James Knight: Teenage Superhuman - Book One

Twenty-Five

Derek and I regrouped at a post just inside the neighborhood border, enjoying the tranquility as I hovered in the air, relishing the gentle breeze and the stunning aerial view.

Derek stationed himself below, parking his vehicle in a visible spot in a retail parking lot where I could quickly locate him if needed. My cell phone chimed in my pocket, and I assumed it was Derek reaching out, but to my surprise, a message from Sam appeared on the screen.

"I hope you're safe, bud," he wrote. I floated freely, pondering a creative response, but I drew a blank.

"Derek and I are alright. I'll keep you informed if anything comes up," I typed. Sam didn't respond, so I assumed he trusted me, or perhaps he was a little intoxicated by now.

The wind whispered through the twilight air, and I descended next to Derek and his car. He had dozed off against the car window. His face pressed against the glass as he snored. I didn't want to disturb his peaceful slumber, but I gave the car a gentle nudge, causing his eyes to snap open. He looked at me and unlocked the car.

"What the hell, James?" he exclaimed, playfully slapping my chest as I fastened my seatbelt.

I chuckled. "Sleeping on the job, eh?" I teased. He pouted.

"I've been off the clock since eight-thirty."

"You were supposed to be my lookout from below." There was no sign of Max or Noah in sight. He sighed, resting his hands on the steering wheel.

"I was. I've just been working all day. Unlike you, I'm tired. You have the energy of a child on a sugar high. Did you consume any caffeine?"

"Yep." I smacked my lips and gazed out the window at the radiant lights adorning the streets.

"Great," Derek groaned, slamming his head against the steering wheel. "I have the Incredible Hulk riding shotgun. Just perfect." He glanced at me and started the car, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road.

Derek and I arrived home around ten-thirty that night, and Sam was quite drunk, as expected. He stumbled around the kitchen, attempting to cook homemade tacos while listening to his phone playlist.

Cooking seemed to be a way for Sam to unwind. I didn't judge him. He was unemployed and often lonely as a scientist, living with his two nephews and brother. He occasionally went on dates, but they were rare occurrences.

Derek and I sat at the table while Sam served us hard-shelled tacos with meat, cheese, beans, guacamole, salad, and cream cheese on the side—just how we liked it. Sam reeked of tequila; he would have a hangover the next day.

"You two made the news tonight," Sam informed us. "COP WORKS WITH SUPER IN FIGHTING OFF STORE BURGLARS." He waved his hands in the air. "You guys make an incredible team." Derek and I exchanged smiles.

"Do you ever think about cutting back on the drinking?" Derek asked Sam. Sam struggled to focus on Derek, his head spinning.

Instead, Sam grimaced. "When you turn twenty-one next year, you'll understand."

Derek shook his head. "I will not drink when I turn twenty-one. Maybe you and Dad should attend Alcoholics Anonymous meetings or something."

He voiced the same suggestion that had been on my mind. Despite our four-year age gap, Derek and I often had similar thoughts, almost as if we had twin telepathy. Sam declined the idea, taking a bite of his taco and perching himself on the kitchen counter.

"I'm not that much of an alcoholic." Derek and I saw things differently from Sam.

"Did you come across anything interesting during your patrol?" Sam inquired, unsteadily wiping his hands on his white T-shirt as he leaned against the counter.