Volume 3: Meristem
Issue 8: The Standard Deviation
Florian Reyes Honeywell
By Roach
The sky stretched out into a monotonous blue, only interrupted by the occasional football soaring high above. Two dozen or so students chased after the ball across the playing field. Camilo lay on the audience stand behind me, holding a paper up to his face. He muttered lines from A Midsummer Night’s Dream to himself. Since the theater had yet to finish reconstruction, drama practice continued in the sports field. That being said, the Albatrosses still had dibs on it—even for unofficial practices, such as their current football game.
But Camilo hadn’t wanted to show up early just to rehearse his lines. There was more to it. Amber, Jazmine, and Raegan were seated a few rows below us. The trio chatted among themselves, occasionally taking pictures with their phones of the practice game.
Although Spindle hadn’t tried to get in touch with us again, we had decided to continue keeping an eye on Amber for the time being. Other students were spread out across the stands as well, watching the game, eating, or staring blankly at their phones.
I tried to focus on my homework. I thumbed through an old paperback copy of The Stranger by Albert Camus, which Mx. Lockwood had assigned for philosophy class. Startled by a series of giggles, I looked up from the pages. One of the football players waved to the trio of girls as he ran past them. Amber snapped more pictures of him.
“This seems more and more like a waste of time,” I muttered. Following Amber around hadn’t yielded any useful information, unless you considered her Starbucks order worthwhile intel.
Camilo looked up from his script. “Do you have any better ideas?” he said.
“We could try the bees,” I whispered. At least, if I ordered some of the scouts to follow her around, it would save me the effort.
“Can’t they be a bit… incoherent?”
“As opposed to this?” I nodded toward the trio. In their discussion of the football players, they didn’t seem to have noticed us.
Camilo sighed. “Well, I’m staying here until theater anyways. If you’d like to leave, you can.”
“Fine,” I said. I turned back to my book, picking up where I had left off.
After a few moments, he continued, “You’re not going?”
“No.”
“You’re weird.” There was a hint of humor in his tone.
I kept my voice to an almost whisper. “If you’re staying, I’m staying. Which makes you weirder. And maybe you’re right. If she’s careless enough to flaunt her secret identity over Instagram, maybe something will happen. Eventually.” I looked up from the book, then at Amber. She showed something on her phone to the others. Judging by the snippets of conversation I had tuned into thus far, they appeared to be speculating about whether or not one of the football players—Ali—was interested in Raegan. Which was already more information than I cared for. “Any second now.”
“Hey, it’s not that unlikely.” Camilo lowered his voice to the same level as mine. He sat up now, with his legs crossed. “I’ve been doing some thinking. And I wonder if she could have been using her powers during volleyball yesterday.”
“How come?”
“Didn’t she seem unnaturally good at it?”
I shrugged. “She’s on the volleyball team. She could just be that good. Besides, super strength doesn’t really match up with anything we know so far. Since she can see through your illusions, I still think it has something to do with perception, right?”
“I thought so as well. But I did another test.”
“What do you mean?”
“During the game, I may have… fixed one of the points.”
“You did what?” Just as I said it, I recalled a moment when the ball had seemed to shift its direction, like the wind had pushed it. I lowered my voice again. “Wait… Was that when the ball was on the net? How?”
“Well, yeah… I just made it look like it landed on their side. Once it landed on ours, I tapped it with my foot, so that it was actually on their side when the illusion ended. But we didn’t win anyways, so what does it matter?”
“It’s not about whether or not we won. If anyone had noticed, it could put everything at risk.”
“You’re such a drama queen. Are you sure you don’t belong in theater? I didn’t put everything at risk. Just me. And maybe the risk was worth it. She didn’t react to the ball at all. I don’t think she can see my illusions. At least not all the time, or not as well as we first thought.”
“But with that many witnesses around, she could just be pretending to not notice anything. She would sound crazy if she tried to claim that the ball went to their side when everyone else saw it going to our side.”
“You would think so. But watch this. Look at that guy.” He pointed to one of the football players, who sprinted across the field. I watched him closely. As he passed by Amber and her friends, he waved at them. Amber responded by waving back.
“Now, listen. He didn’t actually wave to them at all. I made it look that way, but only to you and Amber. And who reacted? Just Amber. Not Raegan and Jazmine. So, unless I’m deeply underestimating the level of mind games going on, she didn’t see through that illusion.”
“That is… interesting,” I admitted.
“So, I wouldn’t completely rule out that her powers could involve something else.”
I studied Amber, who remained invested in her friends’ conversation about the players. Her behavior hadn’t really seemed to change at all. If she had noticed anything odd—even if she didn’t acknowledge it out loud—I would at the very least expect her expression to change. But it didn’t. Only when her two friends excused themselves to the bathroom, leaving her alone, did her smile disappear. She rested her chin in her hand. With a sudden intensity, she continued to survey the football field. Was she just interested in the game, or did she really see something that we couldn’t? But how did Camilo’s illusions fit into it all? Even if we had discovered another clue to her powers, it left me more confused than anything.
Just as I turned my attention back to The Stranger, a voice spoke up.
“You made that post, didn’t you?”
I looked up from the book. A boy had appeared in front of Amber. At first, I didn’t recognize him without his glasses. But the voice was unmistakable. It was Max. But his missing glasses weren’t the only thing about him which seemed different. Somehow, he looked… better. His skin clearer, his muscles more defined.
I exchanged a glance with Camilo, whose expression reflected my own perplexment. I forced myself to look back at my book, resisting the urge to stare at my two classmates. Camilo similarly returned his attention to his script. But even as I pretended to keep reading, I listened intently to their conversation.
“What post?” Amber replied.
“For the confessional thing. Don’t play dumb with me,” Max responded. The confessional? Did he mean @ChapelConfessional? I pulled out my phone.
“You don’t think I have better things to do than talk about your steroid problems?”
“That’s a lie. You’re always out for me. And I’m not taking steroids.”
“If you aren’t, why are you so defensive about it?”
While they spoke, I tapped my way to the Confessional account. I scrolled down a couple of posts. This morning, an anonymous user had submitted the following:
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
> Confession: I saw Max Figuero taking steroids.
I didn’t know whether or not that was true. I couldn’t deny that it was strange how drastically his performance changed during gym. However, even if that was the case, it just seemed unnecessarily cruel to post about it. But, if anything, unnecessary cruelty matched Amber’s MO, so I didn’t exactly blame him for suspecting her.
“Just take it down,” Max said.
“Not my problem,” Amber replied.
“Now.” His voice turned to a hiss.
“Oh, please. Let me give you some friendly advice. If you’re going to take steroids, either be more subtle or just own up to it. This denial shit is not—” Before she could finish the sentence, her voice rose with a note of panic.
I looked up from my phone, just in time to see Max slam down his fist. Amber scrambled aside, moments before his punch made contact with the bleacher. With a loud clash, the metal bent under his fist—leaving a massive dent where Amber had just been sitting.
His biceps bulged in unnatural ways, beyond what human muscles should be capable of. They seemed to have grown as he punched the bleacher. And, more disturbingly, the veins on his arms emitted a blue glow.
Amber stared in shock. She must have come to the same realization as me. Smashing through metal required more than just steroids—it required superpowers. Max locked eyes with her, breathing heavily. She spun on her heel, and turned to run.
My mutated classmate leaped into the air, soaring across three rows of the bleachers. He landed in front of Amber. She changed course, running between the stands.
I looked back at Camilo, who stared wide-eyed at the scene as it unfolded.
“Do we…?” I didn’t have to finish the sentence for him to know what I meant.
“Yes. Yes, we do,” he breathed.
Max chased after Amber as she ran in between the bleachers. Amber was fast, but the distance between them shrunk at a concerning rate. Max raised his fist again. Just as his punch set into motion, Amber disappeared into thin air. I blinked in confusion. Could she also turn invisible?
“That should give her a chance,” Camilo said. Of course; his illusions granted her invisibility. At the same time, Max’s fist swung through empty air. He stomped the nearest bleacher, his foot slamming into the metal with a loud clunk. Camilo continued, “Let’s try… Umh, this way.”
I grabbed my backpack by one of its straps, then dragged it with me after Camilo. We ran in the opposite direction of Max, toward a shed at the end of the bleachers. Once we made it there, we took shelter behind one of the walls.
“What the hell is going on?” Camilo said. He dug through his backpack.
“More than just steroids… Where’s Amber?”
“Still invisible. For now.” He pulled a mask out from his backpack. Although he technically could hide behind illusions, that alone wouldn’t protect his identity from cameras. The mask itself was stylized like one of the frowning and smiling theater masks—the masks of tragedy and comedy. His was ghostly white with a crescent grin. Camilo continued, “Whatever happened to ‘statistically there should only be three people at this school with powers’? Now there’s four? And it’s Max of all people?” He strapped the mask to his face.
“I don’t know. Standard deviation?” I hissed back. Another smash from the stadium stands drew my attention. While I rummaged through my own backpack, I stole a glance at the scene. The handful of students who had been seated on the stands scattered in different directions. Although the football players were still on the field— watching everything unfold—I didn’t think anyone had noticed us. At least, anyone who potentially could notice us were too distracted by Max’s outburst.
“I’m going to standardly deviate…”
“Later!” I interrupted as Max swung his fist into one of the equipment containers. The container spun through the air. As it arched up high, its content rained onto the sports field. It scattered lacrosse sticks, tennis rackets, and practice cones below. Finally, the container hurtled onto the other side of the field. All kinds of balls—soccer, basket, baseballs, and more—had fallen out of it, proceeding to bounce around.
There was a moment of stunned silence. Then the football players erupted into a cheer. Meanwhile, the audience members were still running away.
“We need a plan,” I said. “And fast.”
“Okay. Okay…” He took a deep breath. “I don’t think we can brute force our way through this, so we try to avoid fighting. Talk to him, distract him, calm him down… But keep your bees handy. Just in case things get ugly.”
At the bottom of my backpack, my fingertips met coarse textile. My suit. I tugged at the fabric, practically dragging the beekeeper’s hat out. Once retrieved, I placed it on my head and pulled the veil over my face. “Okay. Let’s get going.” Although I hadn’t put on the rest of the beekeeper’s suit, I didn’t want to waste any more time. The veil would have to suffice.
Now masked, we left our backpacks behind the shed, then ran back to the stands. In front of them, Max paced restlessly back and forth. He kicked over a barrel. A handful of baseball bats spilled out of it. The football players had stopped playing by now. They maintained a distance from Max, but they didn’t seem to be panicking. Some of them laughed, while others had pulled out their phones, pointing in his direction. The swarm churned within me as a sense of disgust washed over me. He was clearly in distress, but their response was to film his outburst?
Moreover, the awareness of being filmed weighed on me. Not only was this the first time Camilo and I were seen publicly in costume, but my next actions were about to be immortalized.
We slowed from a sprint to a half-jog as we neared Max. Once we got closer, I could hear him muttering to himself. “…blue, the blue, far away, or no… It’s close. It’s far away. Or both. But where is she? Not here, just the darkness, and the blue light… Closer.”
“Max?” Camilo called out, coming to a halt. He had disguised his voice with an illusion; it sounded deeper than normally, but somehow mellow.
For a moment, I wondered if calling him by name was the right move. It could point to our identities. But as Max continued talking, I started to think he wasn’t present enough to notice: “…glitters, like the ocean at… Where…” His voice slipped into incoherent mumbling, leaving me clueless as to what he could be referring to.
Camilo placed himself in front of Max. He stopped pacing, then glared at him. The boy twitched, and for a second, I thought he would lunge at Camilo. The swarm surged through me, responding to my pang of fear. But Max remained put. Not yet, I reassured the bees, holding them back. I positioned myself to the side of Camilo and Max.
“Hey, Max,” Camilo tried again.
“Who… Who are you?” Max stuttered.
“We… We’re here to help.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“But it sounds like you’re looking for something.” Illusions softened his voice.
“Something?” Max echoed.
“You were talking about a light?”
“Yes… Yes, I was looking for something… Someone. Her.” His tone changed, melting to anger. “That Amber. Where the fuck is she?” he practically snarled. His knuckles turned white as he advanced toward Camilo, while the veins on his hands lit up. I allowed bees to start filtering out from my mouth. A handful of them flitted under my veil.
“She’s gone.” Although Camilo didn’t raise his voice, it somehow felt overpowering. Like all other sounds faded, leaving his voice the last melody of the world. The distant traffic disappeared, and the jeering of the football players became muffled. When I glanced toward the Albatrosses, they appeared to still be talking amongst one another like normal. I assumed that Camilo’s illusion didn’t target them. But this sudden change in the soundscape was enough to make Max hesitate. Camilo continued, each word in complete harmony, “Don’t worry. Why don’t we go somewhere else, and we can talk about this?”
While I saw Max’s lips move, his voice grew fainter, too. I couldn’t register what he replied, but his rippling muscles appeared to relax. All I heard was the lull of Camilo’s voice: “Why don’t we go to the greenhouse? You like it there, right?” It was a good idea—with Max this unstable, getting him away from any crowds was the best thing we could hope for.
After a moment’s pause, Max gave a slight nod. While it was too soon to put down my guard, I felt like a knot inside of me started to loosen up again. “Follow me,” Camilo said. We started to walk across the sports field—Camilo in front, Max in the middle, and me trailing behind. Sounds started to return, gradually, as Camilo let go of his illusion.
I glanced toward the football players as we passed them by. They still stared at us, but had stopped filming—seemingly deciding that we were less interesting now that Max had somewhat calmed down. “Hey! This is still off limits for theater,” one of them yelled at us. With our haphazardly put together costumes, they must have assumed we were here for theater practice. If they were stupid enough to say the same for Max’s behavior or just swept up by the spectacle was anyone’s guess. I ignored them.
We kept walking. As we did, Camilo would occasionally ask Max about mundane things, like how his classes were going. Occasionally, he gave a coherent reply, but most of the time he kept muttering about looking for something. The most I could get out of his ramblings were something about a blue star in the dark. I wasn’t sure what we would do with him once we got to the greenhouse, but right now, my priority was to escort him away from the sports field. We had almost made it to the other side when a voice shouted at us.
“Hey villain!” the voice said. The three of us stopped and turned in unison.
A figure had appeared about midway between us and the group of football players. I examined her. A red cape lay draped over her shoulders, while silver rhinestones gleamed in the sunlight deflected from her mask. The rhinestone mask encircled her eyes, with fringed threads hanging from it, obscuring the lower half of her face. The fringes matched the crimson red of her cape. Her outfit, a lace-collared blouse, also shimmered with rhinestones. She kept her fiery hair in a bun, with two braids reaching to her waist.
She pointed at Max with one hand, while the other rested at her hip. “You think you’re strong enough to take me on?”
Behind her, one of the football players spoke up: “So… Who, who are you?”
She looked back at him. As she turned her head, her braids whipped after her movements. “I’m Spindle. Remember it.”
So this was Amber’s alter ego. I barely had time to process the information before Max let out a bellowing scream. His muscles grew into unnatural proportions. The blue light which had appeared on his veins before now lit up across his entire body.
Camilo made a panicked gesture, flailing his arms, before our classmate shoved him aside. In reality, it was more of a tap than a shove, but the force was enough to send Camilo to the ground. He landed with a grunt. I maneuvered past Max, running to my friend’s side.
But Max didn’t attack me or the other students. Instead, he reached for a javelin laying at the edge of the field—from the container he had punched earlier, I realized. He picked it up. Now armed, he charged toward Spindle and the football players gathering around her.
I summoned my bees.