Chapter Twenty
We decided to regroup at Brooke’s the next day, at nine, so that we could do everything, get Smithy ready, prepare ourselves, and get some "supplies."
We were going to be heroes. This was something I had wanted ever since I could read. How many nights had I spent, curled up under the sheets with a torch and a comic book? Old and new, I loved anything that had a cape, dumb catch phrases and super powers.
The evil villain plotted to destroy a city, or the world. He would be rich, badly dressed and have a ridiculous, laugh-inducing hair-do. Sometimes he’d be famous and maybe even with a good reputation in the community.
He would laugh, crazily. So wrapped up in himself and his "gifted brilliance" that he wouldn’t think of all the people he crushed beneath him.
He’d do things, incredible acts of felony, but the police and even intelligence agencies wouldn’t be able to pin anything on him.
He would have a girl tied up. She’d be a noisy reporter, journalist or just plain old curious.
But that’s where the evil villain slipped up.
The girl just has to be the superhero’s do-anything-for, move-mountains-for, just-wish-I-could-tell-them, love.
Just as the criminal-mastermind’s finger is hovering over the big red button, the curtains would balloon, a burst of wind would swoosh in and standing, framed by the moonlight (these things only ever happen at midnight) would be the hero.
He’ll storm in, stop the bad guy, save Planet Earth, rescue the girl and drop the bad guy in federal prison.
Then the comic would end with just your ordinary out of costume hero, sitting at a cafe. The girl he rescued last night would be going on and on about her hero. And he’d just sigh, shake his head and smile. She’d never know . . .
But at least Superman or Spiderman had saved the day and crushed the psychotic dreams of one bad guy.
Planet Earth could rest in peace till the next issue and the next lunatic came along.
Now, that was the part everyone saw. The flashy outfits, the quick-wit, the dashing rescue missions, the split-second costume changes in telephone boxes and the fast escapes.
But what I was really focussing on now was the outfits.
There was no way I was going to wear capes or tights, let alone wear my underwear on the outside.
(I could count seven reasons why they did that, but none could convince me.)
As I was lying on my back, staring up at my ceiling, the light from the full moon drifting in through the slits in the blinds, I thought about what it was going to be like, being a hero. I wondered if we’d ever get in papers. I didn’t want to become public. But, how can you hush up something like this?
I surrendered and fell asleep to my many, many thoughts that swam around with no direction in my mind.
The next morning came, little birds singing, a soft breeze blowing in through the blinds and the sun shining as if it knew no Sunday was complete without sunshine.
The optimism that seemed to accompany every morning didn’t fail today. Things just seemed more manageable in the morning. Anything I had worried about the day before just seemed to have faded with my consciousness.
The task of facing Gemini was daunting. But it was far enough away that it didn’t overwhelm my day. And that was where I made my mistake.
I spent the day just being a regular kid. I didn’t want to think about Gemini, System, Monmia, Intergalactic Police . . . nothing. I just wanted to forget it and be a normal kid.
I shoved it to the back of my mind and lost myself.
I sat down and had a proper, traditional breakfast with my family. I’d flown out the door so fast and just grabbed breakfast for the last couple of days and I wasn’t too sure how tonight was going to work out. I wanted to spend a meaningful morning with my parents and my little sister.
I spent the day with some other friends of mine from school. We grabbed our skateboards and just had fun in the skate park. I fell only twice, grazed my leg on the second fall, but besides that I was fine. It’s normal to fall at least once when you’re skateboarding.
And I was normal.
Till night fell.
It was half past eight when I remembered what I was supposed to be doing.
Jemima was asleep. My parents were watching a movie that I would have joined in watching if I had not had a sudden, inexplicable urge to go to bed and sleep.
"Alright," my mother said, pleased. "That’s good, you’ll be up early for school, then. They say it should start raining soon and you sleep in late with the rain."
If only she knew that I’d probably only be home at like two in the morning . . .
I went upstairs to my room, pulled on a faded pair of black jeans that were more grey than black, a black T-shirt, jacket and sneakers.
It was a night time mission: I had to blend in.
I turned off the light in my room and stuffed pillows under the blankets to make it look like I was asleep if my parents or Jemima just decided to start checking up on me at odd hours in the night.
And I slipped out the window, silently, like a spy. Fortunately, we have a big old oak tree with thick, twisting branches that’s growing in between our house and our next door neighbour’s so I could climb down that with ease.
I ran across the street and to Brooke’s house.
I could see the light was on in her room so I climbed up a conveniently placed ladder and into her room.