CHAPTER 1
Imay not be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound or read minds, but there’s one thing I know for sure: any blind date that starts with a painting of your mother staring down at you can’t go well. Especially if your mother is dead.
Another bad sign: my mystery man is late. Six whole minutes. Anything after five and I get anxious. Is it me? Did I get the day mixed up? Am I in the wrong place? But I check my phone and the details in Clarissa’s text are clear.Wench. 7:00 pm. Thursday. Have fun!She wrapped it up with several kissy emojis, which seems optimistic. I’m not the kind of guy who has rules about these things. You can kiss on the first date if you want to. But I’ve never been that lucky. The best I’ve ever managed was a handshake and a “This was fun.” Then a string of unanswered text messages that indicate maybe it wasn’t so fun after all. Which is probably how I wound up on a blind date arranged by my BFF and her girlfriend in the first place.
A blind date. I sigh, trying not to dwell on how pathetic this feels. Who even goes on blind dates anymore? Isn’t it supposed to be allswipe leftandswipe rightand “Hey, how you doin’? Here’s a picture of my penis you didn’t ask for.”
And yet... the answer to that question is me. I go on blind dates because my love life needs a jump start. Or at least I need Clarissa to stop bugging me about when I’m going to meet someone so we can double date with her and Alyssa.
Yes. Clarissa and Alyssa. You love who you love, right?
Eight minutes late.
“You sure you don’t want anything to eat? I could cook you up something.” Vee comes to stand at my table. She’s been hovering since I arrived. She probably thinks she’s being subtle, pretending to be on her way to other tables but always making sure to walk past mine. When she first came over, I faked a phone call rather than speak to her. Childish? Maybe. But either she’ll make small talk like we’re strangers, which would be awful given she basically raised me, or she’ll ask me earnest questions about how I’ve been for the last two years, which would be worse. This time, though, she catches me unawares, and I have no choice but to answer her.
“I’m fine. I’m waiting for someone.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “A friend? Or someone else?” The quirk of her lips is probably meant to be friendly. I know what she’s trying to do, but somehow I can’t make myself return her smile. We aren’t friendly, not anymore, and opening myself up to that risks feeling too many other things I can’t deal with, especially not while I wait for my mystery man.
“He’ll be here soon,” I say.
Vee’s smile falters. She looks the same as she always did. Tanned skin. Dark hair in a long braid. Though as she turns, the streaks in her hair I thought were a reflection of the overhead lights might actually be silver strands. A silent reminder of the passing of time.
Speaking of time, we’re at eleven minutes now. I got here twenty minutes ago. Punctuality is the most basic form of respect. Since I was early, I pulled out my laptop to do somework. And now I’ve got the warning notification that if I don’t charge it soon, it’ll go into hibernation. Not like there’s an electrical outlet in the middle of this superhero-themed diner. Fortunately, I have a way to fix that. I put a finger to the computer, just over where the battery is located. I take a deep breath. It’s hard to perform when Mother is watching me from overhead. She’s midfight with Indigo, the shadow assassin. The expression on her face is probably intended to be one of fierce determination as she saves the world yet again, but all I can see is the way one eyebrow is arched in scorn over the band across her eyes. She’s daring me to charge this laptop without frying it.
Superpowers are meant to be used for the greater good, Morgan. Not for your convenience.
It’s a great philosophy for someone like her. The Legendary Flame. She could incinerate the bad guys with a thought. Melt the Great Lakes in February by sneezing. I focus on the laptop, but all I manage is a little spark that makes the display flicker and sends a faint smell of burning into the air. I shut it down and toast my mother with my tea. Our family line of superheroes started with my great-grandfather and ends with me. I’m not a black sheep so much as a dud. At least there’s no one left to remind me about things like responsibility and wasted potential.
God, I’m getting maudlin and I’m not even drinking. Time to go. I’ll tell Clarissa her mystery man stood me up, and hopefully she’ll be distracted with sympathy enough to leave my love life alone for a few weeks.
The front door flies open. A guy in a green toque bustles through the bar. When his gaze lands on me, he slumps.
Oh no.
Watching him rally is physically painful. I know I’m not boyfriend material. Not at first glance, at least. A little too short. A little too soft around the edges. Gay guys can be so judgy. If you don’t have a paint roller six-pack and a bubble butt, half thetime they won’t give you a second look. For a while, I thought my future was a normal human life with a normal human man. That went about as well as you would expect when your childhood was anything but normal and your idea of small talk is differential equations and the physics of climate change.
This is a disaster and we haven’t even spoken. Why did I think I could do this? Years of motherly admonitions to “work on myself” echo in my head. And she didn’t only mean the superpowers that never quite kicked in. It was everything. My poor social skills. My lack of athleticism. I’m pretty sure she even resented having to pay for braces when I was twelve, like it was somehow my fault my teeth wouldn’t straighten themselves.
I have to fight back the urge to flip the image of Mother off as my would-be date comes toward me. I’ve arrived straight from work, so I’m in a button-down and sweater, along with a pair of khakis that only have one ink stain on the pocket. As he approaches, though, I still feel overdressed. My ears go hot.
He’s kind of cute. No, more like really cute, though I could give him some fashion tips. The hat on his head is so old and worn it looks like something infected crawled up there and died. Bits of sandy brown hair stick out beneath it, and his pale skin is freckled over the nose. When he pulls himself up straight and smiles, he’s the kind of guy you want to know. Maybe you see him at work or at a party, and the twinkle in his eye and the width of his shoulders say he’ll be a good friend. Someone to lean on.
This will never work. Clarissa said we’d have a lot in common, but unless he has a mountain of insecurities and mommy issues, I can’t see how this handsome lumberjack is the right partner for me. He’s going to want to do things like hike and make organic trail mix. I want to stay up late running data sets and I’m allergic to mosquito bites. And nuts. And some dried fruits.
Still, while I failed crime fighting 101, my mother did manage to teach me manners, so I stand as he approaches and say, “You must be Jasper.”
His eyelids flutter for a second and his jaw tightens. Is he already disappointed? But he nods like he’s made a decision—maybe to stick this out for a minimally polite amount of time—and sits down with a bright smile.
“Jasper Jackson, at your service.”
There’s a joke on the tip of my tongue about how I really would like him to service me, but I’m not brave enough to let it out. Things get worse when Vee returns to the table. She smiles at me and I flinch, my gaze darting from her to Mother on the ceiling to Jasper before finally settling on my lap. Vee probably thinks the mural overhead is a touching tribute to a dead friend. I think it’s gaudy.
“You’re here,” she says to Jasper like she knows him.
“I am.” His smile is polite. He probably rocks small talk too.
“Can I get you something?” she asks.
