Dear Mom and Dad,
How are you? I am fine. Things are good here. You were right about Paragon City. It’s a great place. I’ve joined the football team at SJS, and I play Tight End. We won our first game! I attached a clipping for your scrapbook, mom. I’m also sending a copy of the team photo.
Bethany’s fine. She says hi. We’re both making lots of friends, and we’re both learning lots of cool new things at school. We’re learning how to control our powers, too. But don’t worry, nothing TOO dangerous, ha ha, and nothing but straight A’s.
The other kids here are a lot of fun. It’s really cool to be in a place where everyone else is different too. There’s a lot to see. I already checked in with Uncle Strike, so that’s all set up. He says hi too.
That’s the bell. I have to go. I’ll write soon.
Love, Brandon.
+++
Brandon rubbed his jaw, kneading at a tender place that was almost certain to turn into a bruise later. The other person in the ring, a dark-haired man with a medium build, grinned and shook his head. “That’s three times I tagged you with that counter, Bran,” said Ten Strike.
Brandon scowled and stood up. “Stop calling me that. Let’s do it again.”
The older man settled into a relaxed stance. In his gi and with a casually knotted belt that had faded to charcoal grey, Ten Strike didn’t look much like the tattered warrior who’d faced down some of the worst that Paragon City had to offer. Since he’d been granted the title of Teacher in his order, though, he’d spent less time patrolling and more time in contemplation and instruction. Today his trademark broadsword hung in its place in a cabinet while he taught Brandon just a little more about fighting. “Gotta stop me, kiddo. Come on, now.”
His movements were fluid, unlike Brandon’s. The boy was more focused on the attack than on his opponent, and it showed. Ten Strike let Brandon get through two punches before executing a foot sweep that put the boy on his back again. He smiled down at Brandon and said, “Water break.”
Brandon stalked off the mat. He’d promised his grandma that he’d look Ten Strike up when he got to Paragon City, but he was starting to regret that. The older man was a friend of the family, and he had been in and out of their lives since well before Brandon had been born. He’d been the one to show Brandon how to speak respectfully to women, and had always been someone that he could turn to (whenever Ten Strike was around, anyway). The fact that his father seemed to disapprove of Ten Strike only made the man seem more mysterious and interesting. He’d also been Brandon’s first teacher in the fine art of kicking butt, showing him a few moves when he had time.
“Uncle Strike” had been looking forward to hearing from the twins, and he’d invited Brandon to train with him in a more formal setting. Feeling as if Statesman himself had given him a shot, Brandon hadn’t been able to agree fast enough. That had been before football practice, and now the two were starting to wear on him a little.
He poured a cup of water and doused his head. The cold made him gasp, and he felt the irritation recede. He sat on the edge of the mat with another cupful and sighed. Ten Strike sat down beside him. “Don’t worry about it, Bran. You’re a natural, but you have to get out of your own way.”
“Yeah...I’m just not sure I can do this right now, you know?”
“Really? Why not? Girls again?”
Brandon grinned a little. “Well, yeah, but no. It’s just adjusting to a new school, and now with football going on and trying to stay on top of classes...it’s rough, you know?”
Ten Strike nodded. “So what are you saying? You wanna put the classes on hold for now?”
“I think I have to. I’m sorry, I really want to do this, but school has to come first.”
“Gotcha. No hard feelings here. Listen, though, you have to be careful out there. I hear stuff, and you two have to be careful. You and Beth, I mean.”
“Really? You’ve heard about us?”
“Well, I promised your grandma I’d keep track. And I do NOT want to make her mad. So what I need you to do is not get yourselves killed, okay?”
Brandon laughed. “Yeah, sure, we’ll do what we can. We’re not bad at this, you know.”
Ten Strike grinned. “There’s a MILE of difference between not bad and good. Try to cut back until you get a little training under your belt, okay?”
“Yeah. I’ve been cutting back on patrol anyway. Makes the nuns nervous.”
Ten Strike snickered. “I bet. Now listen, if you need anything, or have to talk, you know where the dojo is. Come by anytime.”
“Will do. Thanks again.” Brandon stood up and shook hands with Ten Strike. Then he picked up his bag and headed for the showers.
Refinement
Moderator: Student Council
Re: Refinement
Dear mom and dad,
How are you? I am good here.
Beth and I are fitting in just fine. There are lots of other kids here who have powers, so we are just like them, ha ha.
The football team is great. There is a guy named Luke who is a jerk, but I get to protect him on the field. All of your talks about duty and the greater good are starting to make sense, dad. It is okay, though. I get along with most everyone else. Mom, we have a girl place kicker! She is really good. I hope you get to come out and see us play.
I met with a school counselor today. It was just part of being a new student. He gave me a clean bill, of course, but he wants me to keep coming by to touch base.
Grades are still up, and everything is fine. Ten Strike and Erin say hi.
Love, Brandon
***
He sat up straight in a chair designed for slouching, looking around with interest. Brandon had never been inside a counselor’s office before. Dr. Conrads didn’t LOOK like someone who’d once fought crime, but people got old. They smiled and exchanged friendly greetings.
“So Brandon, how are you settling in here at Saint Joseph’s?”
“Oh, I love it. I joined the football team, and my grades are good so far.” Brandon knew these answers. He started to relax. This was a test, and he was good at the right answers.
“Good, glad to hear it. Getting along with your roommates okay?”
Brandon nodded. “We’re a pretty quiet bunch. Honestly, I’m not sure if they’re even there half the time.”
“Making friends?”
“Sure, you know. Football helps, and most people have been pretty nice.”
“Any problems so far?”
Brand smiled winningly and said, “Nope, not a one!”
The flow of the doctor’s questions paused for a beat. “Are you sure?”
Brandon’s smile faltered for a split second. This wasn’t supposed to be how the test went. “Uh, yeah! Everything’s just fine.”
Conrands nodded and flipped through a couple of papers. “I’m sorry I haven’t had time to meet with you before. Hey, Sister Moltar asked me to mention this...where was it...yeah. She says that you’ve been getting high A’s until this last paper about civic responsibility.”
He knew that one. He hadn’t gotten the paper back for grading, even. But it had been easy; the answers were right there branded in his brain in mile-high letters. “What was wrong?”
“Well, she felt that you weren’t working up to your potential that time. Actually, she felt that it was fairly sub-standard work all around. You got a C- on it.”
Brandon’s entire body clenched, and he struggled to not let it show on his face. “Well that’s...I mean, maybe I could talk to her about...”
“The grade stands, Brandon, unless you re-write it and put a little more spark into it.”
Brandon felt himself heating up. “She can’t DO that! I mean, come on, that paper was fine, it was good!”
Conrads looked a little surprised. “Hey, now, come on, it’s just a paper. You can re-write it, and it’ll be fine. Sister Moltar doesn’t allow that for just everyone, you know.”
Brandon’s mind had gone into survival mode. At times like this it was almost like he could partition off the emotion and go into a computer-like state. Problem: Bad Grade. ALERT: Parental attention drawn! Potential solution: Protest (FAILED). Potential Alternate Solution: Panic (UNACCEPTABLE). Potential Alternate Solution: Re-write paper. Alternate Solution acceptable. Alert canceled.
He smiled. “Then I’ll re-write the paper.”
Conrads was silent. He’d detected a huge flash of anger, fear, and outright panic from the boy for just a moment. Then the emotions had drained away, as if someone had pulled a plug from the bottom of a tub of water. Already he was wondering if the emotions had ever really been there. A sheen of sweat on Brandon’s brow confirmed that they had been. He leaned back in his chair.
“Brandon, I’m glad you came in. I’ll let Sister Moltar know that you’re willing to do a re-write. Was there anything else that you might want to talk about while you’re here?”
Brandon smiled some more. It was a weapon and a shield, both. “Nope, can’t think of anything.”
Conrads looked at him for a long moment, as if trying to stare into the back of his skull. The smile was in place, though, and the heartbeat was solid and slow again. Brandon was on top of the world.
“Okay. Again, I’m glad you came in. I’m going to schedule a follow-up session in two weeks, this time with Counselor Atwood. Valerie’s very good at what she does.”
Brandon’s heart lurched. Wasn’t the test over? This doctor didn’t do tests right...he asked questions twice, and then he didn’t stop testing when he should. “Well, okay, but I feel fine. Why do I need to come back?”
Conrads smiled. “It’s just to touch base, Brandon. There’s no problem here, we know that. We just like to make sure that everyone’s getting along. So, we’ll see you in a couple of weeks, then?”
Ah. A quiz. Brandon’s heartbeat went back to normal. “Sure, doc. Thanks.”
They shook hands and Brandon left to work on his paper again. Conrads made a few notes, including some on follow-up visits. That flash of panic had startled him, and he wanted to see what Valerie’s drawings might show.
How are you? I am good here.
Beth and I are fitting in just fine. There are lots of other kids here who have powers, so we are just like them, ha ha.
The football team is great. There is a guy named Luke who is a jerk, but I get to protect him on the field. All of your talks about duty and the greater good are starting to make sense, dad. It is okay, though. I get along with most everyone else. Mom, we have a girl place kicker! She is really good. I hope you get to come out and see us play.
I met with a school counselor today. It was just part of being a new student. He gave me a clean bill, of course, but he wants me to keep coming by to touch base.
Grades are still up, and everything is fine. Ten Strike and Erin say hi.
Love, Brandon
***
He sat up straight in a chair designed for slouching, looking around with interest. Brandon had never been inside a counselor’s office before. Dr. Conrads didn’t LOOK like someone who’d once fought crime, but people got old. They smiled and exchanged friendly greetings.
“So Brandon, how are you settling in here at Saint Joseph’s?”
“Oh, I love it. I joined the football team, and my grades are good so far.” Brandon knew these answers. He started to relax. This was a test, and he was good at the right answers.
“Good, glad to hear it. Getting along with your roommates okay?”
Brandon nodded. “We’re a pretty quiet bunch. Honestly, I’m not sure if they’re even there half the time.”
“Making friends?”
“Sure, you know. Football helps, and most people have been pretty nice.”
“Any problems so far?”
Brand smiled winningly and said, “Nope, not a one!”
The flow of the doctor’s questions paused for a beat. “Are you sure?”
Brandon’s smile faltered for a split second. This wasn’t supposed to be how the test went. “Uh, yeah! Everything’s just fine.”
Conrands nodded and flipped through a couple of papers. “I’m sorry I haven’t had time to meet with you before. Hey, Sister Moltar asked me to mention this...where was it...yeah. She says that you’ve been getting high A’s until this last paper about civic responsibility.”
He knew that one. He hadn’t gotten the paper back for grading, even. But it had been easy; the answers were right there branded in his brain in mile-high letters. “What was wrong?”
“Well, she felt that you weren’t working up to your potential that time. Actually, she felt that it was fairly sub-standard work all around. You got a C- on it.”
Brandon’s entire body clenched, and he struggled to not let it show on his face. “Well that’s...I mean, maybe I could talk to her about...”
“The grade stands, Brandon, unless you re-write it and put a little more spark into it.”
Brandon felt himself heating up. “She can’t DO that! I mean, come on, that paper was fine, it was good!”
Conrads looked a little surprised. “Hey, now, come on, it’s just a paper. You can re-write it, and it’ll be fine. Sister Moltar doesn’t allow that for just everyone, you know.”
Brandon’s mind had gone into survival mode. At times like this it was almost like he could partition off the emotion and go into a computer-like state. Problem: Bad Grade. ALERT: Parental attention drawn! Potential solution: Protest (FAILED). Potential Alternate Solution: Panic (UNACCEPTABLE). Potential Alternate Solution: Re-write paper. Alternate Solution acceptable. Alert canceled.
He smiled. “Then I’ll re-write the paper.”
Conrads was silent. He’d detected a huge flash of anger, fear, and outright panic from the boy for just a moment. Then the emotions had drained away, as if someone had pulled a plug from the bottom of a tub of water. Already he was wondering if the emotions had ever really been there. A sheen of sweat on Brandon’s brow confirmed that they had been. He leaned back in his chair.
“Brandon, I’m glad you came in. I’ll let Sister Moltar know that you’re willing to do a re-write. Was there anything else that you might want to talk about while you’re here?”
Brandon smiled some more. It was a weapon and a shield, both. “Nope, can’t think of anything.”
Conrads looked at him for a long moment, as if trying to stare into the back of his skull. The smile was in place, though, and the heartbeat was solid and slow again. Brandon was on top of the world.
“Okay. Again, I’m glad you came in. I’m going to schedule a follow-up session in two weeks, this time with Counselor Atwood. Valerie’s very good at what she does.”
Brandon’s heart lurched. Wasn’t the test over? This doctor didn’t do tests right...he asked questions twice, and then he didn’t stop testing when he should. “Well, okay, but I feel fine. Why do I need to come back?”
Conrads smiled. “It’s just to touch base, Brandon. There’s no problem here, we know that. We just like to make sure that everyone’s getting along. So, we’ll see you in a couple of weeks, then?”
Ah. A quiz. Brandon’s heartbeat went back to normal. “Sure, doc. Thanks.”
They shook hands and Brandon left to work on his paper again. Conrads made a few notes, including some on follow-up visits. That flash of panic had startled him, and he wanted to see what Valerie’s drawings might show.
We've got nothing to keep us from Startover, Georgia.
We'll leave all the baggage and start over there.
We'll leave all the baggage and start over there.
Re: Refinement
Dear mom and dad,
How are you? I'm good. Beth told me you called, sorry I missed you. Things have been crazy.
Oh, not bad. Just really busy. Homecoming's coming up, and we are all practicing really hard. I had to rewrite a paper, that is how hard I've been working on football! It is okay, though. I'm sure I will do a better job.
Oh, one more thing. There is a very special girl here, named Del. We've gone on several dates, and she is a lot of fun and nice to talk to. I am attaching a picture of us, wearing our Homecoming outfits. We made sure to take a picture early, before we got mud on them or something.
I'm the one on the left, ha ha.
Love, Brandon.
***
He scowled at the computer screen.
Civic responsibility. This was crap. He knew ALL about duty, and civic frikkin' responsibility.
He'd heard about both of them all his life, hadn't he? From mom, and grandpa, and especially dad. Always dad.
It wasn't so much that he'd ever been lectured. But the stories...man, he'd heard the stories until he was bloated on them, sick of them. Stories about the old times, about when a man's word meant something and the dollar was worth a dollar, by God. And he bought it. That was the thing that Beth never understood. Ever since he'd been old enough to understand the words, he'd believed everything that dad had said.
And he'd tried to live up to it. He'd worked hard to be the fastest runner, and then later had studied hard in school back before most people understood what the word meant. He'd joined little league AND football, striving to be the best. He wasn't, but he was damn good, and he'd always hoped for a smile or a hug. Nothing. So, he'd tried harder. He didn't know anything else to try.
And then Beth had started to rebel. He felt that he needed to act twice as good, to take up her slack. Boy Scouts (youngest Eagle Scout they'd ever seen, they said! A quick, "Congratulations, son," and a handshake from dad. Best day ever). National Honor Society. Four-H.
And all along, the heavy weight of the Legacy. Grandma and Grandpa's powers, passed down through blood and legacy to him and Beth. "Yes!" he wanted to scream sometimes. "I get it! I do! Spandex, yes, I'm on it!"
There was never any question of what he was going to do. High school, then the service. Marines, whatever. Then a career as a costumed hero. Or, the two careers simultaneously. While curing cancer, probably.
Mom wanted him to be happy. She had no idea. HE had no idea what that meant.
Then he turned 13, and sometime during that summer, he'd thought that he'd found the key. Girls.
Ten Strike had taught him about talking, about the way to get a girl's attention without being an idiot about it. All the books he'd read had shown him another way to manhood: sex. Brandon took Ten Strike's teachings and had watched others around him. He'd cultivated his accent into a charming drawl, once his voice had stopped cracking. His smile and hair and bearing were all carefully observed and changed until he could use them like weapons. And oh my GOD how they'd worked. Sometimes he felt like he was watching from outside as a stranger used his body to get what he wanted from the girls.
And none of them had ever hated him afterward. In the crudest terms, he'd used them and moved on. In their minds, with his help, they'd re-imagined things into a beautiful one-time encounter with an angel. Sometimes more than once, especially when they knew something he wanted to learn (older women were treasure troves, he'd found), but rarely much more than once. There'd been a little trouble, but nothing major. Nothing like Beth, who'd found that similar behavior would be a wonderful rebellion in her case.
He'd polished his act, and by the time he and Beth had moved to SJS, even she'd believed it. And things had kept right on rolling until he'd run into Del. Suddenly, there was a girl who just made him want to...talk. He hadn't had sex in two weeks, which was some kind of record. He didn't stop looking at the girls, but somehow it didn't seem as important. He didn't want to disappoint her, and she actually TALKED to him. To HIM, not to this golden image he'd built up and half-believed.
He'd said things to her that he'd never said to anyone else. Honest things. He'd talked about doubt, and about fear. And she still wanted to be near him. He didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky without getting lucky. He didn't recognize himself. He didn't know how to react to falling for a girl, rather than falling into her bed.
He remembered a comic book someone had shown him a while ago. "The Dark Knight Returns." Commissioner Gordon was asked how he'd done all the things he'd had to do over the years, and he'd spoken of his wife: "I think of Sarah. The rest is easy." He looked at his empty page, the one that had until recently held a half-hearted paper written directly from his dad's mouth.
He grinned slightly, ignoring the worry for once. He knew how he'd write a good paper about civic responsibility. He'd think of Del. The rest was easy.
How are you? I'm good. Beth told me you called, sorry I missed you. Things have been crazy.
Oh, not bad. Just really busy. Homecoming's coming up, and we are all practicing really hard. I had to rewrite a paper, that is how hard I've been working on football! It is okay, though. I'm sure I will do a better job.
Oh, one more thing. There is a very special girl here, named Del. We've gone on several dates, and she is a lot of fun and nice to talk to. I am attaching a picture of us, wearing our Homecoming outfits. We made sure to take a picture early, before we got mud on them or something.
I'm the one on the left, ha ha.
Love, Brandon.
***
He scowled at the computer screen.
Civic responsibility. This was crap. He knew ALL about duty, and civic frikkin' responsibility.
He'd heard about both of them all his life, hadn't he? From mom, and grandpa, and especially dad. Always dad.
It wasn't so much that he'd ever been lectured. But the stories...man, he'd heard the stories until he was bloated on them, sick of them. Stories about the old times, about when a man's word meant something and the dollar was worth a dollar, by God. And he bought it. That was the thing that Beth never understood. Ever since he'd been old enough to understand the words, he'd believed everything that dad had said.
And he'd tried to live up to it. He'd worked hard to be the fastest runner, and then later had studied hard in school back before most people understood what the word meant. He'd joined little league AND football, striving to be the best. He wasn't, but he was damn good, and he'd always hoped for a smile or a hug. Nothing. So, he'd tried harder. He didn't know anything else to try.
And then Beth had started to rebel. He felt that he needed to act twice as good, to take up her slack. Boy Scouts (youngest Eagle Scout they'd ever seen, they said! A quick, "Congratulations, son," and a handshake from dad. Best day ever). National Honor Society. Four-H.
And all along, the heavy weight of the Legacy. Grandma and Grandpa's powers, passed down through blood and legacy to him and Beth. "Yes!" he wanted to scream sometimes. "I get it! I do! Spandex, yes, I'm on it!"
There was never any question of what he was going to do. High school, then the service. Marines, whatever. Then a career as a costumed hero. Or, the two careers simultaneously. While curing cancer, probably.
Mom wanted him to be happy. She had no idea. HE had no idea what that meant.
Then he turned 13, and sometime during that summer, he'd thought that he'd found the key. Girls.
Ten Strike had taught him about talking, about the way to get a girl's attention without being an idiot about it. All the books he'd read had shown him another way to manhood: sex. Brandon took Ten Strike's teachings and had watched others around him. He'd cultivated his accent into a charming drawl, once his voice had stopped cracking. His smile and hair and bearing were all carefully observed and changed until he could use them like weapons. And oh my GOD how they'd worked. Sometimes he felt like he was watching from outside as a stranger used his body to get what he wanted from the girls.
And none of them had ever hated him afterward. In the crudest terms, he'd used them and moved on. In their minds, with his help, they'd re-imagined things into a beautiful one-time encounter with an angel. Sometimes more than once, especially when they knew something he wanted to learn (older women were treasure troves, he'd found), but rarely much more than once. There'd been a little trouble, but nothing major. Nothing like Beth, who'd found that similar behavior would be a wonderful rebellion in her case.
He'd polished his act, and by the time he and Beth had moved to SJS, even she'd believed it. And things had kept right on rolling until he'd run into Del. Suddenly, there was a girl who just made him want to...talk. He hadn't had sex in two weeks, which was some kind of record. He didn't stop looking at the girls, but somehow it didn't seem as important. He didn't want to disappoint her, and she actually TALKED to him. To HIM, not to this golden image he'd built up and half-believed.
He'd said things to her that he'd never said to anyone else. Honest things. He'd talked about doubt, and about fear. And she still wanted to be near him. He didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky without getting lucky. He didn't recognize himself. He didn't know how to react to falling for a girl, rather than falling into her bed.
He remembered a comic book someone had shown him a while ago. "The Dark Knight Returns." Commissioner Gordon was asked how he'd done all the things he'd had to do over the years, and he'd spoken of his wife: "I think of Sarah. The rest is easy." He looked at his empty page, the one that had until recently held a half-hearted paper written directly from his dad's mouth.
He grinned slightly, ignoring the worry for once. He knew how he'd write a good paper about civic responsibility. He'd think of Del. The rest was easy.
We've got nothing to keep us from Startover, Georgia.
We'll leave all the baggage and start over there.
We'll leave all the baggage and start over there.
Re: Refinement
A paper is sitting crumpled in the bottom of a trash bin somewhere in Paragon.
Dear mom and dad,
How are you? I'm mostly okay. It's been a long month.
Beth seems upset a lot of the time. More than usual. Remember the jerk I was telling you about, Luke? They're dating now. He makes her a little happier, I think, but it's hard to tell.I try to get along with im, but it's hard sometimes.
Remember that girl I told you about, the one I really liked? She...got sick. She left me. I wasn't good enough to save her from whatever was happening to her, and so since I screwed up she's gone. And now I have to go back to being how I WAS, and I WON'T DO THAT, DAMMIT, I WON-
***
Brandon sat on a beanbag, facing Ms. Atwood. She was young and pretty, and he knew that he would let his guard down if he wasn't careful. He sat up straight in the beanbag, tense and smiling. Valerie, as she preferred, was sitting on another one and holding a large pad of paper and a piece of charcoal in her slim fingers. It was their second session, and he knew now that she spent most of her time sketching and doodling during their talks.
"So how have things been?" she asked. "You look a little tense."
"Oh, no, I'm not tense. Things are mostly okay, you know, considering."
She nodded sympathetically, idly making a few lines with the charcoal. "I understand that Del is recovering well at home."
He smiled, hoping that it didn't look as fake as it felt. "Yeah, that's what her aunt's letter told me. Said she could move around and everything, which is great, really great."
She smiled back, bringing up a few ideas that he stifled quickly. He was different now. He was. She said, "Well, good. Maybe she'll be back soon, huh?"
He kept the smile glued over his fear and confusion. "You bet! I'm looking forward to seeing her again."
He was. Not for the reasons that she might suspect, though. He'd failed Del, and she'd left him. There wasn't anything left for him to go back to, not in his mind. He mostly wanted to see that she was safe and well and happy, and make sure that she found someone else who would treat her well. Maybe Diego, except that half the girls at Saint Joe's were after him right now. Most of the others were taken, but he was sure that he could find someone suitable for her. Maybe he could ask Bri.
He dimly realized that Valerie had asked him something else. He turned the wattage up on his smile and said, "Sorry, what?"
"I said, how are things with you and your sister?"
He rolled his eyes. "Beth...she seems like she's under a lot of stress lately, you know? But we're talking a little more than we were. Twins against the big bad city." he forced a laugh, cutting it off when it sounded unnatural in his ears.
Truth was, Beth scared him a little. He worried about her a lot, wondering if she was ever going to be happy. She insisted that she was, sometimes, but he didn't see any evidence of it. He'd hoped that dating Luke, her first exclusive relationship, would make her happier, but it just seemed to drive her further into her funk. Luke, to his credit, seemed a little worried too. Beth, of course, insisted that she was just fine, but she'd say that if her arm was lying on the ground ten feet from her body.
Valerie said, "Now, Brandon...tell me a little about you. How are things in that head of yours?"
He let his smile falter a little. "Well, you know. Stressed. I mean, that whole thing with Del...getting sick...threw me for a loop for a while. You remember, you were there that night. Between that and trying to do well in class and then the Flyers going to state, well, it's just been a lot."
She nodded, looking concerned. "Are you handling it okay?"
"Oh, yeah, you know. Just fine. Strong like bull." He grinned.
She didn't look convinced this time, and it struck him that maybe she hadn't been convinced by any of it. "Brandon, what do you do when you're not playing football or studying? Do you have any hobbies?"
The shift in questions took him by surprise, and he stumbled a bit. "Oh, uh...I'm not...I mean, I have a couple of things I dabble in, but..."
She nodded again. "I thought so. Listen, Brandon, I'd like to give you a prescription. Not drugs, but something I want you to do. I'd like you to go back to your hobbies, spend a little less time studying, and try to figure out what you like to do for yourself. Sports are great, and you're good at them. Your studying is great too, and given your grades I think you can take an hour or two a week to just play. Can you do that for me?"
"Uh, sure."
"And try to get some more sleep. You look tired."
He nodded, and she stood up. "Good deal. Thanks for coming in, Brandon. See you in two weeks? And if you need something between now and then, please, let me know, okay?"
He stood and said, "I will, Valerie, thanks." He turned and left, and she sat down at her desk.
Valerie looked at her sketch pad. Sometimes her drawings were open to interpretation, but this one was fairly clear. A single tiny figure stood at the bottom of a valley, steep mountains rising on both sides. Above him, a dam held a river back, and the dam was cracking and starting to leak. It wouldn't take much to break it down the rest of the way, leaving the water to crash down on the person in the valley. She picked up the phone and called Dr. Conrads. "David? Hey, it's Valerie. I just finished my second session with Brandon Jordan. Yeah. Could you come consult this afternoon? Great, see you then."
***
Brandon wandered through the city, feeling lost. And as always, when his feet did the thinking, he ended up at a certain wall in the Talos district. There he could see the picture he'd burned into the concrete several weeks ago, when he'd been talking to Beth and drinking. I think I might be in love with her, his voice echoed from the depths of memory.
The drawing showed Del, no question about that. it was just her head and neck, showing her caught in the middle of a laugh. A smaller picture down the wall was a portrait of Beth looking surprised. He'd drawn them with nothing but the fire that came from his hands. He traced Del's jawline with one finger, smiling. The smile turned down a frown, and he let the fire come again. She'd be a lot happier with someone who wouldn't let her down, after all. When he finished, the wall was burned smooth, almost glassy. Beth remained, at least. If the family history meant anything, Beth would ALWAYS be there.
He was scared. Okay, fine, yes, he admitted it to himself. He thought of the time before knowing Del, back when he went through girls like they were party favors or points or something. Back when it was just sex and keeping score, nothing else. But then came Del, and he'd gone for weeks without sex and no missed it, since he was so smitten with her. Love, actual love? Maybe. But that was gone, over now. Nothing remained to keep him from moving back to the empty sex-capades, and he was scared to death of going back to being Brandon Jordan, Golden Boy with nothing inside.
He thought about Valeries's words and pulled a handful of change from his pocket. He put the tiny pile on a nearby rock and started focusing his fire on it. Scuplting with fire, he concentrated on the heat and metal to the exclusion of everything. If he had allowed himself to think of it, he would have thought that it was nice to be able to focus on something besides his misery. The tiny pile moved and grew under his fingers, the rock gradually blackening under the heat being applied to it. He poured it on, letting the fire take the confusion and fear and use them as fuel to make something beautiful.
Brandon finished about fifteen minutes later, lying back in the grass and listening to his stomach rumble. Slowly cooling, on the rock, was a small statue of Beth's head and neck, caught in a moment of laughter. He let it cool for a while, and then he picked it up and smiled. Great Christmas present. He headed off to find something to eat to replace the lost calories.
Hobbies? Sure, he had a new one. Sleep? Not likely. Not when the dreams wouldn't stay away, those dreams of a cracking dam and high cliffs surrounding him.
Dear mom and dad,
How are you? I'm mostly okay. It's been a long month.
Beth seems upset a lot of the time. More than usual. Remember the jerk I was telling you about, Luke? They're dating now. He makes her a little happier, I think, but it's hard to tell.I try to get along with im, but it's hard sometimes.
Remember that girl I told you about, the one I really liked? She...got sick. She left me. I wasn't good enough to save her from whatever was happening to her, and so since I screwed up she's gone. And now I have to go back to being how I WAS, and I WON'T DO THAT, DAMMIT, I WON-
***
Brandon sat on a beanbag, facing Ms. Atwood. She was young and pretty, and he knew that he would let his guard down if he wasn't careful. He sat up straight in the beanbag, tense and smiling. Valerie, as she preferred, was sitting on another one and holding a large pad of paper and a piece of charcoal in her slim fingers. It was their second session, and he knew now that she spent most of her time sketching and doodling during their talks.
"So how have things been?" she asked. "You look a little tense."
"Oh, no, I'm not tense. Things are mostly okay, you know, considering."
She nodded sympathetically, idly making a few lines with the charcoal. "I understand that Del is recovering well at home."
He smiled, hoping that it didn't look as fake as it felt. "Yeah, that's what her aunt's letter told me. Said she could move around and everything, which is great, really great."
She smiled back, bringing up a few ideas that he stifled quickly. He was different now. He was. She said, "Well, good. Maybe she'll be back soon, huh?"
He kept the smile glued over his fear and confusion. "You bet! I'm looking forward to seeing her again."
He was. Not for the reasons that she might suspect, though. He'd failed Del, and she'd left him. There wasn't anything left for him to go back to, not in his mind. He mostly wanted to see that she was safe and well and happy, and make sure that she found someone else who would treat her well. Maybe Diego, except that half the girls at Saint Joe's were after him right now. Most of the others were taken, but he was sure that he could find someone suitable for her. Maybe he could ask Bri.
He dimly realized that Valerie had asked him something else. He turned the wattage up on his smile and said, "Sorry, what?"
"I said, how are things with you and your sister?"
He rolled his eyes. "Beth...she seems like she's under a lot of stress lately, you know? But we're talking a little more than we were. Twins against the big bad city." he forced a laugh, cutting it off when it sounded unnatural in his ears.
Truth was, Beth scared him a little. He worried about her a lot, wondering if she was ever going to be happy. She insisted that she was, sometimes, but he didn't see any evidence of it. He'd hoped that dating Luke, her first exclusive relationship, would make her happier, but it just seemed to drive her further into her funk. Luke, to his credit, seemed a little worried too. Beth, of course, insisted that she was just fine, but she'd say that if her arm was lying on the ground ten feet from her body.
Valerie said, "Now, Brandon...tell me a little about you. How are things in that head of yours?"
He let his smile falter a little. "Well, you know. Stressed. I mean, that whole thing with Del...getting sick...threw me for a loop for a while. You remember, you were there that night. Between that and trying to do well in class and then the Flyers going to state, well, it's just been a lot."
She nodded, looking concerned. "Are you handling it okay?"
"Oh, yeah, you know. Just fine. Strong like bull." He grinned.
She didn't look convinced this time, and it struck him that maybe she hadn't been convinced by any of it. "Brandon, what do you do when you're not playing football or studying? Do you have any hobbies?"
The shift in questions took him by surprise, and he stumbled a bit. "Oh, uh...I'm not...I mean, I have a couple of things I dabble in, but..."
She nodded again. "I thought so. Listen, Brandon, I'd like to give you a prescription. Not drugs, but something I want you to do. I'd like you to go back to your hobbies, spend a little less time studying, and try to figure out what you like to do for yourself. Sports are great, and you're good at them. Your studying is great too, and given your grades I think you can take an hour or two a week to just play. Can you do that for me?"
"Uh, sure."
"And try to get some more sleep. You look tired."
He nodded, and she stood up. "Good deal. Thanks for coming in, Brandon. See you in two weeks? And if you need something between now and then, please, let me know, okay?"
He stood and said, "I will, Valerie, thanks." He turned and left, and she sat down at her desk.
Valerie looked at her sketch pad. Sometimes her drawings were open to interpretation, but this one was fairly clear. A single tiny figure stood at the bottom of a valley, steep mountains rising on both sides. Above him, a dam held a river back, and the dam was cracking and starting to leak. It wouldn't take much to break it down the rest of the way, leaving the water to crash down on the person in the valley. She picked up the phone and called Dr. Conrads. "David? Hey, it's Valerie. I just finished my second session with Brandon Jordan. Yeah. Could you come consult this afternoon? Great, see you then."
***
Brandon wandered through the city, feeling lost. And as always, when his feet did the thinking, he ended up at a certain wall in the Talos district. There he could see the picture he'd burned into the concrete several weeks ago, when he'd been talking to Beth and drinking. I think I might be in love with her, his voice echoed from the depths of memory.
The drawing showed Del, no question about that. it was just her head and neck, showing her caught in the middle of a laugh. A smaller picture down the wall was a portrait of Beth looking surprised. He'd drawn them with nothing but the fire that came from his hands. He traced Del's jawline with one finger, smiling. The smile turned down a frown, and he let the fire come again. She'd be a lot happier with someone who wouldn't let her down, after all. When he finished, the wall was burned smooth, almost glassy. Beth remained, at least. If the family history meant anything, Beth would ALWAYS be there.
He was scared. Okay, fine, yes, he admitted it to himself. He thought of the time before knowing Del, back when he went through girls like they were party favors or points or something. Back when it was just sex and keeping score, nothing else. But then came Del, and he'd gone for weeks without sex and no missed it, since he was so smitten with her. Love, actual love? Maybe. But that was gone, over now. Nothing remained to keep him from moving back to the empty sex-capades, and he was scared to death of going back to being Brandon Jordan, Golden Boy with nothing inside.
He thought about Valeries's words and pulled a handful of change from his pocket. He put the tiny pile on a nearby rock and started focusing his fire on it. Scuplting with fire, he concentrated on the heat and metal to the exclusion of everything. If he had allowed himself to think of it, he would have thought that it was nice to be able to focus on something besides his misery. The tiny pile moved and grew under his fingers, the rock gradually blackening under the heat being applied to it. He poured it on, letting the fire take the confusion and fear and use them as fuel to make something beautiful.
Brandon finished about fifteen minutes later, lying back in the grass and listening to his stomach rumble. Slowly cooling, on the rock, was a small statue of Beth's head and neck, caught in a moment of laughter. He let it cool for a while, and then he picked it up and smiled. Great Christmas present. He headed off to find something to eat to replace the lost calories.
Hobbies? Sure, he had a new one. Sleep? Not likely. Not when the dreams wouldn't stay away, those dreams of a cracking dam and high cliffs surrounding him.
We've got nothing to keep us from Startover, Georgia.
We'll leave all the baggage and start over there.
We'll leave all the baggage and start over there.
Re: Refinement
My Dearest Del,
I got your letter, and- *scribbled out, thrown into the trash*
Del: What the hell is wrong with you?? Why would you- *scribbled out, thrown into the trash*
Dear Del,
I miss you more than- *scribbled out, thrown into the trash*
Dear mom and dad,
How are you? I am fine, but tired. You might have heard that our team is going to State. We will win, of course. Go Flyers! I run a lot, and practice with the team all the time. I'm in pretty good shape.
I found out that girl I told you about won't be coming back to Saint Joe's. Can't win 'em all, I guess.
I think I might start to go train with Uncle Strike again (I know, dad, but he's not so bad). The heroing thing is going pretty well, I even ran into Nemesis! I figure our uncle can show me a few things that might help when I'm out there.
Beth has awesome news for you, but I won't spoil it. She's pretty excited, and so am I.
Love, Brandon.
***
The dojo was the same as always, like Ten Strike and his wife. She sat on a small mat in the corner, meditating. Brandon's "Uncle" Strike was in the middle of the mat with a student, some huge guy who held a giant hammer as if it was a toy. Brandon exchanged nods with his uncle and went to the locker room to change into a faded black gi. He'd asked one time why Ten Strike, who was from another world entirely, would affect Japanese training clothing. The man had just grinned and said, "Hey, when you find something that works, go with it."
Brandon cinched his brown belt around his waist and went out to the mat again, heading for an unoccupied corner. Lately, his focus had begun to flag, becoming more difficult than it had been in the past. He wsa able to force it for football games and practice, but it gave him a headache and didn't have that solid, clear feeling that it used to have. He started working through a basic Taekwondo kata, but he kept getting his balance wrong. Tension in the trunk of his body, through the stomach and chest, made it hard for him to be as supple as he wanted, and he stumbled like a first-year student.
Finally he stopped and sat, staring at the punching bags lines up along the nearest wall. One had some scorch marks, and he figured he knew why. Maybe if it worked for Beth?
He stood and headed in that direction, but stopped next to a door that wsa set in the wall next to the bags. It wasn't labeled, but he knew what was in there: Ten Strike's forge. Ten Strike was still busy dodging hammer blows, so Brandon opened the door and went inside. He'd never been in there before, and he was surprised at how roomy the place was. In addition to being a teacher, Ten Strike was still a full-time hero, and occasionally he broke a sword. He scoffed at the idea of magic swords or other special blades. Brandon grinned at the memory of one of his uncle's many rants.
"It's a sword, dammit. It has a sharp part and a not-sharp part. The point is to get the sharp part into the bastard who's trying to kill you. I made this thing myself, out of normal steel, and using normal bladesmithing techniques, and it made Nemesis cry one time."
Brandon ran his fingers over the swords hanging on the wall. His uncle did commission work, from people who knew that he was damn good at making blades, and several pieces hung in racks in various states. Brandon headed for the scrap metal in the corner.
He took a piece about the size of his hand and sat it on the edge of the anvil, where it wouldn't damage anything. He concentrated, putting his hands on either side, and the metal started to heat up. When it was glowing cherry red, he pulled a medium-sized hammer from the workbench and tapped it. The metal rocked but didn't show any other response. Brandon frowned and hit it a little harder, making a small mark on the glowing steel. He smiled and swung harder, and the steel broke into several pieces, some of which he had to dodge. He swore, rushing to find water to pour on the pieces.
He was putting out the one that had started a tiny fire on the workbench when Ten Strike came inside and closed the door. He pointed at the edge of the forge and said, "Sit." Brandon sat. He watched his uncle collect the hammer and pieces of steel (hissing at the heat but almost instantly healing the damage) and put everything back the way it was. Then he came over and sat down next to Brandon. The silence stretched out long, and
"Sorry," Brandon said. "I was...it..."
Ten Strike nodded and waited for a few more year-long seconds before saying, "What do you need the forge for?"
Brandon frowned. "I want to learn how to make swords."
Ten Strike arched an eyebrow. "The hell for? You can throw fire out of your fingers, kiddo."
"It's not that I want to USE them. I just...want to make them." He trailed off, aware that he sounded stupid. Again.
Ten Strike stared at him. "Are you okay, Bran?"
Brandon was surprised by the ugly laugh that tore out of his lips. In his head, he said, Oh, fine, you know, just lots of stress,[/u] but the words that came out were, "No. I haven't been okay in a while."
Ten Strike frowned. "Tell me about it."
Brandon thought about where to start, but it didn't take long. "There was this girl. Del. Man, I mean...I've been with lots of girls. You know, you taught me about how to talk to them, and all that. But Del...for the first time? It mattered. It was...she was different. You know we never had sex? Never did anything besides kiss, never once. I mean, not because I didn't want to, but somehow it didn't seem as important as just...being with her. You know?"
Ten Strike nodded but made no comment.
"And then, well, her powers went crazy on her, or something. And she...she got sick. Really sick. And she had to go home. And now...now she's not coming back. I should have saved her. I saw the warning signs, and I told her to get some help with it, but I should have done more, just...and now she's gone."
"Hey, Bran, I mean come on. You did what you could, you know?"
He shook his head, gritting his teeth. "I should have found a way. That's what heroes do, they save people."
Ten Strike nodded again. "Yeah, we do. But we can't save everyone. Did I ever tell you about Julie Fisher?"
"Huh? No."
"Cute little kid. About eight. Didn't have braces yet, but you figure she would, you know? That kind. Heartbreaker smile. So I'm fighting off another one of the Council's robots, you know? Steel versus steel, takes a while, but if you know which wires to cut it's not that bad. Damn thing starts tearing into an apartment building, right? So I cut off its hydraulics, one by one, while people get out. Finally it stops, and I take out its CPU. No problem. But then the building collapses on me. Took me a day to dig myself out, even with the rescue teams working. And when I get out, I find out that not everyone's gotten out."
"That Julie girl?"
"No, she's fine. Standing there by a fire truck. Her parents died in the collapse, though, both of 'em. I found some pictures of her when I was in the rubble, kept me going. Only time I ever saw her smile. She blamed me for everything, and damn if she wasn't right to do it." Ten Strike stared into the middle distance, not offering anything else.
"Jesus. What did you do?"
"Took it a day at a time. Loved Erin. Worked to make my life worth something. It's all you CAN do in a situation like that."
"Well, yeah, but that was...I mean, I'm not...Del's not dead or anything, just that I..."
Ten Strike grinned suddenly. "Then you're in a lot better place, kiddo. Tell me about the swords."
"Oh. Um. I, ah...Beth's got this thing, right, where she makes clothes? Man, I feel like a jerk, talking about this after all that."
Ten Strike made out-with-it motions, and Brandon went on. "Well, I found out that I'm not bad at drawing. Using my power, I mean. I burned a picture of...well, of Del, into a wall. And you could totally see who it was and everything. So I started playing with that, and I found out that I could melt coins and stuff and make things using the fire, you know?"
Ten Strike nodded, and Brandon rushed on. "So my roommate's got swords, and I thought, hey, he got those from somewhere, so I got to thinking about decorated swords that are in books and stuff and I thought maybe I could learn how to make them."
While Brandon inhaled, Ten Strike said, "You can't."
"What?"
"You can't just learn. You have to be taught. It's a pretty exact science."
"Can...will you teach me?"
His uncle thought for a while, rubbing his chin. He said, "I have some conditions. First, you WILL come and train. At least once a week, but you'll do it. Second, you won't...are you seeing someone else? Some other girl?"
Brandon thought about Vi, her challenging eyes and mouth. "No, not yet. Maybe, but not yet."
"Whatever. The point is, you won't let her get in your way. If we're going to do this, it won't be half-assed. Third, until I say different, you won't do any smithing without me or Erin in the room. That's it, those are the conditions. Take it or leave it."
"I'll take it. Thanks, uncle Strike."
Ten Strike grinned. "Don't thank me yet. Wait until your arm drops off."
Brandon grinned and stood. "Tomorrow?"
His uncle nodded, and Brandon thanked him again before heading for the lockers, a new spring in his step.
After he'd gone, Ten Strike went and sat down next to his wife, who was still in a lotus position on her mat. He easily twisted his legs into the same position and rested his hands on his knees. She opened her beautiful eyes and said, "Well? Will you show him how to forge a sword?"
Ten Strike smiled grimly. "I think he's learning about forging right now. But yeah, I'll teach him. The boy needs some way to let out all that tension or he'll explode. In his case, that might not be too far from the truth, too."
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm sure you'll make every effort."
"Yeah, you know it. He might not thank me for it, but I'll teach him." He reached out for her hand, enfolding it in his own before they both closed their eyes to meditate together.
I got your letter, and- *scribbled out, thrown into the trash*
Del: What the hell is wrong with you?? Why would you- *scribbled out, thrown into the trash*
Dear Del,
I miss you more than- *scribbled out, thrown into the trash*
Dear mom and dad,
How are you? I am fine, but tired. You might have heard that our team is going to State. We will win, of course. Go Flyers! I run a lot, and practice with the team all the time. I'm in pretty good shape.
I found out that girl I told you about won't be coming back to Saint Joe's. Can't win 'em all, I guess.
I think I might start to go train with Uncle Strike again (I know, dad, but he's not so bad). The heroing thing is going pretty well, I even ran into Nemesis! I figure our uncle can show me a few things that might help when I'm out there.
Beth has awesome news for you, but I won't spoil it. She's pretty excited, and so am I.
Love, Brandon.
***
The dojo was the same as always, like Ten Strike and his wife. She sat on a small mat in the corner, meditating. Brandon's "Uncle" Strike was in the middle of the mat with a student, some huge guy who held a giant hammer as if it was a toy. Brandon exchanged nods with his uncle and went to the locker room to change into a faded black gi. He'd asked one time why Ten Strike, who was from another world entirely, would affect Japanese training clothing. The man had just grinned and said, "Hey, when you find something that works, go with it."
Brandon cinched his brown belt around his waist and went out to the mat again, heading for an unoccupied corner. Lately, his focus had begun to flag, becoming more difficult than it had been in the past. He wsa able to force it for football games and practice, but it gave him a headache and didn't have that solid, clear feeling that it used to have. He started working through a basic Taekwondo kata, but he kept getting his balance wrong. Tension in the trunk of his body, through the stomach and chest, made it hard for him to be as supple as he wanted, and he stumbled like a first-year student.
Finally he stopped and sat, staring at the punching bags lines up along the nearest wall. One had some scorch marks, and he figured he knew why. Maybe if it worked for Beth?
He stood and headed in that direction, but stopped next to a door that wsa set in the wall next to the bags. It wasn't labeled, but he knew what was in there: Ten Strike's forge. Ten Strike was still busy dodging hammer blows, so Brandon opened the door and went inside. He'd never been in there before, and he was surprised at how roomy the place was. In addition to being a teacher, Ten Strike was still a full-time hero, and occasionally he broke a sword. He scoffed at the idea of magic swords or other special blades. Brandon grinned at the memory of one of his uncle's many rants.
"It's a sword, dammit. It has a sharp part and a not-sharp part. The point is to get the sharp part into the bastard who's trying to kill you. I made this thing myself, out of normal steel, and using normal bladesmithing techniques, and it made Nemesis cry one time."
Brandon ran his fingers over the swords hanging on the wall. His uncle did commission work, from people who knew that he was damn good at making blades, and several pieces hung in racks in various states. Brandon headed for the scrap metal in the corner.
He took a piece about the size of his hand and sat it on the edge of the anvil, where it wouldn't damage anything. He concentrated, putting his hands on either side, and the metal started to heat up. When it was glowing cherry red, he pulled a medium-sized hammer from the workbench and tapped it. The metal rocked but didn't show any other response. Brandon frowned and hit it a little harder, making a small mark on the glowing steel. He smiled and swung harder, and the steel broke into several pieces, some of which he had to dodge. He swore, rushing to find water to pour on the pieces.
He was putting out the one that had started a tiny fire on the workbench when Ten Strike came inside and closed the door. He pointed at the edge of the forge and said, "Sit." Brandon sat. He watched his uncle collect the hammer and pieces of steel (hissing at the heat but almost instantly healing the damage) and put everything back the way it was. Then he came over and sat down next to Brandon. The silence stretched out long, and
"Sorry," Brandon said. "I was...it..."
Ten Strike nodded and waited for a few more year-long seconds before saying, "What do you need the forge for?"
Brandon frowned. "I want to learn how to make swords."
Ten Strike arched an eyebrow. "The hell for? You can throw fire out of your fingers, kiddo."
"It's not that I want to USE them. I just...want to make them." He trailed off, aware that he sounded stupid. Again.
Ten Strike stared at him. "Are you okay, Bran?"
Brandon was surprised by the ugly laugh that tore out of his lips. In his head, he said, Oh, fine, you know, just lots of stress,[/u] but the words that came out were, "No. I haven't been okay in a while."
Ten Strike frowned. "Tell me about it."
Brandon thought about where to start, but it didn't take long. "There was this girl. Del. Man, I mean...I've been with lots of girls. You know, you taught me about how to talk to them, and all that. But Del...for the first time? It mattered. It was...she was different. You know we never had sex? Never did anything besides kiss, never once. I mean, not because I didn't want to, but somehow it didn't seem as important as just...being with her. You know?"
Ten Strike nodded but made no comment.
"And then, well, her powers went crazy on her, or something. And she...she got sick. Really sick. And she had to go home. And now...now she's not coming back. I should have saved her. I saw the warning signs, and I told her to get some help with it, but I should have done more, just...and now she's gone."
"Hey, Bran, I mean come on. You did what you could, you know?"
He shook his head, gritting his teeth. "I should have found a way. That's what heroes do, they save people."
Ten Strike nodded again. "Yeah, we do. But we can't save everyone. Did I ever tell you about Julie Fisher?"
"Huh? No."
"Cute little kid. About eight. Didn't have braces yet, but you figure she would, you know? That kind. Heartbreaker smile. So I'm fighting off another one of the Council's robots, you know? Steel versus steel, takes a while, but if you know which wires to cut it's not that bad. Damn thing starts tearing into an apartment building, right? So I cut off its hydraulics, one by one, while people get out. Finally it stops, and I take out its CPU. No problem. But then the building collapses on me. Took me a day to dig myself out, even with the rescue teams working. And when I get out, I find out that not everyone's gotten out."
"That Julie girl?"
"No, she's fine. Standing there by a fire truck. Her parents died in the collapse, though, both of 'em. I found some pictures of her when I was in the rubble, kept me going. Only time I ever saw her smile. She blamed me for everything, and damn if she wasn't right to do it." Ten Strike stared into the middle distance, not offering anything else.
"Jesus. What did you do?"
"Took it a day at a time. Loved Erin. Worked to make my life worth something. It's all you CAN do in a situation like that."
"Well, yeah, but that was...I mean, I'm not...Del's not dead or anything, just that I..."
Ten Strike grinned suddenly. "Then you're in a lot better place, kiddo. Tell me about the swords."
"Oh. Um. I, ah...Beth's got this thing, right, where she makes clothes? Man, I feel like a jerk, talking about this after all that."
Ten Strike made out-with-it motions, and Brandon went on. "Well, I found out that I'm not bad at drawing. Using my power, I mean. I burned a picture of...well, of Del, into a wall. And you could totally see who it was and everything. So I started playing with that, and I found out that I could melt coins and stuff and make things using the fire, you know?"
Ten Strike nodded, and Brandon rushed on. "So my roommate's got swords, and I thought, hey, he got those from somewhere, so I got to thinking about decorated swords that are in books and stuff and I thought maybe I could learn how to make them."
While Brandon inhaled, Ten Strike said, "You can't."
"What?"
"You can't just learn. You have to be taught. It's a pretty exact science."
"Can...will you teach me?"
His uncle thought for a while, rubbing his chin. He said, "I have some conditions. First, you WILL come and train. At least once a week, but you'll do it. Second, you won't...are you seeing someone else? Some other girl?"
Brandon thought about Vi, her challenging eyes and mouth. "No, not yet. Maybe, but not yet."
"Whatever. The point is, you won't let her get in your way. If we're going to do this, it won't be half-assed. Third, until I say different, you won't do any smithing without me or Erin in the room. That's it, those are the conditions. Take it or leave it."
"I'll take it. Thanks, uncle Strike."
Ten Strike grinned. "Don't thank me yet. Wait until your arm drops off."
Brandon grinned and stood. "Tomorrow?"
His uncle nodded, and Brandon thanked him again before heading for the lockers, a new spring in his step.
After he'd gone, Ten Strike went and sat down next to his wife, who was still in a lotus position on her mat. He easily twisted his legs into the same position and rested his hands on his knees. She opened her beautiful eyes and said, "Well? Will you show him how to forge a sword?"
Ten Strike smiled grimly. "I think he's learning about forging right now. But yeah, I'll teach him. The boy needs some way to let out all that tension or he'll explode. In his case, that might not be too far from the truth, too."
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm sure you'll make every effort."
"Yeah, you know it. He might not thank me for it, but I'll teach him." He reached out for her hand, enfolding it in his own before they both closed their eyes to meditate together.
We've got nothing to keep us from Startover, Georgia.
We'll leave all the baggage and start over there.
We'll leave all the baggage and start over there.
Re: Refinement
"Hey, mom, how's...oh, you heard about...mom, calm down. No. No! Oh, come-is dad there? Can I talk to him until...okay. Hey dad. Yeah. I don't know where she went, no. We were talking, and we got into a fight. Yeah. YES, a real fight. And then she left, and I don't-what? Of COURSE I'm out looking for...sorry, sir. I just think she's somewhere cooling off, and-she did? What, left everything? Comm? Wait, what about her med-b...huh. No, he doesn't know where she is either. She didn't start the fight, dad. No. Yeah, it was me. I had t...yes, really! Oh, come on, have YOU ever tried to force her to...sorry, sir. I'm about to start asking everyone, yeah. I didn't think there was a problem that's all. YES, I know there's a problem now. Fine. Okay, see you when you get here. Love to you and mom. Okay. Bye."
***
The hammer was heavy, but he didn't let that slow him down. He couldn't. It helped him to slam it into the steel, over and over.
*CLANG* "Who cares?" his voice echoed in his own head, repeating things he'd said the night before. "You've got an awesome future. Who cares if Aura's head is empty or Diego's got a stick up his ass? Don't hang out with them!"
*CLANG* Beth's voice echoed too. "But I care what Diego thinks of me, alright?! I..." in his mind, she stopped again, clenching her fists so hard that smoke leaked out from between her white knuckles.
*CLANG* He knew that look. She wasn't listening to a word he said, and she wasn't going to. She was half a step from turning and storming out again and then assuring everyone that she was fine. Sudden fear gripped him, and he blurted, "What? You love him?"
*CLANG* Beth: "No!" Luke was on the couch watching the two of them, and for an instant Brandon almost felt bad for him. Hard way to find out the truth.
*CLANG* Brandon's fear was leavened with a healthy shot of anger. "But you don't love people, remember? Too young!" He stood and stared her in the eye, nose to nose.
*CLANG* The blade was taking shape under his hammer and tongs. He put it back in the fire and sat down while it heated again, too tired to generate the heat necessary.
Bethany's voice was low and deadly. "He saw the me under the mask, Bran. You know...once you strip away all the behavior that exists to please or piss off other people? Didn't you say to me one time? Oh right. You did."
"Yes I do." Brandon's voice was just as deadly. "I've been trying to get out from under that goddamn mask for months."
Bethany's fists leaked more smoke. "HE'S seen it. And I care what he thinks."
"So find someone else who does. That's what you keep telling ME about Del."
"It's not that easy and you know it!"
The anger had almost eclipsed the fear. "You seem to think so! For me, anyway. I'm not as complex or special, I get that."
"I didn't say that. I wish people would quit putting words in my mouth!"
"Nope. You tell me to find someone else, JUST like that. JUST like that. And then you whine about how it's not easy. Take a look in the damn mirror."
Luke finally spoke up. "Quit bein' such a jackass, Brandon. She's hurtin' and you know it."
Brandon turned blazing eyes on Beth's current ride. "Fuck off, stallion. I'm hurting too, but what does that matter? Not a damn thing, to Beth. Her world's all that counts."
Beth's breaths came fast and hot. "That's not true and you know it! I have stood by you more times than I care to count. I've offered advice and planned things to help the both of us blow off steam! You say I don't care about your world. There's no one's world I care about more."
Brandon narrowed his eyes, understanding his fear at last. "When you have time, maybe. When you're not mooning over Diego. I'm expecting you to think that the world DOESN'T revolve around you. Yeah, that's right," he said, "Just like Aura said. Sue me."
Luke swore. "For some reason she's loyal to you!"
Brandon stared into his sister's face, contorted with a rage that he'd seen so many times before. It was time, he knew. She'd blow up at herself, and this time she might not make it back. Or, he knew, she'd blow at someone else. Someone else who gave her an excuse. "Yeah," he said. "I'm a good target."
"You BASTARD!" she screeched. "How DARE you, after all we've been through!" She took a step forward and slammed a long, looping right hook into his jaw. He took the blow, shook his head, and stood.
"Hit a sore spot?" he said. "It's the truth. If it hurts, it's not my-" He was cut short by a straight left, one that rocked him back and made him spit out some blood. He felt lucky that it wasn't teeth. Luke caught Beth for a moment, pulling her back a little.
"HURTS?" she cried, "You bastard! What do you know about pain, huh?"
He spit again and said, "Screw you, Beth. I told you already. You think I don't know anything about it? LOOK AROUND OUTSIDE YOUR WORLD! If you can."
"I have! I've looked and seen and listened and THOUGHT I had a brother that understood where I was coming from! Turns out you're just like the rest!"
"Then hit me again! Won't shut me up!"
She did, tearing loose of Luke. She punched him again, then once more. He took both strikes, not trying to cover up or even touch his jaw. "You're not the only one who hurts, Bethie."
She screamed, her hands were wrapped in fire. "Don't you call me that!"
He opened his mouth but nothing came out when she hit him again, searing his flesh with pain that he'd only felt a few times before. He held his wound for a moment, and then took his hand away so she could see the weeping blisters that were already forming. He said, "Hope you know why this happened. Why you hit me."
Her eyes were huge, and she whispered, "Oh, God...oh, God..." over and over.
"You done? You DONE?" he said, his voice slurred with pain. She didn't say a word, just grabbed her coat and then vanished in a burst of speed. It was the last time he'd seen her, at least a day ago.
Brandon stood and pulled the steel out of the forge and picked up his hammer again. He started hitting the hot metal, trying to figure out whether he'd done the right thing. Luke hated him, but that was normal. The bruises were already yellowing and fading, and the burn wasn't nearly as bad as it had been. Soon there wouldn't be any evidence at all.
He'd done the right thing, surely. He'd seen the pain below her rage, something that only someone as close as they were would be able to see. Her fuse had been lit, and there were only so many ways the explosion could go. He had known: if he hadn't done something, she would have. Something stupid, and probably final. It was a choice between taking some of her pain on himself or living in a world without her. There hadn't really been a choice, not in his mind.
He knew he'd done the right thing. For the first time in months, he'd felt like a hero.
*CLANG*
***
The hammer was heavy, but he didn't let that slow him down. He couldn't. It helped him to slam it into the steel, over and over.
*CLANG* "Who cares?" his voice echoed in his own head, repeating things he'd said the night before. "You've got an awesome future. Who cares if Aura's head is empty or Diego's got a stick up his ass? Don't hang out with them!"
*CLANG* Beth's voice echoed too. "But I care what Diego thinks of me, alright?! I..." in his mind, she stopped again, clenching her fists so hard that smoke leaked out from between her white knuckles.
*CLANG* He knew that look. She wasn't listening to a word he said, and she wasn't going to. She was half a step from turning and storming out again and then assuring everyone that she was fine. Sudden fear gripped him, and he blurted, "What? You love him?"
*CLANG* Beth: "No!" Luke was on the couch watching the two of them, and for an instant Brandon almost felt bad for him. Hard way to find out the truth.
*CLANG* Brandon's fear was leavened with a healthy shot of anger. "But you don't love people, remember? Too young!" He stood and stared her in the eye, nose to nose.
*CLANG* The blade was taking shape under his hammer and tongs. He put it back in the fire and sat down while it heated again, too tired to generate the heat necessary.
Bethany's voice was low and deadly. "He saw the me under the mask, Bran. You know...once you strip away all the behavior that exists to please or piss off other people? Didn't you say to me one time? Oh right. You did."
"Yes I do." Brandon's voice was just as deadly. "I've been trying to get out from under that goddamn mask for months."
Bethany's fists leaked more smoke. "HE'S seen it. And I care what he thinks."
"So find someone else who does. That's what you keep telling ME about Del."
"It's not that easy and you know it!"
The anger had almost eclipsed the fear. "You seem to think so! For me, anyway. I'm not as complex or special, I get that."
"I didn't say that. I wish people would quit putting words in my mouth!"
"Nope. You tell me to find someone else, JUST like that. JUST like that. And then you whine about how it's not easy. Take a look in the damn mirror."
Luke finally spoke up. "Quit bein' such a jackass, Brandon. She's hurtin' and you know it."
Brandon turned blazing eyes on Beth's current ride. "Fuck off, stallion. I'm hurting too, but what does that matter? Not a damn thing, to Beth. Her world's all that counts."
Beth's breaths came fast and hot. "That's not true and you know it! I have stood by you more times than I care to count. I've offered advice and planned things to help the both of us blow off steam! You say I don't care about your world. There's no one's world I care about more."
Brandon narrowed his eyes, understanding his fear at last. "When you have time, maybe. When you're not mooning over Diego. I'm expecting you to think that the world DOESN'T revolve around you. Yeah, that's right," he said, "Just like Aura said. Sue me."
Luke swore. "For some reason she's loyal to you!"
Brandon stared into his sister's face, contorted with a rage that he'd seen so many times before. It was time, he knew. She'd blow up at herself, and this time she might not make it back. Or, he knew, she'd blow at someone else. Someone else who gave her an excuse. "Yeah," he said. "I'm a good target."
"You BASTARD!" she screeched. "How DARE you, after all we've been through!" She took a step forward and slammed a long, looping right hook into his jaw. He took the blow, shook his head, and stood.
"Hit a sore spot?" he said. "It's the truth. If it hurts, it's not my-" He was cut short by a straight left, one that rocked him back and made him spit out some blood. He felt lucky that it wasn't teeth. Luke caught Beth for a moment, pulling her back a little.
"HURTS?" she cried, "You bastard! What do you know about pain, huh?"
He spit again and said, "Screw you, Beth. I told you already. You think I don't know anything about it? LOOK AROUND OUTSIDE YOUR WORLD! If you can."
"I have! I've looked and seen and listened and THOUGHT I had a brother that understood where I was coming from! Turns out you're just like the rest!"
"Then hit me again! Won't shut me up!"
She did, tearing loose of Luke. She punched him again, then once more. He took both strikes, not trying to cover up or even touch his jaw. "You're not the only one who hurts, Bethie."
She screamed, her hands were wrapped in fire. "Don't you call me that!"
He opened his mouth but nothing came out when she hit him again, searing his flesh with pain that he'd only felt a few times before. He held his wound for a moment, and then took his hand away so she could see the weeping blisters that were already forming. He said, "Hope you know why this happened. Why you hit me."
Her eyes were huge, and she whispered, "Oh, God...oh, God..." over and over.
"You done? You DONE?" he said, his voice slurred with pain. She didn't say a word, just grabbed her coat and then vanished in a burst of speed. It was the last time he'd seen her, at least a day ago.
Brandon stood and pulled the steel out of the forge and picked up his hammer again. He started hitting the hot metal, trying to figure out whether he'd done the right thing. Luke hated him, but that was normal. The bruises were already yellowing and fading, and the burn wasn't nearly as bad as it had been. Soon there wouldn't be any evidence at all.
He'd done the right thing, surely. He'd seen the pain below her rage, something that only someone as close as they were would be able to see. Her fuse had been lit, and there were only so many ways the explosion could go. He had known: if he hadn't done something, she would have. Something stupid, and probably final. It was a choice between taking some of her pain on himself or living in a world without her. There hadn't really been a choice, not in his mind.
He knew he'd done the right thing. For the first time in months, he'd felt like a hero.
*CLANG*
We've got nothing to keep us from Startover, Georgia.
We'll leave all the baggage and start over there.
We'll leave all the baggage and start over there.
Re: Refinement
Dear mom and dad,
School's great. Grades are fine, and we're sure to take state.
I haven't heard anything more from Beth. I've been looking...she's not in Manhattan.
Everything else sucks. Go concentrate on Beth and we'll talk later. Or not.
Love, Brandon.
+++
The dojo was empty. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen that before. It still smelled the same, a combination of leather and sweat and leftover pain, but the familiar scent was leavened with a wide-open, vacant feel. He threw his bag against the wall and walked out to the middle of the huge mat, barefoot and seething.
Brandon stood and breathed, stepping into his form and letting it drive his body. Push Hand. White Crane Spreads Its Wings. Fan Through Back. Needle at Sea Bottom. He tore into each form, doing precisely the amount needed and holding each position for a moment. He was tense, but it didn't matter. He was doing the forms right, so what did it matter?
He finished the 48-form and started over, flickering from stance to stance, faster and faster. He slowly became aware that he wasn't the only one in the dojo anymore, but he couldn't let that matter. Perfection, the submerging of his mind in the movement, that was what mattered. The radio suddenly came on, and he knew that it was his aunt in the room with him; who the hell else did tai chi to classic country? He strove to shut it out and perfect his movements, his muscles tenser at the end of each repetition.
The song stopped, thank all that was holy, but the radio started up with something kind of bluesy and slow, the music trying to take him out of his rhythm. He worked so hard to resist that he didn't have anything left to shut out the words.
You have a girl that loves you she could never be untrue
Well buddy let me say that's more than I can say for you
If giving her some happiness is messing up your plans
I'll be more than happy to take her off your hands
He clenched his teeth and did his best to block it out, moving so quickly that no normal human could ever have matched him. His aunt was still there, just a few feet away now. She was doing something, but he couldn't spare the time to find out what.
Now you don't have to listen just keep doing what you do
She's only one more hurt away boy from walking out on you
But if you want to keep her one thing you better know
Once she gets to walking she won't have far to go
Faster than a blink, he whipped his arm through the air and melted the radio down to slag. He stopped, breathing hard in the middle of a cloud, his sweat vaporizing nearly as fast as it formed.
"Feel better?" said his aunt.
Brandon tried to put on his old grin when he turned to her, but it felt like such a ghastly failure that he had no interest in knowing what it looked like. He dropped it and said, "Sorry about the radio, Aunt Erin."
She stood, grounded, halfway through the same form he'd been performing. "Sensei. You're on the mat, in your gi."
He clapped his hands to his hips and bowed from the waist. "Hai, sensei."
She stopped and stepped toward him, giving the impression of having stepped softly from a higher realm. She sat, kneeling comfortably. She gestured to the mat in front of herself, and he knelt at the spot. "Now," she said with a small smile, "What did the radio and Johnny Duncan do to anger you so?"
He stared at the mat between them. "Nothing, sensei. The fault is mine."
She laughed, light and melodic. "Oh, stop it. We won't get anywhere like that. What's wrong, Brandon?"
He clenched his jaw and shook his head, not trusting his voice to hold steady. She said, "Is it Beth?"
"No, sen...no. I mean, I'm looking for her, but I figure she'll come back when she feels like it. Nothing I can do."
She nodded and sat, as serene as a stone at the bottom of a pond. The silence opened his mouth again. "It's a girl. Several girls. Just...girl trouble."
She arched a flawless eyebrow and smiled wryly. "The great Brandon Jordan, with girl trouble? I find that hard to believe."
He didn't smile back. "It's not the usual. I haven't...you remember Del." At her nod, he continued. "I haven't. Been with anyone. Since then."
"I know, Brandon. It was a time to heal and renew yourself."
"Yeah. Kinda. But now there's this girl. Aura. I...I really like her. And she likes me. Sometimes. I don't know. We talk all the time, and we can tell each other everything. I thought. I don't understand any of this."
Brandon's throat closed up, and she sat patiently while he got himself under control enough to speak. "There's someone else. Another guy. And she's scared of him, sometimes? And then she's not, and she's scared of me, or how he and I would be around her, or...something. She sees things."
"How do you mean?"
"Visions. Of the future. She's not crazy. And she saw him and her, married. With four kids. So she won't...she doesn't...we can't be. Ever, I guess."
He choked out a sob, his tears puffing into steam as he wept. "But we're friends. And I have to be a friend. All the time. I can't ever forget that I'm not the one. I'M not good enough. I'M not this...perfect person, no matter what I do! I can talk to her about how she's SCARED, and it doesn't matter! Nothing can change anything and I'm just...some side note. Some worthless...not good enough."
He sprang to his feet, pacing. He clenched and unclenched his hands, wild to thrash something. He walked to the edge of the mat, his every step a warning to the world, and picked up a short staff that was in a rack on the wall. He went to the punching bags and swung hard. There was no artistry in his swing, no baseball science or martial art tradition. It boomed against the leather, over and over, until the jagged end only made small noises against the ruptured bag. He held the staff over his head and heaved out a lungful of heat, burning it into ashes with a breath.
He stood amid the ruins and spun frantically, wanting to kill and knowing that he could never kill enough to stop the pain in his chest. "None of it matters! I can't find Beth and I couldn't save Del and it doesn't matter whether I love Aura! Why...what does it matter what I do?" The last was a plea to his aunt, who knelt in the same position that she'd held through his tantrum.
He didn't wait for an answer. "Oh but it gets better! Remember London? The Zentaro girl? She and Harmony are back in my world, and I'm really making an effort. I'm really trying to be friends with both of them, and I get to hang out with London a lot. There might be more there than just a friend, even. She's smart and funny and tough and pretty, and she likes me, and MAN I like her too, and half the time I'm thinking about Aura. What the HELL is wrong with me? And there's Bridget, who drives me nuts when I see her but I hardly think about when she's not around."
He sat down on the mat again. "And the best, the BEST part is that right now I shouldn't even be thinking about anything BUT finding Beth. I can't talk to Aura or date London without feeling just a little bit guilty about not going out to find my sister, who could be anywhere in North America by this time."
He sighed and felt his shoulders sag. He'd felt this too often lately, this dead feeling. The only thing he could compare it to would be the cold wick of a blown-out candle. "What do I do, Erin?"
She smiled slightly, still serene porcelain. "Stop trying to be God, Brandon. And part of that is, you need to stop feeling guilty about everything. You try to carry the weight of all these expectations, and then shoulder more and more. As far as the girls, well, it's not much fun to be human, but it's what we have."
"But...everyone's telling me that I can't do anything about Beth, and..."
"And that just makes you want to work harder. I've met a few Jordans in my life. I know you're doing all you can, Brandon. That doesn't mean that you'll be successful. Beth is a fairly stubborn and intelligent Jordan as well, and I imagine she'll be hard to find. As for Aura, well." She reached out and patted his cheek with one delicate hand. "I've had my heart broken a time or two myself, at least until I went for a younger man. You're going to live a long time, and I have done the same thing already. Your uncle was worth the wait, even through the pain."
Brandon shuddered with that pain, but he nodded. She said, "I always liked London. She seemed like a nice girl, from what you told me last time you two were together. A bit wild, perhaps, but we all go through that stage. If she and Aura both think that you have something worthwhile inside, then listen to them. It might not be what you want, but it's what you have."
He said, "Aura's always...there. You know? Talking to me about HIM, and then wanting me to hold her, and..."
She nodded, her face losing its serenity in favor of the slightest hardness. "You two have made everything clear? You both know how things stand, correct?"
He nodded hopelessly, and she said, "Then that has to stop, or at least slow way down. Salt cleanses and preserves, but this is just pouring it into an open wound. If you can truly tell each other anything, then you should tell her that she has to back off."
Brandon's head snapped up to stare at his aunt. "But it's not that bad, I mean, I like to hold her and she's fun and-"
"Silence. I'm passing out inscrutable advice here." A ghost of a smile passed her lips, but she turned serious again in the next breath. "Brandon. If holding Aura feels good, but it hurts so badly later, then it's not helping you. There are other things that do that as well, you know. Heroin. Alcohol. Any addiction. Any drug. I'm not saying that you can't be her friend, but this is just like taking off a bandage. You have to tear it off quickly, not peel it a piece at a time."
He shuddered again, nodding reluctantly. She went on. "If she's as good a friend as you say, she'll understand. It might take her a while, but she'll get the idea. And if not, well. You'll have lost a source of pain."
"What about the others? And the way I feel when I'm around London?"
"I think you'll find that once you take a step away from Aura, in your mind, that London will come to be more important to you. I don't know anything about Bridget, but I DO know that trying two relationships at once didn't work for me."
"Wait, what? You were with someone else when you and uncle Strike..."
She smiled quietly again. "This was long before your uncle, Brandon." She stood and patted his shoulder. "Want what you have. Be sixteen. Now. Let's try your forms again, but a little slower. And don't worry about the radio or the bag or the staff. We'll bill you."
He laughed and stood. She set the pace, working through the 48 forms with all the silent contemplation that she always showed, some part of her remaining still even in the middle of the movements. Brandon kept having to slow himself down, but by the end of the second set, he was moving at her speed if not with her grace.
School's great. Grades are fine, and we're sure to take state.
I haven't heard anything more from Beth. I've been looking...she's not in Manhattan.
Everything else sucks. Go concentrate on Beth and we'll talk later. Or not.
Love, Brandon.
+++
The dojo was empty. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen that before. It still smelled the same, a combination of leather and sweat and leftover pain, but the familiar scent was leavened with a wide-open, vacant feel. He threw his bag against the wall and walked out to the middle of the huge mat, barefoot and seething.
Brandon stood and breathed, stepping into his form and letting it drive his body. Push Hand. White Crane Spreads Its Wings. Fan Through Back. Needle at Sea Bottom. He tore into each form, doing precisely the amount needed and holding each position for a moment. He was tense, but it didn't matter. He was doing the forms right, so what did it matter?
He finished the 48-form and started over, flickering from stance to stance, faster and faster. He slowly became aware that he wasn't the only one in the dojo anymore, but he couldn't let that matter. Perfection, the submerging of his mind in the movement, that was what mattered. The radio suddenly came on, and he knew that it was his aunt in the room with him; who the hell else did tai chi to classic country? He strove to shut it out and perfect his movements, his muscles tenser at the end of each repetition.
The song stopped, thank all that was holy, but the radio started up with something kind of bluesy and slow, the music trying to take him out of his rhythm. He worked so hard to resist that he didn't have anything left to shut out the words.
You have a girl that loves you she could never be untrue
Well buddy let me say that's more than I can say for you
If giving her some happiness is messing up your plans
I'll be more than happy to take her off your hands
He clenched his teeth and did his best to block it out, moving so quickly that no normal human could ever have matched him. His aunt was still there, just a few feet away now. She was doing something, but he couldn't spare the time to find out what.
Now you don't have to listen just keep doing what you do
She's only one more hurt away boy from walking out on you
But if you want to keep her one thing you better know
Once she gets to walking she won't have far to go
Faster than a blink, he whipped his arm through the air and melted the radio down to slag. He stopped, breathing hard in the middle of a cloud, his sweat vaporizing nearly as fast as it formed.
"Feel better?" said his aunt.
Brandon tried to put on his old grin when he turned to her, but it felt like such a ghastly failure that he had no interest in knowing what it looked like. He dropped it and said, "Sorry about the radio, Aunt Erin."
She stood, grounded, halfway through the same form he'd been performing. "Sensei. You're on the mat, in your gi."
He clapped his hands to his hips and bowed from the waist. "Hai, sensei."
She stopped and stepped toward him, giving the impression of having stepped softly from a higher realm. She sat, kneeling comfortably. She gestured to the mat in front of herself, and he knelt at the spot. "Now," she said with a small smile, "What did the radio and Johnny Duncan do to anger you so?"
He stared at the mat between them. "Nothing, sensei. The fault is mine."
She laughed, light and melodic. "Oh, stop it. We won't get anywhere like that. What's wrong, Brandon?"
He clenched his jaw and shook his head, not trusting his voice to hold steady. She said, "Is it Beth?"
"No, sen...no. I mean, I'm looking for her, but I figure she'll come back when she feels like it. Nothing I can do."
She nodded and sat, as serene as a stone at the bottom of a pond. The silence opened his mouth again. "It's a girl. Several girls. Just...girl trouble."
She arched a flawless eyebrow and smiled wryly. "The great Brandon Jordan, with girl trouble? I find that hard to believe."
He didn't smile back. "It's not the usual. I haven't...you remember Del." At her nod, he continued. "I haven't. Been with anyone. Since then."
"I know, Brandon. It was a time to heal and renew yourself."
"Yeah. Kinda. But now there's this girl. Aura. I...I really like her. And she likes me. Sometimes. I don't know. We talk all the time, and we can tell each other everything. I thought. I don't understand any of this."
Brandon's throat closed up, and she sat patiently while he got himself under control enough to speak. "There's someone else. Another guy. And she's scared of him, sometimes? And then she's not, and she's scared of me, or how he and I would be around her, or...something. She sees things."
"How do you mean?"
"Visions. Of the future. She's not crazy. And she saw him and her, married. With four kids. So she won't...she doesn't...we can't be. Ever, I guess."
He choked out a sob, his tears puffing into steam as he wept. "But we're friends. And I have to be a friend. All the time. I can't ever forget that I'm not the one. I'M not good enough. I'M not this...perfect person, no matter what I do! I can talk to her about how she's SCARED, and it doesn't matter! Nothing can change anything and I'm just...some side note. Some worthless...not good enough."
He sprang to his feet, pacing. He clenched and unclenched his hands, wild to thrash something. He walked to the edge of the mat, his every step a warning to the world, and picked up a short staff that was in a rack on the wall. He went to the punching bags and swung hard. There was no artistry in his swing, no baseball science or martial art tradition. It boomed against the leather, over and over, until the jagged end only made small noises against the ruptured bag. He held the staff over his head and heaved out a lungful of heat, burning it into ashes with a breath.
He stood amid the ruins and spun frantically, wanting to kill and knowing that he could never kill enough to stop the pain in his chest. "None of it matters! I can't find Beth and I couldn't save Del and it doesn't matter whether I love Aura! Why...what does it matter what I do?" The last was a plea to his aunt, who knelt in the same position that she'd held through his tantrum.
He didn't wait for an answer. "Oh but it gets better! Remember London? The Zentaro girl? She and Harmony are back in my world, and I'm really making an effort. I'm really trying to be friends with both of them, and I get to hang out with London a lot. There might be more there than just a friend, even. She's smart and funny and tough and pretty, and she likes me, and MAN I like her too, and half the time I'm thinking about Aura. What the HELL is wrong with me? And there's Bridget, who drives me nuts when I see her but I hardly think about when she's not around."
He sat down on the mat again. "And the best, the BEST part is that right now I shouldn't even be thinking about anything BUT finding Beth. I can't talk to Aura or date London without feeling just a little bit guilty about not going out to find my sister, who could be anywhere in North America by this time."
He sighed and felt his shoulders sag. He'd felt this too often lately, this dead feeling. The only thing he could compare it to would be the cold wick of a blown-out candle. "What do I do, Erin?"
She smiled slightly, still serene porcelain. "Stop trying to be God, Brandon. And part of that is, you need to stop feeling guilty about everything. You try to carry the weight of all these expectations, and then shoulder more and more. As far as the girls, well, it's not much fun to be human, but it's what we have."
"But...everyone's telling me that I can't do anything about Beth, and..."
"And that just makes you want to work harder. I've met a few Jordans in my life. I know you're doing all you can, Brandon. That doesn't mean that you'll be successful. Beth is a fairly stubborn and intelligent Jordan as well, and I imagine she'll be hard to find. As for Aura, well." She reached out and patted his cheek with one delicate hand. "I've had my heart broken a time or two myself, at least until I went for a younger man. You're going to live a long time, and I have done the same thing already. Your uncle was worth the wait, even through the pain."
Brandon shuddered with that pain, but he nodded. She said, "I always liked London. She seemed like a nice girl, from what you told me last time you two were together. A bit wild, perhaps, but we all go through that stage. If she and Aura both think that you have something worthwhile inside, then listen to them. It might not be what you want, but it's what you have."
He said, "Aura's always...there. You know? Talking to me about HIM, and then wanting me to hold her, and..."
She nodded, her face losing its serenity in favor of the slightest hardness. "You two have made everything clear? You both know how things stand, correct?"
He nodded hopelessly, and she said, "Then that has to stop, or at least slow way down. Salt cleanses and preserves, but this is just pouring it into an open wound. If you can truly tell each other anything, then you should tell her that she has to back off."
Brandon's head snapped up to stare at his aunt. "But it's not that bad, I mean, I like to hold her and she's fun and-"
"Silence. I'm passing out inscrutable advice here." A ghost of a smile passed her lips, but she turned serious again in the next breath. "Brandon. If holding Aura feels good, but it hurts so badly later, then it's not helping you. There are other things that do that as well, you know. Heroin. Alcohol. Any addiction. Any drug. I'm not saying that you can't be her friend, but this is just like taking off a bandage. You have to tear it off quickly, not peel it a piece at a time."
He shuddered again, nodding reluctantly. She went on. "If she's as good a friend as you say, she'll understand. It might take her a while, but she'll get the idea. And if not, well. You'll have lost a source of pain."
"What about the others? And the way I feel when I'm around London?"
"I think you'll find that once you take a step away from Aura, in your mind, that London will come to be more important to you. I don't know anything about Bridget, but I DO know that trying two relationships at once didn't work for me."
"Wait, what? You were with someone else when you and uncle Strike..."
She smiled quietly again. "This was long before your uncle, Brandon." She stood and patted his shoulder. "Want what you have. Be sixteen. Now. Let's try your forms again, but a little slower. And don't worry about the radio or the bag or the staff. We'll bill you."
He laughed and stood. She set the pace, working through the 48 forms with all the silent contemplation that she always showed, some part of her remaining still even in the middle of the movements. Brandon kept having to slow himself down, but by the end of the second set, he was moving at her speed if not with her grace.
We've got nothing to keep us from Startover, Georgia.
We'll leave all the baggage and start over there.
We'll leave all the baggage and start over there.
Re: Refinement
Dear mom and dad,
Things are fine. I guess you know that Beth's back. She moved in with grandma and grandpa just fine, and they're being pretty strict with her. The nuns are even worse.
I met a new girl. Well, I knew her before, but now we're closer. You remember me mention London a few months back? The rock-star's daughter. Well, she and I have started seeing each other again. She's great, really talented and fun to be around.
I passed my Security Level Fifty exam, too. Vanguard sent me a fruit basket and a recruitment flyer, but I don't know. I think I want to keep on with school, maybe.
Love, Brandon
***
His favorite place was the top of the southern tower of Valor Bridge. Sometimes he'd go up there and just sit and think, scanning the water and trying to hit Lusca with one of the pebbles that he carried up there for just that purpose. Usually he was by himself, but sometimes he'd brought people up. Aura had come up there with him several times, though he suspected she didn't like the wind so much.
His latest guest ran her fingers through his hair. He was lying down with his knees up, staring at the sky while London sat next to him and spoke in soothing cadence. "Close your eyes, Bran."
He did so, and she kept speaking softly, one word running into the other until it was a river of sound that pushed him along on the current. "Just for sixty seconds. Imagine that there's no Beth, no mom and dad. No Aura, or Diego, or me, or Del...imagine that the school is gone, and that everyone's pressure and expectations are gone. No one there to need you, or tell you what to do. Just drift, Bran. Breathe and imagine that world..."
He did, spiraling down the river and into uncharted territory. Large parts of him wanted to say, "This is nuts! You'll never be in that situation!" Duties and failures loomed on the banks of the river, but he trusted, and he floated past them and into the dark. Her voice faded as he went, and even her fingers in his hair became ghostly echoes of themselves. Brandon followed the river.
He fetched up against the bank next to a small house, well-lit and cheerful. He stood and walked to the windows, looking in and seeing himself in a cluttered studio. He was working on a statue made of scraps of metal, all different colors. It was a woman, delicate curves rendered in steel and copper, her head thrown back and her arms grasping triumphantly at the sky. Slim wings pointed at the ceiling of the studio, ready to catch the air and see that she never touched down on this world again. Brandon saw himself, his hands glowing red, sculpting the metal into the robes that fell around her strong form. Staring at himself through the window, he knew that the Brandon inside the house was fulfilled. He knew that the sculpture was named "Freedom."
Brandon's eyes opened and he gasped in a breath, becoming aware of London's fingers and the cool breeze coming in off the water. He smiled up at her, and she smiled back. At her prompting, he explained what he'd seen. She was bemused. "I didn't know you did that stuff, Bran."
He grinned and told her to watch. He dug a handful of change from his pocket and concentrated, heating it up and starting to work with it the same way that he had with Beth all those weeks ago. How many times had he done this. One for Beth. For Vi and for Aura. Now for London. All the ladies in his life. Del...Del's laughing face was burned into the concrete under a War Wall in Talos. It was his first real effort, which was appropriate for his first real love. He liked London, maybe a lot, but love? He wasn't sure about love anymore.
He worked the pool of metal, sculpting with finely modulated bursts of heat. How had he ever learned which temperature would move the metal this tiny bit, this way or that? He'd learned the same way that some people learned to sing; he just knew. When he drained the heat from the resulting medallion, he also knew that it was his best work yet. He passed it to her, the metal still warm but not hot. She held it in both hands, gazing down at her laughing face. All the best beauty that he knew came from laughter, which was why he always made these that way. He might not admit it, for fear of being labeled the world's sappiest tight end, but it was true.
"Brandon, this is amazing," she said. "You have to do something with this."
Did he? He imagined all the reasons why he shouldn't. His dad would throw a fit if he found out that his son was taking art classes, was making models of things out of scrap metal. The team would mock him taking art classes, unless he lied and said it was for the girls. Beth would never understand. It would take away from his time patrolling, and being a hero was one of the few things in his life that was right, and clear.
She saw those things in his eyes, and put her hands on either side of his face. "You're sixteen, Bran. Be sixteen. Forever is tomorrow."
He smiled at her, the doubts banished for the moment. Impulsively, he took her in his arms and kissed her gently. She kissed back, as naturally as if she'd been doing it for years. She smiled at him, and he said, "I'll work on that. It's scary, but I'll try."
Things are fine. I guess you know that Beth's back. She moved in with grandma and grandpa just fine, and they're being pretty strict with her. The nuns are even worse.
I met a new girl. Well, I knew her before, but now we're closer. You remember me mention London a few months back? The rock-star's daughter. Well, she and I have started seeing each other again. She's great, really talented and fun to be around.
I passed my Security Level Fifty exam, too. Vanguard sent me a fruit basket and a recruitment flyer, but I don't know. I think I want to keep on with school, maybe.
Love, Brandon
***
His favorite place was the top of the southern tower of Valor Bridge. Sometimes he'd go up there and just sit and think, scanning the water and trying to hit Lusca with one of the pebbles that he carried up there for just that purpose. Usually he was by himself, but sometimes he'd brought people up. Aura had come up there with him several times, though he suspected she didn't like the wind so much.
His latest guest ran her fingers through his hair. He was lying down with his knees up, staring at the sky while London sat next to him and spoke in soothing cadence. "Close your eyes, Bran."
He did so, and she kept speaking softly, one word running into the other until it was a river of sound that pushed him along on the current. "Just for sixty seconds. Imagine that there's no Beth, no mom and dad. No Aura, or Diego, or me, or Del...imagine that the school is gone, and that everyone's pressure and expectations are gone. No one there to need you, or tell you what to do. Just drift, Bran. Breathe and imagine that world..."
He did, spiraling down the river and into uncharted territory. Large parts of him wanted to say, "This is nuts! You'll never be in that situation!" Duties and failures loomed on the banks of the river, but he trusted, and he floated past them and into the dark. Her voice faded as he went, and even her fingers in his hair became ghostly echoes of themselves. Brandon followed the river.
He fetched up against the bank next to a small house, well-lit and cheerful. He stood and walked to the windows, looking in and seeing himself in a cluttered studio. He was working on a statue made of scraps of metal, all different colors. It was a woman, delicate curves rendered in steel and copper, her head thrown back and her arms grasping triumphantly at the sky. Slim wings pointed at the ceiling of the studio, ready to catch the air and see that she never touched down on this world again. Brandon saw himself, his hands glowing red, sculpting the metal into the robes that fell around her strong form. Staring at himself through the window, he knew that the Brandon inside the house was fulfilled. He knew that the sculpture was named "Freedom."
Brandon's eyes opened and he gasped in a breath, becoming aware of London's fingers and the cool breeze coming in off the water. He smiled up at her, and she smiled back. At her prompting, he explained what he'd seen. She was bemused. "I didn't know you did that stuff, Bran."
He grinned and told her to watch. He dug a handful of change from his pocket and concentrated, heating it up and starting to work with it the same way that he had with Beth all those weeks ago. How many times had he done this. One for Beth. For Vi and for Aura. Now for London. All the ladies in his life. Del...Del's laughing face was burned into the concrete under a War Wall in Talos. It was his first real effort, which was appropriate for his first real love. He liked London, maybe a lot, but love? He wasn't sure about love anymore.
He worked the pool of metal, sculpting with finely modulated bursts of heat. How had he ever learned which temperature would move the metal this tiny bit, this way or that? He'd learned the same way that some people learned to sing; he just knew. When he drained the heat from the resulting medallion, he also knew that it was his best work yet. He passed it to her, the metal still warm but not hot. She held it in both hands, gazing down at her laughing face. All the best beauty that he knew came from laughter, which was why he always made these that way. He might not admit it, for fear of being labeled the world's sappiest tight end, but it was true.
"Brandon, this is amazing," she said. "You have to do something with this."
Did he? He imagined all the reasons why he shouldn't. His dad would throw a fit if he found out that his son was taking art classes, was making models of things out of scrap metal. The team would mock him taking art classes, unless he lied and said it was for the girls. Beth would never understand. It would take away from his time patrolling, and being a hero was one of the few things in his life that was right, and clear.
She saw those things in his eyes, and put her hands on either side of his face. "You're sixteen, Bran. Be sixteen. Forever is tomorrow."
He smiled at her, the doubts banished for the moment. Impulsively, he took her in his arms and kissed her gently. She kissed back, as naturally as if she'd been doing it for years. She smiled at him, and he said, "I'll work on that. It's scary, but I'll try."
We've got nothing to keep us from Startover, Georgia.
We'll leave all the baggage and start over there.
We'll leave all the baggage and start over there.
Re: Refinement
Dear mom and dad,
How are you? I'm good here in Paragon. It's quieted down some since Beth came back.
Things with London didn't work out as well as I'd hoped, but we're still friends. Her band is amazing. I'm seeing a new girl now, and have been with her for several months. Anna is great; grandma met her, and liked her.
I've started taking a class outside of Saint Joe's, a college-prep class. It's hard work, but I like it.
I'm looking at colleges already.
Love, Brandon.
+++
He sighed, licking the envelope and sticking a stamp to it. The letter was true, but there was a lot between each line.
Dear mom and dad, but mostly dad. He loved his mom, but his dad had always loomed the largest.
It's quieted down some... because Beth is slowly going crazy where she is. She feels trapped, dad. Give her some air before she chokes.
Things with London didn't work out... and I saw that...and because of her, I was able to let go. And you couldn't care less, since you figure she's like all the two-week girlfriends. You don't know that I cared.
I'm seeing a new girl now, and have been with her for several months. Months, dad, MONTHS. Me.
I've started taking a class... and what he couldn't say was, yeah, an art class. His grandparents were paying for it, with the only restriction being that he would go.
I'm looking at colleges already. And not the military. Of all the things on there, that might be the one thing that dad would read correctly.
Love, Brandon. Really. Just, maybe not the Brandon you used to know.
He held the letter in both hands, staring at it hard enough to ignite it. He turned down the heat before the paper caught, images battling in his mind as he went downstairs to drop it into the mail slot.
He thought about the battles he'd been in during the last year. Giant octopuses and mechanical would-be dictators, aliens and magicians, snakes and computer programs and everything in between. He'd been in other worlds, stopping threats there before they could spill into the real timestream. He'd met heroes and villains and people who were just trying to get by, usually while being attacked with bullets and fists and rockets and dynamite. But somehow...when the time came to write what was true in his letters, his fingers would fail him.
I'll go back, he suddenly thought. I'll trash this copy and write a real one, and talk about the real stuff. Yeah. It'll be great, to finally FINALLY get it off my chest. He strode toward the mail slot and the trash can that stood beside it, determined.
When he got there, his fingers failed him again. He started to throw the letter away a half-dozen times, the paper shaking in his hands. Someone came up behind him, one of his football pals, and watched Brandon silently for a few seconds before clearing his throat. Brandon jumped, and his traitor fingers pushed the letter into the mail slot while he was distracted. He offered a weak smile to his teammate and headed back up the stairs, cursing silently with each step.
A paper sat on his desk, the rough draft for a report on the Crimean war. It was next on his to-do list, and he knew that he could improve it, could make it as close to perfect as he could get it.
He sat and stared at it for long minutes before picking up the phone. He dialed and then smiled. "Hey babe," he said. "You up for dinner and watching the sunset?"
Perfection could wait.
How are you? I'm good here in Paragon. It's quieted down some since Beth came back.
Things with London didn't work out as well as I'd hoped, but we're still friends. Her band is amazing. I'm seeing a new girl now, and have been with her for several months. Anna is great; grandma met her, and liked her.
I've started taking a class outside of Saint Joe's, a college-prep class. It's hard work, but I like it.
I'm looking at colleges already.
Love, Brandon.
+++
He sighed, licking the envelope and sticking a stamp to it. The letter was true, but there was a lot between each line.
Dear mom and dad, but mostly dad. He loved his mom, but his dad had always loomed the largest.
It's quieted down some... because Beth is slowly going crazy where she is. She feels trapped, dad. Give her some air before she chokes.
Things with London didn't work out... and I saw that...and because of her, I was able to let go. And you couldn't care less, since you figure she's like all the two-week girlfriends. You don't know that I cared.
I'm seeing a new girl now, and have been with her for several months. Months, dad, MONTHS. Me.
I've started taking a class... and what he couldn't say was, yeah, an art class. His grandparents were paying for it, with the only restriction being that he would go.
I'm looking at colleges already. And not the military. Of all the things on there, that might be the one thing that dad would read correctly.
Love, Brandon. Really. Just, maybe not the Brandon you used to know.
He held the letter in both hands, staring at it hard enough to ignite it. He turned down the heat before the paper caught, images battling in his mind as he went downstairs to drop it into the mail slot.
He thought about the battles he'd been in during the last year. Giant octopuses and mechanical would-be dictators, aliens and magicians, snakes and computer programs and everything in between. He'd been in other worlds, stopping threats there before they could spill into the real timestream. He'd met heroes and villains and people who were just trying to get by, usually while being attacked with bullets and fists and rockets and dynamite. But somehow...when the time came to write what was true in his letters, his fingers would fail him.
I'll go back, he suddenly thought. I'll trash this copy and write a real one, and talk about the real stuff. Yeah. It'll be great, to finally FINALLY get it off my chest. He strode toward the mail slot and the trash can that stood beside it, determined.
When he got there, his fingers failed him again. He started to throw the letter away a half-dozen times, the paper shaking in his hands. Someone came up behind him, one of his football pals, and watched Brandon silently for a few seconds before clearing his throat. Brandon jumped, and his traitor fingers pushed the letter into the mail slot while he was distracted. He offered a weak smile to his teammate and headed back up the stairs, cursing silently with each step.
A paper sat on his desk, the rough draft for a report on the Crimean war. It was next on his to-do list, and he knew that he could improve it, could make it as close to perfect as he could get it.
He sat and stared at it for long minutes before picking up the phone. He dialed and then smiled. "Hey babe," he said. "You up for dinner and watching the sunset?"
Perfection could wait.
We've got nothing to keep us from Startover, Georgia.
We'll leave all the baggage and start over there.
We'll leave all the baggage and start over there.