Chum

Jenna leans back against the wall, her worn sneakers stretched out in front of her. The muted light from the table lamp catches the multi-colored specks of paint on her jeans, hue-shifting it all in the orange direction. She lets her fingers dance over the intricate patterns on the carpet beneath her, her mind clearly wandering, even as her eyebrows remain knitted in concentration. Beside her, Lilly sits cross-legged, the constant movement of her foot betraying her restlessness.

Tasha sits upright on the floor, a leather-bound notebook on her lap. Her eyes, hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses, dart between everyone, analyzing, processing, and absorbing everything in real-time. Every once in a while, she scribbles something down, making quick notes.

Kate, who's claimed a generous portion of the futon, sprawls out with a casual ease, as if she's in her own living room. Wait. She is. Anyway, her arms fold behind her head in a makeshift pillow, her gaze fixed intently on Marcus's screen, every muscle coiled in alertness.

"I'm not finding anything massive here, guys," Marcus sighs, his voice tinged with frustration. His fingers fly over the keyboard, dancing gracefully over his makeshift tech station. Screens, tablets, and devices surround him, each borrowed from a different member of the so called musketeers, each window open to a different forum or website, bathing the dimly lit room in a sea of digital blue. "Mostly just local stuff. Gangs, small-time hooligans, stuff like that."

Lilly twirls a strand of her hair, leaning forward with a playful smirk. "What, you don't even keep up with the locals? You're too metropolitan."

"I'm startled that you know what that word means," Tasha replies with mock condescension.

"I don't!" I volunteer.

"Don't worry about it. Anyway, what do you mean, Lil?" Marcus asks, leaning into her information, clearly interested now. "There's a local superhero team?"

"Duh. The Tacony Titans. They beat up street gangs and, like, distribute food and stuff. Really cool! My dad met them once. They gave him some pre-packaged food they got from a grocery store," Lilly reminisces, a little dreamily. "It was awesome."

Marcus raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling into a half-smile, clearly impressed. "You're more informed than I thought." He clacks away at his NetSphere search bar, clicking through links and webrings, eventually revealing a website that looks like it was designed in the early 2000s – slightly tacky with glaring neon text and a cute animated visitor counter at the bottom. It reads '328 visits'. "But see for yourself, they're hardly A-listers. More like… local celebrities? Celebrities might even be pushing it."

On the page, under a bold heading 'The Tacony Titans', are blurred and pixelated pictures of five figures. "Bubble", "Compass", "Weave", "Sandman", and "Sundial" – each accompanied by a small fan-made description, most ending with "powers unknown" or "abilities: speculative."

Jenna snorts, rolling her eyes. "That website looks like something I made in my sixth-grade computer class."

"You had a computer class? Like, where you made websites?" Lilly asks, leaning into Jenna.

"Yes," She replies bluntly.

Tasha leans in closer to the screen, squinting, "Looks amateur. I've made a better site for my pet centipedes."

"You have pet centipedes?" Jenna asks, violently recoiling from Tasha.

Tasha waves her away. "Anyway, what sort of a name is 'Bubble'? Does this guy, presumably, make bubbles? Is that his power? Because I can do that with two dollars and a trip to the Dollar Tree."

Kate, her brows furrowed as she meticulously scans the screen, mumbles without looking away, "You can make fun all you want, but these rookies are getting more attention than some pros out there. We need every scrap of info about the neighborhood if we're getting serious about turning Sam into a big time superhero." She pauses to glower jokingly at Tasha. "You never know, 'Bubble' might just trap you in a giant one and float you away."

I swallow a lump in my throat.

Lilly raises her hand as if she's in school. "Okay, so, like, do we go say hi? Maybe bring a fruit basket as a peace offering? Don't we need to find their headquarters or hideout or whatever."

Tasha leans back, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Slow down, turbo. First, we need a solid plan. And, Sam," she adds, her gaze intense, her voice softening, "I don't want to see you getting hurt any more than you already have. No offense, Lilly, but I don't trust your Dad's anecdotes with how insane things are getting nowadays."

Marcus looks at me, his dark eyes searching. He runs a hand through his thick, curly hair, rubbing at his scalp as if hoping to summon forth a great idea. "You know, Sam," he begins thoughtfully, tapping his foot in that familiar rhythmic way, "ever thought about bringing your 'talents' a bit closer to home? Maybe do some good right here, in our own backyard? I bet your blood smell would be good at triage."

From her corner, Tasha pushes her glasses up her nose, the light catching them just right. The smirk that follows is pure, unadulterated mischief. "You mean like… a superhero, dummy?" She jokes. "We were already talking about that."

Jenna's laughter mixes with Tasha's, her dark eyes twinkling in amusement. Her hands paint an image in the air, like she's picturing a comic cover. "'Local teen stops porch thieves'. I mean, we're not exactly a hotspot for muggings, it's no Kensington, or, God forbid, Temple."

"Temple's bad?" I ask, my face visibly drooping in fear.

"No, but, like, the neighborhood around it is." Jenna says.

"It's not bad, it's Black. Watch yourself. No comment on Kensington." Tasha says, flicking Jenna on the head hard enough for her to recoil.

"Wow, guys," I tease, "you've really been giving this superhero thing a lot of thought, huh? What's next? Marketing strategies? Merchandising?"

Lilly titters about, her feet pressed together, rocking back and forth on the futon's mattress. "Hey, merch sounds great! But first things first, right? You gotta build your superhero resume. Maybe start with rescuing kites from trees?"

Amidst their chatter, there's a familiar tug in my chest, a pang of guilt. They're envisioning this whole neighborhood superhero identity for me, not realizing I've already taken that leap. But how can I tell them? It's a truth I've hidden for their safety.

I am so bad at lying to anyone that's not my parents. I literally cannot hold this information inside of me. My body just rejects it.

I clear my throat, an involuntary gesture as the conversation presses in on me. My fingers dance together nervously, a performance of nerves. "Guys," I begin, the sound coming out shaky, not the strong, confident voice I was hoping for, "I've been meaning to tell you something. I… I really do appreciate all your ideas, the time you've put into this. And it might be awkward to say this but… I kinda already have a superhero costume. And, uh, a name too. And a team. I've already been… scouted, I guess."

The room's atmosphere changes abruptly. The previous enthusiasm vanishes like a popped bubble, replaced with a stifling silence that feels like it's pulling the air from my lungs. Their smiles dim, faces registering genuine shock and confusion, as if I had spoken in a different language.

Kate tilts her head, eyes squinting a little. Her voice drips with disbelief as she says, "Wait, seriously? You're… you're not joking?"

I swallow, nodding. I feel like I'm about to vomit. "Yeah, seriously. I've been… doing some minor stuff. You know, saving a few cats stuck in trees, cleaning up the occasional litter in the park."

Marcus releases a short burst of laughter that spreads in waves throughout the room. "And here we were," he says, leaning back, one hand gesturing to the computer screen, "spending the better part of an hour diving into 'Mythological Ocean Deities' on NexusNet. All for nothing?"

I scrunch up my nose, a smirk pulling at the corner of my lips. "I didn't exactly want to ruin your detective spree. It was… endearing."

Kate, leaning back on the futon, allows a genuine, heartwarming smile to curve her lips, her eyes softening. "You always had this in you, Sam. You've always had a superhero heart. I think you're the best of us, really."

"I object to that. It's clearly Marcus." Tasha says.

Kate kicks her gently in the head with the sole of her foot. "Don't ruin the moment, weirdo."

Warmth, like the comforting embrace of a blanket, envelops me. It's an overwhelming sensation of being loved, of being seen. Yet beneath it is a prickling sense of melancholy, like being stabbed by a cactus. I wish I could let them in on everything, every single detail. But some doors have to remain shut to protect them. So instead, I respond with a smile of my own, a quiet one but deeply sincere. "Thanks, guys," I murmur, my voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how much it means to have you all by my side."

Tasha, a glint of playful mischief in her eyes, gives my shoulder a gentle shove. "Well," she drawls with a smirk, "having a superhero as a friend is definitely a boost to my cool factor. Can I brag about you in school?"

"No." Marcus, Lilly, and Jenna all say at the same time, with various levels of indignation.

The momentary joy and light-heartedness of our conversation is slowly crushed under the weight of Kate's far-off look. Her usually animated eyes drift away, as if she's momentarily lost in another world. I watch as her fingers, in an act of pure subconsciousness, trace the contours of an old, faded movie stub she's found amongst the clutter on the table.

"But Sam," Kate ventures, her voice noticeably softer, almost hesitant. It feels like she's treading on unfamiliar ground. The rest of us can sense it too, the sudden shift in her tone. "Have you ever… I mean, with all that you can do now, ever thought of…you know, playing in the bigger leagues?" There's a slight catch in her voice, and for a second I wonder if she's holding back tears. "Instead of just, you know, helping out cats stuck in trees or helping elderly people cross the street, maybe you could… I don't know, take a jab at those loan sharks or those grimy slumlords? Get some real-life practice?"

The room goes silent, outside of a video quietly playing on Marcus's laptop. I feel the ache of my arm, my thigh. The bullet wounds, healed into an off-white patch of scarred skin, suddenly blare back to life.

Tasha raises an eyebrow, her sharp gaze pinning Kate down. "Kate, that's not even a consideration. She's not turning into some vigilante, going around biting the fingers off every criminal she sees. Do you have any idea how dangerous and illegal that is? She could… get arrested! Go to jail! Among other things."

Kate leans back, her eyes flashing defiantly. "I didn't say she should start an underground fight club or something. I'm just saying… well, what if those bad guys had it coming?" Her voice holds an unmistakable sharpness lurking beneath.

Lilly's eyes open up like a cat taking in sunlight. "Loan sharks? Wait, are we talking like, movie-type loan sharks? Those things are real?"

Marcus, who'd been quiet till now, fixes her with a piercing look, his face etched with seriousness. "Very real, Lilly. And they're not just some comical bad guys you see on the silver screen. These people are the epitome of menace. They're dangerous, and their actions have real-world consequences."

"E-pit-toh-mee…" Lilly sounds out in her mouth, the word unfamiliar.

Jenna leans in, her voice dripping with concern. "Kate, are you alright? That was… abrupt."

Cutting her off, Kate lets out a chuckle, maybe a touch too forceful to sound genuine. "Relax, everyone! I was just pulling your leg. Everyone knows loan sharks aren't real - like Santa Claus, or the state of Wyoming."

Jenna's eyes go round as saucers. "Wait, Santa Claus isn't real?"

"Oh dear," Tasha mutters.

Mayfair in the early fall feels like rereading your favorite childhood book; familiar, comforting, with every street corner coated in some new, dim color. The dimming sky above lays down a blanket of warm oranges, purples, and fading blues, allowing the twilight to slowly kiss the streets. Rowhouses stand side by side, like guardians of old stories, their bricks glowing in the moonlight.

We step out of Kate's cozy little first-floor apartment, its warmth lingering on our skin. The sound of the door, with its slightly creaky hinges, softly clicks shut, sealing us in the embrace of the upcoming night. Kate, with her strong but delicate fingers, pulls her worn jacket tighter around her, its fabric rustling softly, smelling faintly of a perfume I know she's never worn in her life.

"Rita's, anyone?" Marcus suggests, his voice light and teasing, attempting to shatter the growing heaviness in the air. Every word he utters forms a small puff of fog, painting his speech in ethereal white in the uncharacteristically cold evening. His old sneakers, with their frayed laces, make a rhythmic tap-tap against the sidewalk, almost like a heart beating steadily. "They have one week left open for the season and I have a coupon."

Tasha rolls her eyes, a playful smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. "Oh, we're getting crazy with the Rita's today. Maybe we can cross the bridge to Camden and get a preroll from a dispensary, too. Since we're going crazy." she quips, trying unsuccessfully to draw a laugh from the crowd.

Lilly jumps in, her tone effervescent, seltzer-light. "Bet you ten bucks I can finish three Water ices before you guys even start your second!" The challenge lights up her eyes, making them seem even brighter.

Jenna laughs. "Lilly, remember the last time? You were clutching your head, swearing off Italian ice forever!"

"Water ice." Lilly insistently corrects. "Nobody from around here calls it 'Italian ice', weirdo."

Marcus ponders aloud. "I can't decide… peach has that sweet tanginess, but blue raspberry is so refreshingly sharp."

I nudge Marcus playfully, joining in. "And yet, you still haven't given the mango a shot. What's up with that?"

Marcus raises an eyebrow, "Maybe today's the day?"

"Are there actually blue raspberries? Can we get them? Like, as a fruit?" Lilly asks.

"No. They're a made up flavor. Sorry." Tasha shoots her down. Lilly's face contorts into an exaggerated grimace.

We meander through the streets, the dimming light casting our shadows long and wavering on the asphalt. Our group's laughter and playful taunts punctuate the evening air, and the motley array of stores on Frankford Avenue extend before us, their lights shimmering and inviting. Among them, Rita's bright and cheery signage stands out like a promise of sweet relief, about half, maybe a quarter mile away.

Jenna bumps her shoulder against mine, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief. "Hey, Sam, what do you say we hit up Five Below after this and grab some more markers?"

I raise an eyebrow, feigning contemplation. "You mean like last time? When I woke up with clown makeup on in permanent marker? Yeah, hard pass."

Jenna throws her hands up, affecting a dramatic gasp. "First of all, that was a masterpiece. And secondly, it was abstract art! It's not my problem your middle school teachers couldn't recognize a Rothko if it bit them in the face."

"I don't even recognize a Rothko," I spit back, play-elbowing her.

Before Jenna can defend her artistic integrity, Tasha, clutching a paperback in her hand, turns to Marcus with an excited gleam. "Marcus, did you manage to snag a copy of 'Echoes in the Abyss'?"

Pulling out his e-reader from his back pocket, Marcus nods with an enthusiastic grin. "Oh, absolutely. Started it last night and I was instantly hooked. By the way, that plot twist in chapter three? Absolute madness."

Jenna leans over curiously, "You guys always have the best book recommendations. Mind if I jump on this bandwagon?"

Tasha smirks, "Only if you promise not to doodle in the margins of my books."

Up ahead, Rita's sign stands like a bright beacon, its neon lights promising sweet relief from the day's residual heat.

Jenna grimaces, stuffing her hands into hand pockets. "Seriously? Why pay more when we can just get some Italian Ice from that deli on 5th? I swear it tastes just as good, if not better."

Lilly huffs, her face animated with mock exasperation. "Jenna, for the last time, it's Water Ice! And Rita's is a Philadelphian tradition. They don't have these in New Mexico!" She throws her hands up, her enthusiasm palpable, as if defending a sacred tradition.

Tasha giggles softly and nudges both of them, one after the other. "Okay, okay, drama queens. Can we compromise and call it flavored ice crystals?"

Kate tilts her head, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Isn't that basically… snow?"

Pulling a face, I chime in, "Well, yeah, but only if you decide to pee on it first." The words escape before I can reel them back in.

Kate wrinkles her nose in feigned disgust. "Gross!" She playfully jabs me in the ribs, forcing out a puff of air.

Still laughing, I rub my side. "Call it what you want, but I'm all about that custard," I muse, recalling the last time I savored its rich, velvety texture.

Kate wraps an arm around my shoulder, feigning an elitist accent. "Oh, la-di-da! Mrs. Custard over here. Why don't you just call it what it is? Ice cream. Ice cream for rich people."

From behind us, Tasha pushes her glasses up her nose, the moonlight gleaming off the lenses. "Well, if we're getting technical," she pauses for dramatic effect, pointing with flourish towards Rita's cheerful, bright-colored establishment that had been the talk of our evening, "it does clearly advertise itself as 'Rita's Water Ice'. In the logo. Just pointing out the obvious." She ends with a smirk, clearly reveling in the little 'I told you so' moment.

Marcus, trying to add fuel to the fire, turns his full attention to Kate. "There's a difference between custard and ice cream, Kate," he teases, nudging her side.

Kate, her cheeks slightly flushed, rolls her eyes. "They're the same thing!" She repeats, indignantly, pushing her hair back and puffing out a breath, emphasizing her point with her hands. "Creamy, cold, sweet. Made of milk. What's not the same?"

With a bemused smile, Tasha fires the finishing volley. "You see," she begins, using her hands to gesticulate her points, "ice cream is churned with milk, cream, and some sweeteners. It's like… the everyday dessert." Pausing to let this sink in, she continues, "On the other hand, frozen custard, while having the same base ingredients, includes egg yolks. This gives it that velvety, richer consistency."

"So it's rich people ice cream! I was right!" Kate shouts, drawing a couple of looks. I tousle her hair.

"Yes, Kate, you are so correct. It's rich people ice cream. And it's delicious." I tell her. "You can even have some, if you want."

Kate puffs her cheeks up and refuses to answer, jerking her body away.

Jenna, scratching her head, looks over at me with genuine curiosity. "Is that kosher, Sam? Like, are you allowed to eat egg yolks mixed with dairy?"

"I don't keep kosher, Jenna," I remind her, feigning annoyance as I pick up a small pebble and flick it playfully at her head. "Besides, eggs aren't meat."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kate confidently stepping up, the leader in our motley crew. I remember her dad handing her some money before we left, a handful of crumpled fives and ones and a couple of coins. "Alright, what's everyone having?" Kate questions, her gaze passing over each of us as she takes a mental tally.

Lilly and Jenna both get cherry water ice, as I expected them, ultimately, to do so - they get the same thing every time, and then subsequently accuse each other of copycatting. Marcus, in spite of his earlier comments about trying something new, opts for blue raspberry, while Tasha decides to get a chocolate custard, winking at me as she does. Kate surprises us all by picking green apple, a flavor I've never seen her choose before.

I approach the counter, already knowing my order. "Vanilla custard for me, please. With Reeses on it. If that's okay, Kate?" I ask, turning towards her for permission for the fifty cent additive.

She counts coins in her hands, and then gives me a thumbs up.

Kate's father has graciously taken Kate's bedroom for the night, allowing us to have the much more substantially sized couch futon to cram all six of us onto. Inevitably, this will result in a big sleeping pile, but that's a problem for future me. The moon rises and the sun lowers, and the conversations turn to boys (and in Marcus's case, girls), how everyone is doing at their new schools for their first weeks, and, then, a safety pin.

The light's off. Phone flashlights are all on me.

Marcus, glasses reflecting the dim overhead light, clears his throat. "I mean, you're not the first superhuman with a healing factor. But I've never, like, gone out of my way to watch any videos of it or anything. I don't think I could stomach it."

Lilly, trying to angle for a better view, hops onto the armrest of a faded couch, her fingers tapping a quick rhythm on the cushion beside her. "This is so cool! Do you think if we video this, it'll go viral?"

"That's not a good idea," Tasha warns, the tone in her voice serious but her eyes gleaming with interest. "We can't risk exposing Sam like that."

"I agree," I chime in, "My parents would kill me if they found out. Also, this is kind of gross. I only think weirdoes would want a video of this."

Kate reaches into the pocket of her worn-out jeans, pulling out a small zippo lighter with a triumphant grin. The flicker of the flame mesmerizes us for a split second. "You think you're ready?"

Marcus tilts his head, brow furrowed in concern. "Are you sure this is safe?"

"It's just a pinprick," I reassure him. I'm more excited than worried, but I'm careful not to let it show too much. The adrenaline coursing through my veins is familiar, addictive.

As Kate sterilizes the safety pin with the Zippo's flame and then some rubbing alcohol, Jenna leans closer, her eyes wide with curiosity. "Is it going to hurt?"

Kate shrugs at the same time as I say "Yes."

The moment the safety pin's tip pierces my finger, going in no more than a millimeter or two, there's a collective gasp from the group. Lilly squirms, covering her face with her hands, peeking through her fingers. I wipe with a rubbing alcohol wet-wipe, fully prepared to recoil from a sting that never comes. Instead, the single droplet of blood is wiped away, revealing a barely noticiable dot of white that quickly vanishes into my skin.

"Okay, that was amazing," Marcus breathes out, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

Tasha tilts her head, lips quirking into a smirk. "That was it? I couldn't see anything." Kate, without a word, disappears into her room for a moment and returns with a box cutter. Tasha's forehead breaks out into a sweat. "I absolutely, positively, did not mean to get a razor blade."

"It's for boxes," Kate insists, her voice shaking a little bit. She rolls her sleeves up, revealing smooth, pale skin. "Promise."

"We need to be careful," Tasha says, leaning forward with authority. "There's skin, and it's really thin, and then it's going to look like styrofoam. If it looks like baked beans, you went too far, and I will call 911."

"Please do not do that." Kate exhales breathlessly.

"Styrofoam and beans?" Lilly asks, puzzled.

"Where do you even learn this?" Jenna asks, her face crisscrossed by fabricated wrinkles from scrunching her expression up.

Tasha waves her off. "Medical shows. Not the point. We just need to be shallow. Don't go too deep."

I nod in agreement, my heart rate skyrocketing as Kate carefully disinfects the blade with the same procedure as before. First, fire, applied to the razor, followed by letting it sit in a fresh bowl of rubbing alcohol. We set a timer for five minutes.

The air is dead silent. There's not even a video playing this time.

When the time comes, I grab the re-set box cutter. "I'm gonna do it this time. I know how thick my own skin is."

Kate raises both of her hands up. "Suit yourself. Do your shoulder or upper arm, though, in case it leaves a mark. I do not need your parents yelling at me for you getting visibly injured again."

"That was one time!" I protest.

Kate's eyes narrow at me.

I sigh and hold the box cutter up to my upper arm, sleeves rolled up. Tasha's eyes are wide behind her glasses and she's leaning in, while Marcus watches with his face as pale as someone of his complexion can get. Lilly and Jenna are both holding each other, covering each other's face.

Kate smiles at me. I don't know how to interpret it.

There's no sound. Knives don't make a noise when they cut flesh.

I don't press very hard.

A small, whitish sliver opens up in my skin. It quickly fills with blood. I wipe it away with another alcohol wipe, and this time, I feel the sting, sucking air between my sharp teeth.

"Oh my god," Tasha whispers, entranced at the sight of my skin visibly trying to stretch itself back into shape, like a memory foam mattress that someone just got up from.

"Whoa," Marcus quietly mumbles, as each side of the cut makes contact with the other, starting from the tip and tail. The blood flows, but only for a couple of seconds.

"Metal." Kate says, before quietly taking down the rest of her can of Diet Coke. "Totally metal," she repeats, and one more wipe gets rid of the blood. What's left is just white, barely even a scratch, slowly sealing itself up. It looks like one of those time-lapse photos of a plant growing.

"Is it over yet?" Jenna asks, her face buried in Lilly's shoulder, and vice versa.

I pop out the box cutter blade and put it back in the bowl of disinfectant. I hand the box cutter back to Kate. My arm burns and itches, but really, it was just a sensation of tearing, that I felt more in my hand doing the cutting than I did on my skin. I show off my upper arm, which has totally closed itself back up into a thin white line. "Yeah. We're good. I am satisfied knowing that I am now immune to being attacked by cats."