Flying High
Chapter 4 – Imbroglio
By: CountessMorgana
----------------------------------------------------------
The daughter of Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl was not the first high-school student to be a super, and she certainly wasn't the first teenager to have a crush on a boy. Before Violet Parr and Tony Rydinger, before the ban on supers, before the Glory Days ended, there was Stratogale and Macroburst. And their story isn't quite as typical as one would expect.
----------------------------------------------------------
For the life of me I cannot remember
What made us think that we were wise and we'd never compromise
For the life of me I cannot believe we'd ever die for these sins
We were merely freshmen
Verve Pipe, "Freshmen"
----------------------------------------------------------
Years later, Mackenzie Kintail would look back and see that it hadn't really started with that handshake on the first day of school.
If the series of unfortunate events that started to occur later that afternoon hadn't come about, most likely he and Enid Gwynns would have been acquaintances at best, and hers just another vaguely familiar name and face in the alumni newsletter when their school days were done and over.
But they did occur, and life began to veer off course.
And all that happened to light the fuse were the stupid remarks of a zany friend, the equally stupid reaction from the scrub team's captain, and a bout of ill-timed claustrophobia.
----------------------------------------------------------
Riverview Heights Preparatory School: 9 September 1952
After the Great Lecture-Hall Seat Adventure, maths was boring. Not even the interminable enthusiasm of their teacher (the aptly named Winifred Sum) could spread to the students and make them appreciate the wonder that was basic trigonometry.
In his seat, Mackenzie was dozing off. It wasn't that the material was going over his head, like the case of Frank Amery in the seat behind him, whose glazed-over eyes and vacant expression were a clear indication of his level of attentiveness. Thank Lord this was the last class of the day for the both of them.
No, Mackenzie already knew the functions of sine, cosine and tangent, their relation to the hypotenuse of a triangle, etc. If Ms. Sum went on about cotangent, secant, and cosecant, Mackie would know those too. That was another thing to attribute to the war – Everard had taken Mackenzie's education into his own hands after re-evacuating to Wiltshire in the aftermath of the Blitz. They'd been using Everard's old school texts as reference; 'Mathematics is the same in every country. It's only the rate of learning that differs.'
This had finally stopped a year ago, when Everard discovered he'd run out of textbooks to teach from. By then, Mackenzie had received extensive instruction in most subjects, with emphasis on languages and maths. Natural sciences were his only weak point. It didn't help that Riverview Heights was notorious for its poor ratings in that department. If his uncle chose to ask, Mackenzie would be thoroughly blaming the exploding laboratories.
And was it just him, or was it stifling in here?
Tugging at his necktie, Mackenzie examined the window beside him. If there was one thing he always did, regardless of classroom, it was sit by a window. (Failing that, like with those old basement rooms that the freshmen had been using for English classes before the lecture hall was finished, he'd take the seat closest to the door.) Luck was with him – the window was easy to open with its small catch; one just had to loosen the hook and push the frame out.
The problem was that the catch was out of reach, and Ms. Sum would certainly notice if he stood up then and there. Mackenzie glared at the comatose Frank. Where was a diversion when he needed it?
"Now to discover the length of the adjacent, we'll need to use the cosine—Oh!" Ms. Sum exclaimed as she knocked a box of chalk to the floor in her frenzy of writing on the board. "Dear me! Now please hold on class, I just need to pick these up..."
"'Ask, and thou shall receive,'" Mackenzie mused quietly as Ms. Sum bent down to collect her spilled chalk. Quickly, while the teacher was busy and a few students still awake helped her, he stood and flicked open the window catch. Resuming his seat, he surreptitiously elbowed the frame out by a few inches. A faint breeze flowed in, too weak to actually relieve him by much.
Of course, there was a way to change that. But he couldn't. Not in the middle of a class full of unsuspecting teenagers.
'Why not?' A nagging little voice in the recesses of his subconscious asked.
Probation came to mind. And jeopardising his civilian identity, especially if anyone saw.
'Who's going to see?' The voice persisted, sounding suspiciously familiar by then. 'Isn't wind invisible anyway?'
Mackenzie sighed. His uncle would skin him alive for this.
But it was odd. That 'conscience' of his had sounded very much like—
----------------------------------------------------------
'ROSE!'
In the downtown Megalopolis offices of Cameron and Howard, Psychotherapists, Dr. Rose Cameron paused in the middle of her lunch. His mental shout was enough to cause a headache! Darn him for having the worst timing...
'Can't it wait, Everard?' she answered telepathically, eyeing her sandwich with a tinge of regret.
'No.'
Hmm, curt AND angry. Someone was definitely cheesed off, and Rose had a good idea why.
Sighing, she set down her ham on rye, settled back in her chair, and closed her eyes.
On reopening them, the cream coloured walls of her office were gone, replaced by the interior of an elaborate manor house. The room was large and richly appointed, with gilding on the walls and many of the furnishings. Windows stretching from marble floor to painted ceiling allowed a view of expansive grounds and a clear sky. Larger-than-life portraits of noble persons long dead stared from the walls in their finery, and Rose smiled.
"Must you always choose this place?" Rose asked wryly. "Not that I'm complaining, Everard, but a change of scenery would be nice."
"Cullen House is one of the finest country manors in all England, my family home for nearly four hundred years and you're getting a free tour."
"All without ever leaving my office," Rose finished, turning round. Everard was sitting before her in a gilded wood armchair.
"Well, yes, that is the beauty of being in the mental plane – changing it to however one desires, to suit one's tastes. But I'd appreciate it if you'd leave the whinging at the door," Everard replied.
"Whinging?" Rose was unimpressed. "This from the man who alternately complained about and-or threatened his future brother-in-law to the point that his own sister ended up making him hop around the dining room table singing 'God Save The King' to get him to shut up?"
Everard was actually rendered speechless. "Where did you hear that from?"
"You ought to shield your thoughts better when you're reminiscing out of boredom. I don't particularly enjoy having to follow you down Memory Lane. Makes for excellent blackmail material, though."
"Thank you for the input, I'll endeavour to do just that," Everard replied quickly, gamely forcing the topic back on track. "Do take a seat, this won't be long."
----------------------------------------------------------
To have plans go awry seemed to be a family trait Mackenzie Kintail had inherited in spades.
Back at Riverview Heights, he had been thankfully drinking in the fresh, cool air breezing in from the window. (His powers were no small help in this relief.) Resting his head on the tabletop, Mackenzie sighed and prepared to join the majority of his classmates in unconsciousness. He would have gone through with it too, if the breeze flowing in hadn't brought a current of sound with it.
Voices. Familiar ones. Low, male, and inherently stupid – definitely the scrub team, and yes, that was Tom Pecker's characteristic dulcet tones right there.
"So we go up there and pound 'em, right boys? Ain't no way I'm letting that Amery guy talk trash to me and get away with it!"
Mackenzie immediately felt the desire to sleep disappear. It was replaced in quick succession by incredulity (it had been a slow deduction, even for Pecker), and then alarm. This didn't sound good, but nothing concerning Pecker or life at R.H.P. ever did.
Craning his neck as far around as possible, Mackenzie quickly ascertained that Frank, despite his appearance of brain-dead ennui, was indeed awake. Escape plans were discussed, critiqued, and settled – Frank would take the side door in the library, while Mackenzie decided to risk exiting through the main doors.
Frank had balked at the idea, only relenting when Mackenzie pointed out that taking the front doors lessened the chance of both boys getting caught.
"If you say so," Frank had said dubiously. "I'd prefer to call that suicide."
----------------------------------------------------------
Less than ten minutes later, Franklin Amery didn't know where Mackenzie had gone, and at that point, he didn't care. Call him selfish, but the handful of goons pelting after him was sufficient reason for single-mindedness.
The scrub team had split into two groups to better chase down their luckless quarry. Frank was fast, but the testosterone brigade was unfortunately faster, finally catching up to him just outside the library doors. There were only a few more feet to go, and Frank refused to consider an ignoble defeat.
Still running, an idea came to the would-be victim. Taking a deep breath, Frank put on a grin, waved to someone behind the scrub team, and yelled,
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Branksome! How're you today?"
The words had an immediate effect: the foremost of the football goons panicked and desperately tried to put on the brakes. His friends were not so quick to react, and adding in an untied shoelace and a conveniently placed trashcan, the end result was predictable – a six-man pileup in the middle of the library corridor.
By the time the dust cleared enough for the young men to realize that the esteemed Principal Branksome was nowhere in sight, Frank had made it out of the library and into his Cadillac, turned the ignition, and floored the gas.
So when a furious gaggle of athletes finally thought to look out the window, they did so in time to see the sun reflecting off a pair of silver fintails as Amery made good his escape and tore out of the parking lot.
----------------------------------------------------------
While Frank Amery congratulated himself on a job well done, his friend was not so lucky. Upon hearing Pecker's yells booming from behind, Mackie knew he'd gotten the short end of the stick when the scrub team had divided in two packs.
Refusing to take the stairs like a civilized person (too much of a time waster) Mackenzie had vaulted over the balustrade, landing soundly on the lower stairs and scaring a group of third-graders into hysterics. The science hall was easy to traverse, but a lack of obstacles only made it easier for Pecker and Co to close the distance between them.
He would have been able to make it out in time, given a few more seconds.
So how had he ended up in a closet with, out of all people, Enid Gwynns?
----------------------------------------------------------
Enid had been minding her own business after finishing her last class of the day. (Science, basic chemistry, and miraculously there had been no damages. Not even a broken test tube.) Ecstatic over the lack of casualties, their teacher had dismissed them five minutes early. Gemma had gone straight home to baby-sit her younger brother Arthur, but Enid had decided to linger.
"KINTAIL!"
Oh dear. Turning around, Enid's suspicions were confirmed as Mackenzie hurtled round the corner so quickly he skidded and nearly fell. Thundering footfalls from behind him could mean only one thing, and Enid knew nobody deserved to be on the receiving end of Pecker's rage.
So she did the only thing she could do – darted forward into Kintail's path, and shoving him hard, propelled both him and herself into the small antechamber not three feet away. Enid scrambled back up in milliseconds to seize the doorknob and slam it closed, leaving the two of them in darkness.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Until she heard Kintail's gasping and realised that they weren't from exertion.
"Kintail?" she ventured nervously. Had she broken something?
He didn't answer. Instead, he got to his feet and tried to move past her, to get out of there. But with the lights out and both of them blind as bats, all he got was a load of clattering objects, and Enid grabbing on to him to stop him from moving any more than he could.
"Quiet!" she whispered frantically. "Pecker's still outside. Do you want him to find us here? This is a dead end!"
Outside was angry shouting. Pecker's shouts were audible above the rest, demanding to know where 'that jerk Kintail' had gone and getting varied answers. These were soon joined by the authoritative tones of an administrator. Sullen mumblings from the scrub team followed, and finally, the tramping of feet departing reached their ears. Five minutes passed, but the moment relative silence was heard Kintail immediately redoubled his efforts to get out.
Enid would have none of it. "You're not going out there!" she said, blocking his way.
"Yeah? Watch me," he snapped, pushing against her.
"Will you at least let me see if the coast is clear?"
"No. Move!" he said, the level of urgency in his voice increasing.
"What's gotten into you, Kintail? Quit jabbing me in the back there!"
"I'm not—!"
But at that moment, something round and metallic under Mackenzie's foot gave way, forcing him forwards. Enid was leaning back to avoid whatever it was that was poking her. The two teenagers fell against the door, which burst open.
"... I can assure you, Mr. Duncan, there is ample funding put aside in this year's budget to ensure full repairs if – WHAT IN TARNATION IS THIS!"
Oh God, no. Two very red faces looked up to see the scandalized features of one Eileen Branksome, principal and autocrat of R.H.P.
"My office," Mrs. Branksome said, barely containing her rage. "Now."
----------------------------------------------------------
The time was half three and Everard Howard was in his office, drinking a mug of something hot, steaming and blissfully free of milk, but scented of bergamot and lemon. Mr Pollard had cancelled, apparently to celebrate his impending grandfather status, to which Everard had offered his congratulations and good wishes.
The new secretary he and Rose had hired was young and adequately competent, but in Everard's opinion couldn't make tea even if her life depended on it. The first time Doris had brought him a cup was not more than an hour ago. He'd taken a swig only to have it promptly expelled again, as the milk in it had gone rancid with alarming speed, diverting his attention away from the telepathic conversation he was having. Rose, God bless her, was quick on the uptake and had rapidly stepped in with a proper replacement before explaining to Doris exactly why milk and Earl Grey did not mix for the British.
"Dr. Howard, you have a call from a Mrs. Eileen Branksome." Doris' voice was slightly subdued.
"Does she have an appointment?" he asked absentmindedly, wiping at a spot of milk-laced tea he'd missed earlier.
"No, she's the principal over at Riverview Heights Preparatory School. She says if you could please come in for a parent interview at the earliest possible convenience, and since you don't have anyone scheduled for this time..."
Everard choked on his drink. "Parent interview? On what grounds does the actions of my nephew necessitate my contribution?"
"The details weren't clear, sir, but I believe it was for a breach of conduct." Doris replied. "'Lewd behavior on school property', I think was the term used. Will you be attending? The parent of the other party is already on their way."
"It would seem I have no other choice," Everard said grimly. Just the usual, really.
Although he was rather worried about what Mackenzie could possibly have been doing to warrant that kind of an offence...
----------------------------------------------------------
"Look pal, I don't know how it goes over in merry old England, but we're in the Land of the Free now, and 'Land of the Free' does NOT mean freedom to harass girls in janitor's closets. Especially when the girl is MY DAUGHTER!"
Such were the words used by Mr. Alan Gwynns to Everard Howard, Mackenzie's uncle and evidently also his legal guardian. The contrast between the two men was remarkable. Standing on one side was Enid's father with his receding hairline and lean stature, nearly purple with unconcealed indignation. Seated opposite him was an imposing and taciturn Dr. Howard, possessing all of that infamous British reserve as Mr. Gwynns shouted and Mrs. Branksome watched warily from behind her desk. It was not until Mr. Gwynns threatened legal action that Dr. Howard spoke, and it was with cold aristocratic condescension that sent icy stabs down everyone's spines.
Exactly what he said neither Enid nor Mackenzie could hear through the door, but it had the effect of finally making Mr. Gwynns shut up and concluding the meeting with no penalty for any student. (Little did she know Everard had used his powers to alter and downplay both Principal Branksome's and Mr. Gwynns' perceptions of the event; Mackenzie was aware of it, but didn't say anything.)
It was easier being with her birds. Flying about with them in the trees of Arcadia-Riverview State Forest, Enid could forget all of the complicated, trivial things humans seemed to occupy themselves with so often. Her favorite scarlet robin wasn't there any more, having already departed on the usual migration south, but the sparrows were still around and were happy for her company. Enid's feathered companions didn't give a wit about problems like loud and angry fathers, or unhappy mothers, or annoying childhood friends or odd British-American classmates… Everything was uncluttered and baseline and simple.
Why couldn't humans be the same way?
----------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, forest ranger Sylvia Briscoe was making her usual rounds on patrol through Arcadia-Riverview State Forest when an odd splash of colour caught her eye. Too large to be a bird, and if it was one of those neighborhood rich kids climbing trees again... Sylvia scowled, gritted her teeth and moved stealthily forward, careful not to make any sound. She didn't want to scare the kid so he fell to his death.
Instead of a snooty brat, her eyes landed on a familiar teenaged girl from the prep school bordering the forest to the south. Had the sighting ended at that Sylvia would have been content. She knew this girl, knew her to be a bird-watcher. Sylvia had even helped her out on occasion. Gwynns, the girl's name was.
But what had Sylvia's breath stop was the Gwynns girl's flying. There were no supports in sight; no ordinary person could pull a stunt like this, and Sylvia was sure there were no records of non-normal civilians in the area with this type of power.
The young Miss Gwynns still hadn't seen her. Backtracking to her truck, Sylvia drove to the nearest ranger cache, a small wooden shelter in a clearing meant for use by the rangers in case anything came up. Inside were extra supplies the rangers might need in the course of their duties, and on the wall was a phone to call the main station over at the front gates.
Sylvia ignored the phone. Instead she dug around in her pockets, pulling out a small communicator, and pressed in a series of numbers she'd been forced to memorize but hoped never to use. One ring was all it took before someone picked up.
"National Supers Agency, Henry Grier speaking. What's the problem?"
Sylvia took a deep breath. "Harry, this is Plasmabolt."
"Well, I'll be!" Agent Grier was pleasantly surprised. "Never thought you'd place a call when off duty, Plasmabolt!"
"Neither did I." Sylvia said, quashing the urge to sigh.
"It's official, Dicker now owes me ten bucks—"
"Listen, Harry, I've got a live one for you."
"Oh?" Grier immediately became serious. "Hold on. Computer, computer... Darn keyboard... Right. I need a name, if you've got one. Physical description helps, and any powers. Heck, just give me anything and everything you've got on 'em, make all of our jobs easier."
A few minutes later, the NSA agent gave a low whistle. "... Riverview suburb, huh? This makes the second time we've got a report of an unregistered civilian from around those parts. And I think I heard that name before, Gwynns. Gazerbeam mentioned it, but I'm not sure..."
"It's not an uncommon surname, Harry," Sylvia pointed out.
There was a cough and a rustling of paper. "One last thing. Were there any potential eyewitnesses in the area?"
"Just me, so please don't send the memory wiper. I like my brain as it is."
Agent Grier laughed. "All right, all right, I won't then. Just sent the boys from Reconnaissance out to do some planting. They should be done by tonight."
"Thanks Harry."
"No problem," Grier said cheerfully. "Although... Could I ask you for a favor?"
Sylvia was instantly wary. "Depends. What is it?"
----------------------------------------------------------
And so when Enid got home, a strange van was sitting in her driveway, and her mother was seeing off a couple of repairmen from the house.
"Thank you so very much, gentlemen," Mrs. Gwynns was saying. "Such thorough service!"
"It was no trouble at all, ma'am," the taller of the workers said genially. "Have a pleasant evening."
"What happened?" Enid asked, staring after the men, the taller one giving his partner a dig in the ribs after the latter spent too long in sending Enid an appraising look.
Mrs. Gwynns sighed. "The lights in the house started flickering and going on and off. I couldn't get them to work properly, and the fuses seemed fine, so I called in the electricians. Hurry up and come inside, there's a draft and I need to start making dinner. Your father will be home soon, go upstairs and change out of those clothes."
"Yes mom," said Enid, casting one last glance over her shoulder before she did as told.
----------------------------------------------------------
Once the door closed behind her, the two 'repairmen' drove off. After ensuring the house was out of sight, the tall driver radioed Agent Grier at NSA's local office and said, "Sir, the beacons are ready."
"Thanks Rob, Max." Henry Grier said, relieved, and switched to another channel. "Audio, visual and physical surveillance are all set up, do you read?"
"Loud and clear, Harry," Sylvia answered. "Need any more electronic disruptions while I'm at it?"
"Nope, that'll do. See you at the Christmas party then, beautiful!"
From the treeline behind the Gwynns' overseeing the street, Sylvia Briscoe smiled, ignored Grier's less-than-subtle flirting, and dropped lightly from her fifty-foot high perch onto the ground.
Mission accomplished, time to go back to her life.
To be continued...
----------------------------------------------------------
The first day of school is (finally!) over, so the kids of R.H.P. can look forward to Homecoming traditions, sad attempts at flirting and loads of trick-or-treating. It's Halloween in Megalopolis and costumes are par for the course... Until one reveller is shown to have more ulterior motives for donning a mask.
All this and more next time, on 'Flying High'!