Ch. 3...
[Group chat “WHY SO FAR BELLS” has been renamed to “SOON SOON SOON” by Emma Robledo.]
Emma: i can’t believe this i am so sorry i thought we would be back last week!!!
Jess: bells is so tall!!!
Emma: its only been one summer, how
Bells: SHUT UP GUYS ITS NOT A BIG DEAL
Bells: ALSO HOW DO YOU KNOW JESS DIDNT GET SHORTER
Jess: i feel betrayed
Bells: how is the South
Emma: i am so tired of my cousins already. my abuela is awesome though. she’s teaching me how to cook but i’m hopeless at it. she’s so disappointed already. “just like your mom” ahahaha
Bells: aww are you tired of your family already
Emma: well, they’re never boring that’s for sure. oh! funny thing, there’s a kid from school visiting his family too. carlos? you guys know him
Bells: we had Matteson together?
Jess: no idea. not in AP, remember
Emma: sorry jess; yeah he’s pretty cool, we’ve been hanging out
Jess: did both your moms make it?
Emma: nah, mama is traveling again. council work, blah blah blah. i think she wants to run for supreme mugwump, which could be cool.
Jess: PRESIDENT ROBLEDO
Emma: ahaha maybe
but i don’t really wanna move to new bright city
Bells: did you guys talk about it?
Emma: yeah kinda? i mean mom talked to her and is like, super supportive? i guess it’s not a big deal since she can work as a doctor anywhere, and they’re all saying like, they waited until i would be done with school and in college, but it’s all so soon, like running for office during my senior year? it’s crazy
Jess: yeah its stressful. you would have to be in the holovids for the campaign and stuff?
Emma: not so much, i mean they’re mostly using old vids, but i look like such a kid lol. anyways!! i can’t wait to see you. i would say don’t even see jess and wait until we’re all together but i know you guys already hung out
Jess: [IMG4020.ppg]
Emma: what. i cannot. believe. you are TOGETHER RIGHT NOW and YOU GOT THAI TEA WITHOUT ME??? aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Jess: ahaha. we’d call you but the network isn’t v good here, it keeps going in and out.
Emma: FINE. have all the fun without me
Bells takes another sip of his Thai tea as Jess posts more pictures of their week’s adventures into the chat. His heart sinks. If Samantha Robledo does run for President, Emma’s whole family will have to travel a lot, maybe move to New Bright City. Of the twenty-four Councilmembers who represent the populated regions of the Collective, three leaders are elected to represent the former countries of Canada, the United States, and Mexico. They have about as much power as the rest of the Council, but they make the most speeches.
Emma’s mama has been on the Council for three years. Emma doesn’t talk about it much, but with her mom working long hours at Andover Memorial Hospital, Bells knows she misses spending time with both of them.
From: Emma 12:41pm
are you ok
what happened to your caps in the main chat
To: Emma 12:41pm
I’M FINE. JUST DON’T LIKE THE IDEA OF YOU MOVING SO FAR AWAY
From: Emma 12:45pm
its a longshot, i mean kingston is probably gonna win again
To: Emma 12:45pm
IT WOULD BE SO COOL FOR YOUR MAMA THO
From: Emma 12:45pm
haha yeah
also manny wants to know what color your hair is today
To: Emma 12:46pm
GREEN AND PURPLE.
To: Emma 12:47 pm
[IMG-2049.ppg]
From: Emma 12:51pm
lol i just showed him. he’s jealous. he wants to dye his hair but my aunt won’t let him
To: Emma 12:51pm
TELL YOUR ABUELA HI FOR ME
From: Emma 12:51 pm
of course. she says she misses you too
To: Emma 12:52 pm
i miss you
From: Emma 12:52pm
miss you too, you huge dork. <3<3<3<3<3
Bells traces the hearts with wistful fingers. They’re friends, and they love each other. And yet, every summer, Bells comes back from Meta-Human Training hoping that his crush on Emma has faded, only to discover he’s still crushing. He’s been in love with her for some time, and most of the time that’s enough. But then the thought, what if, needles him. If I never tell her, I’ll never know; what if, what if, what if?
* * *
Emma comes back to Andover on an otherwise uneventful Tuesday. Jess and her family are visiting her sister Claudia in Crystal Springs, and she has complained often in the group chat about not being able to have a reunion with all three of them.
Emma: its only fair. you got to see him first
Jess: [IMG-9211.ppg]
Emma: don’t you make SAD FACES at me
Emma: so unfair
Bells stares at his reflection; the light catches on the few streaks of blue in his twisted hair. He tugs on a lavender V-neck T-shirt. He focuses on the streaks and turns them purple, a better match for his shirt.
Bells flops onto the couch in the living room to wait. It’s hot, and the air is heavy. He would turn on the air conditioning, but right now, all of their spare energy is redirected to Clairborne to power the irrigation system.
The sound of the home security system pinging an alert gets Bells to his feet, and he flicks on the feed, confused. Both of Emma’s moms’ cars are in the system, but this isn’t someone the system recognizes coming down the street.
The Broussard household is off the grid; it isn’t on any public registry. It’s shielded from view with holotech. Anyone looking for the house would see a clump of granite boulders at the very end of a deserted street and succulents growing everywhere. Maybe even too many succulents; his dad does like tending to them.
From a hidden porch tucked between two alcoves in the rocks, Bells walks out onto the street. Maybe Emma is being dropped off by a cousin or her moms got a new car; it can’t really be anyone else.
He turns around a boulder and stops short.
Emma is stepping out of the driver’s seat of a shiny new car. She’s a bit taller, or is wearing her hair differently, or maybe just carrying herself in a new way. Emma pushes her heart-shaped sunglasses to the top of her head and smiles brighter than the summer sun.
Feeling the flush in his cheeks, Bells dashes down the steps. Emma. What if?
“Oh, gosh, you did get really tall!!” Emma exclaims.
Bells picks her up and spins her around. “It’s so good to see you!”
Emma laughs delightedly, then squeezes his biceps. “Whoa, whoa, you’ve been working out! Since when?”
Bells sets her down and fights back a grin. “Uh, there was a lot of downtime at the art program and there was a gym, so. Wasn’t much else to do without leaving the facility.”
“You look great.” She smiles, that easy grin that is just for him. A pleased warmth courses through him, and he relaxes as Emma pats his shoulders.
“I, ah, thanks. You do too.” He doesn’t know how to express how much her presence has changed his day—his summer—his life.
Emma jerks her head at the car. “What do you think?”
The vehicle is a top-of-the-line model with a vintage, twenty-second century look. Emma is babbling about the brand, the color, how quick it is to charge, and, of course, the manual driving feature. It’s a huge hassle to manually operate a vehicle, what with the extra expense of installing a steering wheel and a manually operated engine and everything—and all the paperwork. Most people, like Bells, find it convenient to let the car programming take them where they need to go.
Still, Emma’s smile makes it obvious how much she loves the thing, so he smiles too.
“Wanna go for a drive?”
Bells laughs. “How long have you had your license? What, a day?”
She hip-checks him. “Shut up. A month. And I passed all my tests with flying colors. Come on, we can go all the way to Devonport and back with this charge.”
* * *
In the last week before school starts, the listless edge of summer drags on; the hot days stretch out endlessly. Even though it’s only been two weeks, it seems forever ago that Bells was in the trees among gray mists and soft green leaves.
The secret weighs on him, but on Tuesday afternoon he excuses himself from hanging out with Jess and Emma and takes the bus to Vegas for his appointment with his League rep and his design team and to pick up his gear.
Bells’ bus gets there late, and he rushes to find the correct address. A block away from the discreet office building that houses the center, Bells shifts into his Barry disguise…
He strides in, and the perky receptionist looks up. “Barry Carmichael! You’re late; you need to get to the design lab right away!”
“Sure thing,” Bells says. He salutes him and then listens to his directions to the lab.
The elevator takes him down two floors. He exits and in the hallway he recognizes—“Christine! It’s good to see you!”
“Crinoline,” she corrects.
“So it got approved? Your hero name? You got accepted into the League, that’s great!”
Christine sighs. “No, not really. I’m still a D-class nobody, apparently. And apparently, I should be grateful that I get to ‘work’ for the League. I ‘volunteered’ to do extra work here in the design lab—making suits, mostly.” She stands up tall and takes on a lofty, affected voice. “‘Someone with your powers and class should be lucky they were even considered for training.’” She grimaces. “They don’t want me doing hero work. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with making the suits, since that’s what I wanted to do in the first place, but, they won’t even entertain the notion that I can be useful as a hero.”
“They’re not worth it,” Bells says.
“Hey, I know you don’t live around here, but we should hang out. You planning on coming to Vegas any time soon?”
“Maybe.” It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get to know the other meta-humans and other people at Christine’s parties.
Bells says goodbye and continues on to the lab. He’s nervous when he finally shakes hands with his League rep—Harris, who doesn’t look too happy.
During Harris’ very long spiel, Bells sits awkwardly, murmuring, “Yes, sir,” and “Of course, sir.” He nods as Harris talks about how the League isn’t just about fame and comic books and cheering crowds, it’s about respect and image and upholding the integrity of the Heroes’ League of Heroes. Bells knows all this. It’s why he wanted to be a hero; he wanted to help people, save the day, go head-to-head against major villains like Coldfront or Dynamite.
“Barry? Barry, are you listening?”
“Of course, sir.” He looks up at Harris and tilts his head. “And aren’t you supposed to call me by my hero name now?”
Harris rolls his eyes. “Kids these days. All right, Chameleon.”
Bells does a little internal victory dance.
It’s happening.
Harris folds his arms. “Being the youngest member of the League is a big deal, and everyone is very excited. But. Don’t expect any major missions until you’re of age.”
Bells wants to bring up Powerstorm and her early missions, but she didn’t start in her own territory of Crystal Springs until she had finished college. He must be an exception to even have missions.
Harris flicks at something on his DED, and Bells’ own DED buzzes as it receives multiple files. He opens the main folder: a manual, a guidebook, and several other files.
“You’ve been approved to do hero work in and around Andover County. Remember that this is the territory of Shockwave and Smasher, so they should have most things covered. Your job is to build your reputation as a hero.”
“Okay, building up my reputation. Got it,” Bells says. “Anything else?”
“Yes. For your combat training, we’ll have you shapeshift into popular villains. Since you’re still in school, travel will be limited to one weekend a month and restricted to Western regions. Do you have an issue with this?”
Combat! Bells is excited to prove his worth. “I’m ready.”
Rebecca, the suit designer, is chirpy and tall and speaks in high-pitched tones. When she gets excited, she talks faster and faster, and Bells has to ask her to repeat herself.
Now, it’s finally real. Rebecca measures him for his new outfit and listens intently to his ideas. They toy with the idea of a full bodysuit, but Bells doesn’t want to cover his hair, and Rebecca agrees. They aim for something simple: a half-face mask and matching bodysuit. Bells loves how the iridescent green fabric shimmers and how it picks up different hues in the light, like a secret rainbow. The fabric is stretchy and thin and designed to be easy to shift. Shifting his own clothing takes a certain amount of concentration, but with the supersuit he can easily slip in and out of different outfits.
Bells winks at himself in the mirror as he tries on his hero suit and barely listens to Rebecca as she walks him through the support features and the tech that can be linked to his DED.
“You’ll be able to make calls directly through the suit, and this function is a direct line to your League rep…”
“Oh? Cool.” Bells activates it with a simple gesture.
Harris answers in an annoyed tone. “Chameleon,” he says. “Hurry and finish with Rebecca; you still need to meet me afterward in the research center.”
Aw, this guy is no fun at all. He turns off the comm link and, after a quick run-through of the suit’s capabilities, realizes that the League is going to track their tech through the suit.
“Hey, will I be able to take this suit home?” Bells asks Rebecca.
“When we feel you are responsible enough, yes. For now, we’ll give you locations in Old Andover where you can pick up and drop off the suit. We’ll be making modifications as your missions progress to make it the best possible support for you. And you’ll have to check in with me after each mission; I want to see how efficiently this material works with your powers.”
“Pretty good so far,” Bells says, shifting into Rebecca and giving her a thumbs up.
Rebecca grins at Bells over her glasses, shoves her hands into the pockets of her sleek black coat, and asks, “Are you ready?”
“You already gave me my supersuit,” Bells says, but her mood is infectious, and he finds himself smiling as well.
“Transportation,” Rebecca says.
“The bus system is really good, and Harris said all my missions were gonna be in Andover County or Vegas, so it shouldn’t be a problem—”
“You don’t have reliable transportation of your own, and it is paramount that your assignments are completed on time.” Rebecca walks as she talks, not checking to see if Bells is following. They pass uniformed workers who are making a sleek new car with Aerodraft’s colors and a hover board with Arête’s logo.
“Even heroes with super-speed or flight are given a vehicle so they don’t use their powers getting from place to place. On your intake form you specified that you don’t like automobiles?”
“They’re all right.” Bells shrugs. “I mostly get around on my bike, or take the bus, or program the car if no one is using it.”
Rebecca clicks her tongue. “That won’t do. We’re gonna get you outfitted in style. Chameleon is going to be the newest, freshest face of everything. We can’t have you taking the bus to do your hero work. How would that look in holovids?”
She draws back a curtain and Bells gasps at the sight of a sleek motorcycle in shining chrome with green highlights to match his suit. He runs his hand across the handlebars; the metal shimmers, reflecting a myriad of colors. “I love the color,” he says.
“Have you ever operated one of these?”
Bells shakes his head.
Rebecca explains how to connect it to a charging port, how to turn on the engine, how to brake and turn. She unhooks the cable from the charging port, wheels the cycle out, and jerks her head at Bells. “Let’s get you out to the track!”
Bells takes the handlebars and follows Rebecca out the door; a group of people in matching League uniforms follows. They must be testing equipment too; they’re carrying an awful lot of boxes.
The motorcycle is heavy. Bells nearly loses his grip, and it almost topples over, but he catches himself in time. Someone laughs behind him, and he stiffens. He scoots to the side, catches the first technician’s eye, and jerks his head for them to pass, but they don’t. They linger, all watching Bells.
A paneled door opens at Rebecca’s gesture, and afternoon light streams in, so bright Bells is disoriented. He stands his ground, though, and holds on tight to his new motorcycle. The hot air shimmers above the paved track. The wind kicks up dust in swirling vortices. Beyond the track Bells can see bright blue sky and red and gold mountains rising in the distance. They’re in one of the most densely populated cities in the Collective, but looking toward the desert, it’s easy to believe they’re alone and there’s nothing but the sun and the sand and Bells’ heart racing faster than the wind.
Rebecca zips through the operating instructions with her lightning-quick speech, and Bells barely catches every other word.
“That’s it!” Rebecca puts her hands on her hips and beams at him. “Hop right on! And flip the—”
Bells throws his leg over the side, wobbles, catches his balance. He concentrates, trying to remember: hand print on the dash panel, flick to the right, and—the engine comes to life with a rumbling purr.
“Great! Any questions?”
“Wait, how fast does this thing go—” Bells trails off when the team of technicians unpack their gear and clusters around him with cameras and lights and reflectors and boom mikes and what? No one said anything about filming this.
“Ah, a speedster, huh? Let’s just say I packed this baby with enough firepower to go from zero to lose your breath in three seconds flat.” Rebecca winks at him.
An image of a comic book cover flashes in his head—himself, drawn in sheepish detail, sitting on a bus: The Amazing Chameleon arrives at the scene of chaos via the Andover Metro!
Rebecca gestures at the camera. “This is Chameleon test with cycle. Ready. One, t—”
Bells flicks his hand at the sensor, and the motorcycle roars with power, flying onto the track. His heart skips as the road races in front of him. This is nothing like a car: the air on his face, the smell of the dirt in the air, the feel of the machine under him.
Bells spots the track veering dangerously close to the edge of a cliff and he panics. He jerks the handlebars. With the sharp angle, the motorcycle skids out from under him, which pitches Bells forward toward the pavement.
It seems as though he’s moving in slow motion, but he’s going ridiculously fast, and this is is awful. No, no! He’ll hit the ground and he thinks of the ground, hard and unforgiving—
Bells reaches inward and pulls at his power; he doesn’t know what he’s doing, doesn’t know if shifting will help, but reacts on instinct first.
He skids, bracing for the sound of fabric ripping and skin and flesh being pulverized, but none of that happens. He hears a far-off crash, metal splintering into pieces, and then he smells smoke and burnt rubber.
Bells coughs. At least he avoided the cliff.
He sits up carefully and takes stock of himself. He doesn’t feel hurt. Maybe a bit bruised, but he doesn’t seem to be bleeding. For a second, his hands look like the cracked-gray concrete, but he looks again and they’re just his familiar dark skin.
Bells spots his reflection in the twisted metal of a hubcap and curses; he’s back to himself. He concentrates to shift back to Barry before Rebecca and the lab techs reach him, but his power seems slower than usual. Oh no, is he running low? That’s strange—usually running his disguise shift doesn’t take much out of him, but the fire is burning low, as if he’s been using his power all day.
He must have done something different, but he doesn’t have time to think about it.
“Barry! Barry, are you okay?”
“Yup, I’m fine. Thrown clear of the crash.”
Rebecca nods, making notes on her DED. “Great. I think we can go faster, yes?”
Bells takes a deep breath. “I think we can work up to that.”
“That’s the spirit!”
It takes five more practice runs and two more ruined prototypes before Bells is comfortable doing a complete loop around the track on his own and then picking up the speed at Rebecca’s urging.
Bells’ heart is still racing when he goes back inside for his meeting with Harris. Walking into the research center makes him queasy; he can’t put a finger on why, but something about the cold metal and the dark hallways and the doorways labeled with project codes makes him hyper-aware of how Harris has strongly encouraged him every year to participate in the League’s Power Development research program. He’s politely declined every year, partly because his parents don’t approve and partly because it would mean time away from his friends.
“Chameleon,” Harris says, smiling at him. His eyes remain cold, and Bells feels a prickle at the back of his neck. “Please sit.”
Bells sits down in Harris’ office. It’s devoid of personal effects—no holos of Harris’ family or friends, nothing on the walls, nothing to show Harris has any interests outside the League.
“I’ve always found you very capable, even though you haven’t taken advantage of the research we do here at Power Development.” Harris smiles again, and this time he reaches across his desk to pat Bells on the shoulder.
Bells tries not to flinch and gives Harris a watery smile.
Harris withdraws his hand and then steeples his fingers on the desk. “Shapeshifting is such a unique power,” he says. His normally stern voice is laced with sugary flattery. “Usually I find people with meta-abilities, over time, will develop other aspects within that ability, or perhaps even uncover powers lurking just beneath the surface: unexpressed genes, inherited powers from distant relatives waiting to be discovered.”
There’s a file open on the desk. Barry’s file. Every bit of it is a lie.
Bells swallows the lump at the back of his throat.
“You have a deceased uncle who could shapeshift? And I see here a great-great-aunt who could as well?”
“Yes,” Bells says.
“Powerstorm, for example, started out with just the ability to fly, but by the end of our sessions she could exert superstrength as well: inherited powers that she didn’t know she had, you know.” Harris’ eyes gleam.
“No, thank you,” Bells says, standing up.
Harris’ eyes follow him as Bells steps backward, toward the door. “Of course,” he demurs. “It is your choice. Remember that this door is always open to you.”
Bells nods, ducks out of the office, and shuts the door behind him. He doesn’t run out of the building, but he doesn’t look back, either.
* * *
The first day of school is always a chaos of familiar faces and new schedules and classes. Bells fidgets with the zipper of his leather-look jacket, readjusts his hair, and leans against the wall as he waits for Emma so they can walk to AP Biology together.
“Hey, Bells! Looking good!”
“Cool jacket, Bells!”
“Love the green hair, dude!”
“Thanks, Jimmy,” Bells says, smiling. “Am I gonna see you in yearbook this year?” Jimmy is a sophomore who came out as trans last year. Nice kid, great at photography.
“Definitely!” Jimmy beams at him, his smile stretching from ear to ear. “See you later!”
Two girls walk past, whispering to one another. “Hi, Bells,” one says, nudging her friend.
“Hey. Daisy, right?” Bells guesses. He thinks she’s on the volleyball team; she looks familiar.
“Oh! Yes. Hi,” Daisy exhales; two spots of pink appear high on her cheeks. She giggles, grabs her friend by the elbow, and darts off. She’s not even a few feet away when Bells hears her saying to her friend, “He is so cool!”
“And cute! I can’t believe he knows who you are!”
Bells chuckles. He knows people know him at school, but it’s what he lets them know: the Bells who’s always ready with a comeback to teachers, who always has a joke ready, who can ease in and out of clubs and cliques like nothing; the guy with the cool hair and cool clothes—that Bells is the one most people see. He’s friendly with a lot of people, but no one knows him the way Emma and Jess do.
Emma appears around the corner, the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes crinkle when she sees Bells. “Hey,” she says, linking her arm in his. “Ready for class?”
“Now I am,” Bells says.
They get assigned lab partners in AP Biology according to last name, and Bells makes a face at Emma as they shuffle to their new seats. She gets paired up with a senior Bells doesn’t know, points at him, and winks at Bells.
Bells rolls his eyes and holds up eight fingers at her. The super-swooped hairstyle isn’t doing it for him, but the guy is pretty cute.
Biology passes quickly, and then it’s time for history, which drags on and on. Who starts with an actual lesson on the first day?
Bells ignores the lecture and sketches instead. Moving quickly, the graphite of the pencil smudges as he guides it across the paper. He captures every whorl of Emma’s hair and the tilt of her head as she rests her chin in her hands while intently watching Thalhofer explain the history of the Western regions, including the settling of Andover. Forgetting the lesson, forgetting himself, he commits Emma’s likeness to paper.
“Mr. Broussard?”
“Huh?” Bells sets down his pencil, but it’s too late to hide the sketchbook. Thalhofer, already at his desk, is glaring at him.
“If you have enough time to draw your girlfriend, I’m sure you already know why the settlers chose to name our town Andover.”
“Um… old rich white dude decided to name this new town after his favorite place on the East Coast?”
“Detention, Mr. Broussard,” Thalhofer says, his mouth a thin line.
“He’s not wrong,” Emma says, raising her hand. “Why are you sending Bells to detention?”
“For disrupting the class, as you are, Ms. Robledo,” Thalhofer says. “You can join him in detention this afternoon.”
Other teachers make detention interesting. Rhinehart’s students do service projects around the school, and Gaine’s detention students turn the compost in the school garden. Thalhofer’s detention is uninspired. Everyone is just supposed to sit quietly and do their homework.
Emma sidles up next to him. “Girlfriend, huh?”
“I, uh, it’s just Bellevue in her new supersuit,” he says, hoping the attractive hero will be a good cover.
He can’t… Emma can’t see this. This particular book is filled with sketches of Emma: Emma, at volleyball practice, hair flying as she jumps up to hit a ball; Emma, biting her lip in concentration as she studies; Emma, deep in conversation with Jess; Emma, asleep in class.
Emma just laughs and goes back to her holobook.
They don’t share all their classes, but they find a rhythm, where and when to wait for whom and which perfectly shaded spot to claim for lunch, and the routines of school settle in as easily as breathing.
Twice a week after classes, Bells takes the bus to Vegas to practice on the motorcycle. He’s getting better, but last week Rebecca yelled at him for driving so slow in Vegas traffic that people honked at him all the way down the Strip.
Rebecca and Harris show him holovids of people on motorcycles doing stunts, driving at breakneck speeds, and careening around edges of cliffs.
“No cliffs,” he says, laughing nervously, “but I’ve got the turns down.”
After a few assignments, Bells is cleared for his public introduction as Chameleon. Bells hopes for something cool—maybe stopping a bank robbery or interfering in a mugging—but apparently he’s not quite ready for that. He’s supposed to stick to the carefully planned appearance schedule that Harris laid out.
He’s on a vidcall with Harris, staring at the file that Harris just sent him. “Rescue… a cat,” he repeats.
Harris’ hologram sighs and crosses his arms. “It will endear you to the public, I promise,” he says in a long-suffering tone. “You’ll have to be in Vegas. I’ve already lined up a few prospective clients for you. A Mrs. Dorothy Abernathy’s cat will be stuck in a tree on Saturday morning. Here’s the address.”
His DED chirps.
“Barry, the League is counting on you.”
“To rescue cats,” Bells says again, incredulously.
“Raising public morale,” Harris says.
Bells loves cats.
Okay, he loves the idea of cats. He knows they exist in multitudes in the Unmaintained lands and that they used to be domesticated. They’re carnivores, which means they are expensive to keep; everyone in the Collective is on a mostly plant-based diet. Bells is pretty sure no one in Andover has a cat as a pet. A few feral cats roam the city, particularly around the grain stores, where they keep the mice at bay. The city encourages people to feed them if they can, but they don’t belong to anyone.
Bells loves the history of cats, the ridiculous things people used to make them wear, and the absurd photos and vintage videos of people interacting with them. Among his favorites is a video of a cat sitting on an early version of a MonRobot, watching the world go by as it rolls across a floor.
He gets to Vegas in less than an hour on his motorcycle, zooming past buses and people in their cars. No one knows who he is, although he gets a few looks of interest in his rainbow-green bodysuit and the matching motorcycle. A few people snap pictures with their DEDs and whisper, and Bells smiles behind his mask; a thrill of excitement thrums through him.
On the outskirts of downtown is a cluster of beige-colored homes that look alike; they are well-maintained, large homes with lawns, of all things. Bells eyes the lush grass in front of the homes: such a waste of land and water when farmers struggle to grow enough food for the two million people living in the North American Collective.
Mrs. Dorothy Abernathy is at least seventy years old and she ushers him inside her lavish home with much tut-tutting. “Oh, hello, dear, it’s so wonderful to meet you. Your film crew is already here, such nice young people. Chameleon is a fine, fine name. What were your powers again?”
“Shapeshifting,” Bells says. He does a double take at the three—no, five—people sitting on the squishy armchairs in Dorothy’s living room. “Film crew?”
“Here on League business.” A burly woman hefts a camera onto her shoulder. “Gotta get the good deeds down so we can broadcast them.”
Dorothy nods. “Well, Sir Fiddlesticks is in the tree, as requested. It’s quite high up. Do you want a ladder?”
Bells sighs. “I don’t think I’m allowed. I have to get the cat back using only my powers and my wits.”
In the tall tree in the backyard, a cat sits on the very top branch. The lush green oak has no business being in the desert, but this is Las Vegas, a city of opulence and decadence, one of the few that kept its original name from before the Collective.
Sir Fiddlesticks is a fat orange tabby who is eating out of a… bowl, which is also nestled on the top branch.
“I had to get him up there somehow,” Dorothy says. “All right, dear. Do your heroics!”
Bells takes a deep breath and starts to climb the tree. How tall is this tree? Twelve feet? Don’t look down, don’t look down… oh no, he looked down.
He gets a brief glimpse of how far down the ground is, Dorothy’s patient face, and the camera crew and their gear, documenting everything. Suddenly dizzy and nauseous, he scrabbles at the branches for a better grip; the tough bark scrapes at his palms.
“Hi, Sir Fiddlesticks,” Bells says from his unsteady perch. “You’ve got to come down.”
The cat meows and continues eating out of his bowl.
“Come on, please?” This is nothing like he’s seen on the Net. Cats are supposed to be cute and fluffy and to love interacting with humans, and this one is ignoring him.
“Just pick him up, dearie; he loves that!” Dorothy calls.
Bells isn’t sure what to grab. Avoid the head and the legs, right? He settles for trying to gently grab the cat round the middle and lift him up. The cat hisses, lunges forward, transforms from a docile fluffball into a flash of teeth and claw, and startles Bells. He falls out of the tree. He has no time to panic, but rolls into a ball, hitting the ground butt first. The cat lands easily next to him and looks up at him.
“Good job, dear,” Dorothy says.
Bells picks up the cat and smiles for the camera.
Bells is officially inducted into the League on a Monday afternoon. He doesn’t get to meet Captain Orion, but she recorded a message for him in which she waves and welcomes him to the Heroes’ League of Heroes. As the audience applauds, Bells smiles. He’s not entirely sure who all of them are. He thought there would be other people from the League, but apparently they all had other commitments. According to Harris, they “send their best wishes.” Bells also has messages from Arête, Bellevue, Starscream, and Lilliputian. He’s already watched each message five times. If only he could tell Emma and Jess; they’d be hysterical over a personalized message from one of their favorites.
Bells doesn’t recognize many members of the Associated League, but of course he knows Andover’s celebrated hero team, Smasher and Shockwave. They always seemed larger-than-life; standing next to them is surreal. Bells is taller than both of them.
Smasher’s hair is coiled into a neat bun, and her half mask doesn’t move, but the tiny folds beside her eyes crinkle as she smiles. “Congratulations, welcome to the League!”
She sounds very familiar. He shakes the notion away and holds out his hand. “Hi, hi, it’s so nice to meet you!”
Smasher’s grip is tight, and Bells squeezes back, trying to match the force.
“Are you sure you don’t have superstrength?” Smasher asks, laughing.
“Pretty sure,” Bells chuckles.
Shockwave scrutinizes him. “How old are you, kid?”
“Sixteen.” Bells still can’t believe he’s hanging out with two heroes he’s looked up to forever. “You two are amazing. That time you captured Master Mischief in the bubbles, that was hilarious. And Smasher, when you picked up that bridge in New Bright City!”
“Oh, thank you, you’re so sweet. That wasn’t in my territory, so probably best not to mention it in front of the League reps.”
Shockwave beams and slings his arm around Smasher’s shoulder. “So, newest member of the League, I hear you’re in our area?”
“Ah, yes, Devonport,” Bells says.
Shockwave nods. “We could take you around, show you the ropes! Maybe team up against the Mischiefs?”
Bells grins. “That sounds great, but I’m not supposed to mess with your territory. I’m kind of Andover-adjacent, mostly floating around wherever the League needs me until I establish my own space. Besides, I think the two of you have been doing a great job of keeping the Mischiefs in check—I haven’t even seen anything in the news about them for a while!”
Shockwave and Smasher trade glances.
“Yes, thank you. It was lovely to meet you, Chameleon,” Smasher says with a kind smile. “Hopefully we’ll see each other soon. We’re going to go say hello to Echo, excuse us.”
“Of course.” Bells steps aside.
He holds his soda awkwardly while the adults drink their wine and champagne and mingle.
“Chameleon! What a splendid start for you, boy,” an oily voice says to Bells’ right.
“Hello,” Bells says.
He looks familiar, but Bells doesn’t remember how he knows him. The man has a thick wave of styled brown hair and very even, white teeth that sparkle in the dim light of the room. He’s wearing a stylish suit with the crest of the North American Collective pinned to his lapel. It’s the Council’s elected President of the Central Regions of the NAC, Lowell Kingston. The man is smaller in person, less vibrant, and his carefully tanned skin takes on a sickly hue in the dim light.
“Lowell Kingston,” he says smoothly, shaking Bells’ hand with a wide, practiced grin. “And you’re the soon-to-be famous Chameleon, of course, wonderful, absolutely wonderful to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, President Kingston,” Bells says. He racks his brain for something to say. Kingston represents one of the Eastern regions, right? Which one? Brighton? Hopestar? Didn’t Captain Orion recently get her hair cut in in Hopestar?
Kingston keeps shaking his hand and edges closer. “Look at the camera, son.”
“Which one?” Bells jokes; he’s seen five roving camera people filming the festivities.
At the flash of light in front of them, Kingston smiles amiably and squeezes Bells’ hand. “A jokester, that may come in handy,” Kingston says. “The people love to see personalities. I trust you’re getting along well with your League rep?”
Something tells Bells that now is not the time to joke about Harris. “Yeah, he's great.”
“Excellent, excellent. You’re going to be a credit to the League; I can tell. I hear you’re going to start combat training,” Kingston says, lifting his eyebrows.
“Yeah, I’m pretty excited.”
The assignment is to shift into Jetstream, a minor C-class villain in Santa Barbara, and then fight with Aerodraft. The coastal hero’s fans have been losing interest ever since they took Jetstream to Meta-Human Corrections a year ago, so sparring with them will build public morale and allow Bells to develop his hand-to-hand combat skills.
“Good, good,” Kingston says, clapping a meaty hand on Bells’ shoulder. “These things may seem small to you now, son, but it’s all part of the process. We’ll make a hero of you yet.”
* * *
“Look, my powers are really awesome, but there’s no way I can control water,” Bells says to Liam, one of the League lab techs on the assignment. He’s just read the mission parameters again and did a double-take at the ‘script.’ Bells eyes the large hose attached to the pump leading directly from the ocean. “Are you sure this is gonna work?”
“Don’t worry. The special effects crew will handle it,” Liam says, heavy hose in hand.
Bells nods, gesturing at the ocean in Jetstream’s signature move. It’s disorienting, being in Jetstream’s body. They’ve been filming all morning, hoping to catch the attention of Aerodraft, and Bells keeps catching glimpses of himself as Jetstream reflected in the camera lens. She’s a tall woman with broad shoulders and muscular forearms, and it’s intimidating, being asked to take on her form, but this is the most interesting assignment Bells has had from the League. He’s determined to prove he can do it. It was uncomfortable yesterday when he tried it out for the first time, but he reminded himself that it’s Jetstream’s body, not his. Combat training will involve a lot of shifting into other people. It’s comforting that the League sees that he can use his powers in situations more complicated that rescuing cats.
He holds his arms up again, and a hidden Liam shoots water out of the hose in powerful torrents.
“Jetstream! You’ve broken out of Corrections!” Aerodraft says, finally arriving on the scene. They run toward him and brandish their signature move, blasting a rush of air at him.
Bells ducks the attack and moves forward. The film crew runs to keep up, but he’s lost track of Liam.
“I can’t believe you,” Aerodraft says, throwing a punch.
Bells dodges the punch and aims a swift kick at them, and is pleased at himself for keeping up. Aerodraft tries the blasts again, and Bells soon runs out of steam. He can feel his strength flicker. He’s been shifted into Jetstream all morning, and it takes a lot out of him to maintain the woman’s commanding presence.
“You know you’re no match for me; you’re nearly tapped out already. Why were you blasting water at the ocean? Trying to disrupt the tidal power stations? You know we talked about this,” Aerodraft says.
Bells raises his eyebrows, but that’s probably not visible through the mask. Does Aerodraft not know that he’s not actually Jetstream?
He manages to keep the fight up for another few minutes and then, as instructed, falls back. Aerodraft blasts another gust of air at him, and Bells dodges it, but pretends to take it in the stomach. He falls to the ground. “You… got me…” he says, like a dying cowboy in an old holovid.
“Hah!” Aerodraft strikes a pose. “I just have to call the Authorities and the Associated League… oh, they’re here!” they say, as the uniformed officials step forward. “Bring out the tantalum cuffs!”
Bells freezes. Since when was this part of the act? If they put tantalum on him, he’ll go back to being Bells, and not only will the assignment tank, but his secret identity will be revealed. He doubles up, clutching his knees. “I’ll go quietly,” he says to Aerodraft. “I’m all tapped out; you don’t need those…”
One of the officials is actually Liam, who’s changed into a black tactical uniform with AUTHORITY emblazoned on the back.
“We’ll handle this,” Liam says. “Thank you for your hard work on apprehending this dangerous criminal.” Liam jerks his head at the film crew, who rush to Aerodraft’s side and clamor for an interview.
The officials lead a relieved Bells away, and he gets into their car and shifts into Barry.
Harris is already reviewing the footage. “This fight isn’t quite ten minutes,” he says, frowning.
“Hey, you try fighting Aerodraft. Wait, maybe you can’t, because I’m the only one who can look like Jetstream—unless you have another shapeshifter I don’t know about.” Bells clutches his heart, pretending to be hurt. “Harris! I thought we had something special.”
Harris doesn’t respond to the joke, just hands him a datachip with his hovertrain ticket back to Vegas and also his next assignment.
Bells is about to take off his mask when an incoming call flashes across the screen. He makes a quick gesture to accept.
“Fantastic job, son,” Kingston says.
“Oh, thanks,” Bells says. “Great training exercise, and a lot of fun too.”
“Is that the Central President?” Harris asks, eyes widening beside him. “Hello… sir— ”
“Keep this up, and there’s going to be a lot more work coming your way.” Kingston nods at him. “The League is proud to have you as an asset.”
True to Kingston’s word, Bells’ missions get much more interesting. There are fewer and fewer staged cat “rescues” and more and more morale missions and combat trainings. Bells gets better at impersonating villains, gets into the rhythm of his assignments with the League. The travel gets easier. Bells only has to pop into the Vegas center once a week for tune-ups on the suit and the motorcycle with Rebecca, and it’s fun getting to the different drop points in Andover to find what he needs for each assignment. In addition to his suit, there are instructions on where to be, whom to look like, and what to expect. The higher stakes assignments are always encrypted on paper.
Between homework for his AP classes, and writing articles and doing layout for the yearbook holo, and going on assignments, Bells barely has time for sleep. He’s managing by staying up late or waking up early to squeeze in time for homework.
The assignments are boring, but they’re going to ask him to do actual hero work soon, he’s sure of it. Harris keeps mentioning a recon mission. Kingston sent Bells a personal message telling him, if he played his cards right, Bells could be the next Captain Orion.
At lunch, Emma brings up Jess’ possible internship, and Bells has no idea what they’re talking about. He’s missed so much. Apparently, she has an interview. Bells makes a note to ask Jess about how it goes, but he’s working the entire afternoon and the dinner shifts at the family restaurant.
Jess comes into the restaurant and tells him she got the job with Monroe Industries and starts on Monday afternoon, which coincidentally works with Bells’ schedule for independent hero work. Great, he can follow Jess to her new job and make sure she gets there safely.
The next afternoon Bells rides downtown to Monroe Industries, parks his motorcycle, and tries to think of an eye-catching person that Jess would find trustworthy. A pretty woman, he decides, maybe one that looks a bit like her crush, Abby, but isn’t Abby.
Maybe the disguise is a little too over-the-top, but Jess is so nervous about her interview that she doesn’t seem to notice, and Bells walks her to the building and then disappears, shifting to a nondescript businessman to watch her go inside.
It goes on his reports as a general good deed. It’s been slow ever since the Mischiefs disappeared. Bells is running out of people to help cross the street. And he’s not keen on finding more cats to rescue.
Bells keeps an eye on Jess during her afternoon walks from the bus to her work, but soon Abby starts driving her. He’s busy, but Jess and Emma are too: Emma with volleyball practice and Jess with her new job keeping her from afterschool activities.
Bells hasn’t had much time to hang out with his friends, either. He’s been looking forward to marathoning The Gentleman Detective with them, especially since it’s the first time in weeks he doesn’t have any hero work scheduled on the same day. But Harris sticks him with a last minute assignment that keeps him busy the entire afternoon. It involves taking the hovertrain all the way to Middleton and pretending to be Mr. Ooze, who doesn’t fight so much as just sit in muddy puddles and make terrible puns about soil at his arch-nemesis.
That evening, every muscle in Bells’ body is screaming at him to stop moving; he hasn’t been this tired since that week during training when Sasha and Tanya challenged him to a pushup contest every morning. He’s had an awful day, an exhausting day, and to top it all off, Emma is mad at him.
He thought showing up late to her house would be fine, but she snapped at him and Bells snapped back and Jess just stood there looking sadly at both of them and he couldn’t stay there anymore.
Emma’s voice echoes through his mind, the sharp way she said, “I just—I feel like you don’t trust us anymore.” She just looked so hurt, the way she looked down at her feet and then behind Bells, as if she wanted to look anywhere to avoid meeting his eyes.
The words cut like stinging barbs. In the moment, in all his frustration and bone-aching tiredness, he snapped at her and then stormed off, but the moment is over, and he’s got nothing but guilt now.
His DED died during his afternoon stint making puns in the mud; now, fully charged, it’s blinking with the notifications he missed all afternoon.
3 missed calls from Emma Robledo
2 new messages from Jessica Tran
8 new messages from Emma Robledo
Bells opens his messages from Emma; each one makes him feel worse. The thread is filled with snippets from her day, comments about school and a cute cat that she thought would make Bells laugh, how she thinks Jess is dating Abby but doesn’t know it yet. Then there’s just one message, two hours ago, asking if Bells is going to get there soon.
He groans. He’s never felt less like the little, hopeful happy face at the end of the message.
* * *
Bells can’t believe he wasn’t invited to Captain Orion’s event at the Museum of Modern Art. The tickets sold out three months ago, but he has an in now. League won’t even comp him a pass, because of: museum regulations, number of attendees, fire hazard, they can’t make an invitation out of thin air, blah, blah. Blah. Bells is more than a little miffed, because after he asked about getting a ticket, they offered to sell him a pass for a thousand credits.
Apparently, all the cheaper tickets were sold months in advance to the Captain Orion Fan Club. The League can’t even get him an official introduction. She knows who I am. I even have a message directly from her! I’m Chameleon! We’re both heroes! In the same League!
Since he doesn’t have hero work scheduled, Bells works at the restaurant all Friday afternoon.
Bells doesn’t fret about missing the event until Abby bails at the last minute and Jess asks him if he wants the extra ticket. Of course he wants to go, but he can’t now because he took Sean’s shift.
Bells wipes down the counter with more force than necessary. He could have asked Simon to take his shift, but his brother already had plans with his boyfriend in Crystal Springs. What’s the point of having siblings if they are never around when you need them?
In the end, Jess goes by herself. The afternoon passes in an uneventful blur for Bells. He waves goodbye to his dad and the staff when his shift is over and he takes the long way home as the sun sets over the glimmering solar fields outside Andover.
When he arrives home, the house is quiet—a bit too quiet, but that’s easily fixed with some background noise. Bells gets caught up in flicking through reruns of The Gentleman Detective, but eventually he gets to his homework. He’s finishing up his English assignment when the house security programming notifies him two people are at the door: Jess and someone else. Bells goes downstairs immediately. He opens the door and freezes.
Jess is standing there with Abby, who is wearing a mecha-suit. It looks haphazardly made, with metal pieces in different colors, and Bells spots what looks like pieces from a stove. It should look ridiculous, but the design looks very capable, like the armor engineers wear to build new structures in the Unmaintained zones or the mecha-suit Master Mischief used to fly.
“Hey, Bells,” Jess says, way too casually for this situation. “Um… do you have superpowers?”