“Not that big, just,” I say around a yawn, scrolling through my news app, “I need you to make a phone call in an hour if I don’t call you back by then.”
There’s quiet, some shuffling around on the other end of the line before she answers. “What’s his license plate number?”
“No, Adri, I–”
“Actually, just screenshot his dating profile, I can work with that.”
“It’s not like that–”
“Wait, I didn’t think you were at the dating other people stage yet,” she says, then scoffs derisively. “But when would you even meet someone?”
I don’t know what makes me say it, but I admit a little sheepishly, “Well, one of Maestro’s hench-guys did ask me out. Can you believe that?”
“AND YOU SAID YES?”
“No!” I’m a little scandalized that she’s so on-board with the idea. “Why would I do that to Clayton?”
Even as I say it, I feel all kinds of twisted up over it. I can’t believe I said I had a crush on Mr. Bat-Thing; I mean, I don’t, I just wanted him to stick around long enough to answer some of my questions. Not my most professional moment, maybe. I don’t think weathergirls are required to have journalistic ethics, or a vow of chastity. Then he got all close, and I couldn’t keep it up. An intense flutter passed through my middle, a heat creeping up the back of my neck. I thought I might melt or break apart into a hundred pieces or moan out loud—all equally terrible outcomes.
Suddenly I couldn’t go through with it.
“Oh my God, can you imagine, though? If he’s a full-on mutant—like I’ve seen the clip—I mean, he’s blue, got clawed monster feet, wings, and tail is all he’s got? I bet he’s got like six nipples or something—”
I have no doubt that Adrianna has seen the clip. In fact, I’m sure she’s seen it from angles that most people haven’t—it wouldn’t be the first time she’s procured some grainy CCTV footage that captures an event off in the distance. At this point I just assume she’s omniscient. Perks of working in the editor’s basement at Channel 6 News.
“Wait, so he asked you out, and you shot him down?”
“No, like...I don’t know, it was weird. Maybe Maestro put him up to it to distract me. I can’t imagine it was genuine.”
“If he’s a bad guy, then does that make you a good girl? Is that the dichotomy you’re setting up?” Adrianna asks. “You couldn’t inject a little nuance into your perspective even to get laid?”
“Adri—no, that’s not,” I interject, but get nowhere.
“If he had any game, he shoulda called you a good girl. Oh, that would have mademyknees weak,” Adrianna says, apparently writing self-insert fanfiction as we speak.
I sigh and resign myself to waiting her out.
We’ve been friends for a long time; a photo of the two us as interns at Channel 6 is still my lock screen, the pair of us grinning, cheek to cheek. She always tells me to change it out for a better picture, or at least one where her twists aren’t all fuzzy.
I scroll past another article about the ongoing environmental trials with Steel Spires.
The headlines on my news app are still largely concerned with the police’s investigation of the “vigilante.” Everyone else is still trying to track him down. Even the filler pieces—one claims you have the same chances as winning the lottery as running into him.
Hopefully my luck isn’t so bad that I win it a third time in so many days.
Ten minutes into this phone call and I still haven’t asked her the original thing I called her for because she has six tangents she needed to get through first. I love her, but she has the attention span of a caffeinated chipmunk. At any given moment, Adrianna is reading off at least three different screens, loudly typing another email while she’s on the call with me.
“Look, Adri, it’s getting dark out. Can you just do me this favor?”
“Fine, fine,” she sighs, annoyed that I don’t sound as interested in this as she is.
“I texted you the address. Can you...” I chew my lip halfway through the question, rethinking this.
I don’t want to tell her to send Clayton to come get me, or to turn on whatever new tracker he’s had hidden in my car again. The whole point of our breakup was that he was smothering me.
And...I feel guilty about coming here without telling him. I feel all kinds of awful about flirting with one of Maestro’s henchmen, even if it’s to learn more about the ooze. Even as I try to justify it to myself, it feels hollow. I’m a little too easily charmed by this guy who’s supposed to be one of Clayton’s enemies,my enemy. Even if it’s not technically cheating, it feels like a betrayal.
Adrianna’s voice crackles through the speaker. “So...call Clayton and tell him to pick you up?”
