The Betrayal of Renegade X (Renegade X, Book 3) (35 page)

Grandpa looks like he agrees with that, but he doesn’t back me up on it.

“She loves me more than anything! And that means more than
you
.”

I feel sick. It shouldn’t matter, because it’s not like I think I’m number one on Mom’s list of favorite people. Or even on the list at all. But she used to say she loved
me
more than anything. Now she’s replaced me with Xavier, and she’s giving him my memories. And I wonder if it was ever true, if she ever really did love me more than anything, or if that was as much a lie as Xavier’s Samurai Squids party.

And I should let it go, because he’s just a stupid kid, and it doesn’t matter what he thinks. But what he said struck a nerve, and it feels too raw. “If she loves you so much more than me, then why is she giving you
my
memories? I’m the one she threw birthday parties for. Yours weren’t even real.”

Xavier starts crying, in that half-screaming way of his.

“That’s enough,” Grandpa says, frowning at me. Xavier runs up to him and holds up his arms, begging to be picked up. Grandpa ignores that part, but he does pat his back. “Come on. You’d better sleep in our room tonight.” He doesn’t sound happy about that. “But if you take off that diaper, so help me, God...”

He drags Xavier out of the room and closes the door. Maybe it’s the sudden quiet in here, now that Xavier’s gone, but it sounds really loud when it hits the doorjamb.

I
THOUGHT I WAS over seeing myself on TV. After everything that happened last fall, and over the past few months, I figured it wouldn’t be weird anymore. But I was wrong. And even though this time I actually volunteered for it, and I’m not saying anything embarrassing or too personal, I still kind of want to go hide under the bed rather than watch myself on the screen.

Especially since all of Grandpa’s friends are over. He’s having a private viewing party of our first commercial for the Truth, though his idea of a “private party” apparently involves having twenty of his closest friends come over. And Kat couldn’t make it, because she has school—though she promised she’d watch it secretly in class and text me—so I don’t know anyone here except my grandparents. But everyone
acts
like they know me. Patting me on the back and saying, “Good job, kiddo,” and stuff. I don’t know what Grandpa’s said to them, but they keep giving me these looks, like I’m a piece of junk they just found out is worth a million dollars. It’s cool that they’re celebrating what I’ve done for the Truth, but it would be even cooler if they kept their hands to themselves while they did it.

And also if they didn’t act so weird.

Or call me “kiddo,” what with me being almost seventeen and not, like, five.

On the bright side, at least Mom wasn’t invited to this. Not that she knows anything about the commercial, or that it’s airing today, but as Grandma said, “Nothing ruins a good time faster than your mother and that little hellspawn of hers.”

“Seats, people!” Grandpa shouts. “We’ve got two minutes till show time.”

Everyone crowds around the TV in the living room. There aren’t nearly enough spaces, even with the dining chairs and a couple of fold-out seats Grandma borrowed from the neighbors.

I’m thinking maybe I can get away with just standing around in the back, where no one can see me, when Grandpa puts a hand on my shoulder and gestures toward the center of the couch. “Everybody scoot over for my grandson, the guest of honor!”

There are already three people sitting on the couch, but they beam at me and squish themselves toward the edges to make room.

“That’s okay, Grandpa. I was going to stand, so—”

“This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. You’re going to want to sit down.” He grins at me and wiggles his eyebrows, like we’re both in on some big secret. Like the next thirty seconds really are going to change my whole life.

As if my life hasn’t changed enough as it is.

I sit down on the couch, sardined in between two people I’ve never met before. They’re an older couple, around Grandma and Grandpa’s age, and they seem to be married to each other, which makes it even weirder that I’m sitting between them.

Grandpa looks at his watch and then double-checks that the TV is on the right channel. There’s a shampoo commercial playing, but as soon as it’s over, ours comes up.

And I use the term
ours
pretty loosely here. Even if Grandpa’s the one who came up with the idea to make these and organized the whole thing,
I’m
the only one in them. I’m the one people are going to see and associate with the Truth.

“Right on time,” Grandpa says, turning up the TV.

Everyone leans forward as I appear on the screen.

“When you think of the word
hero
,” I say in the commercial—and yeah, hearing my voice in it is still weird, too—“do you imagine someone who drags innocent people off the streets? Someone who
tortures
them? Because that’s what
hero
means today, thanks to the League.”

The camera jumps to some footage taken at the League’s interrogation site, like in Grandpa’s original launch video, with my voice playing over it.

“The Truth is speaking out for villain rights. Because somebody has to. Because we can’t let the League get away with hurting people just because they don’t have an
H
on their thumb. This isn’t only a problem for villains—it’s a problem for everyone.” The camera switches back to me, looking solemn and kind of intense. “The Truth doesn’t grab people off the street. We don’t torture anyone. And we don’t claim to follow a set of rules but then look the other way whenever it’s convenient. The Truth is here to give villains a voice. Now”—I wince in real life as the camera zooms in on my face—“what do
you
have to say?”

The commercial ends, and another one takes its place, this time featuring some gigantic car that fits the whole family. But no one’s paying attention to that, because they’re all clapping and cheering.
For me
. Everyone looks really pleased, and even though I kind of want to sink into the couch cushions and disappear, it feels good to be appreciated.

Grandpa beams at me. “Couldn’t have said it better myself!”

“Definitely not,” Grandma agrees.

The old woman on my left actually puts her hand on my knee—who told her she could do that?—and says, “You’re going to do big things for us.”

Across the room, Grandpa holds up his drink for a toast. “To Damien, the best grandson anyone could ask for. I want everyone to know how proud I am of you today. You did good—not just for me, but for all of us. And this is just the beginning. To Damien!” he says again, and this time everyone else repeats it, and anyone with a glass starts clinking them together.

“A
re you watching this?” Riley asks when I answer the phone a couple days later. No
hello
, no “I know I’m not pro-Truth or anything, but wow, those commercials you did are pretty excellent.” The second one aired yesterday, and the third one’s supposed to be on tomorrow. And there’s no way Riley hasn’t seen the first two, but does he congratulate me on them? Nope. Nothing.

“Am I watching what?”

“Turn on Channel Five.
Now
.”

“Geez, Perkins. We’re barely back on speaking terms, and you’re ordering me around?” But I head into the living room and turn on the TV.

“We’re not— We’re what? I mean, you’re talking to me right now, and I
wasn’t
ordering you around. It’s just that you’ll want—you
need
—to see this. You won’t like it, though.” He says that last part kind of quiet.

“You want to tell me what’s—” But I don’t need to finish that sentence. As soon as I flip to Channel Five, I know exactly what he’s talking about.

My
dad
is on TV. And okay, that’s not really that unusual, since he has his own show and is kind of famous and all. But this is different. He’s on some kind of talk show, being interviewed. He’s dressed as the Crimson Flash, of course, and he’s talking about
me
.

The hostess, who’s wearing a couple pounds of makeup and smiling way too hard, says, “How do you feel about allegations that your son has been secretly working for the Truth this whole time?”

This whole time? As in, as long as I’ve lived with Gordon? Or as long as the Truth has existed?

Gordon—er, I mean, the Crimson Flash—doesn’t smile back at her. He looks way too serious for that. “I don’t believe that. Not for a minute. Damien’s a good kid, and he means well.” He turns his head to look directly into the camera for this, like he knows I’m watching. “But he’s wrong this time.”

He says “this time” as if he actually thinks I’ve been right before. As if he isn’t constantly telling me how wrong I am.

“X?” Riley says.

“I’m watching it.”

“What did you mean we’re
back
on speaking terms?”

“I wasn’t talking to you, remember?”

“You weren’t answering your phone. Nobody could get a hold of you. That’s different.”

On screen, the hostess gives the Crimson Flash a pouty, sympathetic look, to show that she feels for him having to put up with my existence. “We’ve all seen your son’s commercials for the Truth. He makes some awfully harsh statements about the League and what it means to be a hero. That’s got to be difficult for you and your family. How are you holding up?”

“Can you believe this?” I ask Riley.

“X, seriously, when were you not talking to me?”

The Crimson Flash folds his hands together. “It hasn’t been easy, Barbara. Having one of your children run away from home... It’s been a strain on all of us. I don’t agree with the changes the League’s implemented lately to deal with the Truth. Something has to be done, but there has to be a better way than challenging people on the street.”

I tighten my grip on my phone. “What the hell? That’s what
I
said!” Only when I say it, I’m supposedly wrong.

“These kinds of tactics are only making things worse. That’s why a group of us at the League are petitioning to stop this violence. The Truth is trying to egg us on—we can show them we’re still in control by simply ignoring them. The more seriously we take them, the longer it will be before this problem sorts itself out.”

“
What?!
” I shout at the TV. “Are you kidding me?!”

“Come on, X,” Riley says. “When were you not talking to me?”

“You gave Mason my phone number!”

“Yeah, and that’s
when
you called me again. We were on speaking terms.”

“Fine. It was before that.”

“When you weren’t speaking to anyone? Because—”

“Be quiet for a minute, will you?”

He shuts up just as the hostess, Barbara, finishes asking the Crimson Flash what one thing he’d really like to say to me, if he had the chance.

On TV, the Crimson Flash swallows and looks pleadingly at the camera. “If I could tell him anything, I’d say he needs to give up this crusade with the Truth before anyone else gets hurt. I’ve spent my whole life believing in the League, and I know that things are going to get straightened out. What it means to be a hero hasn’t changed—not in my book, anyway. And I’d tell him... Damien, if you’re watching this, we all want you to come home. I don’t care what you’ve done—none of us do. We just want you back with us, and we’ll figure things out together. As a
family
.”

Wow. He’s laying it on kind of thick with that “as a family” crap. Like they should all get to take a vote on my every move, while we pile into our family-sized all-terrain suburban vehicle to go on a picnic in the park, where we’ll take lots of candid shots of us all getting along and then post them on our family blog and send links to all our friends and relatives.

I turn off the TV and hurl the remote at the couch, because I’ve heard enough. He thinks I’m wrong—big surprise. He thinks the League will somehow have the answer to all this, despite the horrible things they’ve done, and that they should ignore us until we go away? He thinks I should just shut up and come home? It’s not exactly a compelling argument. And he doesn’t care “what I’ve done”? Is he talking about the commercial, or does he think I’ve been going around committing crimes?

“It’s like he doesn’t know me at all.”

“
X
.”

“Okay, okay.” I run a hand through my hair on my way back to my room. “When I wasn’t talking to anyone, I was pretty sure you were the last person who’d want to hear from me.”

“That’s not the same as not being on speaking terms.”

“Right. But I thought you’d be mad. Or...”
Disappointed
. Disappointed in me for running out on everybody, but maybe kind of relieved, too, because at least he’d know he made the right choice, choosing Mason. And at least he wouldn’t have to deal with being friends with a half villain who picks fights at school, and who he’s not even supposed to talk to anymore. “I just thought you’d be mad at me, so I was mad at you first.”

“So, you were pissed at me because you imagined I’d be pissed at you? That’s stupid. I was
worried
about you, like everybody else. And, yeah, once I knew you were okay, I was kind of mad. But only because you were avoiding me.”