Hero–Type (20 page)

In the end, there's some kind of paperwork snafu and he claims that he needs to hold on to the car for a day or two to process some kind of warranty information, which I think is total bull, especially since he's got this smarmy grin on his face the whole time, but what am I supposed to do about it?

So now I'm car-less.

The car people let me use their phone to call Flip.

Flip, fortunately, has a lot of free time on his hands. Which is why he's in charge of the Council. "Idle hands are the Fool's playthings," he's said to me a million times, which is kind of annoying because I know what the saying is
really,
and it makes me wonder if some of the other stuff he says that sounds so smart and so original is really just gakked from other people.

So anyway, he's cool with picking me up and chauffeuring me around a little bit. He comes over in his beat-up orange coupe. Fam's riding shotgun, but Flip makes her get in the back so that I can sit up front.

I don't really like that. I don't know
why
I don't like it, but it bugs me. Always has. Why can't she sit up front? But because I'm me, of course I don't say anything.

"So, I've got this great idea for a Council prank," Flip says as we pull out of the lot.

"Hold on. Me, too."

Flip frowns.
He's
the leader, after all.

"That's great, Kross. My idea is that on Friday we go to SAMMPark—"

"I can't do Friday."

"Council meeting Friday," Flip goes on, as if he hasn't heard a word I've said. "Officer Sexpot is going to take things to the next level, and your presence is requested."

"Flip, I can't do Friday. Really. And
my
idea—"

"Dial it back to chill, Kross. Everything else has merely been a prelude. This is going to be the
true
return of Officer Sexpot. up till now, we've been dicking with national issues. But that doesn't really hit people where they live—Friday we're gonna wake Brookdale up."

"That's great, but listen, Flip. If you do
my
idea, you'll get a lot more attention."

"All this patriotic crap is boring," he goes on. "There's only so much humor in it, you know? Besides, it's too easy. There's nothing sexy about it. No imagination. 'Oh, boo-hoo! Someone doesn't love America! Oh, woe is me!' Whatever."

I grit my teeth. Flip just hates it when he's not in control, and right now he isn't. He's not in charge of anything. I'm tempted to tell him that, but I still need him. "Look, there's a lot we can do with the patriotic stuff. There's a lot of good points to be made."

"We make mischief, not points."

"I thought we were supposed to do both at the same time. Isn't that why we do
any
of this?"

He shrugs. "We do the things I
say
we do."

I can't win. "I'm telling you, my idea is better. And seriously, I can't do anything Friday anyway."

It finally sinks in. Flip glances over at me and raises an eyebrow, something he thinks makes him look very adult but actually only makes him look very lopsided. "Excuse me, Fool Kross? Are you really bailing on the Council and the ultimate triumph of Officer Sexpot?"

"I have a party to go to." Ugh. As soon as it's out of my mouth, it sounds ridiculous.
I have a party to go to.
Like I'm a starlet or something.

"A night with Dionysus or a night with Loki. It's your choice, Kross."

Man, I hate when he does that. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"A party happens and then it ends." Now he sounds like a professor somewhere. "You go, you drink, you potentially get laid"—he looks over at me again, as if appraising my chances and wondering what's lower than zero—"and then the next day it's over and that's it.

"But a night with the Council lives in infamy. This latest exploit of Officer Sexpot's will be the pièce de résistance, the tête-à-tête, the crème de la crème of Foolish behavior."

I believe him. I really do. Flip doesn't do anything halfway, and if he's got something new worked up for Officer Sexpot, then I'm sure it's better than the other Officer Sexpot pranks we've pulled this year. But it's Leah. How do I explain that to him?

I give it a really lame shot: "There's this girl..." And I stop because Fam's in the back seat and you don't talk about chicks when other chicks are present. That's pretty high on the Guy Rule List. And besides, where do I go from there?
There's this girl and she doesn't give a crap about me, but I follow her around like a stupid puppy dog anyway...
I'm an idiot.

"Ah! Are you in love, Kross? Are you? Because that would be a supremely foolish thing to do at your age." I hear no capital letter that time. And by the way—oh, please. He's only a year older than I am. "You should be thinking of many, many girls, dancing wenches garbed for your pleasure. Don't let yourself be nailed down to one chick. Not only are there plenty of fish in the sea, but dolphins and other mammals as well."

Maybe compared to a male porpoise I'm somehow desirable, but I don't think that's what he's aiming for.

"Look, Flip, that's all great, but can I just tell you my idea?"

He nods. "If you must."

So I lay it all out for him. I've got it all figured out, even where to get the materials. Flip follows along, saying nothing.

"...and everyone will think I did it," I tell him, "but I'll be at the party with tons of witnesses, so no one will know."

He pulls the car into my driveway. "I don't know, Kross."

"Flip! Come on, man. It's genius."

"Well, sure. But I don't get it. How is it funny?"

"It's not
supposed
to be funny. It's making a
point."

"So ... how is
that
funny?"

"Flip!" I'm gonna rip my hair right out of my head.

"Seriously, Kross. There's no joke there. It's a fine idea, but—"

"Joey."

Fam. From the back seat. She's been so quiet this whole time that I almost forgot she was even there. Flip must have actually forgotten, because he jerks like someone just cattle-prodded him.

"What?"

"Joey, listen to Ke—to Kross. This is what the Council
exists
for, right? To mess with people's heads. To show them that the world they see isn't what they
think
they see."

He leans back in his seat and drums his fingers on his steering wheel.

"You have a point, Fool Kross. Your idea has merit." He says it like he just knighted me. Never mind that I'm not the one who said it—Fam did. I glance in the back seat and she grins at me and gives me a thumbs-up.

"So you'll do it?" I ask Flip.

"Indeed. But you have to help me with
my
plan. We'll push it back. Yours will take some time and planning. We'll do it on Friday instead of mine, then do mine next week."

"Fine. Sure. Great!"

I rush into the house before I realize that I never asked Flip what his idea is.

That can't be good.

B
Y THE TIME
F
RIDAY NIGHT ROLLS AROUND
, I'm totally ready for another weekend. I could use a month of weekends at this point.

Before I can relax, though, I have the party to go to. I
have
to go to it now. I have no choice. The Council is prepared to pull my prank tonight ("All systems are a-go-go," Flip told me) and I have to be far away when it happens because
everyone
will assume I did it.

I get dressed and I'm digging under the sofa bed for a videotape without even really realizing it. What's going through Leah's mind, I wonder. What is she thinking? Why does she keep flirting with John Riordon but then tell me that she admires what I'm doing?

Speaking of which: What
am
I doing?

Am I trying to change people's minds? Am I trying to keep people from being stupid? Am I really going to accomplish anything by pointing out some of the stupidities and hypocrisies of the world?

I'm not even sure, tell the truth. I don't even know why it matters so much to me. Except that...

Except that everyone called me a hero. Everyone looked up to me. And I know the truth—that I'm not a hero, never was.

I put the tape in and watch it. I hate myself for it, but I can't help myself. I'm going to be seeing Leah in less than an hour. I'll be in her
house.
Around her
things.
And yet here I am.

I bought into the hype, even just a little bit. For a little while there, I thought I was a hero. But I'm not. The fact that I'm sitting here, watching this tape, proves that I'm not.

It's not the Burger Joint tape. It's another one. A different one.

I'm no hero. I'm scum.

I shouldn't go to the party. I shouldn't be around decent people.

But who am I kidding? I'm going. I can't help myself.

The mayor has my wheels, but there's still Dad's car.

"You're on your provisional license, so I want you back before midnight," he reminds me as he hands over the keys.

I tell him that's not a problem and then I throw a towel and my bathing suit into my backpack.

I know the way to Leah's house. It's a gigantic rancher out in one of the exclusive developments in Breed's Grove—owning the Narc must pay well for Mr. Muldoon.

I can't help it—coming out here makes me think about Susan Ann Marchetti. Killed by a kid from Breed's Grove and she gets a park named after her and a nice statue. Is dying heroic?

The last time I was out here, there were two big trucks out front—a makeup truck and a satellite rig so that
Justice!
could broadcast live. Now there's half a dozen cars parked in the big circular driveway. I park Dad's heap where it will be tough to box me in—when it's time for me to go, I don't want to have go begging people to move.

I sit out in the car for a minute for one final pep talk with myself. I ask myself for the billionth time: Why am I doing this? Why am I going to the house of the girl I'm, y'know, interested in, when all of her friends will be there? Friends who don't know me but know enough not to like me.

Well, in this case, I have no choice, so I take a deep breath and go ring the doorbell.

Mrs. Muldoon answers the door. Her face lights up when she sees me, which is one of the best things to happen to me in a long time. Then again, I
did
save her daughter's life and I guess that buys me some affection despite the whole hating-America thing.

"Hi, Mrs. Muldoon."

She gives me one of those one-armed hugs and a little kiss on my cheek, then ushers me into the house. It looks pretty much the same as it did before: The living room (where
Justice!
shot its episode) is bigger than my entire apartment.

I didn't really look around much when I was here last time. There were so many people running all over the place and big lights and TV equipment set up that it looked more like a sound stage than someone's house. But now that I can actually see it, I gotta admit: I feel like an idiot for ever thinking I had a chance with Leah. She lives in a palace. I live in a basement.

"Everyone's out back by the pool," Mrs. Muldoon says, gesturing down a hallway that's wider than Dad's bedroom. I look down at my shoes. It's like they're not worthy to walk on the hardwood.

"Oh, of course," Mrs. Muldoon says, mistaking my hesitation for something sensible. "You need to change. Go ahead and use Leah's bathroom. Down the hall, your first right, then left. It's right across the hall from Leah's room."

I spend the minute or two it takes to get there thinking how bizarre it is that Leah has her own bathroom, much less that I'm about to go into it.

On the way, I see the backyard through a big picture window. There's something like twenty kids out there, running around the pool, doing cannonballs off the diving board. They're all having a good time. All of the guys are shirtless and the girls ... Lord, the girls are unbelievably hot, whether in bikinis or one-pieces. Jedi was right—it's wall-to-wall hotties.

I hustle down the side corridor. The bathroom's to my left. It's incredibly clean and almost as big as Dad's bedroom.

Her bedroom is to my right.

I tell myself, "No." I even mouth it, my lips moving silently.

But my feet have different ideas. I go to the right.

I
STAND THERE, QUIET
. I'm in Leah's bedroom.

The first thing I think is this: I wish my camera wasn't broken.

That summer two years ago, when I first taped her. When it all began. I tried so long to figure out what it was about that tape. Why it drew me in so much. Why I obsessed over it.

Leah was my safety valve for a while. She helped me not think so much about Mom and Jesse leaving. And then ... Then, somehow, my safety valve became dangerous. Somehow, thinking about Leah became as bad and as painful as thinking about Mom and Jesse—only I couldn't stop.