The OK Team (10 page)

‘Hey Torch, can I ask you one thing? I've always wondered – what happens to your clothes when you complete flame up your body?'

‘Huh?' says the Torch.

‘Come on, don't be shy! You know, when you yell “Flame on!” or “Fire!” or whatever you yell and your entire body bursts into flames. What happens to your clothes? Is your costume made of some special material?'

The Torch stares at me, gulps and then clicks his fingers again, so the tip of his index finger burns with its steady flame.

‘Um, this is all I can do. I didn't say I got all of Grandad's powers. This is all that's left.'

We stare at his finger.

‘You mean, the rest of your body doesn't catch fire?'

‘Not even my other fingers. Just the index fingers on both hands.'

Cannonball snorts. ‘Fantastic. We just let a human cigarette lighter join the team! Great work, Focus.'

The Torch looks crushed. ‘I told you I was crap. Look, it's OK. I'll go. You don't want me in the team.'

I step between him and the door. ‘Yes, we do,' I say, even though my visibility is fluctuating wildly as Cannonball gapes at me. ‘All of us are starting out. None of us has the right to tell you that lighting flames, even if only off your fingers, isn't cool. I say you're still in.'

The Torch looks grateful. ‘I can help in other ways.

I know a lot about Heroes.'

‘I'll bet you do. Cannonball?'

Cannonball sighs from under his big black helmet and says, ‘I suppose he has got a good costume. What do you think, Yesterday? Am I going to want him in the team or not?'

Yesterday puts both fingers to her temples and scrunches up her eyes. ‘You want him out!'

‘Wrong again,' Cannonball says. ‘Congratulations, candle boy. You're in.'

I never find out whether Cannonball only agreed to the Torch to spite his little sister.

‘Time to knock off for lunch,' I say.

‘Rest is useful only if you're tired, a wise man once said.'

Yesterday is doing her temple thing.

‘Yeah, whatever,' her brother says. ‘Hey, what are we going to do with Freeze Frame?'

‘Carry him outside and leave him?' I suggest.

So we do, dumping the statue kid frozen behind a poplar tree.

Feather Duster
REJECTED!

OK Team notes: Having a mop on her butt was briefly interesting, but is cleanliness crucial in a fight with villains? No.

The Grinner
REJECTED!

OK Team notes: Freaked us out after four hours of staring at us, never once dropping his grin. (Future politician?)

The Shredder REJECTED!

OK Team notes: Eats bits of old paper. Limited use, and hate to think about when he goes to the toilet.

Super Backstroker
REJECTED!

OK Team notes: Great that he never hits his head on the end of the swimming pool when backstroking. Usefulness against arch villain?
Zero.

Frisbee
Boy REJECTED!

OK Team notes: Had a fun hour playing Frisbee down the park, but not sure being able to throw a Frisbee is even a superpower.

Human Sewer
REJECTED!

OK Team notes: Ewwwwwwwwww!

Glowstick
REJECTED!

OK Team notes: Looked impressive right up until the fourth minute when the batteries in his ‘unearthly self-powered alien glowstick' ran out.

Flatulanto
REJECTED!

OK Team notes: Clear the room!!!!!

CHAPTER 13
THE GHOST &THE LIAR

W
hen we get back from lunch, Freeze Frame has gone. We have no idea where. He might have recovered and gone home. He might have been picked up by the garbage truck. We hope it's the former.

For almost the entire afternoon, the team membership stays at four. Sky Duck has a good costume (great feathers!) and strikes a dramatic pose.

‘I am Sky Duck!' she squeals.

‘And what exactly do you do?' Cannonball asks.

‘When I look at the sky, I quack! Watch!'

She flaps her fake wings and looks steadily at us, her eyes wide and excited. The suspense builds. She flaps a little more quickly, then suddenly jerks her head to look straight at the roof.

‘QUACK!' she yells.

‘Next!' says Yesterday.

I'm pretty much ready to pack up when I see Cannonball look towards the door, and watch my friend's mouth fall open as though he's seen a ghost.

I turn around. Standing at the door is a small, pale kid with ghostly grey hair and red-rimmed eyes. He is wearing tattered, filthy-looking black pants and a dirty black shirt, with a black coat curled around him.

‘Can I help you?' I ask uncertainly.

‘Probably not,' says the kid. ‘I am dead, after all.'

It takes me several moments to vaguely pull my own visibility back together, after the shock of seeing my very first ghost.

‘That's not good,' I finally manage. ‘I'm sorry to hear that.'

‘I knew you were dead,' says Yesterday, fingers to temples.

‘Well, I assume I'm dead. I haven't felt any need to breathe or to eat for more than sixty-three years.'

‘Gee,' says Cannonball, in a voice that suggests even he thinks it's an inadequate response.

The dead kid shrugs. ‘I'm kind of used to it by now.'

‘Um, could you give us a moment please?' I edge away from the dead kid and march to the back of the hall, gesturing to the rest of the team to follow. Finally we are all in a huddle, even if I accidentally pass my arm through Yesterday's head as I struggle to recover my nerve.

As always, Cannonball gets straight to it. ‘No way,' he declares. ‘We are not having a dead kid in the group. That is weirder than an ice-creamery in a volcano.'

‘It might just be me, but he's freaking me out and he hasn't even done anything,' Torch agrees, glancing over his shoulder to where the ghost remains in the doorway, staring intently at us.

‘I sense you're against letting him join,' Yesterday says wisely.

‘Is being dead even rated as a superpower?' I wonder.

‘Well, I might be wrong but I believe there's Hellhound,' says the Torch. ‘But nobody likes him.'

‘I don't care if being dead is a power or not. I'm joining your group.' The dead kid is somehow right there, in the huddle with us.

Yesterday screams, then says, ‘I knew you were going to do that.'

‘I'm really sorry but we don't think there's a place for you in the team,' I say.

‘I've been wandering aimlessly for sixty-three years. I'm bored. I want in.'

‘What's your name anyway?'

‘I dunno. I can't remember. I've been dead so long and nobody has called me by a name in all that time. I guess I'm just a dead kid.'

‘That's the worst superhero name I've ever heard,' I say.

‘Yeah, you need a better name,' nods Yesterday.

‘Freak?' suggests Cannonball.

I feel myself blur in anger. ‘We never, ever call anybody a freak, Cannonball. Got that? It's rule number one.'

‘Who died and made you king? . . . Oh, sorry, dead kid.'

‘What about Ghostly?' says Torch.

‘Or Ghastly?'

‘Ghost Boy?' says Yesterday.

‘Ghoul Boy!'

‘I've got it,' I say. ‘Undead Fred.'

‘But I am dead,' says the kid.

‘Well fine. You can be Super Dead Kid.'

Cannonball has his arms folded. ‘We seem to be missing the point here. Super Dead Kid, whatever you want to call him, is not in the team, unless he can prove he has an actual useful power, beyond the simple fact that he is dead. Sorry as we all are about that.'

There is a horrible silence.

‘I can make blood come out of my eyes,' says Super Dead Kid, and does.

‘Oh, that is so gross!' shrieks Yesterday. ‘As a wise man once said, noble is the ghost who doesn't do disgusting things like that!'

‘And I can pull my bones out of my chest,' says Super Dead Kid, and does.

‘I'm going to be sick,' says Torch, lurching out the back door.

‘They're not powers,' says Cannonball, unmoved.

‘They're just wrong.'

‘I'm sorry, mate, but Cannonball is right,' I say, wavering in visibility as I speak. ‘If you don't have powers, you can't be in the gang.'

Super Dead Kid hangs his head. ‘Oh well, I'll just go wander the Earth for another sixty years then, or maybe 600,' he says as he turns and slowly walks out the door.

‘Boy, now I feel horrible,' says Yesterday, ‘even though, of course, I knew that was all about to happen.'

‘Maybe his superpower is making people feel guilty?' Torch adds, still looking green.

I'm just thinking that a whole day has gone by and the closest we've come to a fifth team member is an un-super dead kid, when the door to the hall swings open again.

Standing there, framed perfectly by the late afternoon light, is possibly the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. She's maybe fourteen years old, tall, and is wearing a purple velvet skin-tight costume and miniskirt, with a small cape drifting like a cloud off her shoulders. She has dark, long hair and grey eyes behind a small purple mask. I waver helplessly in and out of visibility.

Cannonball and Torch stand beside me, grinning stupidly. Yesterday strikes a pose, crosses her arms and scowls.

‘Hi,' I say. ‘Are you here to try out for our team?'

‘No,' the girl says. Her voice is like pure honey.

‘You're not? Oh, that's a shame . . . Given your costume I thought you might be a Hero.'

‘No, I'm not,' she says.

Cannonball scowls. ‘You have no powers?'

‘Actually, I can fly,' she says.

‘You can?' Torch gasps.

‘Sure, and I'm bullet proof, have super strength, can outfly an Exocet missile, have X-ray vision, heat vision, can see into the future and shoot deadly lasers out of both hands.'

‘Of course you do,' sniffs Yesterday, who can't help but look impressed.

We're all staring at the girl. ‘Are you for real?'

‘Absolutely.' She digs around in a purple bag that I hadn't even noticed she was carrying. ‘Oh, and you're not supposed to read this.'

She hands me a piece of paper.

‘To whom it might concern,
This letter is to confirm that the holder, Alison
Nomdeplume, has an unfortunate condition.

The condition is such that she is unable to ever tell the truth, in any circumstance. Absolutely any statement she makes is a falsehood and should be treated as such. Alison denies that the condition is a medical one, which probably means it is, and she does not believe that it could potentially be a superpower, although we're not sure whether she is lying at this point, despite the last sentence.