Dreadnought (Nemesis, #1)

by April Daniels

He’s going to scream at me for sure over this, probably as bad as he ever has, but that doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve got superpowers.

A laugh is almost out of me when I notice he’s staring at me, I mean really gawping. We go way back, and it’s a big adjustment, so I brush it off. “No, and he can’t make me. I’m going to stay a girl.” He blushes. “Oh, uh. All right. That’s…yeah, great.”

child. It feels right. It feels necessary.

“You’re really hot!” he blurts. My shoulders hitch up, and I turn back. “Uh, thanks?”

I’m clenching and unclenching my toes, but my face is solid, impassive. I’m invincible. I can do this. Last night I went from the bottom of the sea to orbit. I can handle high school.

once. Every time I get nervous I remind myself that I can look down on these people like ants any time I want to. Literally,

“It’s just…well, I suppose this is all a big change for you.” “Only because other people make it a big change,” I say as I wipe my hands.

The warning bell rings and we head for class. She goes the other direction from me, but turns back to say, “Welcome to being a girl. Don’t mind the boys. You’ll get used to them.” What the hell does she mean by that? • • •

For just the briefest moment, I imagine what the look on his face would be if I introduced him to the stratosphere. Believe it or not, that helps. Maybe it’s not healthy, but it helps. Compared to him, I’m a god. Goddess. Whatever. The point is, I shouldn’t let this little boy get to me.

“Because you bought me those things. Because…” My throat clenches up and my eyes prickle with tears. Because we had such a nice day out together. Because I felt closer to you that weekend than I ever have before. Because I thought you loved me, and could see I was happy now. I have all the things I need to say, but none of the strength to say them.

drawers. I don’t deserve to have this, but I need it. With shaking hands, I undress and put the suit on.

The pilots break into huge grins when they see me.

and then I’m sitting and having hot chocolate with a pair of friggin’ superheroes like it’s something I do all the time.

“That’s disappointing.” Doc Impossible blows a line of smoke over her shoulder. “Tell me about it.”

For a moment, I don’t realize what she’s offering. She’s got an encouraging, almost embarrassed smile, and I realize she’s apologizing. Like it’s just that easy. Like it could ever be simple. There’s a brief, fiery moment where I want to throw it back in her face and spit on her, but the look on her face punctures my spite. Maybe it can be easy, just this once.

Making sure you don’t cry is a just skill like anything else, and I’ve had a lot of practice. Thanks, Dad, you psychotic jackass.

A few minutes later, I’m sitting curled in the corner with my new clothes bunched in my lap. Those old instincts to hide and clutch things furtively are still with me, it seems. That’s what safety feels like. I rest my head against the wall and enjoy the feel of my new stockings against the skin of my legs. I feel relaxed and happy and free. So wonderfully, gloriously free.

“Why didn’t anybody tell me about this?” A little prick of disappointment pokes me. Doc Impossible likes to talk about how she wants me to have all the information, but then she conveniently forgets to mention I could take Dreadnought’s colors any time I want.

Compassionate, caring, but firm. Resolute, I’d call it.

“This body was born in 1979, but I am the sum of my mother and all my mother’s mothers; my years number nine and twelve hundred. I have heard every lie tongues can speak. Scant few can deceive me, and you are not among them. You were not practicing flying. Yet you were there. Why were you there, and why did you not tell us of it?”

There will be no illusions of safety, no peaceful times alone in my room. There will only be times when he’s not hurting me.

The justifications, the optimistic scenarios, come naturally to me. Because it’s a skill set. And I’ve had practice.

“Sarah?” “No,” blurts Calamity. “Don’t rightly know who that is.” “No, you’re totally Sarah. You just have a bandanna over your face and you’re talking funny.”

I say, which is the closest to a coherent thought on the subject I can muster up. It’s like I can see both sides of the argument with perfect clarity, but I can’t see what my own opinion should be.

serum. If you get it through your parents, it only carries a fifty-percent risk of leukemia within ten years of exposure. When I was born, I had three brothers. Now I have one.” “Jesus Christ!” “Ain’t nothing to worry your mind about.” She sets her arm on my shoulder. “I’ve been in remission for ten years, and I get a blood screen every other month.”

Here, it’s totally normal for a girl dressed like a cowboy to be parkouring all over the city, and for me to be floating along behind her. Here,

it’s not any kind of problem for me to be a girl. Here, no one has ever called me a boy.

I shrug. “It’s hypertech. Doc Impossible made it for me. Oh hey, it’s got Bluetooth.” “White girls get all the cool toys.” “Yes, that’s why they gave this to me. Because I’m white.” Calamity drops her eyebrows at me and I feel silly already. “Are you seriously whining about a little bit of teasing?” “No,” I mutter.

“Just don’t kill anyone,” I mutter. “Haven’t yet. Don’t intend to start tonight.”

I’ve already realized most people never look up.

But I’ve got superpowers, so it just smarts like hell. There’s a moment of silence as we both try to process what just happened. I recover first. “Dude! Not cool!”

Her bandanna makes her expression hard to read sometimes, but there’s a thoughtful look in her eyes. “You’re the real deal, aren’t you?” “Um?” There’s this weird little flare of hope in my stomach. Maybe I did the right thing after all. Calamity nods. “You’re gonna be a great Dreadnought someday.”

“I think you deserve to call yourself whatever you want.”

I owe Dreadnought, but his friends? His friends are assholes.

Reading about Andrew Jackson’s kitchen cabinet is an intensely surreal kind of frustration when you know you should be tracking down a supervillain instead.

“Maybe we can find another way down.” Sarah is not doing the old-timey voice right now.

“Before he died, Dreadnought said Utopia had some kind of new weapon. I think…I think it’s a gun that unmakes reality.” “Oh. Well. That’s new.”

Whitecapes aren’t exactly unwelcome, except they’re totally unwelcome.

Dad takes a half step back. “So, you can do it from here?” “It don’t matter,” says Bosco. “I could kill you anywhere.”

I’m a horrible person, and it’s the guilt that drives me onward.

I’m able to stop him cold. His knuckles clap against my palm with a sound like a gunshot, but my arm doesn’t budge more than a centimeter or so. For a moment we’re both too surprised to continue.

“You must be new. Flats are them. The baseline.” “That is the most boring slur I have ever heard.”

I haven’t been in a fight since the fifth grade. It’s, uh…it’s different than I remember.

Something wild has come to life inside my chest. Pure, savage joy pours through every part of me.

But then he starts weeping, the bastard. His weeping ruins it, and probably saves me from doing something I’d regret for the rest of my life.

She nods, and we keep walking. A moment later she says, “Danny, promise me, if you ever do join up with them, like, full-time, that you won’t forget tonight. You won’t forget us small fry.” “It’d be pretty hard to forget you, Calamity.” For a moment I’m scared I’ve offended her. She straightens up, looks at me funny. Finally, just as I’m about to apologize, Sarah says, “Thanks.”

“Dad, I’m transgender. I like being this way. I’m not going back, and you can’t make me.”

I should have let him die. I’m so stupid.

“Plenty of bridges in this town, I’m sure we can let some water pass under one of them,” says Sarah, with hints of Calamity.

“Don’t you sass me, sidekick,” she mutters around the edge of her chewing pendant. “Sidekick?”