The Ables (21 page)

“You’d think I’d be used to having you inside my head by now, but it still catches me off guard sometimes,” I said.

“I’m like a ninja,” he replied, bragging just a little bit.

“Okay, folks,” I heard a familiar voice say into a microphone, “We’re ready to begin.” It was Coach Tripp.

All the chatter came to a standstill.

“When I blow this air horn,” he continued, “that’s the signal to begin the competition. When you hear the air horn again, that’s the signal that the SuperSim is over. Either time has expired, or all the crimes have been thwarted. At the sound of that second air horn, you must—I repeat,
must
—stop everything you’re doing and return here to Circle Plaza for a debrief and the awards ceremony. I think there will even be refreshments of some kind.”

A brief cheer went up from the students, because kids who don’t like refreshments pretty much don’t exist. But we quieted down again to hear what Coach Tripp said next.

Only instead of Coach Tripp’s voice, we heard the air horn, which rang through the night air for a solid two seconds, loudly.

And then it was gone.

Everyone had been expecting the opening speech to continue, so the actual starting horn was a surprise. It caught most of the participants flat-footed. We all just kind of hung there in limbo for a moment before absolute madness erupted.

Voices went up in a chorus of shouts and commands. Orders were given and battle cries were raised. I think I even heard one group yell, “To arms.”

Circle Plaza exploded with movement and sound as the teams hurried to enact the strategies and plans they’d drawn up. In a matter of seconds, the plaza was nearly empty.

“Where are they all going?” I asked no one in particular. Had I missed some announcement? Was there some obvious fact or strategy that we were foolishly overlooking?

Freddie weighed in, sounding as confused as I was. “Should we be running somewhere too, then?”

Henry echoed my thoughts. “They can’t possibly know where the crimes are taking place.”

We’d spent all our planning time discussing how we could collectively apprehend or stop a criminal—it wasn’t as easy as you might think considering how many of our group’s powers were mentally based abilities. We hadn’t spent any time at all thinking about where or how to find the actual criminals. I guess we assumed that would be the easy part. We were so very wrong about that.

There was a loud scream in the distance, and it startled me. It sounded like a woman. As soon as I heard it, I realized an important fact:
every other team that took off running was already closer to that scream than we were.

“That could be a crime,” Henry shouted.

There wasn’t time to waste critiquing our own lack of planning. Bentley jumped right into battle mode. “Phillip, can you tell roughly where that scream came from?!” He was excited and speaking quickly, like someone who just drank six cups of coffee in three seconds.

“It was about four blocks west, but I’m pretty sure it was a student,” I said. I was used to New York City noise, but the sound waves traveled a lot better in this quiet little town. My sensitive ears were one of my biggest assets on a team of misfits like this.

“Phillip, even if it’s a student screaming, it could just as easily be a signal that there’s something there we should check out,” Bentley reminded me. “There could be some kind of clue or indication of another crime.”

He was right, and I knew it. And even thinking about it for even a few more seconds could cost us dearly. I nodded my affirmation. “Let’s go, everyone. James, in the center; Maple and Grant, got it?”

James stepped to the middle of the group nodding as the rest of us gathered around, placing our hands on him. As soon as we were all touching some part of him—or the person in front of us who was touching him—I gave the command. “Now.”

Ooph!

We arrived at the corner of Maple and Grant, and we were too late. Way, way too late. The team from the plaza with the ugly green uniforms was standing between us and the action along with two other tardy teams—a group of high school girls in shiny silver get-ups and a team of kids our own age called the Cowboys. They were all wearing western garb, which made about as much sense to me as going nude, but whatever.

Beyond them, we could see Steve Travers’ team, with two criminals in custody. In the few seconds we were standing there taking it all in, two more teams arrived, only to find disappointment.

“Hey,” Bentley said, “at least we know we can trust Phillip’s hearing, right? You pretty much nailed the spot, just like that,” he added, snapping his fingers. “Come on, everyone, the night is still young.” He was a natural optimist, and I wondered if he might even end up making a fine leader for our little crime-fighting unit. We’d need one soon enough, and none of us really fit the typical mold, if you know what I mean.

“Where should we go now?” James inquired.

“Yeah,” Henry said, a touch of sarcasm in his words, “I don’t hear any more screams.”

The other teams were moving off—two of them disappeared into thin air, traveling by teleporter like we did.

“Where are they even going?” I asked.
What do they know that we don’t?

“Well,” Bentley began, “it’s a fair bet, just on basic mathematics, that there won’t be any crimes anywhere in this direct vicinity since we just had one, right? So … we should definitely go … somewhere.”

Another scream suddenly broke through the quiet night air, this time more of a yell. It was definitely a male voice.

I turned in Henry’s general direction and thought some deliberate thoughts, hoping he’d be listening.
What was that you were saying about hearing more screams?
I smiled.

“Well, where was it, genius?” He shot back aloud, trying to conceal a slight grin.

I snapped into business mode. “Closer this time. James, center. Seventh and Haywood. Let’s go, everyone!” My adrenaline was pumping.

Everyone scurried into our little circle, putting a hand on James’ shoulder or jacket.

“Go!” I whispered.

Ooph!

Haywood Lane ran parallel to Grant Avenue, so we really only moved one block over and two blocks west. We were much earlier in relation to the crime but still too late. The Vipers beat us again and had already apprehended the bad guy—it was Mr. Henderson, one of the school’s guidance counselors. He’d apparently been robbing the bank on the corner.

“Crap,” Henry said. “Too late again.”

“We’re never going to apprehend a criminal by waiting for sounds and reacting,” Bentley said.

“Why not?” I asked defensively. “With James’ teleporting abilities, why can’t we be just as fast on the draw as any other team?”

“Because there’s already a team there, Phillip,” he explained sadly, “causing the screaming in the first place. Think about it. A criminal’s not going to go stand out in the street and scream or yell and draw attention to himself. A victim might scream, sure, but a lot of the sounds we’re going to hear tonight are going to mean another team is already there. We’re too late as soon as we hear it, you see?” He delivered it like bad news, because it was. He was right.

“Well then how the heck are we supposed to find the crimes?” I asked, challenging the universe as much as Bentley’s logic. “How are all these other teams doing it?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I can think of a hundred methods to use, but all of them require some kind of preparation or planning—or equipment. Without all that, we’re just guessing.”

We all stood around with slumped shoulders for a few seconds.

“You’re a pretty smart guy, though, right?” I said. “We’re all pretty smart, but you’re a freaking genius.”

“Yeah,” he said, waiting for the other shoe to drop, perhaps expecting an insult.

“So your guesses are probably better than most people’s well-thought-out plans, wouldn’t you say?”

“Okay.”

“He’s right,” Henry chimed in. “If your brain can’t unlock a way to find some criminals, then no one’s can.”

“Think about this town, Bentley. Think about common crimes or cliché master plans.” I was on a roll. Bentley’s brain worked like a supercomputer when his powers were activated; I just needed to remind him. “Think about the types of places crimes happen. Think about the school and the board officials and what their desire for education might do to impact the kinds of crimes they choose to portray. Throw all that into that computer of a head of yours, and spit me out some options.”

“Yeah,” Henry cheered, like a fired-up athlete after a halftime pep talk.

“Let’s brainstorm, which, for a guy like you, should be a brain hurricane,” I said, smiling.

“Okay, okay,” Bentley said, waving his hands in surrender. “All right. Give me a moment, okay?”

He closed his eyes to concentrate. We held our tongues and our breath while he put his powers to work. For several moments, it was completely silent. Everyone was staring at him expectantly; even I was staring, in my own way. Seeing through Henry’s perspective sometimes impacted my body’s natural movement. If he was leaning forward to see or hear something more clearly, I sometimes found myself mimicking the same body language without even realizing it.

Finally, Bentley opened his eyes and rattled off a rapid-fire list of information. “The Freepoint Bank—east location, Waveland; Dave’s Diamond Outlet, Main Street; Boyle Chevrolet on Baily Boulevard; the Freepoint Teleportation Office, Wayne Drive; and City Hall, Main Street.”

He’d thrown them all at us so quickly, I’d missed most of them after the bank. “Slower, slower,” I pleaded.

He obliged, breathing a bit more heavily between statements, as though using his power had tired him out a bit. “The Freepoint Bank—east location, Waveland. Dave’s Diamond Outlet, Main Street. Boyle Chevrolet on Baily Boulevard. The Freepoint Teleportation Office, Wayne Drive. And City Hall, Main Street.”

He’d repeated the entire list word-for-word, and I wondered if anyone else noticed. His power, whatever it was and however it worked, was pretty awe-inspiring.

“Okay,” I said, buying my brain a few seconds to process. Bentley had provided a pretty darn good list of possible targets for criminal activity in this community. “Are those in any particular order?”

“No,” Bentley replied, sounding surprised. “You asked for brainstorming, not a weighted list.” He was almost insulted, largely because he could easily have given them to me in order if he’d known that’s what I wanted.

“That’s fine. Really, it’s okay, Bentley,” I assured him. “You did an amazing job. Just tell me which one you think is the most likely target of all of them.”

“I guess the bank, because the score,” he made air quotes with his fingers—something I’d never known about before, though I instantly understood its meaning, “is the largest at the bank with all that money. But honestly, logic suggests someone has already beaten us to it, simply because it’s one of the larger targets. Same with the jewelry store. Other teams would think of those, probably, just by thinking about robbery possibilities.”

“Okay, that makes sense,” I said. “What about the others, then?”

“I guess maybe the Teleportation Office,” he concluded. “If you think about it, that place would be an attractive target to a real-world criminal.”

He had a good point. The Teleportation Office and its staff would be a great asset in the hands of a criminal invading Freepoint, providing instant access to the city from literally anywhere on the planet, assuming any prisoner teleporters would cooperate.

“All right, then. It’s settled.” I decided for everyone, not stopping to wonder if that was selfish. “We’re headed to my mom’s workplace, which probably won’t be awkward at all,” I added with a gallon of sarcasm.

Everyone moved in closer together, without the rush, and made contact with James somehow.

“You know where it is, James?” I asked.

“You’re asking a teleporter if he knows where the Teleportation Office is?” he challenged playfully.

“Right. Duh. Sorry. Everyone ready? Let’s go, James.”

Ooph!

We arrived on the street outside my mother’s workplace. All the active custodians in town who needed to travel around the world for their work came to this building every morning for Mom or one of her coworkers to do the honors of playing instant cabdriver.

Henry looked around, taking in the scenery. Whether it was for my benefit or his own, I did not know.

This was the first time I’d ever seen the building, though I’d been inside several times. It was fairly nondescript. A two-story office building, with a few medium-sized trees around every corner. More impressive than the building was the parking lot, which was easily four or five times the size of the structure itself. It made sense to me, I figured, since it was essentially an airport of sorts—few employees and tons of customers who need to leave a car somewhere while they went to perform their work in another city.

We started walking toward the parking lot’s entrance, when suddenly, Mrs. Foster, the school nurse, dropped in out of the sky. As a flier, she was a natural choice to fill the role of one of the SuperSim referees since her power enabled her to hover above the town and see a lot of the action at once.

“Sorry, children,” she cooed like Glinda the Good Witch. “That building is off limits and not part of the SuperSim competition.”

“What?!” Henry screeched, the way that all kids do when they’re suddenly disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Foster said again, with no change in the cheeriness of her tone. “There aren’t any SuperSim crimes and criminals in there. The Teleportation Office is a twenty-four hour operation, so we aren’t able to use it.”

“Well, there goes another one,” I muttered, thinking about the two locations left on Bentley’s list: City Hall and the Chevy dealership. “Are there any other locations like this that are off limits?”

“Yes,” she said, pausing to smile. For a moment I thought she might not continue. “City Hall—”

“Crap!” Henry bellowed in the background. His field of view shook wildly with his head, making me a little dizzy.