Monday drags.

  I sit through social studies listening to Mr. The Teacher about the structure of the federal government and the separation of powers, which feels deeply ironic given that I know for a fact one of our city councilors is a supervillain who the federal government either can't or won't do anything about, but I take notes anyway because that's what you do, you show up and take notes and pretend the world works the way they say it does in textbooks.

  The burner phone sits in my hoodie pocket, a small weight I'm aware of constantly, checking it between classes even though I know rationally that if something had happened it would be on the news, someone would have said something, HIRC would be exploding with posts about a superhuman incident at a hospital.

  Nothing.

  Lunch with Alex, who's talking about some drama with the robotics club and whether they're going to regionals this year, and I'm nodding and making appropriate noises but I'm not really listening, I'm thinking about Roxborough Memorial and whether Rogue Wave showed up or if they're planning something bigger or if they just looked at my tip and decided it wasn't worth their time. Alex notices I'm distracted but doesn't push, just pivots to asking if I'm okay, and I say I'm fine, just tired, which is true enough that it counts as honesty.

  The goth kids at our table are debating whether The Cure or Bauhaus is better, which seems like the kind of argument that has no correct answer and also doesn't really matter, but they're passionate about it in a way I can't muster energy for right now, so I just eat my lunch and scroll through my phone under the table, checking news sites, checking HIRC, finding nothing about hospital incidents or gang confrontations or anything.

  Pre-calc is a blur of functions and graphs that I copy down mechanically, my hand moving across the page while my brain is elsewhere, physics is somehow worse because we're doing momentum and collisions and all I can think about is bodies hitting each other, people fighting, the kind of momentum that can't be calculated with neat equations on a whiteboard. English is fine, we're reading The Things They Carried which is about Vietnam and trauma and the weight of things you carry, and I maybe relate to it a little too much in a way that makes me uncomfortable, but at least it's engaging enough that I stop checking my phone every five minutes.

  Tuesday is more of the same, and Wednesday, and Thursday, each day blurring into the next in a way that makes me feel like I'm moving through syrup or maybe like time itself is conspiring to stretch out the waiting as long as possible. I check the burner phone so often that I start to worry I'm going to drain the battery or somehow manifest a message through sheer force of obsessive attention, but it stays silent, just that old smiley face sitting there in the message history like a taunt or a promise or maybe both.

  Thursday afternoon I have my EMT shift with Deena, who doesn't mind that I'm clearly distracted, just puts me on inventory and equipment checks, organizing supplies and making sure everything's stocked and sterile, the kind of work that's methodical enough to be soothing but doesn't require a lot of brain power.

  She asks how school's going and I say fine, asks how the mentorship program is going and I say good, we're meeting at my house this Saturday actually, and she nods and says that's great, that it's important to have community, especially at my age, which makes me feel both seen and also like I'm being gently handled, but I'll take it because at least someone's checking in without demanding explanations I can't give.

  Friday drags worse than all the other days combined, maybe because I know the mentorship meeting is tomorrow and I'll have to be present and functional and leader-like instead of just going through the motions, or maybe because it's been almost a week and still nothing from Roxborough and I'm starting to wonder if anything happened at all or if I just orchestrated my own anxiety spiral for no reason.

  Physics is derivatives of momentum which I barely pay attention to, English is discussing symbolism in The Things They Carried which I have opinions about but don't share. At lunch, Alex is complaining about college application pressure even though we're only juniors and I'm sitting there thinking about how I don't even know if I'm going to college. Or if I'm just going to keep doing this forever until something kills me.

  I don't say that because it would kill the vibe.

  Saturday morning, I wake up early. I can't sleep in anymore, my brain won't let me, and I spend an hour cleaning my room, and then cleaning the dining room, and then cleaning the living room, because the mentorship meeting is at eleven and I need the house to look like a place where responsible decisions happen. Not like the home base of a teenager who orchestrates gang confrontations at three in the morning. Mom raises an eyebrow at the cleaning spree but doesn't comment.

  She just makes pancakes for breakfast and asks "Do you need me to get you guys anything?"

  I say "No, we're good, Maggie's bringing drinks and I've got snacks covered."

  Liam shows up first at 10:55, right on time. His mom drove him and made sure he wasn't late, and he's got a backpack that's probably full of nothing important but makes him look prepared.

  I let him in and show him to the dining room where I've set up chairs around the table.

  Zara arrives at 11:02 with her dad, who lingers for a minute to meet my Mom and exchange pleasantries about how great it is that the kids have this program. Zara looks mortified but also kind of pleased in that way that suggests she wanted him to stay but would die if he actually did.

  Jasmine shows up at 11:15 walking from the bus stop by herself, all black clothes and dark lipstick and an energy that says "I'm late on purpose to seem cool" but I don't call her on it. Whatever, she's here. And Alex Kirby (different Alex from lunch-Alex, I really need to start using last names in my head) rolls in at 11:20 with Maggie, who he ran into outside and who's carrying a case of seltzer waters like she's attending a very serious business meeting.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  "Alright," I say once everyone's settled around the table.

  Liam is sprawled in his chair like he's never sat up straight in his life, Zara sits with perfect posture and a notebook already open, Jasmine is perched on the edge of her seat like she might need to leave at any moment, and Alex Kirby is leaning back with his arms crossed in that way that's trying very hard to look casual.

  "So this is the new headquarters situation, my house, my parents are cool with it as long as we're not like, destructive or whatever, there's an alley out back between our rowhouse and the one behind us where we can do practical stuff if we need to, but mostly this is just about checking in and making sure everyone's doing okay with their powers and their lives and all that. Ok?"

  "Very official," Maggie says from where she's leaning against the wall, and I shoot her a look that says shut up but also thanks for being here.

  "You sound stressed out," Jasmine points out.

  "I'm fine," I reply unconvincingly. "How's everyone been?" I ask, because that seems like a good place to start.

  Liam immediately launches into a story about how he accidentally transformed his hand during dinner and knocked over a glass of water and his little brother thought it was the funniest thing ever. Zara mentions that she's been practicing her sensing range and can now detect glass about fifty feet away. Jasmine says she's fine in a way that suggests she's not going to elaborate, so I don't push. Alex Kirby says he's been working on his control, can narrow his flame down to almost laser-thin now, wants to show us but I say maybe not in the dining room.

  We talk for a while about practical stuff, about how Liam's family is handling things (fine, his dad thinks it's cool, his mom is worried but trying not to show it, his siblings are either impressed or annoyed depending on the day), about how Zara's grandmother has opinions about powers being a test from God which is creating some interesting dinner table debates, about how Jasmine's foster situation is stable for now which is good, about how Alex Kirby's parents are mostly just relieved he's in a program and not their problem for a few hours a week. And I'm taking mental notes about who needs what kind of support, who's doing okay, who's pretending to be okay.

  "Alright," I say after about forty minutes of talking, "let's practice."

  We all troop outside through the back door into the narrow space between rowhouses. Liam starts by turning his hand into something else.

  We head back inside after about twenty minutes. It's starting to get cold and also because Liam's transformation is making him tired, so we wrap up with some general scheduling talk about when we'll meet next week and whether anyone needs anything.

  Everyone filters out, slowly. Zara's dad, then Liam's mom, then Alex's mom, and then Jasmine vanishes around the sidewalk towards the bus stop. And then it's just Maggie and me, and then Maggie heads home too.

  And then I'm tired.

  "That went well," Mom says from the kitchen doorway where she's been absolutely eavesdropping.

  "Yeah, it did." I mirror, suddenly feeling extremely exhausted. "I'm going upstairs."

  I'm lying on my bed scrolling through my phone, checking HIRC for the millionth time this week and finding nothing interesting, when Mom calls up the stairs. My phone starts buzzing at basically the same time. The clock hits 7:00 PM. Time for things to happen, I guess.

  "Sam! Come down here, there's something on the news!"

  My stomach drops immediately, and I grab the burner phone from my desk without thinking about it. I head downstairs, and Mom's standing in front of the TV in the living room where the local news is playing. The headline says MASS ARREST OF KNOWN "KINGDOM" AND "ROGUE WAVE" ASSOCIATES FOLLOWING SUPERHUMAN CONFRONTATION.

  Which could mean anything.

  I sit down on the couch slowly, staring at the screen where a reporter is standing outside Roxborough Memorial Hospital, and she's saying something about nineteen individuals arrested following what authorities are describing as a gang-related confrontation in the hospital parking lot. There's footage of police cars and DVD response vehicles and a lot of people in handcuffs being loaded into vans.

  "Most of those arrested are believed to be associated with the criminal organization known as Rogue Wave," the reporter says, "with four individuals connected to the Kingdom of Keys organization."

  My heart is pounding. Four Kingdom members. Nineteen total. That's a lot of Rogue Wave people.

  "Among those arrested," the reporter continues, "is Lucas Donovan, known by the alias 'Mr. Polygraph,' who is considered a high-value target in ongoing investigations into organized metahuman crime."

  Oh. They got him. They actually got him.

  "That's good, right?" Mom says, looking at me. "They got some bad guys. That's good. I don't believe in 'serves them right', but, well, I can't pretend I'm not feeling a little satisfied with what they did to Tasha."

  "What do you mean what they did to Tasha?" I ask my Mom, suddenly nervous, because I don't remember saying anything about the Kingdom to them.

  "Please, Sam. I'm not stupid," she replies. "I stopped believing in coincidences about two and a half years ago."

  Swallowing feels very hard all of a sudden. "Well, yeah. It's good, I think. Hopefully it means they can't hurt anyone else."

  The burner phone buzzes in my pocket. I excuse myself to the bathroom to read it, and I pull it out with shaking hands. There's a new message from an unknown number.

  if we strike a deal in the future, don't call the cops on us again or there will be problems, but i never specified, so, fair cop for now. your end of the bargain is filled, you are free from your obligations. - MB

  I stare at the message.

  Monkey Business knows I tipped the DVDs. He's not mad, but there are rules now. This actually worked somehow. Nineteen people got arrested and most of them were Rogue Wave's people, which doesn't make sense unless they threw their own people at it as a distraction, unless this was way more complicated than I thought, unless I wasn't orchestrating a sting operation but actually giving them exactly what they wanted. So many Unlesses. I really don't like it. But I also feel vindicated. But I also feel nauseous.

  "You okay?" Mom asks. I must've been in the bathroom fifteen minutes but the time feels like it just sort of slipped out. What was I doing?

  "Yeah," I say, putting the phone away and sliding back out into the living room. "I'm fine. Just breakfast."

  "We gotta get you in for a GI doctor, you've been nauseous all week. Think it's a stomach bug?" she asks, sounding completely taken.

  "Hopefully," I reply.

  On the TV, the reporter is still talking about the arrests, about how this represents a significant victory for law enforcement and the Delaware Valley Defenders, about how the investigation is ongoing. I'm sitting there thinking about nineteen people in handcuffs, about Mr. Polygraph depowered and arrested, about the text message in my pocket that says fair cop, about how I made a choice and it worked and I should feel good about that.

  But I just feel hollow.

  Mom turns off the TV after the segment ends and heads back to the kitchen. I sit on the couch for a few more minutes, staring at nothing, trying to figure out if I won or lost.