Blog of a Teenage Superhero

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Fall

^^Percy's less than edgy favorite song

I decide to find Percy. Chip is her Finn and Max is her Kai. She'll know how Chip became a pawn in Masquerade's game and why Max is crying every other minute. She has to.

Music blasts from the speakers, neither rock nor chill-fi or cheesy broadway, but all still pretty okay. We skimped on a DJ and made a playlist we paid some kids to man on an old laptop.

The Dipper Donut van is idling in its usual spot, but there are other vendors as well. Grease-sizzled hot dogs, burned sliders, deep-fried cinnamon rolls, which all taste just as awesome as they sound. One cart sells maple-bacon flavored cotton candy. I'm halfway to heaven, savoring every greasy, sugar-filled bite. But Max won't eat. He's withdrawn into himself. His smile becomes broader, faker. His grip tightens around the crook of my elbow.

"What's wrong?" I ask him periodically, but he won't answer. He just laughs, and it's this tentative, broken sound. Fairy lights are strung across the canvas roofs of tents. Teachers and students alike pull us aside, president and vice president as we are. I've almost forgotten about that now. Max certainly has. He barely forces out a grin and a sleepy nod.

Admission was an okay seven dollars, and for what it's worth, the kids seem to be having a pretty okay time. For a dollar, I buy three turns to knock over glass bottles with a baseball. I knock them over on my first try, nearly smash them. The kid behind the folding table regards me wide-eyed as he hands over the fat plushie of an east-coast superhero.

I give it to Max and he presses it against his heart. I think of making a joke about getting him a stuffed Penguin to fit in his Batman Villain rogues Gallery, but I'm not supposed to know about that, so we play a few more games, most of them with him standing behind me, watching in contemplating quiet as I crush the ring-tosses and pinballs and that one weird game where you bang a bell with a mallet to test your strength. I'm careful not to destroy the rental machine, but I do win top score, and with it, a bear, a felt turtle, and a fake-silver watch. None of it raises Max's spirits. His every muscle is tensed, face cut up with hard lines, shoulders folded in. At first I think he's sick. I touch him on the forehead, and the skin is cool. He shivers at my touch. So, I take him by the cold hand and lead him away from the tents and into a clearing, my skirts sticky with dew. "Come on, like slam poetry?"

"It's fine." His eyes have taken on a milky, clouded quality, like when's he's looking at me he's looking into something I can't see. "I'm just not feeling great."

"My kiss of death, huh?"

He pulls the purple toy hero tighter under the crook of his am. His face pale, lashes fluttering. I guess he feels safer with the Onyx me than the me me.

"Okay, no slam poetry, then. How about your dance?"

He lifts his head, his smile crooked at the edges. Moonlight traces the curves of his plastic mask, the slight hook of his upturned nose, his greased hair curling up at the back. His chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. "I'm freaking you, aren't I?"

"A little."

His eyes cut toward the sleepy faraway blink of fairy lights. We're standing in the grass, the starlight reflecting off his mask. The grass is cold and wet and crunches under our feet. My breath quaking, I want to fiddle with his crooked lapel, fix the floppy carnation with the broken pin.

Kai and Finn are shouting at each other in the distance. Which isn't unusual, I suppose, but the two normally know to hide their mutual loathing until they're in my apartment. Heads swivel toward them, and like the disappointed parent they've made me, I can only clutch my face in my hands and sigh.