I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, dialing Keith's number for the fourth time. He wouldn't pick up.
I sighed, pressing it against my ear, as he said, "Yo. This is Keith. Leave your name and number—who am I kidding? Just freaking text me."
I rolled my eyes as the beep sounded.
"Look, dude, I've called you, I've texted you, I've even sent you an email even though I know you don't check it. I sound like one of those overly attached girlfriends. Just pick up your goddamn phone," I said, hanging up.
I slipped the phone in my pocket, irritated.
I'd left the Helicarrier hours ago. It was almost eleven at night and my eyes were starting to droop. I sighed, plopping onto my bed.
I really needed to sleep.
I had school tomorrow.
I rolled onto my side, staring at the dark blue wall. The room was super dark, since the only light was coming from my bathroom.
I stood up, walking into the bathroom, as I opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed my toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste.
I closed the cabinet and ran the brush's bristles under a stream of water. I squeezed a small amount of white toothpaste onto the bristles, which I pressed against my teeth.
I spit into the sink, rinsing the brush as I opened the cabinet and tossed the brush and the tube of toothpaste back into it. I closed it, walking back into my room.
I glanced around my room, my eyes focusing on the briefcase lying on its side near the end of my bed. I picked it up by the handle and placed it quietly on my desk.
Knowing Nick, he was probably still awake, researching criminals and files downstairs in his office.
I unlocked the clamps on the briefcase, slowly pulling it open for dramatic effect.
I took the broken picture frame from the case and positioned it on the desk.
I pulled out multiple files and placed them on top of the lid of my laptop.
Then, I pulled out the journal.
It was dark brown leather, brandishing the emblem of the shield with the crossed scythes. I picked at the tab on the side that locked it shut, digging my fingernail underneath the leather tab, struggling to tear it open.
I placed it back down in defeat, staring at the photograph of my mother, father and myself. I stared at it, at the claw marks, at our smiling faces, when my eyes drifted to what looked like a white flap from the edge of the photograph.
I curiously picked up the frame, turning it around so I could inspect the back. I turned a few metal tabs away, which caused the fuzzy backing of the frame to drop out into my free hand.
I stared at the back of the photograph, at the scrawled handwriting, written with an ink pen.
James Jameson, Samantha Jameson, and Andrew Jameson.
Before the accident.
My heart froze at the last words, written in a fine-tipped sharpie.
What did it mean—before the accident?
The only accident I knew about was the one of the fire in the lab.
My finger moved against the words, smudging them.
My eyes grew wide.
It if was from way back when I was a kid, why the hell was the ink still wet?
I flipped the frame over, staring at the claw indentions.
I swiveled my chair around, jumping onto my bed to grab my cell phone.
I sent Keith a text.
To Keith
Watson, I might have a breakthrough on my hands.
Keith's POV:
I tugged at my hoodie anomalously, fidgeting nervously.
Norman scowled at me, anger rippling across his face.
"You broke my Goblin Glider, the one I'd forbidden you from using?" Norman asked, disgust clear in his tone.
I stared at my ripped converse. "Um, yeah," I said lamely.
He glared at me, his folded hands growing white at the knuckles.
"Let me guess. You're hanging out with that Fury character, eh?" Norman snapped. "I never liked that Parker guy, either. Why do you kids always become friends with freaks with masks?"
I looked up, anger glinting in my eyes. "Want to know something? Andrew is actually a good kid. He gets good grades, doesn't stay out at night, and doesn't do bad things. But, bad things find him. Just because everyone can't be as perfect as you, Dad, doesn't mean everybody else isn't good enough."
Norman snapped back, "I'm not perfect. I never said I was. I want you and Harry to have a good life, is all."
I rolled my eyes. "Enough with all this bullshit! I don't want to hear it! You don't care about me! I get that. What? You care about Harry more than me, is that it? Is that why you never even hinted at the fact that we were related?"
Norman didn't say anything.
"Oh, and another thing," I started, "What's all this crap towards Andy? What'd he do? What's got you scared, old man? Must be big if you sent three of your best guys out onto the field, including yourself. Oh, but what happened? All three of you failed!" My voice grew shrill as I screamed at him. "You do realize you only helped him, right? Now he realizes something big must've gotten your attention! Not your smartest move, I take it? Andy knows something's up; Nick knows something's up; the team knows—hell, the entire agency knows!"
Norman still didn't say anything.
I glared at him. "Don't you realize when you're hurting your own kids with all of this I-hate-supers nonsense? They're helping us, whether you like it or not, and they've saved Harry and I plenty of times. Remember that next time you decide to plot against them."
I turned on my heel, content with my speech, as I shoved my way past the thick wooden doors. I walked down a hallway, stopping at an intersection between two halls and an elevator.
I pressed my hand against a high-tech scanner.
It blinked red then went back to its original neon-green grid.
I furrowed my eyebrows, tugging out my phone from my pocket.
I ignored Andy's multiple messages, sending a text to a few of my friends.
To Randy, Alex and Crystal—
Guys, something's up with this faulty security system. Beam me up, Scotty.
Randy sent me a text right away.
From Randy
We have unexplained powers—we're not freaks. I'm not going to magically 'beam you up'. Just take the stairs.
I rolled my eyes, about to reply in a sarcastic answer, when Alex texted me.
From Alex
Did you rub sandpaper on your hands again, Keith? You know it takes forever to get 'prints back. Trust me. I couldn't eat or go to my room for weeks.
Why did I hang out with sarcastic friends?
My phone buzzed again, this one from Crystal.
From Crystal
The elevator doors should open in three, two, one. You're lucky you have someone here who actually has brains.
The doors slid open, as I stepped inside, calling her from my cell phone.
"Thanks, Cryst. What would I do without you?" I asked.
I could imagine her rolling her eyes. "Keith. Did you get into another fight with Norman again?"
I furrowed my eyebrows. "Um, maybe. Why?"
Randy took the phone. "The new mission's got Crystal all depressed and irritable. Seems like her little boyfriend is our next target. That, or she's on her period."
There was a gasp and the sound of someone getting his ass kicked.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow," Randy was crying out.
I instantly knew what had happened—Crystal had beat Randy's butt to a pulp.
And he was crying over it.
I couldn't help but chuckle slightly as the doors slid open again.
I walked past the doors, glancing around an empty hallway as I rushed to my roommates' room.
I knocked my knuckles on the door, saying into the phone, "Guys, open the door."
Alex opened the door, snickering, and jabbing a finger behind him.
I noticed Randy on the floor, holding tightly to his crotch.
I laughed. "Aw, Randall, does somebody need an icepack?"
He shot me a glare, his cheeks glistening in tears.
"Shut up, Keith, but yes, I would," Randy said, wincing as he struggled to sit up on his bent knees.
Crystal walked in, shooting Randy a glare as I opened the fridge in the kitchen of the apartment. I grabbed an icepack from the freezer, tossing it to Randy, who used his telekinesis to snag it out of the air.
Remember—we aren't freaks; just kids with supernatural abilities.
I turned to Alex. "So, how does the new mission link to Andy?"
"Whoa. Mystery-Boy has a name," Alex snickered, dodging a well-aimed punch from Crystal by grabbing her wrist and flinging her across the room, against the couch.
Alex glanced at me, brushing his palms together, as if rubbing off invisible dust. "I don't know, man, why don't you tell us? We know as much about this 'Andrew Fury' character as you do—" Alex lunged forward, shoving me hard against the countertop, so that it dug hard into my back, "—or are you hiding vital information?"
Alex's cool gray gaze held me still. Alex was one of the best spies out there, trained in every scenario possible. He knew multiple languages, even the dead ones. He knew almost a hundred ways to kill someone with a spoon. Alex was one of the most imitating guys I knew, with a nicely toned body, dark brown hair that curled along his ears, and those steely gray eyes that overanalyzed every single thing.
My gaze caught Crystal's. She shook her head, slightly—something you would only notice if it was directed at you, and if you were paying attention.
I returned to Alex's gray eyes with an even steadier green glare.
"Why would I hide anything, Alexander?" I asked, watching him flinch at his full name.
Randy stood up, the icepack pressed to his manhood.
"Look," Randy started, "the only thing we know is this Andy guy is a major target. He means something to the boss. He must be powerful—nothing to underestimate."
Alex watched me carefully, his arm still pressing into my chest.
He looked closely for a reaction, sighing, as he took a step back.
From the corner of my eye, Crystal visibly relaxed.
Randy walked over, placing an arm over my shoulders.
"So, do I just put this ice pack back into the freezer or…?" Randy started, glancing at the ice pack to us.
Not the best ending, I know, but I wanted to give you all a chapter!
Review, please.
