The OK Team (19 page)

‘But . . .' is all I can manage. My world is caving in.

Unbelievably, Mr Fabulous starts chuckling. ‘You'll find this funny, kid. I would have made Liarbird leader except she would have pointed everybody in the wrong direction all the time. Isn't that funny? Switchy could have led too, except that you'd all have trouble taking orders from a waste-paper basket. What a crack-up. Isn't that a crack-up?'

I'm so upset I'm practically invisible.

‘Ah, take it on the chin, will ya, kid? You're supposed to be a Hero, not a cry-baby. You're still in the team, and you'll improve if you keep listening to me. So no whingeing.

Torch deserves your support.'

‘Have you made him leader because you are mates with his grandfather?'

It's out before I even realise I'm going to say it. Mr Fabulous stops in his tracks and gives me a hard look that would halt an army from the planet Tarantulum. And those guys are said to be tough.

‘How dare you, kid. Pull yourself together, no pun intended. Clearly your ego can't handle being part of the team instead of the headliner in your own little world, so here's the latest news: take a hike. There must be some fresh talent in this crappy town to replace you. I met a dead kid the other day who was keen to join up, so you can consider yourself replaced.'

‘You met Super Dead Kid?'

‘I dunno if he was super, but he sure was dead. Kept telling me how long he'd been forced to walk the Earth.'

‘Yeah, that's him,' I say miserably.

‘Swell. Thanks for coming, Focus. Have a great life. All right, those who do want to be in the team, let's head back to base, do some stretches and debrief. Good job.'

I blink. My lip trembles. I'm definitely crying now. Luckily I think I am so far out of whack, visually, that nobody would know that tears are running down my cheeks. I'm humiliated, angry, shocked and stunned, all at the same time.

I am vaguely aware of the looks the rest of the team are giving me as they slink off after the old man in the faded yellow cape. I am determined not to look at Liarbird because if she seems sympathetic, I'll howl. I look at Switchy instead, but it's hard to see his expression because he is in the shape of a motorised golf buggy. Cannonball tries to give me a smile but it looks more like a grimace. Torch looks at Mr Fabulous walking away, looks at me, and then shrugs helplessly, in an ‘I have nothing to do with this' sort of way.

I just wave Torch away. I don't want to talk to anybody.

As they leave, I hear Yesterday saying to Mr Fabulous, ‘I knew you were going to do that.'

And then they walk around the corner and they are gone.

I'm a thirteen-year-old kid wearing spray-painted silver cargo pants, a silver T-shirt, a home-made cape and silver gloves. I'm a long way from home and I'm crying my eyes out. I'm all alone.

I don't feel very super.

ANCHOR:
You're watching Channel 78737 – where every day is more super than the last. Hey, here's a surprise. A Hero Association Hall of Famer has turned up in Australia, of all places. Yes, Golden Age star Mr Fabulous seems to have emerged from retirement to test what must be fading powers against some B and C grade villains.

Why? Well, the man himself says he is purely active as a super coach these days, but sometimes at the coalface, he's been forced to help out.

Mr Fabulous is on screen, with a microphone in front of him. In the background, Torch is hiding his face behind his long hair while Cannonball walks through the back of shot, once, then twice, and a third time, trying to look as though he has no idea the camera is there.

MR FABULOUS:
I'm over here as a favour to an old buddy who used to fire up the Hero world, if that rings any bells. I'm working with a bunch of kid Heroes, and they're good kids but raw. They had a little trouble finding their focus, but now they're on the right track. The problem with this job is that you can only be in a training situation for so long, then you have to meet the bad guys face-to-face. A couple of times I've needed to step in, to ensure the right side won.

SUPER REPORTER:
How do your powers hold up now, Mr Fabulous?

MR FABULOUS:
Well, let's just say I wouldn't want to be taking on Fangular9 or the Evil Nasty Gang in their prime right now. My super heat-ray is only lukewarm these days, so I think I might leave the higher-grade villains to Golden Boy or any other Triple As who live around here.

SUPER REPORTER:
Then again, Golden Boy has not actually recorded a single-handed world save at this stage of his career. Australia might need somebody with your record after all.

MR FABULOUS:
Don't you worry about Golden Boy. He just needs to find himself at home plate when it matters. He knows how to swing the bat.

(SILENCE)

MR FABULOUS:
That was a baseball analogy.

CHAPTER 25
A MYSTERIOUS PARCEL

S
omehow, having not slept at all, I make it through the next day at school. When I get back home, I trudge literally through the front door of our house, too preoccupied to realise the door isn't open.

‘Hello, Hazy darling,' says my mum. ‘Please try not to walk through the door. You know it upsets the neighbours.'

‘Sorry, Mum,' I say absently. ‘I'm heading up to my room.'

‘Again? You never seem to come out of that cave any more, Hazy.'

I don't answer. I just walk up the stairs, fall on the bed and turn on the TV.

I switch to Channel 78737. Hero after hero has been pulling off astonishing rescues. There's a major report about a giant meteor on a collision course with Australia but it's assumed that one of the Triple A Heroes will deal with it – maybe even Golden Boy for his long-awaited first world save. Everything is running smoothly in the Hero World. And it occurs to me that I'm the one who doesn't fit in.

I lie on my bed and find myself looking at the poster of the actor playing the Southern Cross, and remember the moment I realised Leon was standing there and I was talking to a Hero. I remember the feeling of being told I had a superpower too.

What if Leon got it wrong?

What if I've got it completely wrong?

What if there is no place in the Hero line-up for some kid who doesn't know if he's even got a body at any given moment?

Who am I kidding?

There's a knock on the door.

‘Hazy, dear? You received a package today.'

‘I did?' I get up off the bed as Mum comes in with a cardboard parcel about the size of a small shoebox.

‘Have you ordered any books on eBay or Amazon?'

‘No.' I bend my head and listen to the parcel, but it is silent.

‘Honestly, Hazy Retina,' Mum says. ‘You think somebody would have a reason to send a bomb to a thirteen-year-old boy?'

‘Can't be too careful, Mum,' I say, wishing I could tell her I'm only following correct Hero procedure, as outlined in the Hero guidebook's regulations regarding receipt of anonymous mail.

Of course, the package is addressed to ‘Hazy Retina', a mysterious parcel so there's no reason to think it has anything to do with my Hero double-life. But somehow I know better. I take the package and shoo Mum out of my room.

The back of the wrapping gives me no clues. The ‘sender' box is blank, which is really strange. If the package had come from the Australian Federation of Hero Types, they would have used the accepted coded address with the fictitious suburb ‘Upper Lower Gotham Heights'. I take a deep breath, tear into the cardboard wrapper and find a box. Inside the box is a single DVD. Somebody has written in felt-tip pen on the DVD: ‘Focus'.

My heart begins to thump. Somebody knows my secret identity.

I look again at the wrapping, this time at the front, and gasp. The stamps are from the USA. A smudged stamp says ‘New York', with a picture of an American flag.

Head spinning – but not literally – I carefully pick up the silver disc. My fingers are such a blur with nerves that I can hardly hold it. Finally I manage to insert the DVD in the drive and sit back while it loads.

Finally the image of a man's head appears on screen, but something must be wrong with the disc because the image is broken up into tiny blocks, as though it has been computer-distorted. I'm crushed with disappointment. But then I look more carefully at the image and I realise that the background is crystal clear. Massive skyscrapers are visible out the window. It is only the man's head that is distorted.

I'm looking at my Uncle Blinky!

I hit ‘play'.

‘Hazy Retina!' he says. ‘I hear you're pretty smart, so you've probably worked out who I am. Hiya kid. How ya doin'?'

My uncle has obviously been in the USA long enough to pick up a strong accent.

‘I was gonna drop you an email, kid, but whaddaya gonna do? I'm always a little concerned about security,' Blinky says from the DVD. ‘I thought a little face-to-face time, blur-to-blur, would be better. (That blur-to-blur thing was a little joke, kid. You gotta have a sense of humour when you look like me. Or you. Right? Of course, I'm right.)

‘I gotta tell you, Hazy, life is pretty damn sweet over here. Court TV does nuthin but show the legal system, for all its sins, and I got more work comin' in than you could poke a bagel at. You know what I'm sayin'?'

‘Anyways, what I wanted to tell you is that I've been following your little adventures from over here. I kinda like your team's costumes – a little “ghetto fabulous” maybe, but they're fun.'

‘
Ghetto fabulous
?' I think, storing that term away for later research.

‘That means, like, a little too flashy,' says the video image of my uncle, as though reading my mind. ‘A little too on the side of razzle-dazzle, even for New Yorkers.'

I'm suddenly glad I didn't go with tassles on my cape.

Uncle Blinky is still talking. ‘I know it will surprise you that I can know about your little OK thingo from this far away but, trust me, the Hero world is smaller than it looks. Let's just say I gotta few friends in Gotham and they keep me up to date with what I need to know. Occasionally we a mysterious parcel go to a ball game or maybe catch a show on Broadway if one of 'em's in town, and they might mention that you've had your butt kicked from Melbourne to Chicago one more time.'

Briefly, I'd been trying to picture a bunch of superheroes watching a Broadway musical, but now my shoulders slump at my uncle's off-hand dismissal of the OK Team's dismal efforts.

‘Kid, don't worry about it,' Blinky says. The pixels move and I think he's smiling. ‘Holey schamoley, you gotta start somewhere! So don't give in, that's all I'm sayin'. Stare down the doubters. Be The Man. You are a Hero, and that's all that counts. Never, ever forget the all important motto, kiddo: ‘A Hero is a Hero. No matter what. You've just gotta believe.'

‘Got that? Ok, later, dude. See ya.'

Something blurry that is probably Blinky's hand looms in front of the picture and then the screen goes black.

I watch the entire video five more times. Something is lurking at the edge of my brain, but it's like when I turn my internal eye to it, it scuttles off into the shadows. I close my eyes, take a deep breath. Picture Uncle Blinky in his self-confident, glorious blurriness.

A Hero is a Hero. No matter what.

I'm OK. You're OK.

Leon flying in my room.

The Victorian Society for the Blurred.

You are a Hero! Leon saying that. Uncle Blinky saying that.

I am a Hero.

Mr Fabulous saying I'm not.

A Hero is a Hero. No matter what.

Mr Fabulous firing me from MY team. Mr blow-in-from-nowhere, fancy-Hall-of-Fame crapulous.

A Hero is a Hero. Me.

By now I'm steamed. ‘I AM A HERO!' I yell. I jump around the room, getting madder and madder. ‘I AM A HERO!'