Back in class, I’m not sure what to do next. I was supposed to deliver the list to the vice-principal’s office after we retrieved it, but now that we don’t have it, I’m at a loss. The vice-principal doesn’t seem like someone who tolerates failure, so I’d rather not confront her right away. She’ll call for me when she wants to see me, I guess.
Three hours later, still not having heard from her, it finally dawns on me that it won’t happen at all. Although it doesn’t surprise me, it still annoys the hell out of me, stirring something new inside me. I feel the unexpected urge to prove myself.
“So, you still want to find the list?” Shadow, asks approvingly.
“Yes, if only to prove her wrong, although I’m not sure how to start.” Shadow answers without hesitation. “Practice. Our talents aren’t worth anything if we can’t control them.”
“Yes, I always wanted to be a superhero,” Gnat adds enthusiastically, with a disturbing lack of irony. Embarrassingly enough, understand his sentiment. How many times have I reread my father's vintage superhero comics, stashed away in the attic? How many times have I fantasized about being a hero? The Mighty Thor, fighting Surtr—the fire giant—wielding his mythical hammer Mjölnir. How many times have I imagined being Peter Parker, cradling his true love—Gwen Stacy—on top of the Golden Gate Bridge after she was killed by the Green Goblin? How many times haven’t I been the Silver Surfer soaring through space. Hiding away from real life in our attic, I’ve been countless villains, heroes, henchmen, knights, wizards, slaves, and yes... Gods.
The reality is, of course, that I’m not a hero—let alone a superhero. On the contrary, I’m a failure. I have no mastery or control over my talent whatsoever, which makes my reaction to Gnat’s enthusiasm maybe a bit too sharp. “Well, it’ll take a lot of training to turn your 21 grams of muscles into a superhero. But it would make a great movie: The Mighty Needle to the Rescue.” It’s a stupid joke, meant to distract from my own feelings of insecurity, but the effect is immediate and predictable as Gnat, like so many short people, is hypersensitive about his size. His mouth moves, the lights above us start to buzz. The first bulb goes ‘pop’. Glass splinters rain down and the rest is about to follow, but then Shadow intervenes, with a big smile on her face.
“I see what you’re doing. Soooo cool.” Gnat's mouth snaps shut with a loud clack. The buzzing of the lamps stops abruptly. For a moment, we are all silent. Slug absentmindedly brushes glass dust from his shoulders. Shadow still smiles at Gnat, who stares at his shoes, thoroughly out of his depth. Once again, I have to come to his rescue.
“Okay, I hate to admit it, but Shadow is right. This only proves that we indeed need to practice. If we have to worry about exploding light bulbs every time we get excited, we will get nowhere. But where?” Not in the mood for delays, I ignore Slug. “Someplace we can easily access and where we won’t be disturbed.” Slug slowly raises his hand, and this time I let him proceed. I learned early on that Slug can’t be stopped when he wants to say something. Not really. “I... think... that...” Before he says anymore, Shadow reacts enthusiastically. Somehow, over the past few weeks, Shadow has developed the uncanny ability to understand what he wants to say after only a few words.
“You’re right, Robert. It’s perfect.” Gnat looks utterly bewildered, as do I.
“What? Where?”
“The science classroom, of course.” I laugh. Why didn’t I think of that myself? It’s as simple as it is brilliant. Every canceled science class not only provides us with the time but also the place to train—right under the noses of our teachers.
And so it happens. From that moment on, we practice during every free science hour in the abandoned classroom. For me, it’s a painful and humbling experience, as I seem to have only two settings: on and off. Mostly off, which makes sense, I suppose. All my life, I’ve trained to suppress my talent, trying to avoid burning things down or hurting people. I never actually tried to use my fire talent, and it shows. It’s virtually impossible for me to conjure fire consciously, let alone control it. Only when I’m really angry and frustrated, after an hour full of failed attempts, do I ignite spontaneously—without being able to stop it. These sessions inevitably end with my hands in a bucket of water.
Shadow, on the other hand, may be modest and soft-spoken, but when it comes to our training, she turns into an unrelenting drill instructor.
“Control, Max! Without control, accidents will happen. You have to do better. Are you feeling something yet? Keep trying. You can do it. You have to.” She’s completely committed, with a firm, motherly hand, and I’m her problem child. I hate that.
Slug hasn’t had much success either, but to be fair, he doesn’t seem to really try or care. Concentration isn’t his strong suit. His mind wanders here, there, and everywhere, and, just like with me, his talent only manifests when he’s under enough stress. On those rare occasions, time around him slows down, whether he wants it to or not. Even more remarkable is that the three of us don’t slow down too. I’m not sure how that works, but at least it explains why the four of us have never been late for class when we’re together.
So, only two of us are making real progress. Shadow was already the most accomplished, but Gnat is making big strides in a very short time. I’ve never seen him so motivated to learn anything. His talent turns out to be much stronger than we initially imagined. Electrical equipment starts working with just a touch from him, and—even more astounding—he can stick his fingers in electrical sockets without getting hurt. On the contrary, it seems to recharge him when he’s tired. However, when he’s not tired, he can overload the complete school’s electricity grid. I’ve caught Williams shuffling through the corridors with a box of fresh fuses under his arm multiple times. They were the only times I saw him disgruntled.
It only shows that accidents will be inevitable if he doesn't learn to control his talent. It also explains why he needs to use epic amounts of hair gel every morning. Without it, the static electricity would cause his hair to stand up in countless embarrassing ways. I would pay a fortune to see him in the morning when he wakes up. That must be hilarious.
Due to his success, his sense of superiority has reached new, unbearable levels of arrogance, which motivates me more than all of Shadow’s well-meaning encouragement. So, I practice relentlessly, not only at school but also at home—day in and day out. Each day harder than the last, and the next day harder still. Deep into the night, I push both my body and mind, enduring maddeningly long, unsuccessful hours, unable to sleep out of sheer frustration.
Still, despite being a complete failure during OUR training sessions, this is the happiest I’ve been in a really long time. The fact that the Flintstones seem to have disappeared from the scene completely (we have no idea why, but we're counting our blessings) combined with our growing confidence, makes all the difference. In the first months, we moved through school as invisible as possible. Now, we strut through the corridors with a self-assured air of entitlement. Gnat, in particular, acts more and more like he’s the King of the Hallways, expecting everyone to get out of his way when he approaches. The students who don't, or do so too late, are "corrected" in a not-so-subtle manner, shooting erratically out of the way after they get a shock.
I despise any form of power abuse, and I loathe myself for not intervening. However, my own disappointing 'talent development' forces me to keep a low profile, as I have no intention of giving Gnat more excuses to ridicule me. This is my reality, and I have to accept it... for now.