The Betrayal of Renegade X (Renegade X, Book 3) (4 page)

“I got them, okay? But—”

“I have to double-check the seating arrangement, and call the caterers, because it turns out Taylor’s cousins are all allergic to fish, and of course getting a suit at the last minute isn’t going to be easy. But I have to make sure my little baby looks his best on my big day.”

Amelia scrunches up her nose and smirks, obviously overhearing and thinking she means
me
. She doesn’t know about Xavier.

I slip inside my room, shutting the door in Amelia’s face to a muffled whine of “Hey!” “Is that seriously what you called me about?”

“I need a favor. Another one, besides help with the party favors. And before you say no, remember that it’s my wedding day. I’m only going to have one, and... this would mean a lot to me.”

For a second, I think she’s actually going to ask me something important. Like maybe she really does want me to be a part of her “big day,” even if it’s just something small. Which is stupid, because all she’s talked about for the past few months is how perfect this wedding has to be and how that means having her “little family” there with her. Her “little family” is her way of referring to her, Taylor, and Xavier. Her
new
family, the one that doesn’t include me. And Taylor’s the one who invited me, not Mom. Just because she hasn’t
un
invited me yet doesn’t mean she actually wants me there.

I tell myself that, but I feel a traitorous flicker of hope anyway.

Mom hesitates, like she thinks I might blindly agree to whatever it is if she waits long enough. But when I don’t, she clears her throat and says, “I want you to... keep your distance at the wedding. From your brother,” she adds, so I know she doesn’t mean from her. Like we both don’t know that Xavier’s going to be glued to her the whole time.

I feel like I’m going to throw up. “That’s the favor you want from me.” So much for her wanting me around.

“Your brother’s very sensitive. You have a tendency to upset him, and I don’t want anyone causing a scene.” My brother is only three months old, though he looks more like an eight-year-old kid, thanks to Mom’s crazy growth formula. She also implants fake memories in his brain at night while he’s asleep to try and make up for how fast he’s growing, but I’m pretty sure that just makes him worse.

“And by
anyone
, you mean me.” As if I’m the one who’ll start screaming and throwing a fit at the drop of a hat.

“He can’t help himself,” she says, almost whispering. “Everyone’s going to be there, all our guests, and I just want everything to go smoothly. It’s a big day for us. For our little family.”

I swallow. “But not for me.”

She sighs, exasperated, like I’m the one being difficult and asking something outrageous of her. “Don’t be like that. I’m stressed enough as it is—I don’t need any difficulties from you. And Xavier’s so excited that Taylor and I are getting married, and that he’s going to be part of it. Just do this one thing for me. All I’m asking is for you to behave.”

“Because
I’m
the awful one.”

“So much goes into planning an
event
. One people will remember for years to come. I just want them to remember it for the right reasons. So I don’t want anyone causing a scene or making a spectacle of themselves.”

“How pissed were you at Taylor for inviting me?”

“
Damien.
That’s not what this is about.”

“Except you wish I wasn’t going to be there, causing trouble, right?”

“I saw the news. I saw what you did during your final.”

“Yeah, but you hate superheroes.” Though that didn’t stop her from sleeping with my dad in a filthy subway bathroom. “You should be proud.”

“You made a big spectacle of yourself and ended up in the tabloids. I just want you to keep a low profile at my wedding. Don’t upset anyone. You know how you are.”

I clench my fist. Little sparks of lightning run along my spine. “So be quiet and stay out of the way.” Maybe Kat’s right. Maybe I don’t need this.

“Is that so much to ask? On
my
big day?”

If she says the words
big day
one more time... “I don’t upset Xavier—he upsets
me
.”

“All the more reason to stay away from him. Just at the wedding. Someday, when he’s older, you two will get along so well.”

“So, in another month or two?” More like in another universe.

“And this wedding will be a good memory for both of you. It’s going to be perfect.”

“But only if no one knows I’m there.” Because the only thing that could make her wedding actually perfect is getting to pretend she has one son, not two.

She makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. “Damien, you’re not listening to me. I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. I heard you loud and clear. Don’t ruin the wedding. Got it.” The sparks running up my spine get more intense, and I can feel all my hair standing on end.

“If you don’t think you can do that—”

“Don’t worry. It won’t be a problem.” Electricity flickers along my arm, building up underneath my skin. I try to hold it back, but I’m too pissed at her and it’s not working.

“But if you’re not sure, if you don’t think you can control yourself, then maybe you shouldn’t—”

There’s a loud crackle as lightning surges into my hands. I drop the phone, not even bothering to hang up, just in time for it to not get fried.

And just in time to
not
hear how she was going to end that sentence, even though it’s not hard to guess.

If I’m not sure I can control myself, maybe I shouldn’t show up for the wedding.

I
grab my hooded sweatshirt from the hall closet the next day while I’m printing the article I found for Gordon. Since the direct approach involving future investments and rising real-estate values didn’t work, I decided to try guilt. The article is about how several kids were traumatized for life by their parents trying to force them to get over their phobias. I’m going to put it in Gordon’s desk drawer—not too obvious a place, but still somewhere he’s likely to see it—because obviously I can’t give it to him myself. That would be like admitting I
have
a phobia, plus he might not take it seriously, since he already knows I’m after something. And maybe this way he won’t even know it was me who left it there. He might think it was Helen, quietly judging him for torturing his eldest son by pushing him off a building and then making him live in the attic.

Fortunately, I don’t have any finals today and Gordon’s at work and Helen’s at the antique shop.

“What are you doing?”

Un
fortunately, Amelia doesn’t have any finals today, either.

“Nothing,” I tell her, hurrying to finish pulling my sweatshirt over my head and then catching the article as the printer spits it out onto the floor. And, most importantly, not letting her touch it, since her power only lets her summon things she’s had her grubby paws on already.

“Is that for school?” She folds her arms over her chest and wrinkles her eyebrows at me. Like now she’s the printer police.

“It’s my confession of undying love for Zach. I was going to email it, but that just seemed too impersonal. I’m going to his house to give it to him.”

She scowls at me. “Zach’s
my
boyfriend. And he’s at school.
And
you’re not allowed to leave.”

“Says who?”

“Dad. Obviously.”

“Uh, he didn’t tell me that.” And I already made plans to meet up with Riley, so too bad. I head for Gordon and Helen’s room with Amelia trailing behind. The door is ajar, and I nudge it open the rest of the way with my foot. I brace myself, still expecting a disaster area like my mom’s room, even after living here for almost a year. But Gordon and Helen’s room is nothing like my mom’s. The bed is made and there’s not even any laundry on the floor.

“He told you you were grounded, right?” Amelia says, still following me. “Because not leaving the house is what
grounded
means. And what are you doing in here?”

“Coming in without permission and touching everything they own. Your favorite hobby.” I flash her a fake smile. “And I’m not grounded.”

“Dad didn’t ground you? But you failed your final.”

“So if I bomb a test, I’m supposed to get in trouble?” Isn’t failing its own reward?

“Yes. I mean... You broke the rules. Dad has to be mad, right?”

I shrug, sliding open his desk drawer and revealing the latest issue of
Heroes Monthly
. “Not mad enough to ground me. I think he actually, like, respects me for telling him the truth.”

Amelia snorts. “Yeah, right. And saying you’re not grounded is just what you’d say if you
were
, so that I’d let you leave.”

“Let me leave?” I glance over my shoulder at her. “And how do you plan to stop me?”

“I...” Her mouth hangs open as she thinks that through.

I turn back to the desk and grab the magazine out of the drawer, intending to hide the article underneath it, since just setting it on top would be too obvious. But when I pick it up, a brochure falls out from between the pages and lands on the desk, face up.

The Wellness Preserve—a relaxing place for troubled superpowered teens to rediscover themselves through a personalized therapy program, led by our highly trained staff.

There’s a picture of a guy and a girl standing next to a tree in the countryside with big smiles on their faces. The girl has a ball of fire badly Photoshopped into her hand and is making a big point of using it to roast a marshmallow, instead of the tree, I guess. And the guy is using his super strength to lift a giant log off of a dirt road.

There’s also a quote from a satisfied parent.
I was at my wits’ end with my daughter. I didn’t know what to do. And then I found The Wellness Preserve.

I stare at it in horror.

“Damien?” When I don’t answer her, Amelia steps around me so she can see what I’m looking at. “Oh. My. God.”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. I feel numb.

She smirks at me. “You were right. He
sure
respects you for telling him the truth.”

“Shut up.” Maybe it’s someone else’s, not Gordon’s. It’s in his desk, with his stuff, but it can’t be his. He’s probably just holding it for a friend.

“He respects you
so much
that he’s sending you to live on a farm. That’s what happened to Tiffany’s cousin’s dog when it peed on the floor. It had behavioral problems, so it ‘went to a farm’ and never came back.”

My palms start to sweat. “That’s not what’s happening.”

“That’s what it
looks like
is happening. But don’t worry, you’ll probably be a lot happier out in the country, with more room to run around and chase rabbits.”

“He wouldn’t send me away.” He promised. “This must be for you. Since I think we both know which one of us belongs on a farm.”

“Well, he doesn’t have to send you anywhere.” Amelia points to the words
therapy program
. “I’ve heard about places like this. They can do your shock therapy at their facility while you live at home. It’s a lot cheaper than the extended-stay option.”

“I don’t need shock therapy. Or
any
therapy. This brochure must have come with the magazine.”

“
Heroes Monthly
doesn’t come with brochures. And you have been messing up a lot lately. I’m not surprised he thinks you need professional help.”

“This place is for nutjobs who use their powers to destroy stuff and can’t control themselves.” Messed up kids whose parents don’t know how to deal with them and want to pawn their problems off on someone else.

“Yeah, and who does that sound like? You’re doing badly in school, you’re always breaking things with your power—”

“On accident. I don’t destroy stuff on purpose. And I haven’t done anything like that in months.” That Gordon knows about, anyway.

“It still counts. You got arrested for it. And expelled. Plus, you zapped that guy the other night, and that was on purpose.”

“That was different.”

“You’re always mouthing off and talking back and not listening. And people are still taking pictures of you, even though you’re not the Crimson Flash’s only kid or anything.”

“Wow, Amelia. Jealous much?”

“You’re not even that special. But everything you do ends up on the news, and that makes Dad look bad. So obviously he has to do something about you. Seeing that you put a superhero in the hospital was probably the last straw.”

Before what? Before Gordon decides I’m a lost cause? “He knows I wouldn’t hurt anybody. I mean, not without a good reason.”

“Yeah, well,” she says, a smug smile spreading across her face, “he’ll know that even better after you get your lobotomy.”

I
MASH THE BUTTONS on the controller, but my heart’s not in it. The dinosaur Riley’s playing does a spinning attack and whomps me with its tail a bunch of times. Somewhere in my mind it occurs to me to block, but my thoughts don’t reach my hands fast enough.

My alien clutches its chest and dies dramatically on the screen, even though it died from being beaten to death by a Tyrannosaurus, not a heart attack. Though it’s also an alien, so maybe it doesn’t actually have a heart in its chest, even if it’s shaped like a human.