Sixteen #2
“We don’t know how far up this goes,” says Golden Ace. “We don’t know if someone helped Bridges get to where he is or if he’s working for anyone. Look at Materio. Bro is seriously mad he’s not Capital City’s favorite Super anymore. Gosh, that guy is exhausting.”
I reconsider the interview I’d watched today. There hadn’t seemed to be any tension between the Supers. Golden Ace must be an excellent actor.
“If it ever gets out that Gold is working with me,” says Dark Static, “they’ll join Bridges’ side faster than we can fly.”
“Than you can fly,” Golden Ace jokes.
“So where do I come in?” I ask.
Golden Ace motions for D.S. to explain. “She was your idea.”
What? Had D.S. planned to meet me even before the $200 incident?
“You have a right to know what happened to your mom,” D.S.
says. “And you’re in a key position to help with this, since your sister happens to be Bridges’ devoted wife.
” He’s careful to hide what he thinks of Arielle, but I catch his condescending tone at devoted .
“Since all of this started, I’ve been wondering if you can help us. ”
“Especially because—” Golden Ace interjects, but D.S. cuts him off with a quick wave of his hand, as if to approach Golden Ace’s almost-comment from a different angle.
“Roberts.” Dark Static pulls away from me, stepping to my kidnapper’s lifeless body. D.S. stands tall, his arms loose at his sides, completely at ease. Typical D.S., always relaxed. “What exactly did Bridges’ guy do to you? Did he give you any tests?”
The reminder of a dead body in the room sends chills up my spine, like a chain of spiders crawling up my back.
“That’s his guy?” I ask. Phil had me kidnapped?
“That’s definitely his guy,” Golden Ace says. “Jack Wilson. He’s the head of Bridges’ internship program, perfect for doing dirty work. Well, was the head.”
“How did he find me?” I ask. On instinct, I reach for my phone, to where I remember leaving it in my pocket, but come up empty.
Golden Ace gingerly steps over the debris and toward Wilson, and lifts something off the ground. He tosses it to me—there’s my phone, and with only a slight crack in the screen. I thought I’d turned my location off, and my heart sinks when I see the blue tab, showing it turned itself back on.
“It’s okay,” says D.S. “It’s hard to escape.”
Remembering D.S.’s question, I reply, “He made me drink a lot of water and pour it on my clothes.”
“How did that make you feel?” D.S. asks.
Golden Ace chokes on a laugh, mocking the clichéness of the question, but D.S. gives a look that makes him stop, genuinely wanting the answer.
“Kind of like recharging,” I say. “Or injecting energy.”
“Told you.” Golden Ace beams. “Girl’s got superpowers.”
WAIT. WHAT?
Holy…
No.
Superpowers? I survey Jack Wilson’s body and the debris that cakes the floor. Black dirt coats my hands. Everything cracked into chaos when I’d lost control.
“I did this?” I ask.
Oh. My. God.
AHHHH.
Golden Ace elbows Dark Static. “You owe me twenty bucks.”
I lean back against the wall, catching myself.
“But they always test athletes for powers. My records don’t show any signs of them.
” I remember when Arielle had tested me.
How quickly she’d declared I was normal.
Then the image of knocking six seconds off my 100m time at the swim meet replaces that memory, and I remember how the water had rippled with me as I shredded through it with impossible speed. Those memories do not match up.
“My sister is a liar.”
Golden Ace claps his hands, jumping up and down. My favorite Super is so much more hyper than I expected him to be. And… younger? Maybe? It’s hard to tell, except for the casualness of this meeting. Very different from when he’d presented at school.
“At first, it was just a lucky coincidence that you wanted to help D.S. with the mayor thing, but then we heard about your last swim meet,” says Golden Ace.
“Dropping six seconds off your 100m freestyle, for a swimmer of your caliber,” D.S.
says, “is almost unheard of. It raised a flag for a lot of people that you might have powers. Apparently, Arielle kept them pretty quiet, because Bridges didn’t fully investigate them until today.
Though, I suspect he might have been looking for them the night we met. ”
A strange lightness pulses through me, a weightless luminescence, and I feel like I could float on a cloud. Wait. Can I? Is that possible now?
I have powers.
Me.
“I need water to use them,” I think aloud, “But what can I do, exactly?” Golden Ace can fight, fly, and read minds, and those are only the basics.
D.S. has lasers and lightning and then some.
I don’t think I have flying capabilities, and I definitely cannot mind-read, but it seems like I can do something with explosions. And water.
“It’ll be hard to know for sure until you can control them,” Golden Ace answers. “You’ll discover them as you test them out.”
Control them? Yikes. We’re standing before exactly what will happen if I can’t control them—debris and a dead man.
Sure, I know a lot about Golden Ace’s powers, or at least as much as all the Goldies, seeing as no one predicted he could read minds, but I don’t know what it would be like to have powers, or how to use them, or if there are any limitations, which there have to be.
Supers aren’t gods. Everyone can be beaten.
“I’m definitely going to need help,” I say. “This is crazy.”
“You’re in luck.” Dark Static grins. “I’ve already volunteered.”
Golden Ace touches his mask, suddenly alert. “Time to go. Company in about four minutes.”
I swallow my awe. That’s how Golden Ace bests every villain. He must be able to hear thoughts at short and long ranges, and almost no one knows. How incredibly useful. How incredibly important that people never find out.
“Time to go, Roberts,” says Dark Static. He grabs my hand, which feels small and cold in his glove, and pulls me into the darkest corner of the debris.
He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. He smells like the night. Shadows, crisp air, and secrets.
“What—” I start to say.
“Hold on tight.”
“If you think for one second that I’m flying with you—”
And for another time that afternoon, everything goes black.