Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: To my anonymous reviewers - Turner, Lumnia and Casablancas - I couldn't reply to your reviews, so I'm thanking you guys here!
Two – A Brilliant Kind of Plan
I rang the bell, adjusting my backpack and hopping nervously from foot to foot. I had never been to anyone from hero class's house before, let alone Lash's, so I had no idea what to expect. Human skull collection, perhaps? It wouldn't surprise me.
The door was opened by a slightly balding, middle-aged man and my immediate reaction was that I had the wrong house because this couldn't possibly be Lash's father, not this pleasant faced fellow wearing a tie despite the fact it being Sunday.
"Oh, err, um…" I began intelligently.
"Yes?" the man asked politely.
"Um, is Lash home?" I managed. I waited for the man to shake his head and direct me further down the street. 'It's number Twenty Two A you're looking for, missy, no delinquents here.'
"He's upstairs." No way. "I'll call him for you."
I peered curiously through the front door while the man retreated further into the house. I dimly heard him calling to someone on the second floor. From what I could see, Lash's house was definitely average; floor boards, coat rack and I could even spy a kitchen full of gleaming appliances at the end of the hallway. Not a skull in sight.
The man, who I presumed was Lash's father, returned. For a moment I thought he was about to tell me Lash wasn't home after all and I opened my mouth to say I'd come back later, when suddenly I was being glared at by a familiar pair of eyes and I found myself face to face with the boy in question.
A split second later I found myself face to face with the closed door.
Talk about awkward! I debated simply walking away, surely that would be the easiest thing to do. Hell, I'd be saving myself a truck load of trouble.
I gritted my teeth and rang the doorbell again.
It was opened, once again, by a very embarrassed looking Lash's father.
"I'm so sorry about that," he apologised, gesturing me inside, "I don't know what's gotten into him."
"I think I have an idea," I muttered as I followed him down the hall, finding myself in a very pretty living room surrounded by lacy curtains and sleek white couches.
"Please, have a seat," he offered while I gazed, open-mouthed, at the crystal vase full of lilies set on the coffee table. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Have you had lunch?"
"Err… I'm fine." I was floored. Not even my own parents were so welcoming to me and here was this total stranger offering me lunch! I had obviously made a mistake assuming he was related to Lash. Surely the similarities in their appearances were coincidence rather then family likeness!
"I should come back later. I'm sorry to barge in like this…"
"No, no, not at all!" he waved the comment away, "it's a pleasure having you here…"
"Alissa," I supplied, "Alissa Daniels."
"Alissa." He stuck out his hand and I shook it. "Call me Peter."
Peter settled himself on one of the couches. "So, you know Lash from school?"
I dumped my bag and sat down myself, perching uncomfortably on the edge, instantly nervous about messing up the pure whiteness of the fabric.
"Well, sort of. We didn't really hang out," I admitted internally laughing at the very thought. Imagine hero support sitting at the resident bully's table! Not if you wanted to live, friends and neighbours!
"Actually Lash and I are assigned hero and sidekick," I explained, making the assumption that Lash had not informed his father about any of this, "we're supposed to be teaming up to, you know, fight crime and all that."
"Oh." Peter nodded in the way grandparents nod during conversations involving iPod's, like they have a basic understanding of the theory but are completely unfamiliar with the technology on any level.
It occurred to me that it was entirely possible this Peter didn't have any superpowers whatsoever. I wanted to ask, but somehow it seemed a little rude.
An awkward silence fell. I stared around the room, giving my eyes something to do. My gaze almost instantly fell upon the fireplace. It was rather spectacular, all polished wood and gleaming steel, the perfect centrepiece to any room.
"I like that," I spoke up, pointing at the thing.
Peter glanced over at it. "Oh, yes. It was one of the reasons we bought the house in the first place."
I nodded, admiring the way its sides had been carved to resemble pillars. A single photograph in a black frame stood on the mantelpiece.
A sudden blast of noise, so loud it shook the walls, came crashing down from the second storey. I almost jumped clear out of my seat, quite possibly I had several simultaneous heart attacks. It actually took me a few seconds to realise it wasn't just random sound, but extremely loud music. Namely, an extremely loud electric guitar.
Peter was already on his feet, storming off down the hallway, leaving me alone in the living room, hands covering my ears.
So far I had to admit my plan wasn't working. To be fair, I actually hadn't gotten the chance to try yet because Lash was obviously refusing to even be present for my visit, so I hadn't technically failed, Veering slowly away from success, I'd call it. Though at the rate things were going I'd be lucky if I managed to become a sidekick this millennia.
Veering or no veering, I thought as blessed quiet returned to the house, the fact remained that I was sinking fast.
I expected Peter to return, having silenced the ear-splitting noise. However as the minutes ticked by with me doing nothing but twiddling my thumbs, I found my eyes being drawn back to the fireplace.
Glancing over my shoulder, in the direction of the doorway, to check no one was coming, I crossed the floor and stood before the mantel. Up close, though, it struck me as odd that the entire mantelpiece would be dedicated to only one photograph, especially when it was big enough to house enough decorative plates to make my Aunt Laura swoon.
Reaching out to pick it off its shelf for a better look, I couldn't help but gasp out loud. It wasn't the fact that I was looking at a family portrait with a very small and bug-eyed looking Lash in the middle, not to mention a much younger looking Peter. No, it was the woman with her hand on Lash's shoulder that my gaze fixed on. She was, in a word, beautiful. And that was the understatement of the century. I didn't even know real people could look like that! Long lashes framed brilliantly pale eyes set above high cheekbones, hair fell gracefully to slim shoulders, perfectly full lips curved into a smile of glittering white teeth. Completely beautiful.
A sudden creak of a floor board almost made me drop the photo. I hastily shoved it back in place, turning just in time to see Peter.
He gave me an odd look as I stood in the middle of the room, feeling as if I'd just been caught stealing the TV.
"Go on up," he said at last and I distinctly saw his eyes glance at something behind me, "Lash's door is the last on the right."
Now that didn't sound like a good idea at all, but considering it must be blindingly obvious to Peter that I wasn't a friend of his son's and, therefore, had no real right to be in his house, I decided it best to thank him quickly, grab my bag and go on my way.
Just before I turned out of the living room, I chanced a quick look back. My heart sunk as I saw the photograph sitting some distance from its original position.
I found the staircase, no problem. It was getting my feet to climb it that proved difficult. Their survival instinct must have been stronger then I'd ever imagined.
"Alright," I muttered to myself, "alright. Just stick to the plan and this time tomorrow you'll be cruising shotgun in the Batmobile."
Somehow I didn't even believe myself.
I would have been able to pick Lash's room even without Peter's directions. The enormous hand drawn sign announcing 'Lash'z Room: Go Away' tapped on the door was a dead giveaway. For the third time that day I found myself knocking.
I nervously patted my backpack. Inside was the master plan that had occurred to me during the bus ride home yesterday. I silently prayed to the Powers-That-Be that it would work.
"What now, sidekick?"
Since he was so stubbornly refusing to let me be a sidekick I thought it a bit rich to go calling me one anyway. I refrained from pointing it out, I wasn't here to cause a fight, I was here to negotiate and, more importantly, guilt trip.
"Lash," I began in my most reasonable voice, calling through the closed door, "I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday and," I added hastily before he could have a chance to interrupt, "it's probably mostly my fault, springing the whole hero support thing on you like that." I paused in case he felt the sudden compulsion to apologise. No such luck. I continued.
"But, all that aside, I actually came here today to show you something."
"If it's a homemade costume I don't wanna see it."
Ignoring the comment I unzipped my backpack to produce a stack of newspapers. Not just recent newspapers either, some of them dated back well over twenty years. That's the beauty of having dentists as parents. They're waiting rooms areessentially mediatime capsules.
The door creaked open in a manner horror movie pro's are extremely familiar with. Expelling the image of me as Marion Crane, I bravely stepped forward… making sure to stay well within the doorway.
I gasped.
Dazzling golden sunlight was spilling in through wide bay windows, lighting up a room that was simply… enormous. Seriously, this place made it look like I slept in the pantry or something!
Decorated differently, it would have resembled an expensive hotel suit. As it was every square inch of wall had been covered by a poster of some description so that it was impossible to tell what colour they were painted. The wardrobe doors were thrown open, various clothes and other junk spilling out onto the floor (well, I assumed there was a floor, I couldn't see it). There was a desk housing stacks of CD's piled so high it would have made Edmund Hillary's head spin. A bed occupied the space opposite the windows, I instantly recognized the Sky High crest emblazed upon the quilt. And a rather impressive looking electric guitar stood in the corner.
"Meep," I said.
Lash, sitting on a swivel desk chair, looked extremely bored. "Go on, then. What is it?"
I mentally pulled myself together. This was no time to be admiring good architectural design. I pulled out the topmost newspaper and opened it to the page I'd marked last night. Holding it up for Lash to see I launched into my prepared speech.
"Last year a gang of teenage girls tortured and murdered an elderly man," I stated matter-of-factly, pointing at the relevant article to emphasise my point, "these same girls then proceeded to rob over seven houses and one convenience store, injuring another elderly occupant in the process."
Lash swivelled his chair a bit. "So?"
"So, they simply continued their murderous joyride until two of them were allegedly caught by police twelve months later! But it hasn't made any difference, not when the other eight are still out there, allowed to walk the streets even after what they did! Don't you think they should have been stopped earlier?"
Lash shrugged and didn't say anything. I continued.
"And here," I pulled out my next newspaper, "Teddy Rod escaped from prison where he was serving a lifetime sentence for repeated armed assault and setting fire to a local bus when it pulled up to let him on. Two passengers died in the blaze and fifteen more were treated for third-degree burns. Now he's out there somewhere, escaping justice and no one can find him. Is that right?" I demanded. Without waiting for an answer I pulled out the next newspaper.
"A woman, later identified by police investigators as Katrina Scott, was caught attempting to poison her town's drinking water. She escaped before she could be captured and could be anywhere. But look at this," I flipped to another marked page, "a man with the ability to render himself invisible has been charged with over eighty murders! A kid in Connecticut who can control electricity reportedly electrocuted his friends to death while they were swimming in his pool!"
I threw the newspaper down, glaring hard. "There's countless tragedies befalling the everyday people of the world because there is no one to stop these lunatics bent on causing destruction!"
Lash held up a hand. "It's plain as day where this is going, but I think you've left out the little fact that there are already scores of superheroes out there catching the bad guys."
"But not enough!" I argued, "No where near enough. They can't stop everything, they can't catch everyone and that's why there's always room for more, because where one hero doesn't succeed, another will!"
I yanked a newspaper out at random, looking at the article I'd marked. It was an old one, dated some ten years ago and I'd chosen it as a real heartstring puller.
"Look," I said, "an innocent family's life was torn apart when Barron Battle blew up their house. No one knows why he did it, he just did. There's just villains out there who'll do stuff like that without a second thought."
I looked up in triumph, certain that I was only moments away from becoming the very best hero support ever.
The newspaper was suddenly yanked out of my hand. Lash had super-extended his arm to grab it off me.
"You've done your homework," he sneered sarcastically, "and I salute you. It honestly almost nearly worked, too. If you were a bit luckier, there might have even been a tear. So I'm sure you'll understand when I say it's a real shame I'm going to have to tell you to get out of my house before I call the cops."
I stared at him. Could he seriously be so completely self-obsessed as to stand idly by and let criminals get away with stuff like this? Surely he understood that he had both the power and the opportunity to do something about the awful stuff we hear each night on the news. And surely he wasn't so stupid as to not realise that there were millions out there who would jump at the chance to be a superhero! He was getting the power of justice handed to him on a silver platter and he was simply sending it back, claiming it wasn't what he ordered.
Needless to say, I was shocked.
From the pocket of my jeans I pulled a crumpled form. Principal Powers had given us all one on graduation in order to register as working superheros for the mayor.
"You really wont be a hero?" I asked.
"I really wont," he said, shooting me a grin.
I stuffed the newspapers back into my bag, turning to leave. I let the form fall from my grip to land on the carpet just outside his door. No need to bother filling it in and sending it off to the mayor now.
I half turned to close the door behind me. As I did I caught a quick glimpse of Lash. He was still swivelling his damn chair, but he was reading the article he'd snatched off me with a very peculiar expression on his face.
Downstairs, I said goodbye to Peter in the kitchen. He shook my hand, asking if I wanted a ride home.
"Thanks, but it's only a couple of streets away," I said as he walked me to the door.
As we passed by the living room I chanced a quick peek at the mantelpiece. The photograph was gone.
OOOO
I lay on my bed staring listlessly at the ceiling, beyond my window the sun had begun its decent from the sky and my room was slowly growing dark. I traced a lazy pattern in the air with my fingertips, a steady stream of tiny butterflies blooming, colours dancing before my eyes only to grow dull in the shadows.
All I needed was a little Backstreet Boys and I'd be well on my way to some genuine angst.
A soft knock came to the door.
"Yeah?"
And in walked my mother, still wearing her long, white dental coat, glasses perched on the edge of her nose, hair slightly frazzled from working all day. She immediately switched on the overhead light and as she sat down on the end of my bed I pretended not to notice the way the corners of her mouth twitched into a frown at the sight of all my butterflies.
"You haven't eaten the dinner I left you," she said, voice full of that wonderful motherly concern.
"Wasn't hungry," I shrugged.
"But you usually love my tuna surprise." She examined me over the top of her glasses. I felt like one of her patients and made sure to keep my mouth shut so she wouldn't be able to see my teeth. "Is something wrong?" she asked at last.
I sighed. Mothers. "No, mom."
Okay now I was definitely being examined. It's times like these I'm actually glad my parents are dentists and not psychiatrists, even with the guessing that's bound to follow whenever they think something is bothering me.
"Are you sick? Did Aunt Laura phone? You know how she gets sometimes…"
I shook my head. "Nothing is wrong! I just feel like sitting alone in the dark."
"Is it about a boy?" she must have noticed a reaction because she nodded knowingly. "It's always about a boy," she muttered.
"It's not what you think," I told her, feeling I might as well explain since she was so convinced she'd stumbled upon the source of all my problems, "he's supposed to be my hero, but he won't. I tried reasoning with him, but he wont listen and now I'll never be a good hero support."
If my mom was even slightly confused by this she didn't show it, she didn't even bat an eyelash before answering. "Honey, sometimes people just need a bit of space to think about what they really want out of life, that's all. I'm sure he'll come around." I snorted. "Besides," she couldn't help adding, "you are a wonderful girl and any boy that doesn't see that isn't worth your time."
"Mo-om!" I cried, absolutely horrified, "I'm talking about saving the world, not dating!"
She smiled. "Well, cheer up anyhow. It'll work out, you know it will. It's like I always say; just keep flossing, it'll be worth it in the long run." She kissed the top of my head and got to her feet.
"Mom," I called just before she left, "but what do you do when you realise your life might not turn out the way you'd always thought it would?"
"You learn to live with that realisation," she said, shooing a stray butterfly away, "before it drives you mad. Goodnight, Alissa."
"Night, mom."
The door shut with a snap and I was alone again, thinking hard.
I loved my mom, there was no question there, but that didn't mean I automatically agreed with everything she said. Right then I was having difficulty accepting that everything would work out if I just accepted things and gave Lash his space. If anything he would probably see it as a sign that I'd given up.
Stupid Lash! Why he couldn't just do what he had to do was beyond me. I refused to accept the possibility that I might have to spend the rest of my life as just another citizen to be rescued from giant robots and the like, not when I had a superpower (albeit a lame superpower, but a power nonetheless).
I glared angrily at the butterfly that had just burst forth from nothing, not even really seeing the delicate green wings.
But what was the opposite of giving people space…
"I think I need a new plan," I said to myself.