The OK Team (20 page)

Suddenly I catch sight of myself in the mirror. By rights, I should be invisible, I'm so worked up, but instead, I look in the mirror and I can see . . . me! Crystal clear and razor sharp! Scowling and with eyes that burn. How strange that I am so in focus. If only I could be like this and be out of whack, when I chose instead of at random.

I'll do it, I think to myself. The old man can go eat his cape. I WILL be a Hero. I WILL learn to control my power and I WILL make a difference. I will be more fabulous than Mr Fabulous ever was.

What was the old bighead's training regime? Make my hand vanish when the rest of me is visible? Sure. I can do that because at this moment, I decide I can. I'm not some loser ex-leader. I'm not some wannabe Hero.

I am a Hero.

A Hero is a Hero. No matter what.

I'm not even Hazy Retina at this moment. He doesn't exist.

I am Focus.

And then I look at my right arm and I almost have a heart attack. You won't believe it, but yes, my hand is gone. No hand. Tentatively, I reach for a pen on the table next to the mirror with the invisible hand. I pick it up and watch the pen float by itself through the air. Too cool!

I take the pen in my left hand and wave my right hand in front of it. The pen disappears as my invisible hand covers it.

This is too much. I feel excitement rising and I drop the pen without letting go of it. I look in the mirror. Without me realising, excitement has made my entire body become a smudge. Rats.

But for a moment . . . for one moment, I did it.

It can be done.

CHAPTER 26
THE END OF THE WORLD?

O
ver the next week, I practise every chance I get. At school I stay away from the library, sneaking to a quiet place behind a tree at the back of the football oval to stare at my hand. I try not to think about it, then think about it hard for a few seconds, and sometimes I am sure it becomes more blurry than the rest of me. A lot of the time I can't be certain. Once or twice, I definitely nail it. In the privacy of my room, I even try willing my head to disappear instead of my hand. If nothing else, it would make a great party trick.

All week, I don't see any more reports about the OK Team or Mr self-promoter Fabulous. To be honest, I don't turn on Channel 78737 much, just in case the team does turn up – group hugging, saving the world, and doing interviews about how great life is without their loser of a former leader.

Of course, I have some all-new pressing problems of my own. Am I going to stay a Hero? Should I attempt to join another team? Or try going solo? What can I actually achieve on my own?

The worst thing is that I feel so alone. At the end of the day, the OK Team had been my best, maybe only friends. I even miss Torch, now leader of the pack and destined for Hero greatness as I choke on his fiery dust. As for Liarbird, you can take a guess.

I imagine bumping into her in the street, or unexpectedly on a super job.

‘Do you miss me?' I'd ask.

‘You bet,' she'd say. ‘More than I could ever have imagined. My life is incomplete.'

Then I'd remember her power and sag.

The only good thing is that Boris Scumm seems to have lost interest in me. Twice I turn a corner to find myself face-to-blurry-face with him and his gang but, apart from a cruel sneer and a few stray insults, they leave me alone. Scumm and his chief henchmen are in huddles a lot lately, talking excitedly and sneaking glances over their shoulders. They are clearly up to no good, but as long as it doesn't involve me, I'm happy.

Nine days after I fall out of the OK Team, I receive an All Points Bulletin email from the Hero Association, asking all local heroes to a briefing regarding a Category Three Star threat. Looking up the Hero handbook, I discover that Category Three Star means ‘Earth-threatening', even higher in danger than Category Nine Radiation. The meeting is to be held at the old Spencer Street power plant, the venue the end of the world? for Heroes Anonymous, where I met Cannonball all that time ago.

I decide to turn up. Not that I'm likely to have anything to do with a Category Three Star threat, but I might be able to meet some new Heroes, ask if there are any teams starting up.

I tell Mum and Dad that I'm going to play Warhammer at Games Workshop in the city.

‘I still don't understand why you always wear that silver outfit to play a board game,' Mum says.

‘It's just part of the fun,' I reply. ‘Helps get my imagination flowing.'

‘What does the big F stand for?'

‘Um, “fun”.'

She looks unconvinced. ‘So, do you wear a giant H when you do your homework?'

‘It's good he's making friends, Iris. Let him go,' says Dad. ‘Hazy, did you know that a guy called Tom on
myspace.com
is on record as having the most friends of anybody in the world, with more than sixty million friends?'

‘That must cost a lot in birthday cards,' I say. Dad starts laughing, so I run before he can think of any more freak yarns.

At the power plant, I have my usual moment of wondering how I'm going to get through or over the massive brick wall, but then I think for a second that I see Switchy and Yesterday entering the alley and I blur out of focus so fast that it's nothing to slip straight through the bricks.

There are dozens of Heroes present. I find a seat down the back, next to a guy who looks to be dressed as a pumpkin. Next to him is a girl with hundreds of surfboard legropes hanging off her costume. I don't dare even ask . . .

I'm stunned but satisfied to spy Lurch way over the other side of the room. So he
is
a Hero. And he's sitting next to Old Man Mantis. I always knew.

Because this is a Hero gathering, there is no need for a temporary stage. Instead, the Southern Cross floats off the ground to hover about two metres in the air, in front of all the Heroes. I sneak glances into the crowd, between cowls and capes, but I can't see the OK Team anywhere.

‘Hi, Heroes. Thanks for coming.' the Southern Cross floats effortlessly, hands on hips. ‘As far as we can tell, almost every registered Hero in the state is here, apart from two Level Gs called “The Slacker Twins”, who said they might show up later. Naturally, this entire meeting is subject to the top level of Hero Security. At this stage, the only non-Heroes aware of the threat are military personnel and a couple of psychics who got lucky.'

‘But what is the threat?' asks a female Hero in the front row. She has a crimson cape, matching mask and gloves, and blonde hair piled high on her head. I have no idea who she is but I like her sense of fashion.

‘I won't beat about the bush,' the Southern Cross says. ‘Melbourne faces a potentially terminal threat from a massive asteroid.'

‘An asteroid!' exclaims a Hero a few chairs down from me.

‘Fly fast does the stone yet large is the void,' answers his companion. I realise it's the Crypto Twins.

‘If you'll all look to the ceiling, I can show you,' the Southern Cross says.

We all look up – I hear a female voice yell, ‘Quack!' – and we're gazing at a virtual screen hanging in the air, showing an enormous lump of rock twirling in space.

‘This asteroid is huge,' continues the Southern Cross. ‘If it impacts, it will take out the city centre and more than five kilometres of suburbs in any direction. While Melbourne would be obliterated instantly, the rest of the world would probably be doomed from the fallout.'

‘But it won't happen, right?' says a small beetle a few rows in front of me.

‘No, BugMan. It won't because Golden Boy is going to take it out, on our behalf.'

There is a burst of applause as Golden Boy flies into the air to float next to the Southern Cross. I can't help but think he looks pale as he waves to acknowledge the applause – as pale as you can look with golden light shining all around you.

A Hero asks, ‘How do you plan to do it, Golden Boy?'

‘I have, um, a number of strategies that I'm considering at this time,' Golden Boy says. ‘Point of impact is twenty hours away, so we have some breathing space.'

Mr Fabulous stands up, dead centre of the Hero crowd and three rows from the front. I hear the murmur as everyday heroes spot the Hall of Fame legend.

‘Golden Boy, this is a big moment for you. You must be excited,' the old man says, staring hard at the Triple A.

Golden Boy hovers, looking blankly at Mr Fabulous, then swallows hard and says, ‘Um, excuse me.'

Just like that, he isn't there any more. That's super speed for you.

Everybody looks at one another in surprise. In the silence I hear Ace say to the Southern Cross, ‘That was an unexpected shuffle of the deck. I hope Golden Boy isn't a wild card to send up against a meteor.'

And then, not quite as quickly (so we can all see the blur as he tries to super-speed out of there), Mr Fabulous is gone as well.

There is a low murmur of voices, including the odd honk, musical sting or explosion, as Heroes talk among themselves about what just happened. I stand to stretch my legs, and it's then I notice the OK Team sitting towards the back of the crowd on the other side of the room.

Man, I'm thinking, Mr Fabulous is so full of himself that he doesn't even let the team sit with him when real Heroes are around.

Just as I'm gazing at them, Liarbird happens to look my way. Our eyes meet and I find it hard to breathe. It might be some evil plot by a super-villain to suck the air from the room, but, then again, I often have trouble breathing when I look at Liarbird. I see her perfect lips move and I almost smile as I imagine her saying, ‘I can't see Focus.'

Sure enough Torch, Cannonball and Yesterday start looking around the room. Cannonball says loudly, ‘I'll be able to see him from the sky,' poses, and then shoots clear to the other side of the huge space, smacking into a far wall. So nothing has changed there.

I can feel my visibility has gone, which is a shame because I'd quite like Torch to see me and to think how well and happy I look. I don't know if I can pull off ‘well' or ‘happy' as a look, but I'm willing to try. Liarbird is still looking in my direction and I'm tempted to go over and say hello but then I remember that I'm supposed to be mad with them all, and resentful because they're still in the team and I'm not.

As I turn back to face the Southern Cross at the front of the room, I hear Yesterday's high young voice clearly, over the rising sound of the crowd still discussing Golden Boy's exit. ‘I knew Focus would be here.'

There is a golden flash and guess what, Golden Boy is back, standing right next to the Southern Cross, about two metres above our heads and with his arms folded casually. Mr Fabulous also creakily super-speeds into the room and takes his seat down the front.

‘Sorry about that,' Golden Boy says. ‘I thought I heard a cry for help . . . it turns out it was, um, just the meteor begging for mercy. That it won't get!'

A few Heroes cheer and there are a few laughs. The Southern Cross wraps things up by telling us to stay alert, leave the actual world-saving to Golden Boy, but look to handle his giant share of the everyday crime-fighting between us so he can concentrate on what he has to do.

Heroes start to stand or fly or spin, and I suddenly realise that I'm not ready to talk to the OK Team members. The thought of facing them makes me invisible so fast that I walk straight through the crowd like a ghost and through the wall of the room. If I can stay out of whack long enough, I might be able to walk straight through the power plant's outer wall. I think about what might happen if I met the Team.

‘Life's a lot better without you,' Torch might say. Completely invisible, I walk through another wall.

‘Torch is a great leader!' Yesterday could add. Still nothing but a transparent cloud.

‘Much better than you,' says Switchy. I walk clean through more brick.

And then I see Golden Boy and the Southern Cross standing in a patch of light shining through a grimy window. Even Golden Boy's usual glow is dimmed and he's strangely slumped. They have their heads together, talking quietly. I check that I am still completely out of focus, then drift a little closer, like the mist I am.