Refraction (3 page)

“Look, I don’t want to be here anymore than you do,” Max snapped. “You think I don’t have better things to do? Maybe if I were fighting with Mom instead of babysitting your dumb ass we could get our device back and move on with our lives.”

Crush grinned. “So you don’t think she’ll get it back.”

“Be real,” Max grumbled. “You’ve kept us from running this city for a decade. There’s no reason to think it’ll change now.”

“So why do you bother, then?” Crush pushed. “Why fight if you know you’re going to lose?”

“Because some things are worth fighting for,” Max snapped, springing to his feet. “I’m out of here. Hope the pigeons don’t crap on your head.”

He threw his cape over his shoulder and vaulted off the roof, leaving Crush yelling behind him.

MAX WAS
a live wire the next day at school. Crush hadn’t mentioned anything about Max’s identity during the battle and subsequent abduction. He hadn’t outed Max, or covertly threatened him, or even looked at him with a knowing gleam in his eye. He hadn’t responded to Max’s opening about having a life, which even an amateur superhero should have jumped on as a prime dialoguing opportunity.

Max had gone into the battle expecting to have his future destroyed, one way or another, but he’d come out even more off-balance than he’d been before. It just didn’t make sense. Was Crush keeping silent to throw Max off his game, to trip him up? Or was he going to use it as leverage to try to blackmail Max into betraying his mother? Was there some other reason he’d been talking to Max? Max’s mind spun with possibilities.

Crush cornered him by his locker after second period.

“I think the only time I’ve ever seen you smile is during physics,” Crush said, which was odd because Max had just come from Brit. lit.

“I smiled when Hendricks tripped in a hole at practice,” Max heard himself say.

Crush laughed—a bright, surprising sound. He immediately looked guilty. “Some manager you are. He could have twisted his ankle.”

Max shrugged. “We have a second string for a reason. As long as the right number of people hit the field on time, my job is done.”

“I’ll walk you to class.” Crush nudged Max in the right direction, and Max abruptly recalled that he was in school and had things to do other than stand around making inane conversation. And apparently Crush knew he had geography with Blake next. His terror reared its head again—had Crush been spying on him? To what end?—but Crush seemed happy enough to just walk beside him serenely.

He never had to push anyone when walking with Crush, Max noticed. People just gave them enough space naturally, as though parted by the charisma of Crush’s gleaming hair. What a charmed life heroes must lead.

“So… do anything interesting last night?” Max asked, because eventually there’s nothing left to do but carpe diem and all that. If Crush was going to arrest him, Max wanted him to just get on with it.

To his surprise, Crush flushed.

“I guess you watched the news?” Crush asked.

Max nodded dumbly, even though he hadn’t. There wasn’t much need to watch the nightly news when you were the nightly news.

“Just run of the mill business. I’m still not used to it,” Crush confided. “I’ve been working for a few years, and it still feels weird that people know what I’ve been doing outside of school.”

Max made some kind of assenting noise, torn between outrage at being called “run of the mill” in any context and hilarity at the idea of Crush “working,” as though he were bussing tables instead of battling the most dangerous villains the country had to offer.

Crush left him at Mr. Blake’s doorway with a slightly chagrinned wave, and Max puzzled over the encounter all the way until lunch, when Crush dropped his tray next to Max’s without warning or invitation.

“Meatloaf is my favorite,” Crush told him.

Max absorbed this piece of information thoughtfully, as though he could slot it in with all the other facts he knew about Crush and suddenly the hero would make sense. It didn’t work.

His life didn’t get any less surreal as the day went on. Crush was
everywhere
, popping up in the corners of his vision, smiling at him in the hallways, waving at him through classroom windows. Was the wave secretly menacing or genuinely friendly? Was the next corner Max turned going to send him straight into the Crush’s fist? Did Crush seriously have no idea who Max was?

Because, really, Max went to great lengths to conceal his identity, and he’d have to do it until he finished college if he wanted any kind of formal education. His suit was designed to cover him from head to toe—the hood covered his whole head and his eyes were covered by a reflective fiberglass pane. He’d even built in some superfluous shoulder padding to make himself look a little less Max-shaped to anyone watching footage frame by frame.

Somehow he was still offended that Crush wasn’t even suspicious. Crush and Mr. Magnificent were, unfortunately, the center of Max’s world every moment he wasn’t in school. Was it possible that Max and his mom were such an insignificant blip on Crush’s radar that the heroes had never even bothered trying to track down their identities?

The thought annoyed Max, even though he should be praying it was true. Of course, he also had to consider the worst—that Crush had figured out who he was last night and was going to use it against Max. He should probably go to his mom, but she had enough on her plate trying to get the device back from Mr. Magnificent. Her life might be easier if Max didn’t have to spend so much time at school instead of helping her do anything useful… the least he could do was figure this part out on his own. All he had to do was let Crush follow him around all day and let him get close enough to catch him in a lie.

And Max had to remember that Crush was his enemy.

IT WAS
infinitely frustrating fighting against a guy who didn’t know Max was who he was when he was also following him around like a lost puppy at school all day. To be honest it was throwing Max for an emotional loop, and he didn’t think anyone would judge him for being a little short-tempered about it.

It was just awkward to be showered with attention and smiles for eight hours a day and then turn around and get dangled off the edge of a high-rise by the same person.

“This is really dumb, you know,” he choked, trying to work his fingers into Crush’s grip around his neck. “I can
fly
.”

“Yeah? So fly!” Crush heaved and threw Max at an unassuming pigeon.

“Ow!” Max tumbled through the air, taking a feathered beating to the face as the bird shrieked and bounced off him.

The ground was a blur below him (stories and stories and stories below him) as he flipped himself right side up and spun around in time to see Crush disappear back into the building. Max gritted his teeth and zipped across the patio railing after him.

It was mayhem inside the forty-third floor—his mother and Mr. Magnificent throwing each other around the room in an all out brawl, as usual. A renegade chair arced through the air, and Max threw himself at the ground, only flinching a little bit when it shattered on the floor behind him.

Where was—there! Max jumped to his feet and vaulted across the room, out into the hallway after Crush, who was racing toward the emergency exit stairway. Max dashed after him.

He couldn’t let Crush block the way to the doomsday device. Max could tell his mom was getting desperate—she’d doubled her efforts to track the Goodmans and find out where they’d stashed the device this time. It was like there was some kind of deadline she hadn’t told Max about, and it was making him nervous.

She’d had a breakthrough yesterday. A little electronic B&E had revealed that after the bank, Mr. Magnificent had moved it to a private security firm—this one. It was much harder to break into than a bank, because while banks catered to many types of people, private security catered only to Very Important People.

The Goodmans had stalled Max and his mom on the upper levels, and now odds were Crush was going to hook up with the firm’s reinforcements to blockade any routes to the basement.

Not on Max’s watch, though.

He reached into his utility belt and pulled out his bola, swinging it quickly to build momentum before letting fly. It spun, whiplike, before catching Crush around the knees. He toppled into the wall in the most satisfying collision Max had ever orchestrated.

“Wow, you look like a huge dork,” Max commented happily as Crush reached down and ripped his bola apart. That was going to be a little annoying to replace, but getting to watch Crush fall was worth it.

“No, you do!” Crush growled, charging Max. Max sidestepped and jabbed him in the ribs. Crush barely flinched.

Max bounced on his feet as Crush turned back toward him. At least now Max was between Crush and the door. All he had to do was keep him occupied long enough for his mom to come.

Crush swung at him, and they exchanged a flurry of blows, Max desperately deflecting Crush’s fists. Catching even one hit from Crush at the wrong angle could put Max out of action for good. Max slipped in as many jabs as he could—even if they weren’t going to put Crush down, they at least distracted him from getting back to the device.

“Ha!” Max crowed after a particularly good throat shot. “Some Crush you are. After I defeat you, maybe I’ll steal your name. I’ll be the Crush, and you’ll disappear into faded memories.”

“Yeah,” Crush coughed, “that might be a good move for you, Dino-man. You defeat any cavemen lately?”

“It’s
Dynaman
. Because I’m
dynamic
,” Max hissed, good humor evaporating. “And anyway that’s not even geo-chronologically accurate.”

Crush grinned like a lunkhead and threw another easily dodged haymaker at Max. “How did Catalyst let you get away with that dumb name? Normally she’s got better taste than that.”

Max glowered. “Mom says choosing a name is an intrinsic and inalienable aspect of developing your sense of personal identity.”

“Wow,” Crush said. “So you never got asked to prom, I guess.”

“Shut up!” Max yelled and shot Crush in the face with his Taser.

CRUSH WOKE
with a start, then groaned loudly and yanked at his wrist cuffs.

“This again?” he demanded.

“Shut up,” Max snapped. “Captives don’t get to talk. Unless you want me to get creative with this again.” He waggled the Taser in his fingers.

Crush glowered but kept his mouth shut. Max smirked at him.

Their beautiful, golden silence lasted about three minutes.

“So where are we this time?” Crush grumbled with the air of someone who recovered from pain much faster than the average human and therefore had fewer self-preservation skills.

“A roof,” Max told him, viciously enjoying Crush’s frustrated, powerless scowl.

They were only one building over from the security firm so Max could dash back to the fight if his mom called, but Crush couldn’t see up over the walls, and Max wasn’t about to inform him. He might try harder to break free if he knew.

“This is such a waste of time!” Crush complained, yanking at his cuffs again.

“Knock it off,” Max snapped.

Crush was right, though—this sucked. Having to drag both Crush and himself away from the fight made him feel infuriatingly powerless, but it would take a braver man than Max to disobey his mother.

“Seriously, stop it,” Max said again, because of course Crush hadn’t listened to him. “Those cuffs are reinforced six ways from Sunday. You really think my mom would send me up here with anything less than the best?”

“Oh, like none of her other plans ever fail!” Crush scoffed. His wrists were turning red and swollen around the cuffs. “We’ve beaten you twelve times this
year
.”

“Shut up!” Max yelled while Crush continued to pull, his arms bulging with the force of it. “God, don’t you ever give up?”

“I’ll never give in to the likes of you!” Crush spat.

Max pulled up short. It shocked him, somehow, to see Crush look at him with that much vitriol. He’d fought against Crush for over a year now, and the expression was as familiar to him as breathing. But this wasn’t the same kid who trailed him through the hallways at school and complimented his color-coding scheme in his calc notes.

Max watched Crush glare at him, red-faced and furious. “You really have no idea, do you?”

Crush huffed. “What?”

It had to be true. Crush’s face held nothing but undisguised hatred for Dynaman, and Crush just wasn’t capable of the type of long-game double-bluff Max had been on the lookout for.

The Crush genuinely wanted to bash his face in, and Crush genuinely wanted to be his friend, and Max was the only one who knew what was happening.

He walked to the other end of the roof, leaving Crush behind to rage impotently at the sky. Max had too many things to think about right now.

“OH MY
God,” Max groaned as Crush dropped into the desk behind him. “Did you switch your schedule to do this? There is no way you were in this many of my classes before.”

Crush frowned at him. “Of course I was.”

Max groaned again and buried his face in his textbook. He’d really been hoping Crush would give it a rest today and give him some time to process. This was a situation that required consideration! Of course, Crush didn’t know there was a situation.

There were a lot of things Max should probably do here, and none of them were “form an emotionally significant relationship with your archnemesis.” He should probably inform his mom—
his boss
—for one. He should probably gain Crush’s trust and try to pry trade secrets out of him. He should probably try to gain access to the Goodmans’ headquarters. He should probably learn personal secrets about Crush and use them for blackmail. He should probably kidnap Crush and hold him for ransom.

Crush leaned forward while their teacher called the class to order, his presence warm next to Max’s shoulder. His breath feathered along Max’s neck when he whispered, “Just because I sat in the back doesn’t mean I wasn’t here.”