Nineteen
The next morning at practice, Friday, the day of Hallowfest, Kristen runs up to me so fast, she almost slips into the water. “I have news. Damian and Molly broke up.”
“Wait,” I say, because I have news too. I quickly explain why I think he might be D.S.
, and if not him, then why D.S. is possibly Aaron.
If not Aaron, then maybe Fox, but Damian Scott’s initials are literally D.S.
If Damian is Dark Static, could Zane be Golden Ace?
But then why had they been fighting? And why would he tell me about telepathic powers?
It seems like Golden Ace would want to keep that secret.
It’s hard to decide which I’m more thrilled about: that Damian and Molly broke up, or that he could be D.S. You need to be nice to Molly , I remind myself. She helped you. You owe her.
“Text him,” suggests Kristen. “See if he says any other quirky phrases that Dark Static uses.”
“Good idea.” I walk across the pool deck and hop into my lane. Fox is there ahead of me, for perhaps the first time ever. As much as I want to ask him why he decided to be punctual today, we have more important matters to discuss.
“Fox,” I say as cucumber-cool as I can. “You’re friends with Damian Scott, right?”
“If we’re going to use his full name,” Fox cocks an eyebrow, “then correct, Maddragon. Damian Scott Jr. is someone I associate myself with.” Leave it to Fox to define his friends as “associates.”
“So if I wanted to text him to ask about our math homework, you could get me his number?”
“I could.” Fox strokes his chin. “Except Damian’s not in our math class. If this is your way of asking me to help you with math, then I cordially accept.”
Oops. My stomach flips like one of our team’s divers in pike position as I realize my mistake.
I’d forgotten that Fox is in all of my classes and Damian is in just one: history.
Fox taps on the gutter, waiting for me to ask him a math question.
He is extraordinarily arrogant. I don’t think anyone else on the planet would have interpreted my asking for Damian’s number as asking for Fox’s help with calculus.
“Forget I asked.” Scowling, I leave him and dive into the chlorinated sanctuary, beginning my warm-up.
Now that I have powers, swimming feels both exhilarating and guilt-inducing.
It’s not fair for me to be competing, considering how I blow through my warm-up, but either the Super test messed up, or Arielle lied, so it’s not exactly my fault that I’m a Super on the swim team.
I come up for air and am pleased to see Fox is half a pool length away. Aaron, who now occupies the dead middle of the lane, almost takes up the entire width of it with his ever-expanding muscles. I’m willing to bet that Aaron works out more than anyone else at our school.
“If you want,” says Aaron. “I can give you his number. Damian was one of the first people I met when I moved here.”
“That would be awesome,” I say. Had Aaron been there when I’d asked Fox for Damian’s number?
He must have been somewhere nearby, but I can’t understand why it seems like he’s just shown up.
Last night at the comic shop replays in my memory, and then practice a few weeks ago.
Fox had said something was going on between Aaron and Zane.
“Greetings, fellow members of Lane Awesome.” Fox splashes over. “Lane meeting. Now.”
Aaron spins on a dime to hear what Fox has to say. He hasn’t been around Fox for long enough to understand his antics, but I have; Fox is upset about something. Why else would he speak to us?
“I hear you two have been having extra practices,” says Fox. “I want in.”
“It was just one…” Aaron trails off, and I try to keep my face still. There was supposed to be a second, when Wilson kidnapped me. Does Aaron not remember that? Or does he think I stood him up? Water ripples around my waist, helping to dissipate my adrenaline spike.
“Yeah, yeah,” says Fox. “Sunk cost. No pun intended. From now on, tell me when they are, cool?”
“You hate coming to practice,” I point out.
“Yeah, but you two need someone to push you, and after you shaved, … what was it, four seconds off your 100 free at that last meet, Mads? Perhaps I want to do that too.”
“Six,” I say. He’d known that.
“We’ll keep you in the loop,” Aaron dismisses Fox.
“Thanks, man. Oh, and check your breathing on your butterfly,” Fox tells Aaron. “Your kick is off on every third stroke.”
“Will do.” Aaron nods. But he doesn’t tell Fox to fix anything in his stroke, either because he doesn’t care, or because they both know that “flawless” is the exact word to describe Fox’s swimming.
Have I just witnessed them become friends?
Or is there something else going on? I remember Fox’s unease when he suspected Aaron had a secret.
Is this Fox’s way of digging for it? I consider again whether either of them could be Dark Static.
Dark Static speaks so much more confidently than Aaron does, but even with a disguised voice, he isn’t as carefree as Fox.
He doesn’t specifically remind me of Fox or Aaron.
Then again, a guy in a mask can be whoever I want him to be.
Fox pushes off from the wall to start his kick set, and I’m about to swim right behind him when Aaron taps me on the shoulder.
“He doesn’t have to come if you don’t want him to,” he says. Aaron’s expression catches me off guard, as if he doesn’t want Fox to join either.
As we do our workout, I decide I have too many questions and not enough answers. If Phil, Arielle, Aaron, Fox, and Damian Scott Jr.—or D.S.J, as Fox pointed out—are all going to be at Hallowfest, then I need to be there too.
After practice, I dry off and approach Arielle, who waits by the equipment, making sure we’ve put our kickboards away correctly. There’s no easy way to ask her, so I opt to declare instead.
“I want to come to Hallowfest.”
Arielle focuses her narrow blue eyes on me. “Why?”
The last time we spoke, I accused her and Phil of knowing that Mom was murdered. Arielle must suspect my motive for wanting to come to her house.
“I want to see what all the fuss is about,” I say.
“Right.” She sighs, knowing I’m lying. “Sure, whatever. I’ll put you on the list. Is Dad coming too?”
I stammer, “Um, no. Just me.” That was much easier than expected. Arielle must have something to gain from my attendance as well. I’ll need to watch my back even more when I’m in her house.
“Fine. It’s a masquerade. Black-tie attire is required. Doors will open at 7:30. The charity this year is researching children’s brain cancer and donations are expected.”
“Perfect,” I say, turning on my heel. She watches me plod all the way into the locker room.
~
“You should get highlights,” Kristen says as she straightens my hair. “They would be pretty on you.”
“Thanks,” I say. “You should stop biting your nails.”
“I can’t help it if I get bored.”
“Yes, you can.”
Kristen’s room is dark purple, which she painted herself, and is accessorized with black sheets, pillows, a desk, and most of her clothes. She drew silver stars on her ceiling and, like me, has a space on her dresser dedicated to Golden Ace.
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to crash your date?” I ask.
“Hmm, you mean, can you third-wheel Aaron and me so you can find out what happened to your mom and why Phil hired someone to kidnap you? I gotta think about that one.”
I swat her hand out of my face in reply.
Kristen pokes my skin with brushes as I sit in a chair before her mirror. She’d smeared glitter on my eyelids and put this weird gel in my hair to “keep the chlorine from killing it,” but when she sticks a hair-curling wand in front of me, I stand up.
“Alrighty,” I say. “I think that’s enough primping for me today. Your turn, Kris.”
“But I already did me before you came over. Now we’re done playing dress-up.”
Kristen, at that moment, sounds identical to the six-year-old I babysit.
But unlike Lily, Kristen accepts where we’re at and checks herself before her protest becomes a full tantrum.
Fortunately, Lily’s father had opted not to come to Hallowfest, and I’m off babysitting duty tonight.
He decided that quality time carting his daughter around for candy was more important than networking with the who’s who of Capital City.
Or maybe he heard about Wilson dying and wants to stay home.
Lily showed me her costume this afternoon before her dad came home early and trick-or-treating began.
She’s going as Flare and has nailed Flare’s Super outfit: orange spandex and a skirt that spins into ribbons of orange and yellow.
In elementary school, there are kids costumed as Supers every day, not only for trick-or-treating.
But in middle school, it’s no longer “cool” to wear Super attire.
It surprised me that Damian geeked out so hard in League of Comics for multiple reasons , and one is that the Supers are beyond cool, which means we high schoolers have to pretend not to care about them.
“We should put on our dresses. You’re in luck, by the way. I made you a dress months ago.” She hands me a strapless silver gown. “Hope it fits.” Oh, no. Hope? “Kidding. I know your measurements.”
I head to her bathroom to change. Despite not yet nailing swimwear, Kristen is an amazing designer. That’s why she’s leaving Capital City next year to get more training. I don’t know what I’m doing after graduation yet, but I hope whatever I do is close to her.
The dress is amazing. The silky fabric cascades over me, not baggy, and not tight. I check myself out in the mirror. The silver color is stunning.
Kristen’s dress looks perfect on her too. I return to her room to see her wearing a black, flowing gown that barely has a back. “Wow, Kris. You look awesome.”
“As do you, Mads.” We high-five and I follow her down the spiraling stairs to where her parents are waiting with a limousine.