students race out of school like inmates escaping from prison. I do not exclude myself from this description.

Today is a split training session, apparently; Mindforce says he plans to observe while Natalie runs me through some more drills. Natalie’s goals for me today: get used to switching between my force and heat blasts on command, and improve my questionable aim. I am all for this plan.

“I hope you’re ready to work, because we’re going to start pushing you hard,” Mindforce says. “This mess with Black Betty reminded me how green you kids still are. Power is great, natural talent is fine, but in the middle of a fight is not the place to discover where your weaknesses are.”

“No arguments here,” I say. “Does this mean the rest of the Squad will soon get to benefit from a little mentoring?”

“Working on it. Concorde is being...um...”

“He’s being Concorde?”

“Oh, yeah,” Natalie says.

“I think the best approach is for you to set a good example,” Mindforce says. “If Concorde sees you treating this seriously, he’ll be more likely to let us bring the others in for training.”

“Hero Squad ambassador. Got it.”

“Good. Okay, let’s get started,” he says, and we’re off to the training room.

I forego a coy, offhand inquiry, and say outright, “So, what happened last night? Another demon?”

“Yes, in Lexington,” Mindforce says. I wait for more, but neither he nor Natalie say anything.

“How bad was it?” I prod.

“Bad enough,” Natalie says.

“What did it do this time? Reanimate the dead? Spit acid? Something to do with the Ebola virus?”

Mindforce and Natalie exchange glances. They look queasy.

“It was the single most revolting, disgusting experience of my entire life, and I don’t wish to speak of it ever again,” Natalie says. “Showered for a damned hour, and I swear I can still smell it.”

I think I’ll stop asking questions now.

“We’ll brief you on it tomorrow morning,” Mindforce says.

“Minus the details,” Natalie adds. “You’re welcome.”

“Tomorrow morning?” I say.

“We’re having an all-hands meeting,” Mindforce says. “The Quantum Quintet will be Skyping in from the compound.”

“I can’t be there. I’m grounded until Sunday.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I laugh. “Oh, sure, I’ll just tell Mom I can’t finish out my punishment because I have to go to a super-hero meeting.”

“Be ready to roll by eight-thirty,” Mindforce says. “I’ll give you an out.”

     I don’t know what I was expecting, but I definitely wasn’t expecting my “out” to come in the form of Catherine Hannaford.

“Hello, Ms. Hauser?” Miss Hannaford says, thrusting out her hand. “I’m Cathy. Is Carrie ready to go?”

Mom, still in her bathrobe and yet to have her first sip of coffee, gawks at Miss Hannaford, looks over her shoulder at me, then back at Miss Hannaford, then back at me.

“Carrie?” Mom says. “Who is this?”

“Carrie, did you not tell your mother about the retreat today?” Miss Hannaford says, stepping inside without the benefit of an invitation. She has a plastic smile pasted on her face, her hair is pulled back into a bun, and she opens her coat to reveal a white polo shirt, which bears a colorful logo over the left breast. Normally, Miss Hannaford is on the quiet and reserved side. Now, she gives off the same vibe you’d get from an overly enthusiastic used car salesman.

“Retreat?” Mom parrots. Sorry, Mother, I’m as lost as you are.

Fortunately, Miss Hannaford nimbly fills the void. “Today’s our retreat for our student mediators,” she says, bustling over to me. “I
know
, weekend before February va
cation
, no one wants to think about
working
...”

“Hold on. I’m sorry, Miss...Hannaford, was it? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Miss Hannaford affects a mock-wounded expression. “Carrie! Don’t tell me you haven’t told your mother about Team Teen Reachout?” Out of pure instinct, I open my mouth to answer, but Miss Hannaford jumps back in. She plucks a business card out of her breast pocket, and hands it to Mom. “I’m the coordinator for the local chapter of Team Teen Reachout, a national program that trains high school students to intervene in crisis situations involving other teens. You know how young people hate talking to us un-cool grown-ups sometimes.”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” Mom says, eyeing the card, then me. Real subtle, Mom. “Carrie’s never mentioned this to me.”

“Oh, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. That’s one of the things I love about that girl: she’s as modest as the day is long,” Miss Hannaford says, as though I wasn’t in the room. “She’s been a great addition to the team. A real peer leader.”

“That’s, uh, nice to hear, but I’m afraid Carrie can’t make this retreat of yours.”

“She can’t?”

“Carrie broke her curfew last week. She’s grounded until tomorrow,” Mom says firmly, trying to reassert control.

“Ohhhh,” Miss Hannaford says. “This is about last Saturday.”

“Yes. She was out on a date, and came home much later than she was told to, so —”

“Oh, Carrie, I’m so sorry! Ms. Hauser, I should have called you right away to explain. We had a rather serious incident last week involving a young lady,” Miss Hannaford says softly, as if in confidence, “and Carrie was the first team member we were able to contact. Now, I can’t divulge the details to you — we do stress confidentiality, after all — but Carrie, bless her, she dropped
everything
and spent half the night on the phone with this girl.”

In a moment of bravura acting, Miss Hannaford shakes her head, holds up her hands, putting a slight but noticeable tremble into them, and calls up some tears to blink away.

“Oh, I dread to think of how that night would have ended if Carrie hadn’t been there,” she says, looking at me with admiration. Bravo, Miss Hannaford. Heck,
I’m
a little choked up, and I know this is total B.S.

“Carrie,” Mom says. “Honey, why didn’t you tell me all this?”

“Well, we instruct our mediators not to discuss their individual cases with anyone outside the program,” Miss Hannaford says. “I guess our Carrie really took that to heart.”

“Yes, no, I understand, but...oh, God, Carrie, I wish you’d said
something
. I feel terrible,” Mom says.

You’re not the only one. This is not the way I wanted this episode to end. I could argue I didn’t deserve getting grounded, but now Mom feels like the bad guy, and she definitely doesn’t deserve that.

“Go on,” she says, “get ready for your retreat. Punishment’s over.”

Yippee.

“I have to say, when the Protectorate runs a scam, you sure go all in,” I say from the passenger’s seat of a white van, which bears the Team Teen Reachout logo on either side — the same logo emblazoned on Miss Hannaford’s shirt, and on the small stack of business cards in her pocket.