Henry pulled Miles around the corner and checked to make sure they were alone. Then he wheeled on Miles.
“The whole point of reading the comics was to show you how to use the cape.” Henry glared, his eyes bulging behind the thick lenses of his glasses. Miles wouldn’t have thought it possible for a kid to be intimidating when his largest attribute was his eyeglass prescription, but Henry pulled it off. “So how come you didn’t—oh, I don’t know—use the cape?”
Miles was fed up. “What’s with you?” he snapped. “I thought you’d be happy. I studied the comics like you said. I’m ready to go. Just point me in the direction of the nearest crisis, and I’ll go to work.”
Henry crossed his arms, and his eyebrows shot up, like he was waiting for Miles to connect the dots.
Miles studied Henry for a moment, and then his heart sank. “Oh no.” How could he have been so stupid? “I already missed the crisis.”
“Not at all.” Henry’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “There was that little problem with the airliner having to make a belly landing because it couldn’t get its landing gear down, but I don’t know that I’d classify that as a crisis. There were only ninety-seven passengers and crew members onboard, so it wasn’t like the plane was full.”
Ninety-seven people. Guilt pressed on Miles’s chest like a hundred-pound dumbbell, making it hard for him to breathe. He leaned against the wall to steady himself. Ninety-seven men, women, and children gone, all because their superhero protector was too wrapped up in a stack of comic books.
Miles imagined them sobbing, their last thoughts focused on him and why he didn’t save them. “Did anyone survive?” he croaked.
“They all did, but that isn’t the point . . .” Henry trailed off. “You didn’t hear about it?”
Miles shook his head.
Now it was Henry’s turn to feel guilty. “Oh, man. Sorry. I figured you knew. Relax. Everyone’s fine. The plane circled the airport for a while, waiting for you to arrive. The anchorman was sure you were going to show up. He kept saying ‘any second now’ over and over. It was pretty painful to watch. Luckily, the ground crew had sprayed the runway with foam just in case. It got to the point that the plane didn’t have the fuel to wait any longer, so the pilot brought it down like it was landing in a bubble bath. Everyone onboard was scared, but nobody got hurt. Don’t you watch the news?”
Miles exhaled deeply. He’d dodged a bullet the size of a jumbo jet. “My dad watches football on the weekends. SEC on Saturday and NFL on Sunday. I can’t get near the TV.” It was a lame excuse, but it was true. Of course, it was also true that Miles had never once thought to ask his dad if he could check the news, but he left that part out. Henry was miffed enough by Miles’s failure. An admission like that might cause his head to explode.
“You don’t have a TV in your room?” Henry asked.
“I’m not allowed.”
“Internet?”
Miles shrugged.
Henry was appalled. “This is the Information Age. How do you intend to get your information?”
“I guess I hadn’t thought about it,” Miles said guiltily.
“Then it’s a good thing I have.” Henry glanced conspiratorially at the kids filling the hallway around them. “Let’s find a more private place to talk.”
Miles followed Henry to the end of the hallway and into an alcove outside the janitor’s closet. It was a quiet, out-of-the-way part of the school he’d never known existed, but then Henry had been walking these halls far longer than he had.
Henry waited a moment to make sure no one had followed them, then reached into his shoulder bag and took out a flip-model cell phone. “You’ll need this for starters.”
Miles did a double take. “You’re giving me your cell phone?”
“Technically, yes, but it isn’t really mine. I mean, I registered it in my name, but I bought it for you. You’re a superhero. You have to be reachable.”
“Henry, I can’t . . .” Miles couldn’t bring himself to say aloud that he didn’t have a cell phone for the same reason there was only one TV at the Taylor house, and no computer or Internet. His dad didn’t have the money to pay for those things. What he did have was a mountain of bills sitting on the kitchen counter, a result of their household suddenly going from two incomes to one. Personal electronics probably grew on trees in the Estates at Oak Glen, but not so where Miles lived.
“It’s a prepaid account, so there won’t be a monthly bill. When it gets low on minutes, I’ll recharge it for you.” Henry pretended not to understand that Miles couldn’t afford his own phone, but if there was one thing Miles had learned about Henry, he was no dummy. He was giving Miles an out, and Miles was grateful. “Besides, you won’t be using it much. I’m the only one who’ll have the number.”
“Okay, but if nobody else has the number, how are they going to let me know when there’s trouble?”
“They won’t. I will.” Henry showed Miles another phone, a smartphone that he must have recently gotten because it didn’t have spaghetti sauce or anything on it yet. “I’ll be monitoring the city with this. I’ve set it up to get text alerts from all the local radio and TV stations. Cable news and the Weather Channel, too. Check it out.”
He passed Miles the phone, and Miles flipped through the screens. There were dozens of news apps installed, everything from ABC to Scientific American. There were plenty of other apps too, including a compass, a conversion calculator, and not one, but two different star charts. Unsurprisingly, they weren’t in any discernible order. Miles started moving them between screens, grouping them according to subject matter.
“Stop that!” Henry snatched the phone and began putting the apps back where they were.
“I was just trying to organize them for you.”
“They are organized,” Henry huffed.
“According to what?”
“According to where I want them!” Where Henry wanted them mustn’t have been all that clear even to him because it took him several tries to get the screens right. When he was finished, he showed Miles the home screen. “Anyway, as soon as something happens, I’ll know. I’ll text you with the problem and the location, and the rest will be up to you.”
Miles noticed an icon on the screen, a golden G with a pair of wings sprouting from it. “What’s this?”
“That’s the most important news source of all. The Gilded Group.”
Henry launched the app, and the phone screen was filled with information. At the top were details on Gilded’s last known sighting—Friday’s incident with the gunmen on I-20. At the bottom was a scrolling feed where members posted thoughts and comments about Gilded. Most of them were wondering why their hero hadn’t helped the airliner with the faulty landing gear. Miles tried not to read too much of it.
“It’s the main open-source information aggregator for everything Gilded related. Nine times out of ten, the members will learn of a potential crisis and post about it before any of the news outlets do, trying to predict where Gilded will show. Once Gilded has resolved it, they’ll recap events and post an analysis. Remember the map on my wall? Well, you don’t get that kind of data by scrolling through microfiche at the library.”
“Micro-what?”
“It’s not important. All you need to know is these people are our allies. I should know. I’ve been a Gilded Group member for four years.”
All those people watching Gilded’s every move. Predicting where he’ll be. Expecting him to arrive. Grading his performance afterward. Miles sure hoped they were his allies.
Henry slipped the smartphone back into his bag. “Have your phone on you at all times. And remember, it’s for Gilded business only. Keep the line clear.”
“Got it.”
“All right. We should probably get to class now.” Henry started to leave the alcove, then turned back. “Almost forgot.” He dug into his bag, pushing through the homework assignments and food wrappers. “Could’ve sworn I brought one . . .” His hand settled
on something, and his face lit up. “There it is!”
Henry handed Miles a pad of paper. It was a full stack of hall passes, all of them presigned by Assistant Principal Harangue. This was contraband of the highest order. If he got caught with these, it’d mean a life sentence in detention. Miles fought the urge to toss them away like a hand grenade. “Where’d you get these?”
“I help Mr. Harangue with new student orientation. Show new transfers how to find their classes, assign them a locker, stuff like that. He gave me the pad and told me to fill one out whenever I need to be excused from class. He trusts me.”
Miles had to hand it to Henry. The kid really had thought of everything. Everything except . . .
“What about PE? I won’t be able keep the phone—or the cape, for that matter—within reach. What do I do about that?”
Henry stroked his chin. “That’s a tough one. I’ll think of something. But for now, just tell Coach Lineman you have seasonal asthma.”
“Is that even a real thing?”
“Beats me,” Henry said, shrugging. “But if he argues, tell him your dad is a lawyer. Now, come on. Let’s not be late for first period.”
CHAPTER
13
MILES HADN’T EVEN MADE IT through morning roll call when the phone went off for the first time. Luckily, Henry had set the phone on vibrate, so Mr. Grammar didn’t hear it. But the sudden buzz in his front pocket nearly caused Miles to leap out of his chair.
vrrrrrrr
Miles clamored for the phone, his heart rate rocketing from zero to infinity in two seconds flat. Maybe everything had turned out okay with the airliner, but learning about that incident after the fact had put a serious scare into him. What would the crisis be this time? A derailed train? A bomb threat? Some unimaginable tragedy he couldn’t imagine?
Miles’s hand trembled, and not because the phone was vibrating again. He hid the phone under his desk and checked the screen.
Test.
Test? What could Henry’s cryptic message mean? Was he saying this was going to be the first big test of Miles’s abilities? Miles’s thumb tapped out a hurried reply.
Where what’s wrong?
An excruciating pause. Miles was breathless. The situation must be so dire, it couldn’t be truncated into typical texting lingo. This wouldn’t be a case of c u l8r.
Finally, Henry responded. That was a test. Making sure u got the message. Will let u know if something comes up.
Miles leaned back in his desk and closed his eyes, letting the adrenaline dissipate. He hadn’t gone anywhere or done a thing, but he felt drained, like he’d just dug a new course for the Chattahoochee River.
A test. That made sense. If nothing else, they needed to be sure the phone was working correctly. If he was being honest, Miles had to admit he’d probably do the same thing, prone as he was to dotting his i’s and crossing his t’s. But couldn’t they have tested it before school? Henry had nearly thrown him into a full-blown panic attack.
No sense dwelling on it now. Henry knew the phone was working, and all systems were go. The next text he sent would no doubt be a call to action.
Another message came through in second period, and another in third. Between third and fourth periods, the phone vibrated again, and Miles had to stop short in the hallway to dig it out of his pocket. He was nearly trampled by a gaggle of band kids trying to beat the bell.
Each time it was the same, a vrrrrrrr propelling Miles on an adrenaline roller coaster, only to have him read a single word: Test. Miles’s responses ranged from a simple Got it to a more firm GOT IT and, finally, to a fed-up GOT IT!!! Their communications system had only been up and running for a few hours, but Henry was already becoming a nuisance. Pretty soon they truly would need a test—to make sure all the testing hadn’t exhausted the phone’s battery.
By lunchtime there had been five test texts, plus a sixth saying Meet in cafeteria for recap.
Recap? Recap what? Clearly, Miles needed to establish some ground rules, or the stress was going to turn him into the only gray-haired seventh grader at Chapman.
Miles found Henry waiting for him at the end of the line. He was bustling with energy.
“Good work on the texting. You think I should send a few more tests? Yeah, I should send a few more tests. Better make sure the phone gets a signal in all of your classes. How’d it go in PE?”
“I—”
“That’s right, you don’t have PE until sixth period. I printed out your schedule from Mr. Harangue’s computer.” They started working their way through the lunch line, but Henry was on autopilot, answering his own questions. “That’ll be the big test. Will you be in the gym? The gym is the thickest building on campus. All concrete and rebar. How thick do you think walls can be and still get a signal?”
“How would—”
“I’ll have to research that.” Henry dropped a peach and a banana yogurt onto his tray. “I wonder if there are any buildings we should avoid altogether. Movie theaters, supermarkets. Places like that. My mom’s phone doesn’t get a signal inside Target. You ever shop at Target?”
“Not too—”
“Better steer clear of it then, just to be safe.”
“Henry!” Miles burst in. It was all too much. Miles hadn’t used the cape a single time since he and Henry had formed their partnership, and he was already overwhelmed. He knew being Gilded was an important job, but he hadn’t realized one of the requirements would be that he was on call every waking moment. And probably his sleeping moments, too.
“Can we slow down for a second? There has to be an easier way. What if I check my phone whenever I arrive someplace, and if there’s no signal, I’ll leave? You can count on me to do that.”
“Hmph.” Henry frowned. “Try telling that to the passengers who were onboard Flight 2218.”
“That’s not fair! I told you I couldn’t get to the TV.”
“All I’m saying is you need to be ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Anything.” The way Henry said it, it was like he had a particular anything in mind, but he didn’t want to freak Miles out. Which was good because Miles didn’t think he could take being freaked out any more than he already was.
“That’s why we have the phones. You’ll stay on top of the news, and I’ll make sure I always have the cape with me. We can’t be a team if we don’t trust each other to do our jobs.”
Henry nodded. “You make a persuasive argument.”
“Really?” Miles weighed the pros and cons of the beef stroganoff versus the teriyaki chicken. Talk about picking your poison. He opted for a slice of cheese pizza instead.
“Yeah, but don’t let it go to your head.” Henry slid his tray down to the cashier. “I should probably check in with the Gilded Group again.”
They paid for their lunches and found two open seats at an out-of-the-way table. Henry appraised the odd assortment of food on his tray—the peach and the yogurt, a bean burrito, mashed potatoes and gravy, and chocolate milk—as though he didn’t know where any of it had come from. He shrugged, tore a bite out of his burrito, and started tapping away at his phone.
Miles picked at his pizza with a plastic fork. Was this all there was to being a superhero? Cafeteria lunches and an overzealous partner who was going to drive him nuts with preparations?
In the past, Miles had never really given much thought to what life as Gilded must be like. It was a goal too unattainable to even ponder. But if he had, he would’ve imagined far more than this. Sure, wearing the cape was more wonderful than any feeling he’d ever had, but that was the problem: He hadn’t gotten to wear it all that much. It’d been almost a week since the old man had given it to him, and he’d worn it for a total of twenty minutes max.
Because apparently—and here was the joke—the cape decided when Miles was allowed to wear it. That was the frustrating part. Famous musicians and actors and athletes lived lives filled with all kinds of perks, but they weren’t as famous or extraordinar
y as Gilded. Doctors had private jets and houses in the Caribbean, but not even the most successful surgeon had saved as many lives as the Golden Great. Yet any of those people could fly to New York City on a moment’s notice and buy an oversized slice of the pizza Miles had always heard was the best in the world. Miles was stuck eating a microwaved slab, condensation beading on its cheese like sweat. Yum.
Maybe he was being selfish. Over the last few days, he’d done something only one other person (as far as Miles knew) had done in the history of mankind: He’d been not just a hero, but a superhero. And he’d done it twice. Wouldn’t most people settle for just five seconds of experiencing something so extraordinary? Why did Miles always find a way to focus on the negative?
On top of all that, he was racked with worry that he wasn’t the right man for the job. He wasn’t a man at all. He was twelve. What did he know about being a hero? He hadn’t even made it through the first year of Cub Scouts.
Miles was plumbing new depths of despair when he saw something that lifted his spirits higher than he would’ve thought possible.
Josie. And she was walking right toward him.
Josie’s hair was pulled back in a ponytail that bobbed playfully as she walked. Miles felt bad for the girls walking with her. Next to anyone else, they’d be knockouts. Next to Josie, they were ordinary.
Miles expected the group would pass by him on their way to the back of the cafeteria, where the upper crust always sat. But then Josie stopped at his table and turned to her friends.
“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” she said.
The only person more dumbstruck than the rest of the girls was Miles. Why on earth would Josie want to talk to him?
“Okaaay,” one of the girls said in confusion. Then the group walked off, checking back over their shoulders to see what Josie was up to.
Miles wondered if she noticed something different about him. Something new and improved, something stronger, something—dare he think it?—heroic.