Stick (19 page)

I
met Preston at nine-thirty, wondering what he had in store for the night. He had his backpack, and I fell in line with him as he walked. “So, I never really asked. What do you call yourself?”

“Homo sapiens.”

“No. Like, your name.”

“Preston.”

“No, like, your superhero name. Captain Weirdo or something.”

“I thought about Commander General Death Seeker of the Knights of the Shining Galaxies, but it was too long to stencil on my chest, and most people wouldn't remember it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Are you ever not the most difficult person in the world to talk to?”

“When are you ever not a tool? Do I have a name? Do I need a name to do this? Do you have a football name?” There was an awkward silence for a moment, and then he went on. “Okay, so you have a football name, but personally I think it's a stupid concept.”

I kicked a rock and watched it skip away in the darkness. I had no idea where we were going. “So just Preston, then?”

“You think this is stupid.”

“Yeah, I do, but not because it's weird. It's stupid because it'll get you killed.”

“The police came to the apartment today and got a statement from my mom. Tom is being charged.”

“Cool.” I looked around, and realized we'd made our way down toward the river. “Where are we going?”

“Around the sun.”

I sighed. “Not the planet, dork. Us.”

“To my enclave.”

I had only a vague idea what an enclave was, but I wasn't about to ask and look stupid in front of him. We walked across a field and toward the water's edge. It was nearly pitch-black, and Preston took a penlight from his utility belt and guided us through the trees and weeds. I tripped over a root. “So, what do you have in your belt? I've seen the Taser, pepper spray, and cuffs, but what else?”

He led us around a rock outcrop. “A ziplock bag full of dried fruit.”

“For what?”

He ducked under a tree branch, then straightened, shining the little light in my face. “I throw it at perpetrators, perfectly targeting their eyeballs and blinding them with fruit pellets.”

I stared through the light. “So, in other words, you eat it.”

“Are you done yet?”

“Whatever. I was just interested.”

He opened his bag, taking out his mask and putting it on. Then he took his hoodie and pants off. The silver lightning bolts on his costume gleamed in the beam of the penlight. Then he took out another mask, giving it to me. “We need to remain anonymous.”

I looked at it for a moment, then took it. It was simple, like one the Lone Ranger or the Boy Wonder would wear, and I put it on. “All right, chief. Lead the way.”

He did, and a little farther on, the dark shape of a small, abandoned barn came into view. Preston turned and walked toward it. Half the roof had caved in, and the walls sagged. Preston went inside, and I followed. He went over to a rickety card table set in the center.

Once again opening his bag, he took out a small battery-operated lantern. Before he switched it on, he looked at me, his eyes glistening and wide behind his mask. “We are not
aloooone,
” he whispered in a melodramatic voice. Then he switched the lantern on.

I just about jumped out of my skin. A figure stood against one side of the wall. Clad head to toe in a dark green suit slashed with gold, complete with a shiny green, full-face motorcycle helmet, it stepped forward. “Wha—” I began, then noticed other movement. All around me, figures were stepping forward, coming from the shadows. Eight in total.

They had different costumes. All different colors, some emblazoned with symbols. One of them had a patch with a red hammer on his chest. Underneath, it said “Red Hammer.” Another was dressed eerily like a tiger. Another looked like a mortician with a mask on. “Death Itself” was scrolled across the forehead of the mask. I didn't know if I should run for my life or laugh at the most ridiculous scene I'd ever witnessed.

Preston crossed his arms over his chest. “I've brought the visitor.”

Red Hammer guy spoke. “Okay. Can we stop with the whole dramatic entrance thing? I know it's good for effect, but aren't we above that?”

All at once, the rest of the group came forward, loosening up, saying hello, patting one another on the back.

I spoke low, directly into Preston's ear. “When you said you weren't as lonely as I thought…”

“And you thought I was the only freak.”

“Hey, I'm wearing a mask, aren't I?”

“Yes. And you look dumb in it.”

“So, what is this?” I asked, watching as the various heroes visited. I heard snatches of conversations. Stories about fighting crime, advice about where the action was, and crime rate statistics. If anything, these guys knew crime rates, patterns, and numbers better than the best cop in the universe.

Preston answered me. “It's just a gathering. When I moved here, I began trolling the Internet, interested if there was anything like this in Spokane. I'd heard about it in other cities, and I wanted to know. This is the culmination of my research.”

“So, what do you do?”

He frowned. “What do
you
do when you and your teammates dress in
your
costumes and meet in the locker room?”

“Talk, I guess. Get ready for the game.”

“Same here. Just don't use my name. It's agreed that we all stay anonymous.”

“What do they call you if you don't have a name?”

His luminescent eyes met mine. “Nameless.”

His no-name name struck me, and it made sense in a way. “So why did you bring me here?”

“I just thought that maybe you…,” he said, then paused. “I just wanted you to…I'm not that weird, you know?”

I smiled. “Dude, you
are
that weird, but not because of this. And thanks. Come on, let's meet your friends.”

“They're not necessarily friends but associates. I would consider it more like—”

I cut him off, holding my hand up to his face. “Stop. Now. Okay? We're not in normal zone, but just give it a break,” I said, then turned to a pudgy guy dressed like a homeless Superman and shook his gloved hand.

C
oach Larson took his baseball cap off, scratching his head as he glowered at me. “What does that have to do with this team, Patterson?”

I sighed, glancing at the clock in his office. I was supposed to be picking up Preston for a tutoring session at my house in five minutes, and I'd thought this meeting would go smoothly. I'd figured Coach would be excited. He obviously wasn't. “Uh, sir, I was just letting you know.”

He nodded dramatically. “So, what you're saying is that you want to take Jordan's place on the left side for this Friday's game because you have a scout flying up from UCLA.” Not a question, a statement.

“No, that's not really what I was saying. I was just letting you know, and I thought…” I stopped, looking at his face. I checked myself. “Actually, sir, yes. This is very important to me, and I really think I have a shot. But I don't want to take Jordan's position if I don't deserve it.”

His face loosened up. “Good, because God himself could come down and offer you an eternal position on his football team and I wouldn't change anything I do because of it. You'll be playing whatever position best suits you, and I'll be playing you the way I need to play you to win the game.”

“Yessir.”

He waved me off, looking down at the playbook on his desk. “Out.”

I walked to the door.

“Patterson.”

I turned, and he fixed me with a stare. “I'm sure that your full talents will be utilized during the game on Friday. And I'm also sure that if you play like you are able to play, you'll make the kind of impression that you'd like with the gentleman coming from California. Now get out of here.”

Preston was looking at his watch when I pulled up at the school. No, not looking at it. Staring at it. I leaned over and rolled the passenger window down. “Sorry if I'm late. Had a meeting with Coach.”

He looked up at me. “Do you know how long a mayfly lives?”

I turned the stereo down as he peered in the window. “No clue.”

“One day,” he said, getting in the car.

I drove. “So?”

“If I were a mayfly, you would have comparatively wasted seven or eight years of my life by being late.”

“You're not a mayfly, and I was only twenty minutes late.”

“I know, but if I were, in those twenty minutes you would have missed my birth and most of my elementary school years.”

I pulled into traffic. “I called the scout from UCLA. He's coming to the game.”

“So he can see your coach not play you?”

“I'm playing all right,” I said, smiling.

“Most likely you'll be in the hospital because your friends are going to beat you to a pulp first.”

“You're always so optimistic,” I replied as he looked for something to tidy up in my car. “Something the matter?”

“You cleaned your car,” he said.

I had. I'd taken every scrap of anything out, even vacuumed it. “You okay about that? I don't want to put you in a panic or something.”

“I don't panic about those types of things. Just birds. Their beaks scare me.”

The truth was I'd cleaned it because he was rubbing off on me. “So, how'd it go today?” I took a right on 35th Avenue.

“Fine. I think I got a question wrong on my science exam.”

“I mean the shirts and stuff. You get any hassle?”

“The entire football team was wearing them, plus a few non-sports people. I was pretty happy with that, but I'd like to have seen more. By fourth period, the vice principal had made everybody either change or go home. I told him he was inhibiting my livelihood, but he wouldn't listen to me.”

I smiled. “You actually told him that you had the shirts made?”

“Yes. He didn't seem impressed, but then again he's not several hundred thousand dollars wealthier, either. I also found out who posted the first video.”

“Who?”

“Your friend Mike.”

I had nothing to say to that.

When we got in the house, I grabbed a bag of chips and a couple of cans of Pepsi from the fridge and took them to my room. Preston was taking stuff from his backpack when I heard my dad come from his office. He stopped at my door, peeking in. He held several printouts. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hello, Mr. Patterson.”

He looked at Preston. “Brett let me know you're interested in the justice system.”

Preston looked at me, then back at my dad. “No, I'm not.”

My dad smiled. “Actually, you are, Preston.”

Without a blink, Preston spoke. “I'm assuming Brett told you about my career as a professional superhero.”

“He told me about a young man who has a strong desire to make things right in this world.” He studied Preston. “Have you heard of the Spokane County Sheriff Explorer's Program?”

Preston shook his head.

My dad held the papers out. “Here. Take a look. It's a program for youth who are interested in a career in law enforcement.”

Preston took the printouts, staring at them for a second. Then he looked up. “Why did you do this, Mr. Patterson?”

My dad smiled. “Not for the reasons you might think. Take them or leave them, but I thought you might be interested.”