"That could probably have gone better," mused Ness.
"No," cooed Paula. "You did great." She shifted to take his hand, and glass tinkled.
"Careful. Don't cut yourself."
The treehouse, where best-laid plans often went awry, was a true haven for the occasional Onett boy ranging from six to thirteen; Ness discovered it when he was ten, lonesome, and in need of a Mr. Baseball cap.
Sid poked his mussy head out. "Wipe the drool and climb up already. We got room."
Ness did, and fell in love. Over the years the odds and ends punctuating the little oak-borne cottage changed, matured, and then plummeted back to simpler times as new generations of munchkins began to populate its creaking walls. Where an empty gumball machine once stood – supposedly with a fortune in quarters for the first one to jimmy the lock – now sighed a miniature bookcase. The drapes were replaced with blinds, donated by some generous alumnus. Scooby-Doo lunchboxes vanished for plain paper sacks.
"Yeah, we had some good times here," a tall, freckled boy noted sagely, flicking a quarter. His name was Alan. The quarter landed neatly in a Dixie cup on the table.
"Hey, remember when that Pokey kid got all mad that we wouldn't let him in, 'cause he busted my mom's lamp that I brought, and he started yelling and telling Picky to get revenge on us and stuff?" Sid asked.
Picky was silent, but Ness smiled. "He almost gave us a new window with that rock."
Sid leaned forward, taking the straw out of his mouth, and pointed it at him like an accusing finger. "I know, and we had to fix it after, and Alan got a splinter. Well, that was a bad time. Forget it. Forget the bad times, because we're leaving them all behind in a couple of years. And to celebrate this wonderful motto, I'm throwing a little bash on Saturday. What do you say?"
Beside him, another coin rattled into the cup. "Wasn't it because you got into Eagle-land State U ahead of time? Barely?"
"Oh, look who's high and mighty now that he's all psychic and crap," Sid scoffed. "I bet you could study at that place in Winters if you wanted, huh, genius?"
"That's a dumb bet, hoss," Alan drawled, staring down the scope of his thumb with the air of a practiced hitman. A dime balanced on it.
"C'mon, Ness. People want to meet you. I really think you should come. You can bring a date."
He wasn't used to being propositioned into social events, but . . . "A date would-"
Sid looked at him. "On second thought, I really think you should come," he repeated solemnly. "Bring a girl who isn't your mother."
Ness threw a cushion at him, and did.
The Polestar Preschool had become a landmark in the past several years, but all it had to show for the local fame was new paint and two repaired shingles. Just watching the lights at the window, Ness felt, and the silhouettes they cast of familiar friends at familiar activity, made a total stranger feel at home.
A tiny brass cherub decorated the doorbell, which made a pleasant chime. One of the silhouettes disappeared from the window. The door swung open.
At a late sixteen, Paula was one of those very few girls who might be mistaken for anything from eighteen to twenty-three. Her hair had grown. She gazed down at her escort with the divine, haughty presence of Atalanta looking down on her ill-fated suitors.
How could Ness even have presumed to entertain this woman? He had not known Paula Polestar in a soft white sweater, dark skirt wafting and flowing around her shins, a little makeup . . . Ness's knees faltered; he began to sweat, and sincerely hoped for lightning to char him where he stood.
"Hey," he greeted suavely.
"Hi, Ness," Paula smiled. There was a faint honk from the living room as Mr. Polestar blew his nose, weeping something about his baby's independence. His wife waved sunnily, and gave him a tissue.
Paula grabbed Ness' shoulder and gave a gentle tug. "We should go, huh?"
He swallowed once in response. "Let's boogie."
The bike was a worn and battered thing, but it held up fine; Ness had pedaled from Onett to Twoson and back more times than he could count and it remained in no worse shape than the day it was ridden into a ditch. Nonetheless, he gripped the handlebars and stared straight ahead. There would be no mistakes.
"So how do you know him?" Paula's voice floated from behind.
"From middle school," Ness answered. "We were kind of in this club – it's a boring story, but the bottom line is, he got into the school he wanted early. So I guess he plans on getting all the party out of him before he has to start hitting the books."
He thought she cocked her head. "It almost sounds like he's checked out already. So how did he manage to get accepted a year and a half ahead of time?"
"Well, it's not like- ah, watch it!" The beaten treads soared over a bump, jarring the frame. Ness's hand shot out to meet Paula's, half a second in time, and they pulled to a stop at the curb as she awkwardly steadied herself.
"You okay?"
She flashed him a grin. "Absolutely. Let's keep going."
The wind began to slice around them as they won back momentum, and Paula found herself forced to free a securing hand to restrain her whipping hair. She tightened the other on Ness's shoulder. "So, what were you saying?"
He squinted into the breeze. "Huh? Oh, yeah, Sid. He's actually a pretty bright guy, but he's never been much for putting those brains to work for anything practical. And by the way," – he poked her knee – "he claims people like you n' me are genius freaks."
"He means it?" Paula laughed. "He should have seen my old macaroni art. Terrible."
"Do you think there's any truth to it, though? I mean, we were pretty mature even back then, when other kids our age were shooting hoops and playing with dolls." Wince. "Was that sexist?"
"I think that was more like forced maturity, though," she pondered, no longer talking solely to Ness. "Think about it. The only reason we were 'chosen' is because we could bend spoons from four feet away . . . except for Jeff, but his case is pretty clear. The powers, and what we went through with them, made us smarter. Not the other way."
Ness shrugged under the wide, clunky helmet with some difficulty. "I hope you can talk him down on the subject, then. He's convinced we're going to go supervillain and take over the country."
She recoiled. "What?"
"NesTron, Paulverize, Mr. Science and Prince Doom," Ness affirmed.
"You're kidding."
"Oh, how I wish I were."
"Quit gawking and come in already!" Sid bellowed over the cacophony from inside, giving his guests no more than a cursory glance. "There's punch on the table!" With that he vanished into the massive, undulating throng.
Paula gave Ness a doubtful look.
"It's his way," he explained. "Allow me." He grasped her hand.
They watched as Sid, already snaking his way past a dark-haired goliath and his gyrating ladyfriend on the other side of the room, hurled his skinny frame onto the table. He deftly snatched up a glass tumbler and spoon from a bowl full of sloshing punch. It was with surprising volume that they clanged together, again and again until the reverberations shook the air and the clamor died to a muttering. Stereo sound dwindled till verses of thug life came out as a whisper.
"Attention, please," Sid bugled from his new pulpit. "I want all you losers to know that we have some special guests in the house tonight."
Oh, no.
"The lovely Paula and the mediocre Ness, my friends. Whoa, watch it, braces. Don't crowd. They can kill you with their minds. I'm kidding, of course I'm kidding! Ha, ha, ha, who wants hors d'oeuvres?"
Had a pin dropped in that naked moment, and were Sid's floors not carpeted, it would have boomed. At once the entire horde (perhaps twenty young people in not an especially large living room) turned to notice the newcomers.
Ness felt a bead of sweat crawl down his temple.
"Er . . . hi."
As if triggered by a magic command, the closest young men gave a shout of joyful recognition and surged forward to clap him on the back, shake his hand, and compliment him on his choice of company. Girls jerked notepads out of outfits far too small to have contained them, and gazed at the newfound celebrities with sweet crocodilian smiles.
A giant in a black leather jacket dived bravely in, restraining fanboys and girls alike from assaulting the pair further. He turned and quickly beamed at them, then returned to his expert crowd control. Through the sunglasses Ness recognized Alan.
"Ness! Dude! I got a hat just like yours!"
"Ms. Paula, will you sign my last three yearbooks?"
"That's her? The preschool chick? Cute!"
"Let 'em through, let 'em through, let 'em through, gerrout my way, let 'em . . ."
This last voice was Sid's. He gave Paula an insistent nudge and pointed at a closed door off to the side. She nodded and followed him, dragging a grateful Ness behind.
Slam-click. The noise became a muted roar. Finally able to breathe in the emptiness of the hallway, the three sighed in unison.
Sid cracked a guilty eye. "I'm sorry, you guys. I didn't think they were gonna try to gang-rape you. Wouldn't've said that crap otherwise, I swear."
"It's cool," Ness groaned. He sank against the wall. "Paula, you all right?"
She checked. A tiny tear, like a frowning mouth, opened and closed in her sleeve; otherwise everything seemed unscathed. She placed a hand to her heart in wide-eyed relief. "I . . . actually am, to your shock and mine. That was unexpected."
Gradually, Ness's thumping heart settled, and he breathed normally again. "As long as we don't have to contend with that twice, I think we'll be fine." He glanced blearily to his left. "Which we won't. Right?"
There was no answer.
Oh, no.
"Sid? Right?"
"Okay, fine!" Sid erupted, tossing his hands to the ceiling. "So I may have promised them a little . . . demonstration. It's no big deal, right?"
"No soap! We can't just do that on a whim!" Ness protested, taken aback.
"So do a safe trick," he grouched.
"Our safe tricks blind people and give them colds."
"Then turn a dog into a cat or – something-"
"For Christ's sake, do I look like a warlock to you?!"
"I'll do it."
"No! But you sound like my grandma, the way you're-"
Ness stared. "Who said that?"
They spun to catch Paula with her hand on the doorknob. She bit her lip, and darted back into the commotion. Calls of approval rang out. The boys shot each other a look of despair and followed.
The girl twirled fiercely around and thrust a slender arm into the air. As before, the crowd calmed.
"All right! I know you're not just here to ask questions and get autographs, you want to see some power. Fine, let's get this over with! Who's got an idea?"
Mumbling rose. A smallish, thickset boy hollered, "Knock over a tree!". Encouraged, others took his lead.
"Make a zombie!"
"Burn the White House!"
"Cancel the Colbert Report!"
Alan resumed his guarding stance. Finally, a tallish boy with a silver-streaked mohawk emerged from the crowd, a cup half full of red drink gripped clumsily in one long hand. He grinned nervously. "Why don't you just, uh . . . heat up a glass of punch?"
"That's reasonable," Paula agreed. The crowd booed.
Ness and Sid watched, at the ready, as the mohawked man carefully lowered the cup to her level. She squeezed her eyes shut, a sign Ness recognized. She was really going to use her powers!
In the midst of dead silence, teenagers eagerly watching from all sides, Paula lifted a tremulous finger to point at the liquid in the glass. Mohawk's eyes resembled saucers.
"Did someone teach you how to do this?"
She smiled coyly without looking. "That's right. There's a whole school just for people like us. It's in Britain." Ness stifled a chuckle.
Here goes, and Paula's keen blue eyes snapped open.
A tiny lick of flame – no wider than a pencil – issued from her fingertip, slashing towards the tumbler like the breath of a miniature dragon. It disappeared into the juice with a soft hiss, and the glass exploded.
Somebody screamed. Mohawk jerked in surprise, shooting flaming drops in a rude circle and fumbling the cupful of burning liquid to the floor. Almost as quickly as deep red stains soaked themselves into the carpeting, the small fire began to grow larger. Another girl screamed.
Sid pushed his way through to front row center as his floor was slowly blackened and eaten. "What the hell?!" he roared, grabbing Mohawk's collar and yanking him down. Terrified eyes met blazing ones. "What was – how much – how strong was – WHY IS MY GODDAMN PUNCH SPIKED?!"
Mohawk babbled. "I don't know, I swear, maybe Turtle did it, I don't know-"
In minutes, the dance floor was nearly empty. The larger boys shoved and muscled their way through the front and back doors; panicking fillies, with copious pushing from each other, escaped through windows. One teenager fell over himself in his hurry, slam-ming a careless elbow into the glass and badly cracking the pane.
Paula had somehow managed to suppress horror by focusing on Ness; he had disappeared in the fracas. The flame had grown to knee-height and burned a crater in the rug the size of a basketball.
She couldn't think.
What . . . do I do?
A crash rang out from behind. Ness emerged from the hallway, covered in dust, a cherry-red fire extinguisher slung under his arm winking heroically in the light. He aimed the nozzle at the ceiling and cocked an imaginary shotgun.
"Who you gonna call?" he asked calmly.
She emitted a shrill giggle in spite of herself.
The party was over; the guests had evacuated themselves. There were few injuries and none worse than a scrape on Alan's hand that clotted within minutes.
But there was a well-marked battle scene inside the house, one that the swiftly appro-aching police – and Sid's parents – would be very anxious to learn all about. The table had been overturned, dumping silverware, tiny hot dogs and more punch onto the floor. A large oval in the center of the rug had been reduced to cinders and splattered with extinguishing foam. Spiderweb cracks decorated the side window.
Ness and Paula sat together, reclining against the wall, unwilling to leave. He sighed, picking at a burn on his shirt. "So . . . first date. That could probably have gone better."
Paula scooted closer, placing a cool, soft hand atop his smoky one. It felt fantastic. "No, you did great." She nudged him. "And I mean that."
He faced her wearily, fixing dark eyes on her own azure ones. "Really?"
"Really," she assured, and laid comfortably back on his chest.
This is nice.
The window could take no more. It collapsed into a mess of glinting shards that fell harmlessly into the carpet.
"Careful. Don't cut yourself."