100 Days and an Excerpt

Can you believe there are only 100 days left until The Rise of Renegade X comes out? It sounds like a lot, but then again, it’s only a little over three months, and when I first got the offer from Egmont, I had over 400 days to wait, so relatively speaking, 100’s not that much. (I remember when there were only 200 days left like it was yesterday.)

But more importantly, to celebrate I’m posting one of my favorite scenes. It’s from Chapter Four, and Damien, overcome with curiosity after discovering the father he’s never met is one of his mother’s superhero nemeses, is determined to track him down.

***

The next morning, I’m on the trail of the Crimson Flash. It was a little more difficult to track him down than the others, since he’s out wandering the streets of Golden City with his camera crew at half past the crack of dawn—did I mention I hate getting up early?—but I sweet-talked the secretary at the TV station into telling me what neighborhood he’s visiting this morning.

The Crimson Flash is a right upstanding citizen, and I so don’t want him to be my father. Not only can he fly and not only does he do good deeds all the time, but he has to go blasting it all over television. If one of the others was my dad, I could forget about it and not have to have the shame rubbed in my face all the time.

I catch up to the Crimson Flash on the street. He’s with his film crew, getting exciting footage of rescuing a kitten from a tree in someone’s yard. Square jaw, neatly combed hair that does not look anything like mine, even if it is the same shade of black, and a billowing cape. When he’s not out raising money to save orphanages and helping people down from flaming apartment buildings, he’s on TV, helping lost kittens out of trees.

I cross the street, ignoring the sounds of the man in the next yard arguing on his cell phone and kicking his lawnmower, which apparently doesn’t work. I approach the film crew and act like I’m a curious bystander, edging my way closer. Then I pretend I don’t notice what’s going on and walk over to the Crimson Flash. The camera guy’s assistant sticks his arm out to block me. He doesn’t say anything, just jerks his head in the other direction, indicating I shouldn’t get too close.

Damn. This is going to be more annoying than I thought.

“Don’t worry, kids,” the Crimson Flash says, pointing straight up at the mewling kitten, “the Crimson Flash is on the job.”

“Excuse me, sir!” I say, before he can fly six feet in the air and pull the fluffball to safety.

Everyone turns and looks at me, like they think I’m nuts if I don’t realize they’re filming.

I run up to the Crimson Flash, beaming at him. “You’re all about helping people, right?”

Genuine concern wrinkles his brow. “What can I do for you, son?”

Son. Great word choice. “I need a hair sample, if you don’t mind. It’s for school. For a project.” I’ve never been to school. That makes it harder to lie about it, but saying you’re doing a project seems to make people listen.

The Crimson Flash frowns. A breeze tugs on his cape. The kitten mewls nonstop in the tree, and the camera crew mutter angrily to themselves about how they’re not going to get out of here on time.

“A hair sample,” he says, eying my gloved hands with suspicion. He knows that a single hair could prove fatal for him if an enemy got a hold of it.

“Please, mister Flash, I only need one more. Everyone else in my class already has theirs.”

His mouth slips open as he ponders my request. He’s about to give in, and then he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, son, but I can’t do that.”

The camera crew breathe a collective sigh of relief now that they can get rid of me and get back to work.

“I’ll make a bet with you,” I say as the Crimson Flash readies himself to save the kitten. I nod at the tree. “If I can safely get that cat out of there without moving from this spot, will you give me the sample?”

He looks up at how high the branch is, then raises his eyebrows at me.

One of the crew mutters, “I gotta see this.”

The Crimson Flash thinks it over. Then he folds his arms, a superior smile on his face. “All right,” he says. He doesn’t think I’ll win; he’s probably a man of his word, he’ll probably give me the hair sample when I do, but I’m not taking chances. “And what if you lose?” he asks.

“I won’t.” I bend down and pick up a pebble. I squint at a branch in the tree, pinching the pebble between my forefinger and thumb, getting ready to shoot it. I take my left glove off and lick my forefinger, then hold it up to test the wind. Everyone is mesmerized. Nobody makes a sound except the cat in the tree and the neighbor in the next yard, too afraid of interrupting my calculations. Carefully, I position my hand, lining up the stone with the tree and muttering to myself about angles and carrying the one.

Then I shoot. The pebble sails through a pair of branches and over the white picket fence, beaning the neighbor on the head.

“Ow!” he shouts. “Who threw that?” He forgets about his lawnmower and glares at me.

I hold out my hand. “I need to borrow your phone. It’s an emergency!” I left mine at home. Plus bothering this guy is more fun.

He eyes the film crew suspiciously. He doesn’t seem to notice the man in full superhero garb standing next to me. Maybe he doesn’t realize it’s a TV show about the real thing. Finally, he says, “I’ll call you back,” and hangs up, then grudgingly tosses the phone to me.

I catch it in both hands and dial a couple of numbers before going, “Oh, oops, that’s not how you work this thing…” I bare my teeth at it and keep pressing buttons. I hear everyone around me groan, except the Crimson Flash, who stands patiently beside me. Finally I finish dialing. Before the phone stops ringing, I hold it up to my ear and start talking into it, as if there was another person on the line. “I’ve got an emergency here. You’re going to need to send a truck out right away.”

Mom answers the phone. “Hello?”

“Er, hold on…”

“Damien? Is that you?”

I cover the receiver end with my hand and turn to the Crimson Flash. “What’s the address here?”

He scrunches his eyebrows together in distrust. “Who are you calling?”

“Just the fire department. Do you know the address or not?”

“The fire department?! Kid, you can’t…” He takes a deep breath, all flustered, and grabs the phone from me.

“Hello?” he says. “This is the Crimson Flash. I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. We don’t need any—” All the blood suddenly drains from his face. He swallows.

Damn. I shut my eyes, hoping this isn’t happening, but when I open them again, he still has the same reaction, which is more revealing than a DNA test. He stares at me, his expression completely blank. His hand goes limp and the phone slips and lands in the grass. I can hear my mother’s voice.

“That boy! I can’t believe he told you. I don’t know how he knew. I wasn’t going to say anything. I didn’t put him up to it, believe me—”

I reach down and hang up, then toss the phone back to the neighbor across the fence. The Crimson Flash probably would have kept his word about giving me the DNA sample, but I don’t want promises, I want results.

“You okay, boss?” the camera man asks.

“Let’s take a break,” the Crimson Flash says. The camera crew shuffles off, groaning, but he paces in front of the fence, his head in his hands.

When no one’s watching, I take out a portable laser from the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt. It’s not the kind of laser jerks use to point at the screen with in the movie theater. It’s the kind of laser you carry around so you can make jokes like, “I have my mother’s eyes.” Well, if you’re me. (And then people glare at you like it’s not even a little bit hilarious.) I point it at the tree and tap the button. There’s a quick joop sound as the laser slices through the branch, then a yowl as kitten and branch hurtle through the air. I reach out and grab the kitten before it can hit the ground.

I turn and grin at the Crimson Flash. “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “You can keep the hair sample.