Dull Boy (32 page)

T
he smell of pizza and fresh-baked cookies hits us as soon as we enter Sophie’s basement.

“Woo!” Sophie hops up and does her own version of a touchdown dance. “Score!”

“This is ridiculous.” Nicholas sighs and tosses his controller on the floor. He and Sophie are playing a newly purchased game of Madden on her Xbox, trying to get a feel for the mechanics of football. Nicholas is losing 42-0.

“You’ll be better at the real game,” I promise. “This is just a crash course in the rules. And learning what the various positions are.”

“I don’t
want
to go out for the football team,” Nicholas groans.

“It’s getting your dad off your back, isn’t it?” Darla says. “It’s like when I signed up for cheerleading camp one summer so my dad would stop harassing me about my inventions. It’ll work, trust me.”

“But my dad’s on the phone with the coach practically every night,” Nicholas says. “He’s so excited it’s sick. What’s going to happen when I
don’t
make the team? This might be the worst idea you’ve ever had, Darla.”

I cram the controller back in his hand. “You’ll make the team,” I say. “We’ll make sure of it.”

“Besides, I’ve never had a truly
bad
idea,” Darla says.

“That’s true,” Sophie says. “That heartfelt poem you read at Roast? Great idea.”

“It was excellent!” Darla protests.

“Yeah, and the ‘R.I.P. Marie Curie’ shirt,” I throw in.

“Ooh, good one!”

Darla sinks lower into her beanbag chair, face hidden behind her blingtastic Hello Kitty laptop. She’s doing her typical genius grumbling, insulting us with words we don’t understand.

“Hmm, she must be really mad,” Sophie says with a grin. “That last one was in Latin.”

Catherine’s watching us like an anthropologist observing aliens for the first time. She’s working her way through the plate of football-shaped, pink-frosted sugar cookies, scrunching her nose each time I point sternly at the pizza, trying to get her to eat something that doesn’t have frosting on it.

“Ohmygod!” Darla spins her laptop around on her knees, so forcefully it nearly goes crashing to the ground.

It’s a news report from a few days ago.

We gather around to read it. Nicholas mouths the words, his eyes opening wide—amazed or in disbelief or both.

AMNESIA VICTIM FOUND IN VIRGINIA

A picture of the victim accompanies the article—and it’s definitely Cherchette. Platinum-blond hair, blue eyes, supermodel-tall, etc. The report says she’s been taken to an area hospital, and that police are seeking to establish her identity.

“Virginia?” Catherine says.

Nicholas rubs his hands over his face. “I used to live there. That means she’s . . .”

“Alive,” I say. My heart wrenches. I’m relieved and I’m not. What does this mean for us?

“Your vortex,” Darla says. She slams her fist down on the carpet. “I can’t believe I never thought of that! It doesn’t destroy things! It teleports them! Ohmygod barbeque eureka what-what!” She hops up and starts dancing; links hands with Sophie and they whoop it up and scream and twirl around.

“Nicholas! Aren’t you excited?”

He nods, still in shock. “My dog, Boots. He could still be alive. I have to find him.”

Catherine’s rocking back and forth restlessly, like a dark cloud just drifted over her. “Amnesia. How long does
that
last? Do you know how freaking bad this is for us? How long before she uses her ice powers in front of someone? What if her powers are completely out of control? Does she even know she
has
them?”

Darla stops dancing. “Um . . . crap.”

“Yeah, exactly. And unlike some people who end up in the news”—Catherine nods in my direction—“there’s no good way to cover up her powers. Adrenaline doesn’t go far toward explaining an indoor ice storm.”

“I have to call Jacques,” Sophie says. She picks up her phone and starts dialing. “We could find her. Maybe even rehabilitate her! So that like . . . when she
does
regain her memory, she’ll be a better person.”

Catherine snorts. “That’s realistic.”

We all wait as Sophie excitedly informs Jacques that his mother’s alive—a victim of teleportation, not destruction. But as they talk, her voice goes from cheery to troubled. Her eyebrows turn upward, perplexed. “So, what does that mean?” she asks him.

Finally she hangs up. “Um, you guys? Jacques says Leilani left yesterday morning. At first he thought it was random. But she took Cherchette’s passport. He thinks she went to find her.”

Leilani: the girl who thinks we destroyed her life and considers us her enemies. Who can slip in and out of crowds anonymously and become anyone she wants at will. If she finds Cherchette before we do, and fills in the blanks with her one-sided view of how things went down, Cherchette will be poisoned against us forever; there’s no chance we’ll be able to help her. She’ll be coming for us, and not to bring us “home”—this time it’s going to be all about revenge.

We can’t just wait to see how this turns out. We have to do something.

It looks like our superteam is coming out of retirement.

M
y agent, Laura Rennert: ninja, goddess, and all-around purveyor of awesome. You believed in
Dull Boy
from the very beginning, and found the perfect home for it—that means the world to me and I am so glad you’re on my team.

My editor, Sarah Shumway: visionary, champion, and a true marvel with a red pencil. You saw
Dull Boy’s
potential and helped me to make the book a thousand times better. Working with you has been nothing but fun every step of the way.

Thanks also to Stephanie Owens Lurie, Mark McVeigh, Andrew Harwell, and everyone at Dutton who has had a hand in bringing
Dull Boy
to readers.

Miscellaneous thanks to sassy librarians—you make the world go ’round; to my butler, Alfred, for cookies and pep talks—but especially cookies; to Brian K. Vaughan, whose
Runaways
inspired me to finally put my superhero dreams into book form.

Extra-special thanks to Peter, my husband and BFF, who read this book more times than any sane person should have to, and wasn’t afraid to tell me exactly what was wrong with it—even when I threatened him with my laser eyes and scowl of doom. You’re cute and your critiquing skills are awesome! I promise you only have to read this book one more time.