CHAPTER 32
JET
We have declined to prosecute the Everyman Society as a whole in this instance.
Statement issued from the New Chicago District Attorney’s Office
FIVE DAYS LATER
“So then I say, I don’t know, go ask your mother!”
Were cracked up on the punch line, as usual, and Samson followed suit, ditto the usual. Even Frostbite and Red Lotus were chuckling. Iri exchanged a look with Jet that clearly said “Boys are freaking stupid” far louder than any words. Jet absolutely agreed.
But they were also really cute. At least, Samson was. And he was a toe-curling-good kisser. She tried not to blush as she ate her salad.
Iri reached across the table for the catsup. “You kissed your mother with that mouth, Were?”
“Just before I ate her, babe.” He howled laughter and high-fived Red Lotus, who almost spewed his lunch from laughing so hard. Samson and Frostbite snickered, even though Sam looked like he was trying not to (and failing miserably).
Iri elbowed Were in the ribs. “Gross!”
Jet didn’t get it, but she knew better than to call attention to that, so she took a cue from Iri and frowned at Samson until the big teen blushed redder than his skinsuit. Smiling sheepishly, he said, “Come on, Jet. It’s funny.”
She sniffed. “Must be a guy thing.” Then Sam blew her a kiss, and she giggled, utterly ruining her cold disposition.
An appreciative whistle from Were dampened Jet’s laughter. She glanced at the wiry teen, who was kicked back in his seat and had thrust one large, booted foot on the table—right next to his lunch tray. Yuck. How can he eat like that? His hands were propped behind his head, and he had a crap-eating grin on his face. The picture of insolence. His black skinner shimmered beneath the cafeteria’s fluorescent lights, much like Jet’s own skinsuit, but there was one crucial difference between a skinner and a skinsuit: Were’s costume morphed with him when he shed his human form. Couldn’t have a werewolf running around in an Academy-standard pre-Squadron outfit; that would be tacky. And expensive to clean. Not to mention bad PR.
Jet smiled to herself. She was getting positively cynical. She arched an eyebrow at him. “What?”
Were shook his mop of long, brown hair out of his eyes and grinned toothily at Jet. “I swear, babe, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you and Fright Night were bloodkin. You have his haughty cold shtick down pat.”
“If I were related to Night,” she replied—coolly, of course—“you better believe I’d freeze you with a look.”
“Hey,” Frostbite said, affronted, “that’s my line.”
“Signature quip,” Red Lotus agreed around mouthfuls of Salisbury steak. “He’s working on the patent.”
“You can’t patent a quip,” Iri said. “I checked.”
Frostbite rolled his eyes. “You would.”
“Hey, I’m just getting a leg up on Branding.”
“Yeah? What are you thinking of—doing the Snow White thing to the extreme?” He motioned to Iri’s black hair, her pale skin, her white unikilt with black piping. “Maybe getting Disney to sponsor you? You’d need cartoon forest creatures in your entourage.”
“And dwarves,” Samson said, taking a bite of steak.
Iri smiled innocently, and Jet prepared to duck. “Actually,” Iri said, “Jet and I are thinking of doing a collaborative sponsorship.”
Jet blinked, mouthed, We are?
Frostbite scoffed. “You are?”
“Sure.” Iri grinned hugely. “Oreos.”
They all chuckled over that. Even though it was Iri who’d made the joke, Sam smiled at Jet. She felt a leg wrap around hers beneath the table—and Sam winked at her.
Jet’s heart flip-flopped in her chest as she winked back at him. After all these months, she still couldn’t believe that Sam was really her boyfriend. He was kind, strong, good-natured, and great-looking; he could have his pick of any girl in their grade—hell, any girl in the Academy. But he’d picked her—a smallish, thinnish, quiet girl with a freaky Power and excellent grades. She wasn’t as pretty as Iri, or as smart. Or, as the training session the other day proved, able to think as fast on her feet. Jet was strictly a background player, someone who, appropriately, kept to the shadows.
But Sam had picked her. She could still feel the tingle on her lips from when they’d kissed before joining the others for lunch.
Fourteen and in love. Life was good.
Sometimes, like now, Jet thought she was blessed. She had a best friend who was also her crime-fighting partner-in-training. She had a mentor who encouraged her strongly and helped her quietly. She had a method of keeping the voices at bay, so she didn’t have to worry about going boogity-boo crazy, or getting Therapy and having her brain sliced open. She had a boyfriend who liked spending time with her, even when they just held hands and didn’t talk at all. And now she had a small group of acquaintances who were slowly becoming friends.
Okay, in Were’s case, maybe not friends. Maybe more like someone to put up with. But he was Sam’s partner, so Jet just rolled with it.
Yeah, she thought, smiling and feeling ridiculously happy. Life is good.
Red Lotus was laughing over something that Were had said (and Jet had missed because she had been thinking about Sam and how good everything was), and laughing so hard that he started to choke on his lunch. Frostbite, seated next to him, pounded the slight boy’s back a couple times. On the last thump, Red Lotus pivoted to block with his forearm. He was slight, yes, but a strong and willowy sort of slight. From the loose yet tailored fit of his red (of course) belted skinsuit, to his black almond-shaped eyes and golden skin, to his usually serene disposition, Jet thought Red Lotus was the picture-perfect wuxia expert.
If those legendary wuxia swordsmen had really been ex-trahumans with Earth power, that is. And had shockingly red hair.
“Bad form to hit your partner,” he said to Frostbite, who shrugged.
“Next time, I’ll let you choke.”
“You’re a pal.”
“I’m nothing if not considerate of my partner’s needs,” Frostbite said innocently.
“Christo, the steak tastes like feet,” Iri muttered.
“You suck a lot of toes, babe?”
“Shut it, Were.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll sic my partner on you.”
“Don’t drag me into this,” Jet said. To Were she somberly added, “For the record, she’s never sucked my toes.”
“Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side!” Iri threw her spork at Jet, but Samson caught it before it could bean her on the head.
“My hero,” Jet murmured, batting her lashes.
“Oh puke, get a room already,” Iri said. “And give me my spork back.”
“I have a room,” Jet said primly. “But it comes with an obnoxious roommate.”
Iri rolled her eyes. “You know, I think I liked you better when you were all withdrawn and antisocial. Can’t you scowl at me or something? Where’s the Jet I know and love?”
“Girl love!” Were hooted. “Where’s the mud?”
Jet and Iri both glared at him, at least until Sam gave Iri the utensil back. “For the food. Don’t use it to stab Were.”
“Why not?”
“Blood’s a pain to wash off a skinsuit.”
“Nice,” Were lamented. “Red Lotus’s partner looks out for him. My partner sells me out to the 36-C Lighter.”
Iri blew him a kiss, then attacked her Salisbury steak with gusto.
“Holy Jehovah,” Frostbite said. “Is that who I think it is?”
Jet looked up from her salad to where Frostbite was pointing. And then her jaw dropped.
Standing in line for lunch, smiling brighter than any of Iri’s strobes, was Dawnlighter. She looked just as sparkly clean as she had back in First and Second Years. Her red hair was vibrant, her green eyes sparkling, and, Jet noticed with dismay, she was way more developed than Jet had remembered. Beautiful, body of a supermodel—a true supermodel—and looking pleased as punch to be in the Academy cafeteria, as if seven months hadn’t gone by since anyone had last seen her.
“I can’t believe it,” Iri said, frowning. “Dawnie’s back, lighter than life.”
“Hey,” Sam murmured in Jet’s ear, “you okay?”
Jet blinked, tore her gaze from Dawnlighter to smile at Sam. “Why?”
“Your hand’s getting black.”
She glanced down at her left hand, and sure enough, Shadow had begun to seep out of her pores. Whoops. She pulled the darkness back inside of herself, thankful that Sam had spotted it before any of the proctors had. Or before the Power wards had been breached.
Great. When she was out during training, she’d frozen quicker than you could say “Frostbite.” But here, when she wasn’t supposed to use her powers without authorization, she was practically leaking Shadow.
“She looks so normal, it’s killing me,” Iri said.
Frostbite nudged her. “You think she’s been in Therapy this whole time?”
“Probably. The way she was hardwired, I’m stunned they let her out at all.”
“What’s the big deal? Other than the big rack, I mean?” Were eyed Dawnlighter, clearly impressed by her physical assets. “She’s just another Lighter. Dime a dozen. Present company excluded, babe,” he added to Iri.
“Bite me, wolf boy.”
“You wish, firefly.”
“Now now, children,” said Red Lotus. “Behave or the proctors will get you.”
Jet barely heard them banter. Her gaze was fixed on Dawnlighter, who looked so freaking happy and perfect that it turned Jet’s stomach.
In her mind, she heard Dawnlighter’s voice, clear as the day she’d snarled it at her in Second Year: “Get out of the extrahuman gene pool and do us all a favor.”
Jet’s hand trembled. Shut up.
“You’re nothing but a filthy Shadow.”
Shut up!
“I’ll stop you from spreading your filth!”
Jet stood and started to march over to Dawnlighter. She heard Iri exclaim “Oh, shit!” and the scrape of chairs behind her, but she didn’t care. It was far past time for her and Dawnlighter to have words.
And if they weren’t loud enough, actions too.
She sauntered up, legs loose, arms dangling easy by her sides—she was sure she didn’t look like she was summoning Shadow and getting ready to let loose the creeper brigade. When she was in spitting distance of Dawnlighter, she spoke the girl’s code name.
The redhead turned to her … and smiled in delight.
“Jet!” she chirped—chirped, could you believe it?—and stepped out of line to squeal. “Eee, look at you! Love your hair, it’s so pretty! Do you get it highlighted? I don’t remember it being that honey-blond.”
Jet blinked, said, “Excuse me?”
“Oh,” Dawnlighter laughed, “sorry, didn’t mean to offend you. If you say it’s natural, then I believe you! Only you and your hairdresser will know for sure, am I right?”
Jet was pretty certain someone had slipped something into her lemon water, because she had to be high if she thought this … Barbie doll … was Dawnlighter.
“So how’s it going?” Dawnlighter said, all bubbly enthusiasm. “I’ve missed quite a bit, but Celestina tells me that I can make it up quick enough if I really focus.” She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “But between you and me, that’s going to be tough. Look at the guys! When did they discover muscles?”
“Um … Jet?” That was Iridium, behind her. “Is … everything okay?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Jet said, feeling rather lost.
“Iridium!” Dawnlighter squealed. “Wow, look at you! Your acne’s all gone, and you’ve gotten so pretty! You’re going to be a poster hero for the Academy in no time!”
Iri and Jet exchanged a troubled look. “Dawnie,” Iridium said. “You’re … different.”
“Am I?” Dawnlighter’s eyes clouded for a moment, and a vertical worry line marred her brow. “Bad different?”
“Um, no, just … different.”
“Well, it’s been awhile,” she said with a huge smile. “And I know we haven’t been close, but that’s all water under the bridge now. We’re all on the same side—the side of justice.” She stuck out her hand and said to Jet, “Friends?”
Stunned, Jet stuck out her hand, remembering last minute to make sure no Shadow had seeped through before clasping the other girl’s hand. “Uh, sure.”
“Terrific,” she beamed. “But boy, your hand is cold! You need to improve your circulation, Jet. Can’t be at the top of your game if your circulation is sluggish. Drink more water.”
“Or something stronger,” Iri mumbled.
“Well, I have to get my lunch. Growing heroes need their nutrients, you know! Good seeing you girls,” Dawnlighter said, then turned to head to the back of the line instead of pushing her way back to where she’d been before Jet had approached.
“What on the scorched earth was that?” Jet said.
“That,” Iri replied, “is why we never, ever want to get sent to Therapy.”
Staring at Dawnlighter’s retreating form, Jet said, “I’d sooner kiss an Everyman.”
“Considering you already danced with one, that’s not such a big step …”
Jet hissed between her teeth. “Don’t remind me.”
“Well, look at the bright side,” Iri said, leading them back to their table. “Next time we tangle with Everyman, you won’t freeze.”
“Oh no? How can you be so sure?”
“If you do, I’ll strobe your ass.”
“Deal.”
But through the rest of lunch, Jet kept sliding looks over to where Dawnlighter sat, amid her old friends, chatting happily, and Jet frowned and fretted when she realized that she’d preferred the snotty, elitist girl to the chipper impersonation wearing her form now. At least the old Dawnlighter had been … real.
This one was like a walking ad for the Academy.
No way will I ever—ever—get sent to Therapy, if that’s the result, Jet swore to herself.
I’d sooner die.