Hero Stalker

Part Sixty-Five

I made it home by seven and found a warm casserole waiting for me, along with mashed potatoes and Will, Mom, and Vicky. For a few hours, things went back to normal, as if my fight with Mom hadn't happened. Vicky chattered about the cheer team's bake sale. Will ate fast so he could sneak back to his Xbox. Mom told us about her plans for the WSOC information booth.

"We'll be signing up volunteers for the shelter dinners at one end and handing out flyers about the free clinic at the other. Gloria, you're working the noon to four shift."

An olive branch. One I couldn't take. "Mom, I'll be at work. There's a giant sushi roll to install—don't you dare laugh at me, William—and I've gotta help Valerie after that." She'd spent the last few days car shopping, so I'd had some free time, but it wouldn't last.

"Right," Mom muttered into her casserole. I had a suspicion it wasn't right at all.

"Gloria, this is important." Vicky's big brown eyes bored into me. She looked like an extremely perky puppy in a cheer jacket.

"My job has to be my priority. I'm an adult."

"An adult?" Vicky laughed. "C'mon."

I almost walked out. But I couldn't blow what little money I had on buying food elsewhere. So I shoved down the casserole and excused myself to water the garden. My begonias were wilting. My black-eyed-susans reminded me of Cypher. He was the last person I needed to think about.

When I opened my laptop, I saw my "In defense of Cypher . . ." thread had risen to the top of the Hero Trackers subforum again. Someone had argued that since Cypher needed computer equipment to defend himself, his powers were only useful if he knew two weeks in advance where he'd be fighting. I didn't bother responding.

The Villain Trackers sub-forum had gotten even crazier than usual. The argument over how evil a villain could get before you could no longer call them cool had resurfaced. One post reasoned the robot suit had screwed Harpy over, since Cypher could control technology. Three people claimed he was an alien. One person had written an essay on why Harpy had been a girl. No one could agree on if he'd survived the explosion at the hospital.

That alone didn't surprise me. Half these guys would swear Oceanboy had survived the explosion that vaporized almost every part of him and resurfaced as the surfing-themed villain Cowaburglar in 1982. What bothered me was that no one had a semi-plausible explanation for how he'd survived. They just believed someone so dangerous wouldn't go down that easy. If Harpy wanted to scare people, he'd succeeded.

Especially with me. Because as I tried to sleep that night, I saw the cancer lab explode over and over as screams echoed in my ears.

###

South of the wall, the narrow, historic streets of WashingtonHarbor created traffic jams that could last hours. The ancient houses slid together and broke off the possibility of side streets. No buses would get you anywhere close. Especially on Harbor Day. In previous years, I'd begged rides off Annabelle. But this year, I had to arrive by five AM to set up my sushi roll. I had no choice but to run.

Venue Three, where the Centurion Expo took place, was always the cobblestoned square outside OldTown Hall. Built in 1723, the Daughters of Historic Bayton had kept it in good shape. Red, blue, and gold cloth wrapped around the old building's white pillars. American flags hung beneath them. A giant television screen sat above a podium emblazoned with the Centurion seal. Five folding chairs sat behind it, on a stage that extended out over the steps.

More chairs sat in front of the stage, for the mayor, city officials, and their guests. Two roped-off sections on each side of the chairs marked the designated press area. The seaweed-wrapped wooden frame of our masterpiece sat in the center of the square.

"Sign for delivery?" Simon Lee asked me as I stepped out of the shadow behind a pillar. He and the rest of his crew wore bulky-looking sweatshirts, even though the temperature had already passed seventy degrees.

I took his clipboard and signed. "You'll be around if something goes wrong?"

"Count on it, ma'am." He winked at me. "Up on the roof."

Saito stood on a ladder, dishing out avocado. I climbed up next to him and started scooping rice into one of the opaque white trays that covered the entire top of the roll. Sue and Brendon glued on an extra sheet of seaweed to cover the hinge in the middle.

"Be a lot easier to fill these trays on the ground," I remarked, moving my ladder.

"Unfortunately, the movers nailed them in place," Saito said. "They did set up the whole thing for us, so I guess we can't complain."

All around us, Simon and his crew were assembling the sound system. Their speakers rose ten feet tall and filled every gap between the old houses on the square. Wires ran over every rooftop. You'd be able to hear me from CenturionTower, and I still hadn't thought up a decent speech.

By the time I made it to our WashingtonHarbor store, Valerie was chomping at the bit. "You look terrible," she informed me. She wore six-inch hot-pink platform wedges with rhinestones on the sides. Her dark purple blouse strained to squeeze in her curves. We had six minutes before we opened on one of our busiest days of the year and my head felt like it was full of cotton balls.

"Couldn't sleep," I muttered.

"Get some coffee. My treat."

I stepped out from behind the counter, snatched up a cup, and headed over to the giant purple coffee tanks on the back wall.

"French Blend, not Columbian Jungle Organic!" Valerie shouted. "It costs me five cents more per cup!"

Five minutes later, the doors opened and all hell broke loose. Valerie insisted on standing outside to greet her loyal customers. I managed to send off the blond woman in the 'Meat Is Murder' shirt, but I couldn't stop the little girl who said Valerie looked like Ursula the Sea Witch. A screaming fit broke out between Valerie and the girl's dad. A photographer for the Clarion ducked out of a corner and photographed me as I casually stepped between him and my boss.

"Get me some cigarettes!" Valerie ordered me as she stormed back into the shop.

I headed over to the crowded Seven-Eleven. A screaming toddler just ahead of me in line threw her bright red Slurpee on my shoes.

"Sorry." The kid's mom didn't look up from her iPhone

I made myself smile. "No problem."

My phone buzzed. 'Do It Like a Dude.' I sighed and picked it up.

"Did you see the photos in the Local section today?" shouted Annabelle. "My friend Alex took them in Greenwood yesterday. They're hilarious."

Most people found photos of GreenwoodHeights depressing. "What were they of?"

"Shadowcat. Absolutely covered in white goo. It looked like she'd been swimming in semen."

"Human fat," I muttered. So someone had photographed me. Splendid.

"So you did read the article! Want to meet up at the Centurion Expo? The Clarion got me a press pass. I think they're about to offer me a staff position."

"Good for you." I tried and failed to sound happy for her. "Can't come. Work."

"Okay." Hurt filled her voice. "Did I do something wrong?"

You sold me out. Now you're laughing at me. But I couldn't say that, so I hung up on her.

d