Chapter 3.
Last night I had finally unpacked the boxes that had encased all of my belongings. My room actually resembled something close to what it had been in England. It made me sad every time I made everything perfect. By the time I arranged everything the way I wanted it we could be moving again. And yet I couldn't bring myself to live out of boxes the way my father did.
It was Saturday and my father was still gone. He had left a note on the table saying he'd left at three o'clock that morning and would not be home until late that night. I hadn't woken up until the afternoon, tired, I suppose from the strenuous exercises Coach Boomer was obsessed with. The weather must have cleared overnight because everything was sunny and bright. The light was so painful to my eyes that I winced involuntarily as I passed the window in my room.
I was getting ready for my usual boring day, shower, food and change of clothes. After breakfast I changed into a plain gray t-shirt and my black basketball shorts. As I took off my socks I glanced at the bottom of my left foot and the tattoo that was there. I still remember the day we had it put on.
My eleven year old eyes looked around the shop curiously. I didn't quite understand why my dad had brought me to this part of town. The man who ran the place was at least three times my size. He looked like a wrestling champion with tattoos all the way up both arms. I had always been afraid of needles. My father tried to distract me by talking but that had only worked up until the point had touched my skin. After it was over and we were back at home my father finally explained the significance of the mark.
"Don't ever use it Lydia, unless the worst should happen," he had said, blue eyes solemn. I wouldn't know what the worst was until a later discussion.
Now I barely went barefoot, making sure to keep the mark secret, it would look insignificant to anyone else. It was a set of numbers, strangely altered, but when I held a mirror to it there was revealed a nine digit phone number. When my father began to train me, after my power had manifested itself I would understand better what exactly the number was for.
I sighed and let my foot back down onto the floor. Some people think a life like mine would be fun. They don't take into account the long nights spent alone while your dad's out saving the world. They don't know what it feels like not knowing if he'll come back again, or if you'll have to run from your insane uncle within the next week. I can't blame them, though movies make us all seem pretty invulnerable. The sad part is that the strongest superhero can be brought down by a tragedy same as anyone else on earth.
I finished my pessimistic mulling and grabbed the basketball off the floor. It was weathered and worn from years of playing. It was my constant companion and only diversion while my father was gone; television had lost its flavor years ago. Outside one could see that fall was on its way. Trees around the neighborhood were sporting new, vibrant colors that would turn to brown all too soon.
I bounced the ball through my legs a couple times in a weaving pattern. We didn't have hoop, or even much of a driveway but I had managed with less. It had always been calming for me to stand outside with the steady rhythm of the basketball hitting the pavement and then my hand. I had played on a team my freshman and sophomore year, but after that, moving around always got in the way.
"You're pretty good at that," a voice startled me from behind and I turned to see Ethan standing at the end of our driveway. He pushed up his glasses and gave a quick, bright smile.
"Thanks," I replied, turning with the basketball held against my hip, "I used to play on a team, I'm kind of disappointed that Sky High doesn't have one," I finished and dribbled the ball up and down for a moment.
"Yeah, that might be dangerous though," he said walking towards me. The hem of his orange checkered pants dragged on the ground. He stood beside me as I waited for him to reveal the ulterior motive behind coming over.
I could probably guess what it was all about. Ever since the "fight" a couple days ago I had been eating outside and from all accounts Warren had been eating by himself. Besides, from what I had observed, Ethan seemed to be the fifth wheel at school. It wasn't as if the rest of them meant to do this, but it came naturally. With two dating couples and a sullen, anti-social pyro it was pretty obvious that he was left out of things. He probably was as entertained on the weekends as I was. I didn't mind hanging out with him…he was a bit eccentric, but then, so was I.
I bounced the ball again, realizing that I probably wouldn't be completing my drill with him standing here, "Do you want to come inside?" I asked, "It's still pretty disorganized but we have stuff to drink, I need to get some water anyway."
"Sure," he said smiling, and then followed me into the house.
I almost laughed at the comical picture he made, standing there in my kitchen wearing clothes brighter then most of the nail polish I owned. He was thin, though Layla had told me he had grown so much last year that his body hadn't caught up yet. Apparently before that, he had been extremely short as well. At least now he wasn't completely dwarfed by Zach and he stood a good four inches over me…considering I'm only 5'5". Course I could probably break him like a twig, I've been affectionately called curvy but I just think of myself as thick.
I tossed a pop can to him over the island in our kitchen and reached down for another, "My dad's away on business," I explained as the silence closed in.
"Oh," he answered unconcerned, "My parents retired a couple of years ago after my little sister was born."
"I know I didn't really say anything about it that day but thanks for saying something to Warren…sorry you got into trouble."
"Oh, don't worry about it…I think Layla would have said the same thing if I hadn't first," he said in an awkward tone looking down at the counter as if it was very interesting. His cell phone rang and he rolled his eyes at the cheesy little tune.
He flipped open the orange device, "Hello?"
I opened my can, trying not to listen in to the conversation. Hopefully it was Layla calling asking him to do something with them. Then he wouldn't be here acting as if we were in third grade. Something about his whole tone when he talked to me had me worried. Unfortunately I didn't have enough experience to actually know what all of it meant.
"Well, I'm over at Dia's house right now. I don't know…she might…I'll ask," he finished and covered the speaker with his hand.
"Do you want to go to the movies with the gang tonight? They were calling to see if I'd come."
"Sure," I replied without thinking. It wasn't as if my father and I had any big plans for the weekend. I was usually more introverted but Ethan looked as if he wanted me to come.
He turned back to his phone and told whoever it was, presumably Layla, that we'd meet them at the theater in half an hour. Then Ethan put his phone away and turned back to me. I was busy pulling the tab off of my can, "Sorry about that, we can still bail if you want."
"It's ok, a movie will be fun, who's coming?"
"Everyone I think, Will, Layla, Warren, Magenta and Zach," I examined his face as he spoke. He seemed like he wanted to go, but I wasn't an expert at reading expressions.
I suppose if I would have been intelligent in any small way I would have asked exactly what movie we were going to. I guess everyone makes mistakes but this would be a major one on my part. Ethan and I rode there in his orange Jeep and arrived just on time to see the others walking in. To my surprise Warren was there. As we walked up he glanced at us but didn't stare long very long. Magenta had already purchased the tickets, her treat, apparently there was more money in her family then met the eye.
The seating arrangement was awkward with the two couples sitting together in one row and the other three of us down one row. Thankfully I ended up at the end, with Ethan on one side and Warren sulking next to him. The commercials started and as the lights went down I realized what movie we had come to see. It was a new release and rated R, I squirmed uncomfortably in my chair. When we had shown the lady our tickets she hadn't even asked for id, I was only seventeen and had a hard time with moderately scary movies. This movie "Keepers III" had been advertised all over the web as the latest thrill, with gore enough to satisfy even the most hard core movie fanatic.
As the movie screen began churning with blood and had reached its third decapitation I looked at my hands, realizing it was time to get up and leave. At that moment I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Ethan had begun to stretch his arm and I closed my eyes hoping I was just hallucinating. I opened them again as he settled it over my shoulders.
What was I supposed to do? Sit there acting completely normal and let him think that I was ok with it all? I didn't like him that way, and I knew it would only hurt him more if I pretended to. I'd never been at a school long enough for someone to like me. There had been the occasional question, but I never stayed long enough to have to deal with it all.
Layla suddenly screamed along with most of the theater and I looked at the screen and almost threw up. Without a second thought I turned to Ethan, "I have to go to the restroom," I said and stood. Half-crouching I exited the row and hurried out of the darkened room. The lights in the hall were dim, but bright enough to show that the theater was mostly empty.
The lady at the ticket desk watched as I left the building and went out into the open air. I sat on one of the clean stairs and took a deep breath of fresh air. It was so awkward sitting there, watching dozens of murders while Ethan subtly tried to hit on me. He was nice, there was no contesting that, but I'd never really liked anyone that way, I'd never had the chance and there was more for me to worry about then bagging a boyfriend.
I don't know how long I sat there wondering and worrying. I realized I'd have to explain my behavior, Ethan was supposed to drive me home. Time and again I tried to call the house, hoping that my dad had returned home early. There was no such luck in my life. I gazed around as people milled back and forth between the parking lot and their cars. One of them had been standing by his car for awhile. He moved slightly and with a start I realized it was the same man I had seen before at Sky High.
Without hesitation I used my power and paused time, running towards him as quickly as I could. Just a few yards and I'd reach the car. I'd seen him standing behind it. Here it was, I turned the corner around the bumper of the car and no one was there. The space that had been occupied by the man was now empty. Frustrated, I shook my head and sprinted back to my place on the stairs before time began its normal run.