The Betrayal of Renegade X (Renegade X, Book 3) (15 page)

“So that’s what those pictures were for. I thought you were just going to sell them on the internet.”

“It was a difficult decision, but my future is important. That extra credit now will pay off more in the long run.”

Amelia stomps her foot on the sidewalk. Right on a crack, too, as if she doesn’t care whose back she’s breaking. So careless. “Get off the phone! You’re supposed to be listening to me!”

I’m not sure why she thinks that.

“It’s okay,” Kat says. “I have to go to my psych class anyway. Let me know how it goes. I want a full report on how many quarters a load of laundry costs. I want to know how it compares to the machines in my dorm and if I’m getting ripped off.”

“You probably are. I mean, where else are you going to go? They’ve got you where they want you.”

“Yeah, they do, but I still hate not knowing.”

We say good-bye and then hang up. Amelia’s shoulders slump in relief as she sees me put my phone away. “
Finally
. We’re supposed to be working, and we don’t have anything figured out yet, and—”

“First of all, nothing’s going to happen. We’re just checking it out. It’s a place of business. Anyone can walk in off the street and wash their clothes or whatever.”

“Oh, my God! We forgot to bring laundry! We’re going to look suspicious. Maybe we should go back.”

“We’re not going back.”

“I could call some up.” She flexes her fingers, looking like she’s thinking really hard about whether she wants to use her power to summon her dirty clothes.

“It’s not a crime to show up to the laundromat empty-handed. Nobody’s going to even be looking at us.”

“People are
always
looking at you.”

True. “Okay, then maybe you should go in alone.”

Pure terror spreads across her face. “Mom and Dad aren’t going to be very happy if you let me die in a laundromat, you know. Or
anywhere
,” she adds, as if I might have been getting ideas about where it was okay to let her get killed.

“I was kidding.” Like I’d trust her to do this on her own. She’d take one step through the door, panic, and start shouting that she was just a random superhero, trying to do her laundry, which, by the way, she forgot, so maybe she should run home real quick.

“Yeah, right,” she mutters.

“Come on. Let’s just get this over with.”

“But we don’t have a
plan
.”

“We go in, we get our info, and we get out. What more is there to know?”

“
Everything.
”

“Whatever. It’s going to be fine. And this is only our first mission. You might want to tone down your freak-out level, so you can save it for when we’re actually in danger.”

T
he laundromat seems pretty full for the middle of the day, though there are still some machines open. It’s warm in here and the windows are steamed up. The whole place smells like a weird combination of overly flowery laundry soap, dampness, and grime. A couple heads turn when we walk in, and then everyone goes back to reading or staring at the machines. Waiting.

There’s a change machine in the corner and a vending machine that sells little boxes of detergent. There’s also a big wad of pink gum on the floor that I narrowly avoid stepping in.

“Well?” Amelia whispers, ducking into the corner with the machines.

“Well what?”

“We should buy some soap. So we look natural.”

I glance across the room, at all the bored people not paying any attention to us. “How does buying soap make us look natural?”

“Because then we have a reason for coming in here.”

“Yeah, but having a box of detergent and no laundry is weirder than having nothing.”

Amelia takes off her pink coat and wads it up, like she’s going to wash it. “I’m just trying to make this work. Since we don’t know what to do.”

“Speak for yourself. I know exactly what to do.”

“You do?”

“We should split up.”

“
What?
”

“We can get this place checked out faster.”

“That’s what they always say in horror movies. We’ll cover more ground, but one of us will end up dead in a basement.”

I can’t believe her. And I have a whole semester of this to look forward to. Possibly the rest of my time at Heroesworth, since it’s not like Riley’s going to un-ditch me, despite what he said about working together next year. “Look, Amelia, the sooner we look around, the sooner we can leave. So just go, okay?”

“But—”

“This isn’t a horror movie. Besides, even if it was, the whiny virgin girl always lives.”

She scowls at that, then stands there, watching me for a minute. Hoping I’ll change my mind. Or maybe she’s trying to figure out a reason why we should stick together. But it’s fieldwork, not hand-holding class, and eventually she makes a
hmph
noise and storms off toward the washing machines.

I lean against the wall and get my phone out. I think about texting Riley, to remind him what a jerk he is for ruining our plans—and my life, at least for the next four months—but then I think he and Mason are probably having a great time on their mission, since they’re both on the same page or whatever, and the last thing I want to do is remind him what an awesome time he’s having without me.

I text Zach instead.

Any chance you can start at Heroesworth, like, NOW?

He doesn’t start until next year, assuming he gets in, which I’m pretty sure he will. As Amelia’s pointed out, if they’ll let me in, then they don’t exactly have standards. And sure, Gordon pulled some strings, but my mom was sleeping with the dean of Vilmore when I originally applied there and I
still
didn’t make the cut.

Of course, even if he did go to Heroesworth, it’s not like we’d be in the same grade. And if it was somehow possible for us to be partners, he’d probably pick Amelia.

Riley’s a jerk for ditching you
, Zach writes back.
And Mason’s a monkey wrench AND a screwdriver.

A what?

A tool. Only, like, he’s such a tool he’s a double tool.

I laugh.
He was traveling the world as a human flashlight. But Riley thinks he’s so great.

Lightning > flashlight. Riley doesn’t know what he’s missing.

Except he does know. That’s why he’s missing it.
Were they really BFFs back in the day?

There’s a pause. Kind of a long pause.

Zach. Come on.
I haven’t known Riley that long, I guess, but there’s no way he was better friends with Mason than with me. If for no other reason than Mason’s obvious tool-ness.

Mason was over all the time
, Zach writes.
It was so annoying. They were always talking about going to Heroesworth together and being partners in the League. Even though Mason is super boring.

Now it’s my turn to pause. The way Zach tells it, I’m the one getting in the way of
their
plans. And now they can work together, like they always wanted, and then join the League, leaving me behind.

That was all before he moved away
, Zach writes, trying to reassure me.
Riley hasn’t even emailed him in years.

I’m still trying to think of what to say to that when I hear a familiar squeal of “Oh, my God! I’m
so
sorry!”

I look up from my phone. Amelia seems to have accidentally bumped into some guy. He must have dropped whatever he was holding, because she scrambles to pick something up off the floor. “Sorry,” she repeats, sounding embarrassed. Light glints off the metal thing he dropped, which she holds out to him. “I can be really klutzy sometimes.”

He snatches it away and grumbles at her before turning and heading for the door.

“I said I was sorry!” Amelia calls after him.

I’m surprised she was even getting a
B
last semester, what with her amazing stealth skills. I may have underestimated how much of a liability she is. Why bother working in pairs if your partner is going to stumble into people and attract attention to herself? Why not work alone? It would be less dangerous, not to mention less annoying.

Amelia’s totally botching this mission
, I tell Zach.
At this rate, we’re not even going to pass this class.
Then I’d have to retake it, and me and Riley wouldn’t be able to be partners even if we wanted to. Though maybe I’ll do so badly—on account of Amelia, of course—that I’ll get sent back to Intro to Heroism, just in time to be in Zach’s group next year.

She told me *you’re* botching it
, Zach writes.
She messaged me and said you’re just standing there, texting.

Another message comes in, only this time it’s from Amelia. I knew nothing good would come from her having my number. And what,
now
she’s concerned with being quiet, after all the commotion she made by bumping into someone? I glance up from my phone before opening the message, scanning for Amelia, but I don’t see her.

Typical. She’d better not have given up and gone home. I can’t picture her sneaking off, both because this is a school assignment and because she wouldn’t miss an opportunity to tell me to my face why I’m the reason our mission is a bust. But I don’t know where else she would be.

I did it!
her text reads.
I’m in the back room. :)

What? What back room?
What the hell is she talking about?

There’s a door. Front right corner. I stole the key from that guy and went in!

Who told you to do that?
Geez. After all her whining about how we had to plan for every possible scenario, she just runs off without telling me?

I took the initiative.

Get back out here.

She ignores me.
There’s a hallway that leads to an office. I’m going in.

Wait.

She doesn’t answer right away, and my mind races, jumping to conclusions. Maybe she put her phone away. Maybe she’s not talking to me because she doesn’t want me to tell her no. Or she could be in trouble, or—

Uh-oh
, Amelia writes.

And I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a mild
uh-oh
, like, oh no, the door is locked, or if it’s supposed to convey the worst, but it
is
my cue to freak out.

Amelia?

I stare at the screen, willing her to answer. And there could be a legit reason why she’s not saying anything that doesn’t mean she’s in danger, but I get this awful feeling that that’s not the case. If I’m wrong, she can make fun of me and say I ruined the mission all she wants, but if I’m right... I shove my phone in my pocket and sprint for the door to the back room. I fling it open and run in, electricity already twitching beneath my skin.

“Damien!” Amelia calls out when she sees me, a look of horror on her face. A tall man in a business suit stands behind her. He’s got a tight grip on her forearm and is holding a raygun to her head.

My blood runs cold, but my electricity runs hot. Lightning flows into my hands. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, because zapping the guy holding a gun to my sister’s head—his finger curled on the trigger—might not be the best idea. Then a man’s voice behind me says, “Don’t try anything.”

I can hear him breathing, and I can tell he’s got a weapon pointed at me by the way Amelia’s face turns pale and her eyes well up with tears.

She starts to tell them to leave me alone, but her captor shoves the end of his raygun into the side of her head, and her lip trembles and she doesn’t say anything.

“Amelia!
Call
it!” I make eye contact with her, willing her to understand. Because she’s touched the raygun, she can summon it to her. But she doesn’t move, either too panicked to understand or too afraid they’ll shoot me as soon as she does.

“We know who you are,” the guy behind me says.

“Yeah, who doesn’t?”

“Take her away.” He makes a gesture with his free hand that I can just see out of the corner of my eye. The guy holding Amelia nods and starts to drag her off down the hall. Panic flickers in her eyes.

“You can’t do that!” I scream at them. “You—”

“Shut up! I have to bring you in alive, but nobody said anything about her. So keep your mouth shut and cooperate. Now come on, let’s go.” He points in the opposite direction of where they took Amelia. “The boss wants to see you.”

I
CONSIDER ZAPPING THE guy behind me, but there’s still the issue of him having his finger on the trigger. Which I’m assuming he does, even though I can’t see him, and even though he said he was supposed to bring me in alive. Electricity crackles along my arms, and all my instincts are telling me to blast him. I could do it without looking. Maybe I could duck right before, so his gun wasn’t pointed straight at me.

Or it could all go horribly wrong, and I’d end up dead, and then there’d be no one to save Amelia.

And then I’d also never find out why some criminal who owns a laundromat wants to see me. I remember my grandpa’s warning, about pissing off people we know. But there’s a chance this boss guy just wants his picture taken with me, right? Or wants me to be their new spokesperson in a commercial? Maybe I can charge him extra for hazard pay.