Sidekicked (25 page)

Mr. Masters pounds on the podium to get our attention. “But you are
not
Supers,” he says fiercely, then a little softer. “Not yet, anyway. And you did not capture the Jack of Diamonds. The Fox did. What
you
did was purposely put your lives in danger.”

I look at Jenna. She was the one who invited me. What was I supposed to say, no? But even she couldn't have seen this coming. There's no way she would have done something to jeopardize H.E.R.O. Being a sidekick was her life. Jenna continues to stare stoically forward, not so much as a twitch.

“You simply aren't ready,” Mr. Masters continues. “Most of you don't even have Supers to sidekick for. You have no one to look after you. I won't be responsible for losing one of you. Therefore, effective immediately, you are to suspend all sidekick-related activity.”

“What about the Code?” Gavin protests, turning and pointing to the huge stone tablet in the back. “Are you telling us to just give up? What about Hotshot? And Cryos? What about the Dealer?”

Mr. Masters shakes his head. “There is too much at stake. Your identities have already been compromised. The Fox assures me that she is only days away from catching the remaining Jacks. I think it best if we just stay out of her way. Don't you agree, Jenna?”

Suddenly all eyes are on Jenna. She and Mr. Masters have locked onto each other, and I realize that it comes down to her. She's one of us. The best of us. I know that whatever she says, the rest of H.E.R.O. will follow, but the way they look at each other, it's almost as if they've already had this discussion, and the rest of us are coming to it secondhand.

“Yes,” Jenna says softly. “I think it's better if we all stay out of it.”

Something flashes between the two of them, a charged look, though I can't tell what all is behind it. Then Jenna folds her hands in her lap, and it's over.

H.E.R.O. is finished. United, we could have protested further, but as the only sidekick with an active Super, Jenna took away our right to veto.

“It's settled, then,” Masters says. “No more H.E.R.O. until further notice. You'll just have to try to be normal.”

I want to tell Mr. Masters that I don't know how to be normal. That even before I joined H.E.R.O. I never felt normal, and that some days, sitting in here with my fellow sidekicks was the most normal I ever got. But it's clear that the conversation is over. We aren't Supers, we aren't even really full-fledged sidekicks. We are still in training. Nikki's Super is still halfway around the world. Eric's, Gavin's, and Mike's are probably chained away in some secret dungeon somewhere, having their powers sucked out of them. And my Super . . . I have no idea where he is.

“I'm sorry,” Mr. Masters says, looking at all of us. “But until the Dealer and the remaining Jacks are captured, I'm afraid there is nothing we can do.”

He lets us finish out the session, circled together in the basement as he retreats back into his office. None of us dares to suggest a bright side—like the fact that we don't have to carry our costumes in our backpacks anymore or that this greatly decreases our chances of dying before we make it to high school. Gavin huddles next to Eric and writes something in a notebook, and I wonder if they aren't thinking about striking out on their own. I hope not. They can't possibly take on the Suits, even with the Jack of Diamonds out of the deck, not without authorization. Not without Supers or the support of Mr. Masters. Nikki sighs and says that at least it will free up more time for her love life. Mike sits cross-legged and practices shooting sparks back and forth from his fingertips. It isn't long before Jenna excuses herself, retreating to her training room and shutting the door behind her. Mr. Masters, pacing behind one closed door, and Jenna, sitting in the dark behind another. The rest of us somewhere in between.

The way back up the steps to the teachers' lounge at the end of the period is quiet as a funeral procession. No one but Mr. Masters says anything. “It's only temporary,” he repeats over and over again. “We'll be back down here disarming bombs and flexing our spandex in no time.” Jenna heads up the stairs without a word to anyone. With the mood she's in, I'm not brave enough to chase after her. In fact, I'm the last to leave again.

Which makes it easier for Mr. Masters to stop me on the way out. He smells like Vicks VapoRub. Standing right next to him, I can tell by the rattle in his chest that he is fighting something, something lodged inside that he can't choke down.

“Drew, I want you to know that I think you've handled yourself remarkably well the past couple of weeks,” he begins. “I know things haven't quite worked out the way you wanted them to.”

“Yeah, well, I guess it doesn't matter now, does it?” I say. It's not a question. Just an observation.

“I've decided that when this is all over, when the Suits are all put away and H.E.R.O. starts back up again, I'm going to work on finding you a new mentor. I think you deserve it.”

“Oh,” I say.

“Oh? That's all you have to say? I kind of thought you'd be happier.”

He's right. I've been waiting for him to say this for weeks. Months. Probably since the day the Titan and I first met. But something about it doesn't feel right. All along he's told me to be patient, that the Titan will come around. And now he's telling me to give up. Just like he's giving up on H.E.R.O.

“No. You're right—it wasn't really working out.”

Mr. Masters nods sympathetically. “It's for the best,” he says. I let him nudge me up one step, but then I stop and turn to face him, now on eye level.

“He's still in danger, though,” I say. Mr. Masters looks at me questioningly. “The Titan. Even with one Jack gone. He's in danger as long as the Dealer is still out there.”

I can see him studying me. Planning what he's going to say next.

“If the Fox can be believed, then the Titan has nothing to worry about,” he says.

“But you're not so sure?” I thought I heard a sliver of doubt in his voice. Just the slightest tremble.

“I'm sure that it's no longer your responsibility. H.E.R.O. is suspended, Drew. You're not a sidekick anymore. The Titan can take care of himself.”

He wouldn't say that if he knew. If he had seen him the way I've seen him.

“Go on,” Mr. Masters prods. “You're going to be late to your next class.” He pushes me back up the stairs. Pushing me up and out.

I make it halfway before I stop and turn around again. I glance at the code on the back wall. I suppose it can't hurt telling now. It's probably nothing anyway.

“If it helps, I think he may be with someone named Red.”

Mr. Masters blinks.

“Do you know that name?”

He appears to think for a moment, one eyebrow arched. “No, I don't think I do,” he says finally. “But if you learn anything else, be sure to tell me.”

Then Mr. Masters turns and heads back to his office. I listen to the sound of his loafers shuffling along the cement as I slowly climb the stairs to the teachers' lounge.

But I don't leave. I stop at the top and wait.

When someone is lying to you, there are a few things you watch for. Their face and hands sometimes lose color. Their lips tighten. Their foreheads scrunch. They will look down or squint. They tend to scratch something, an arm or an elbow. Their nostrils flare.

When I mentioned the name Red to Mr. Masters, none of those things happened. They wouldn't, of course. After all, Mr. Masters is the one who taught me what to watch for.

But his heartbeat did go up, nearly doubling, just for a moment. You could tell if you had a finger on his pulse. Or if he was hooked up to a monitor.

Or if you could hear it from three feet away.

Which is why I stop at the top of the stairs and listen. I hear him close his office door, but I know now what I'm capable of. I've done this before.

I move down a few steps and sit down, concentrating. I hear him grunt as he falls into his chair. Then he picks up the phone. I try to focus. The halls are emptying already for the next period, but I block all of it out. There is a moment of silence from Mr. Masters's office; then I hear his voice, urgent and annoyed.

“It's Nathan Masters. Answer the phone. I know you've been lying to me. We need to talk. I think you're in trouble.”

Mr. Masters hangs up, and I sneak out the door and through the lounge, wondering who's been lying to him.

And what he's hiding from me.

And planning how to find out.

I
can't concentrate. In history, Mr. Broadside is lecturing about the burning of Rome and promising to bring his fiddle to the next class and play for us, just like Nero. In Spanish I can't even manage to say “That skinny girl in the yellow dress is the winner” without flubbing it up. There is too much in my head.

H.E.R.O. is suspended.

Mr. Masters knows who Red is.

Jenna kissed me.

The Titan is in trouble.

A sidekick is sworn to accompany his Super in all acts of heroism.

Jenna kissed Gavin.

Gavin still has my suit coat.

Sworn to protect his Super when the occasion arises.

Mr. Masters is hiding something.

My coat is going to smell like Gavin's B.O.

I'm not the Titan's sidekick.

How do you say “skinny” in Spanish?

To walk in the path that his Super sets forth.

I'm not anyone's sidekick.

Flaga, flaca, flanco, flaccido
?

Why doesn't Mr. Masters want me to be the Titan's sidekick anymore?

Why doesn't he want the members of H.E.R.O. involved?

Jenna's acting weird.

The Titan is still a hero.

Muy
weird.

How do you say “Your rocky boyfriend stunk up my jacket” in Spanish?

How do I find out who Red is?

Su novio rocosa apestaba a mi chaqueta
.

He's still my hero.

I've got to break into his office.

I need to talk to her. Figure out what's going on.

To trust in his Super above all else.

I've got to find him before it's too late.

Mrs. Muñoz puts her face in mine to get my attention. I tell the class that the flabby girl in the yellow dress is a cow and half of them laugh. The other half isn't paying attention.

“It's
flaca
, not
flaccido
,” Mrs. Munoz says to me. “And
la chica en el vestido amarillo no le gustas tanto
.”

But the girl in the yellow dress is the least of my worries.

After Spanish is math, and it's the same thoughts cycling through, though by the end of the period I at least have a plan.

Mr. McClain asks if I would like to share what I'm thinking about with the rest of the class.

I tell him that that is not a good idea.

Getting in isn't a problem. All it takes is an empty teachers' lounge, sixty-five cents, and a willingness to waste a bag of pork rinds. Lucky for me, the teachers' lounge is deserted during last period. Any teachers who don't have a class to bore are gathering their papers, on the phone with parents, or driving away at breakneck speed. I pay the price, press the button, and hold my breath, listening intently for the sound of footsteps, papers shuffling, his voice, anything.

As far as I can tell, there's nobody down there. I take the steps slowly. The hall is empty. The practice rooms are empty. The screen is dark. The chairs are all lined up neatly. H.E.R.O. is officially closed for business.

Mr. Masters's office door is locked, of course, though I wonder why. Force of habit, I suppose. Jenna could just kick it in. Mike could melt it. Nikki could melt through it. But I have to go about it the old-fashioned way.

It's your standard pin tumbler. I rifle through my bag for my oversized pencil case, which happens to include three pens, a giant pink eraser (for really big mistakes, it says), a highlighter, and three paper clips. I could use the paper clips if I had to, but instead I depress the hidden lever, popping the bottom of the case free—the part containing my lockpick set. I take up my tension wrench and hook pick and needle them into the lock.

Turns out I'm a natural. Know how in the movies the burglar has a stethoscope pressed against the door of the safe so he can hear the tumblers in the lock drop? I've got built-in stethoscopes. I press my face flat against the door, as close to the lock as possible, and work the tumblers, listening for the click as each one drops into place and the cylinder turns.

I'm in.

The Jack of Diamonds would have just blasted his way in. The Jack of Spades would have ripped the door from its hinges. We all have our talents.

I flip on the light and look around. Unlike our training rooms, which are equipped with the latest technology, Mr. Masters's office looks like any of the ones you'd find upstairs. A desk. A phone. Some bookshelves. The shelves are mostly empty—only a few titles:
Michelson's Forensics
, 5th edition.
Riley's Catalog of Super Abilities and Their Origins. The Idiot's Guide to Bomb Disarmament. Teaching the Supremely Gifted Child
. That sort of thing. There is a stained coffee cup on the desk that says
WORLD
'
S #1 TEACHER
. The carpet is stained too. Nothing is spotless.

There is a clock perched on the wall behind the chair. I notice the hands aren't moving and am suddenly frozen with fear. Then I realize that I am still moving, still breathing, still beating. Time isn't frozen. The clock is just dead. And Mr. Masters's sense of time is so convoluted that he doesn't notice.

Below the clock is a bulletin board with newspaper clippings—all of them tracking the recent activities of the Suits and the Fox's attempts to capture them. I scan through the headlines, working back through the past two weeks.
FOX POLISHES OFF DIAMOND, PROMISES OTHER JACKS ARE NEXT. SUPERHEROES AMBUSHED: FOX VOWS REVENGE. DEALER REVEALS HAND: JACKS ON A RAMPAGE. BACK FROM THE DEAD: DEALER RETURNS AND BREAKS OUT SUITS
.