It all started the day that the president’s head exploded on national television. June 7th, I think, chewing on the end of my worn pencil, because nobody can forget seeing the unedited video online for the first time. It’s something everyone does when they’re young. You huddle around a computer and try not to dry heave (or better yet vomit on each other as you press play again and again, watching it happen millions of times over) as you watch his brains go splat and his body go thud onto the ground. No gunshots. No echoing shootout between the secret service and the person (or people, depending on who you wanna believe in) who killed him. A beat of silence as the entire world blinked, as if we all got a bit of brian matter splattered onto our faces, too, just like the crowd had. Then sound.

A lot of sound. The kind of noise that burns itself into your nightmares, you know?

That’s the kind of screaming you call bloody murder.

But that’s not the type of information that’ll help me pass my history test, because that was slightly before I was even able to read, let alone understand why my parents were freaking out about the president getting domed.

Literally, but…hey, you’ve got to make light of bad situations sometimes. But what won’t be as fun as making silent jokes to myself is seeing another big fat F on my report card this semester, because if I fail again, I can probably kiss goodbye seeing my Patriot superhero license this year. But studying sucks just as much as, I’m just guessing here, getting your head turned into bloody boney meat in front of the whole world. I really should study, or maybe watch a video essay and get the facts right. What did NATO do to figure out what just happened to their greatest asset yet? What did the Russians think about this? The Chinese? How close were we to World War 4 once the world figured out that the superhumans were gonna start being a bigger problem? All really good questions.

But not for me.

‘Cause I’ve got barely any clue, so I’m kinda fucked.

The test is tomorrow morning, and this is the first time I’ve sat down in weeks to study. Most of these notes are actually from my sister and not me, because more often than not I’m drooling onto the pages of my notebook in class rather than doing any learning. Poor Mr. Monroe gave up a long time ago sending me to the principal's office, and he at least nudges me awake when class ends. The guy even gives me the apple on his desk everyday as well. Really swell dude. It’s just a shame that he can’t give me a second chance on this test, or anything else I’ve failed.

My mom and dad are probably going to murder me, but they’ll understand…I think.

My sister is probably going to be the benchmark, but it’s different for her than it is for me.

Speaking of which.

“Hey,” I say, spinning around on the chair at her desk. She looks up from her tablet, her glasses showing off the manga panel she’s been burrowing into and not the notes she’s probably already memorized. “If I bought—”

“Are you going to bribe me with something you don’t have the money to buy again?”

“A little blunt,” I say, “but I can also get you something you want at any time—”

“No, Kacey,” she says, her eyes going back to the screen. “I’m not gonna do the test for you.”

I groan and turn back around, then press my head against the book in front of me, as if making the desk creak with all this pressure is going to somehow put the entire textbook through my skull and into my aching brain.

“It would have been easier if you had been studying,” Jade says, then I hear a crunch as she chews on a packet of chips beside her. “He gave us three weeks, four days, eleven hours worth of notice to get ourselves ready.”

“How much of that time was I asleep for?”

She hums a little, then says, “About one and a half weeks.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“See?” I say, my voice muffled. “I couldn’t have studied if I was asleep. Can’t read through my eyelids.”

“Impressive,” she mutters. “You’re stupid and lazy, what a catch.”

I throw the teddy bear sitting on the desk at her, and she bats it away with her tablet, barely blinking. At least, I’m sure that’s just what happened. Nobody likes a Mentalist, especially Category Fives like little miss perfect grade point average behind me. I feel like it’s cheating, not telling anyone in school what she is, but I guess that’s a problem for my parents to handle and not for me to decide. It’s honestly a miracle that we’re still in the same grade.

Because I’m probably going to need a miracle to stay in it, too.

But I deal with stress in my own ways, which is primarily to ignore it. I slide my phone out of my pocket and scroll through my socials, finding nothing at all of interest, because it’s not like I had anyone from school on here anyway. I shut down my phone and sigh, groan a little, and tell myself that I should do the responsible thing and study, to do my homework and get things done, get to bed early and wake up on time to be the student that my mom always dreamed I would be! But my phone, my socials, and the newsfeed call to me like a whisper in my mind. One that I can’t escape, even if I was some kind of Mentalist. I turn my phone on and go to the local newsfeed, and find absolutely nothing for me to worry about. For once in my life, and of all nights, San Angeles seems perfect.

Is it kinda wrong that I wanted someone to do something stupid? Maybe. But that’s a lot more fun.

And a lot less responsibility than managing my future.

A knock on the bedroom door saves me from actually having to go back to studying. It opens, and mom is peeking into the room, blonde hair a mess and her nose dusted with flour, which I’m guessing dad put there. She’s smiling, and that usually means that no, the world is safe for now, and there’s nothing for me to do except study.

Damn you, universe.

“What’s going on here?” she asks, letting herself in, still smiling, and still very much red in the cheeks. Any brighter, and I’m sure she’ll catch fire, which would suck, because we just got the beds replaced. She pops an eyebrow at me, then at my sister, then says, “One’s studying, and the other looks like she’s passed her Alderman entrance exam.” Hands on her hips time, looking straight at me, too. “Guessing you haven’t studied one bit?”

I lean back in the chair and blow a raspberry. “I’ve been busy, and you know how it gets.”

“Kace,” she says, her smile softening a touch. “We spoke about this, remember?”

“Yeah, but,” I say, lowering my voice, “I thought saving people comes first.”

“You’ve spent every one of your outings doing nothing except flying,” Jade helpfully adds.

“Which is very important, mind you. But you wouldn’t understand it, groundy.”

She blinks, then looks dead at me. “Did you just call me groundy?”

“Okay, okay,” mom says. “No fighting in the house, and not on a Sunday. And since you’re not studying, Kace, I need to ask you for a favor.” She rummages around her pocket, then hands me several bills. “Could you go on down to the store really quickly? Your dad can’t cook to save his life, and he burned up all the steak. Just grab some noodles and some hot dogs, and one of those energy drinks your sister likes, and nothing else, got it?” Before I can even speak, or grab the money, she pulls back and points a finger at me. “And come back home straight away.”

“It’s a school night,” I say, grabbing the blue and gold varsity jacket off the back of my chair. “I know the rules, and besides, there’s literally nothing at all going on right now, anyway. And even if I did go somewhere, you’d probably only know about it by the time I pop up on some Chinese news feed two days from now.” Before she can react, I take the money and hot-step it past her and down the stairs, where I find dad trying his best to scrape the charcoal—or meat—off the frying pan and into the trash can. He sighs as we meet eyes, shrugs and gestures at the oven, and the very evident scorch marks on the wall. “Lemme guess, mom wanted to show off something cool?”

He slides the pan into the sink and runs the tap over it. I haven’t seen his hair or himself look this unruly for a while, but I guess that’s what happens when you’ve got an empty wine bottle on the kitchen counter. “She said she saw someone on the internet do it,” he says, lowering his voice to a decibel only me and him could hear, and probably the dog, too, who wakes from her nap. “But when you mix fire and alcohol together, you get a small pop.”

“Thanks for the chemistry lesson,” I say, slipping into my sneakers. I grin and lower my voice in case someone else is listening, not just our excited labrador. “But don’t worry, old man. I’ll take it from here. All-Star’s gonna save the day.”

He can’t help but smile. “Let’s hope so, kiddo. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Is that you drunk or sober?”

Dad laughs, but only a little, because mom doesn’t find that joke too funny as she pokes him in the side.