Unsung

Chapter Six

Turned out, McKayla was being serious this time. And after I agreed to sit back down—and buy her another drink—she told me everything.

According to her, the school she trained at was actually a University. One I'd never heard of before, probably because it was still relatively new. It had only been around for about a decade, and since it was sort of a niché area of study—read: not as widely attended as say, USC—the rest of the world at large didn't seem to know about it. Apparently it was one of higher education's best-kept secrets. As in way exclusive.

McKayla explained that the Cain Institute for Heroic Studies had a small campus located in a suburb of Los Angeles, and offered much of the same degrees that other colleges did—only, there was an added focus on heroism. And while the school name was rather academic, its attendees often opted to call it by its nickname: The Hero School.

"Wait, you're in college already?" I asked McKayla when she'd finished giving me the rundown.

"I wish," she said. "I can't think of a more boring place than high school. Alas, I'm only seventeen. A senior over at Albert Ellis."

"Then how—"

"The Cain Institute has a recruitment facility on campus to help train people who aren't enrolled there yet," McKayla finished.

If I hadn't been so fascinated by the subject matter, I might have been annoyed by the fact that she was always cutting me off. But in this instance, I appreciated McKayla's ability to practically read my mind.

"Do you have to be asked to go there? Like, is there some test you have to take to make it in? Do you have to be recruited?" I asked, simultaneously wanting to know the answer and being scared of it. "Or can anyone go?"

McKayla gave me a look like she'd been waiting for me to ask that exact question. Not in a "that's such a stupid question" way or even a "oh, you silly little girl" way. More like she just wasn't surprised.

"The facility itself is used to recruit future students, so it's pretty much open to whoever's interested," she said slowly. "But the program I'm a part of is more of a community-based initiative that focuses on training teens to be more heroic in their everyday lives. Basically, they want to encourage kids to become more like Ghandi, less like Manson. Charles, not Marilyn. Or maybe Marilyn, too. I guess so many of our peers are complete maniacs that people feel like the world could use more of us."

"Us, as in..." I let the sentence trail off, hoping that McKayla would finish it, too.

"Duh. Heroes," she said.

"And that's what you consider yourself? A hero?"

"Well, lets see," McKayla said, touching her pointer finger to each of her other digits as she talked. "I help those in need. I can take care of myself—and others if the situation calls for it. I right wrongs. I jump into action when no one else will. I'm always ready for anything. And I do it, even though sometimes it's dangerous. Oh, and I have moves like Jackie Chan. I'd say that's pretty heroic, wouldn't you?"

I'd never met anyone who'd actually described themselves that way. Even police officers or firefighters who put themselves in harms way every day in order to protect others, didn't go around calling themselves heroes (although it was unquestionably true that they were). Yet here was a teenage girl using the term, not to inflate her ego, but because she thought it was the best description for who she was.

I thought back to the purse-snatching incident from before and how the blonde in front of me had singlehandedly stopped her. Not only had she caught the bad guy—or girl in this case—but McKayla had managed to avoid getting hurt, returned the stolen bag to its rightful owner and never hesitated while doing it.

She was right. She was a freaking hero.

And here she was telling me that none of it had been a coincidence.

I felt my heart soar as realization hit me.

Heroes aren't always born. Sometimes they're made.

"You trained for this," I said, in awe. "You went after that girl today because you were taught to do it."

"And you can learn how to do it, too," McKayla answered, a twinkle in her eye. "If you want to."

I fell quiet as I let the words sink in.

"I mean, I can't guarantee that you'll be as good as me, but if you join the program, at least you won't be completely useless," McKayla added with a wave of her hand.

Then reality hit me hard.

She was right. I could never be like her. I could barely keep up with her while we were walking around the mall. How was I supposed to survive any kind of hero training? Especially if it included fighting. Watching boxing on TV made me want to heave. So the idea of having to go toe to toe with someone was like anxiety on steroids.

"I can't," I said, feeling instant shame.

"Sure you can," McKayla said, ignoring the fact that I probably looked like I was about to throw up. "There are way bigger wimps in the program than you. And they're all doing it. Well, some of them anyway. Like I said, it's not for the feint of heart, so we do have drop-outs."

"I just...I wish I could," I said, sincerely. "But I can't."

I wanted to explain to her that the idea of stepping foot in that facility terrified me beyond belief. That the threat of pain was a huge motivator in making me into the wallflower I was today. That there was no inner athlete for me to tap into. That I didn't want to fail at something I felt was so incredibly important. I wanted to say all of this to McKayla, but I couldn't.

Because, ironically, I was too scared to admit it.

"Oh, please. Look, I get it. Plenty of people get nervous when they first come to the institute. I didn't, of course, but I dig the excitement. Get off on it, actually," McKayla said, a delicious look crossing her face. Then she shook it away. "Most people become big ole messes when they see what we have to do. What with the fighting and the acrobatics and the strength and endurance tests and all. But trust me, I've seen the instructors transform even the biggest of losers."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence," I muttered, momentarily sidetracked by her backhanded compliment.

"The point is, I think you want this," she said, softer now. "And what I've learned is that nobody ends up at the Hero School by accident. If your gut is telling you to do this, you should probably listen. Unless it's telling you to puke, in which case, find a bathroom far away from me."

McKayla looked at her phone then.

"Ten minutes are up!" she announced, popping up to her feet easily. "Thanks for the caffeine jolt...uh, what was your name, again?"

"Kida," I said, my head buzzing with all the information.

"Really?" McKayla asked, looking surprised as she tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. "Way cool name. Wouldn't have guessed it."

She started to walk away, but then turned back to me. Without an explanation, she took my phone from my hands and started typing away at the screen. When she handed it back, I could see that she'd given me her phone number.

"In case you need more convincing," she said, with a wink. "You really should check it out though. There's more to life than however you're living it."

Then she marched off down the mall walkway, waving her hand in the air behind her as her goodbye.

I looked down at my phone, my mouth hanging slightly open.

I had no idea what had just happened, but something about that last thing she'd said had made sense.

I'd always wanted there to be more to my life thanwhat it seemed I was destined to be. Maybe this hero school was what I'd alwaysbeen searching for.