Chapter Five
My mind, without a moment to recover, was spinning like a top with people asking questions I couldn't answer; the cameras flashing in my eyes, blinding me; and the endless hum of gratitude and thanks from the girls on the bus.
And, the cherry on top, the overwhelming, annoying and utterly aggravating television reporters kept shoving microphones up our noses.
I didn't know how I was ever going to get away from the crowd of maniacs.
But then, just as I was afraid I might develop claustrophobia from so many people pressing against me, an opportunity presented itself.
Out of nowhere, Smithy, wearing his trademark worn-and-torn jacket, jeans faded at the knees and scuffed sneakers (and, at the moment, a black mask exactly like ours), appeared. He had teleported into the middle of the swarm of journalists and reporters, right to where Robyn and I were standing.
"See you on the other side," he said with a slight smile as everyone who saw the new hero arrive gasped.
Without a moment's hesitation, he grabbed Robyn's arm in one hand and my arm in the other and we were gone. I would have kicked, screamed and refused to be teleported away, had he not done it so swiftly, leaving me no choice.
I just had to shut my eyes as tight as possible and vow never to open them ever again.
I hated teleporting. I had only been teleported once, back at the warehouse. But I didn't like it one bit. Mostly because I didn't trust Smithy to get us to the other-side alive.
One moment, you are standing in the middle of a crowd of reporters, journalists and innocent bystanders, and the next: you're out of there, leaving no trace of you behind except for a transparent, blue mist.
I hated that feeling.
"Brooke, you can open your eyes," Robyn said, a soft laugh in her tone.
"No, you can never make me open my eyes..." I said, stubbornly. I would never open my eyes again… but I realized just how ridiculous that sounded: after all, I was standing on solid ground again.
Despite myself, I cautiously pried one eye open. We were standing on the other side of the not-so-busy freeway, hidden from prying eyes by a cluster of towering pine trees.
I looked across the road at the puzzled crowd that had gathered. From far away, the multitude of people seemed even bigger than I first imagined.
Smithy was leaning against a thick tree trunk, his eyes closed tight, one hand clutching his chest and trying to catch his breath again.
Robyn rushed to his side. "Are you—?"
"I'm fine," he said, straightening up and pretending, rather convincingly, that nothing had just happened.
Robyn looked unpersuaded but shook it off. "Thanks," she said, softly. "How did you find out about this so quickly?"
"I just happened to be listening to the radio and they were reporting on the 'daring' rescue. I got here as soon as I could get away from Sandi." He smiled. "You guys didn't do so badly on your own."
I should have been tempted to ask who Sandi was, but I didn't really care. "Well, it wasn't easy," I chimed in. "Whether we like it or not, the Upbeats are now going viral."
Smithy looked over to the crowds. "Well, you two are officially heroes," he commented.
A series of sirens could be heard, coming into hearing range. It wasn't long until ambulances and police cars arrived on the scene, pulling up and setting to work.
We watched as, one by one, each of the teenagers was checked from head to toe for injuries.
I sighed. "I guess it's time to go and act traumatised," I said, stripping off my mask and wig.
"Are you going to hang around here?" Robyn asked Smithy.
He thought about it for a moment. "I'll stick around, see how things turn out. If you need me, I'll be here."
♫
Robyn and I removed our wigs and masks and handed them to Smithy, who promised to return them later.
We were about to step back onto the scene when we both paused. Robyn and I turned to each other, stared at one another, trying to figure out what was wrong with this picture, and proceeded to mess up each other's hair.
On any other occasion, if you mess up a girl's hair, you are likely to require surgery afterwards. But Robyn and I were laughing as we completely ruined each other's look.
Once we were certain we had utterly sabotaged one another's hair, we began tugging and yanking at each other's clothes until we looked as dishevelled as any other girl who had been on the bus.
"There, now we look like we've been through trauma," Robyn announced.
"Thanks," I said. It felt weird to thank my friend for messing up my look, but I was truly grateful. "Time to go act traumatized."
We snuck back onto the scene and pretended to have been on the bus the whole time. Nobody noticed we had been gone and no one noticed our late arrival.
Paramedics checked everyone out to see if there had been any injuries. I had a throbbing bump on the side of my head where I had slammed into the window and Robyn had a bruise on her head where she had bumped it on the bus when she slid across the floor.
Besides bruises and minor cuts, no one had been seriously harmed.
Police officers arrived to take statements and figure out what happened.
The bus driver was too shaken up to answer any questions. He just kept going on and on about some llama spitting him in the face.
He was too much of a wreck to drive the bus home, so we had to wait for our families to arrive and pick us up.
My dad wasn't coming: I didn't even bother to call him. He would probably live his whole life and forever be none the wiser as to this event.
(I knew for sure that he would never know I was the hero who had just saved my basketball team.)
Instead, I called Arthur and he was on his way.
Robyn closed her phone after discussing the situation with her mother. "She's having a hard time getting off work," Robyn said. Despite the situation, she laughed lightly and shook her head. "Mom just asked me a thousand and one questions about broken bones and internal bleeding. She is such a mother."
"And an ICU nurse," I added. Robyn's mother is accustomed to dealing with trauma victims, broken bones, internal bleeding, and, often, fatal injuries.
"And, seeing as my dad is in Tokyo… would you mind if I caught a ride home with you?" Robyn asked.
I shrugged. "Eh, why not?"
♫
I was sitting in the back of some random person's car, trying to get out of the way of the cold. Draped over my shoulders was a soft blanket a paramedic gave me. It was the kind of blanket every shock victim is given. I snuggled deep within it, indebted to that random paramedic for the warmth of the thick, bleakly coloured material.
Calming down was much easier when we were far away from the chaos. Now Robyn and I were just two regular girls, like every other regular girl in the world. Why bother with us?
I buried my nose into a fold of the material, trying to warm it up a few degrees. I noticed one of the paramedics, tall-framed, brown-haired, square-jawed, in his late twenties and very familiar, making his way through the mass of people towards us.
His boots crunched snow as he approached. "Glad you were here," he said in greeting.
It was John McGill, a paramedic the Upbeats met a month ago. He was one of the only people on this planet who knew the true identities of the Upbeats.
On our first rescue mission as a team (saving a little girl from a burning building) John was on the scene. He was the only person who turned around and saw us. This was before we came up with our brilliant disguises.
And then, on the night we stopped Gemini from contacting the Monmia, the aliens he had employed to destroy us, John was there, too. (There was a little accident and the warehouse started burning to the ground.)
We knew we could trust John. He would never tell anyone who we were or what these five normal teenagers were really doing.
"I'm just glad we were able to get that bus back on the road," I said.
"I admit, I'm imp
ressed," John said, gazing at the scene. The chaos began to die down and the random people who had stopped to tape the spectacle were helping the paramedics and police.
"Do you know why the bus driver lost control?" Robyn asked.
John ran a hand through his brown hair. "That's not really my department—"
"Oh," Robyn said, dropping her eyes to the ground. "Never mind, then."
"I only said it's not my department: that doesn't mean I didn't investigate," John's eyes sparkled like a mischievous two year old. "Some of the guys over there are working the whole thing out, I overheard them. Apparently, a pick-up truck trying to overtake the bus was carrying a load of alpacas in the back and one of the alpacas, for some reason, just spat the bus driver square in the face. The driver for a moment couldn't see clearly, panicked and lost control and, well... you know the rest. You were there."
"Why did the alpaca spit the driver in the face?" I mused.
John shrugged. "The driver of the pick-up didn't see the accident and drove on, completely unaware. No one's going to press charges. Besides, it was the alpaca's fault. And no one's going to track down and question an alpaca."
"It's like they say: never work with animals... or kids," Robyn commented.
The three of us laughed together.
"Man, those journalists only swamped you two," John observed.
"They wanted to know who we were," Robyn told him. "But we can't tell anyone." Robyn looked up at John with a quiet question in her eyes as she said the last statement.
"I understand. Your secret is safe with me, don't worry," John assured us. "Hey, was that Smithy I saw teleport in and rescue you two?"
Robyn nodded.
"How's his shoulder?"
(Last month, at the warehouse, Gemini shot at us but only succeeded in hitting Smithy in the shoulder.)
"He's fine," Robyn replied. "It's clearing up rather nicely."
"That's good. Anyway, I've gotta go," John said, turning to leave. "You two stay safe."