Page 12 of Ordinary Secrets

I start my engine, then head toward my house. Once there, I switch my car out for my motorcycle. Riding it will make this last-minute errand feel less daunting.

Going with Liz would make it feel less daunting too, but she doesn’t know that I’m a Zordinary Innovations Research and Development Agency agent. It’s better that I keep that information from her, too. She wouldn’t approve of me working for a group of Zordis who operate outside the zovernment on their own terms. Besides, it’s against ZIRDA policy to tell people in our personal lives that we’re ZIRDA agents.

While ZIRDA does good things, the secret organization has a reputation for being a group of vigilantes. Like how we’re working to discover what makes some rare Ordinaries immune to our powers. After that, we’ll figure out how to replicate their immunity, then ZIRDA will be able to overpower and take down the people who killed my parents. As for me, I’ll sleep better knowing that the people who destroyed my family never get the chance to hurt another little boy ever again.

Three hours later, I’m near my hometown, about halfway up the dark mountain. On the side of the road, I cut the engine and dismount my bike. A refreshing breeze grazes my cheeks as I yank off my helmet.

Since there’s a shortage of parking lots in the middle of nowhere, I flick my wrist, and my Harley lifts off the ground. It floats in front of me as I tuck my helmet under my arm and hike off the road, through some tall grass.

I trek through the woods until I can’t see the road anymore. In the air, my bike follows my hand movements, maneuvering around every tree in its path. As I lower my hand, it eases tothe ground behind two thick tree trunks, where it’ll stay with my helmet until I return.

On foot, I march deeper through the forest in search of the perfect hover-log. The denser the woods get, the more I lose the moonlight, so I open my hand and imagine fire. A glowing ball of red and orange appears in my palm. Its warmth on my skin offers me a tiny sense of comfort between the dread and loathing of coming back to this place. I use the volleyball-size fireball to illuminate the ground until I spot a piece of wood about the size of a skateboard.

With a turn of my wrist, the log glides through the air toward my ankles. I knock on it a couple times to make sure it’s sturdy enough to hold my weight. It is, so I step onto it and kill my flames. As I lift my hand, I’m carried into the air above the trees.

I fly so fast that the wind whips across my face like I’m in a speeding car with my head out the window. Below me, the treetops are a dark trap waiting to swallow me whole if I fall. Of all the times I’ve flown above this forest, I’ve never fallen.

I used to hover-log over this area every day just to get to school, and I despised every minute of it. Doing this again reminds me that I didn’t grow up in a normal house like normal kids with a normal family.

I tilt my head back to gaze at the stars. Maybe my parents are up there somewhere, watching me. Does knowing that I’m working on the research they started make them proud of me? Or do I need tocompletetheir research for that to happen? Either way, I’m going to finish this for them—no matter what it takes.

By the time the familiar peak of a mountain appears, my throat is dry. The still and silent mountain seems to say, “What are you doing back here?”

Trust me. I’m not happy about this, either.

Even though I lived at the Ridge from the age of seven to eighteen, I never called it my home. All of my memories here are of bloody noses and nights spent locked alone in my bedroom. I can’t count how many times I planned to run away, or how many times I was told to leave and never come back. In a way, staying was rebelling. Also, I had nowhere else to go.

The closer I get to my destination, the closer I hover near the treetops. I’m not ready to land yet though. Up here, I don’t have to watch for booby traps. If I had to hike this, like many do, I’d have to study where the traps are. I don’t come around often enough to do that. The only other time I’ve been back here since I moved out was last month when Victor called to assign me this mission. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have come back at all.

I used to watch the weekly footage of wayward hikers tripping the traps. Some traps release snakes. Others release swarms of hornets or fire ants. Anything that keeps people from getting too close to this ZIRDA base.

In addition to the animal deterrents, small speakers are hidden in the trees that play bird sounds all day and crickets chirping all night. The extra noise masks the sounds of the waterfall that veils the entrance to Shadow Ridge.

Since I’m up in the air, the sounds of the waterfall reach my ears before it comes into view. The base’s entrance hides beneath strategically grown trees that blend in with the rest of the forest. Through a slight break in the treetops, I dip my hover-log down and stop just above the grass. Then I step off and drop my hand, making my hover-log return to its former useless state on the ground.

A towering waterfall stretches before me, cascading into a small lake. I used to spend hours swimming in that water, mostly because there isn’t much else for children to do around a secret hideout. Cable couldn’t have been installed out here even if I’d wanted it. As for the Internet, Victor made it a rule thatchildren aren’t allowed to use the Ridge’s satellite. Since I was the one and only child who lived here, it was obvious who he made that rule for.

Trickles of cold liquid splash onto me as I enter the cavern behind the waterfall. My footsteps echo in the darkness. I open my hand and imagine fire until warm flames appear. I throw my fireball into the air and keep it floating a few feet ahead of me as I trudge deeper into the hollow.

Tiny cameras embedded into the rock wall follow my movements. I know where most of them are hidden. As I look for them, I spot more cameras that weren’t there before. They seem to have doubled.

Waving, I wink into one of the thumbtack-size lenses I’ve never seen before. The security guards hate it when I do that. They think their camera-concealing skills are top-notch. For the untrained eye, they probably are.

After a couple minutes, my fireball illuminates the Ridge’s entrance—a wide door that looks like any other part of the cave. With my hands flat, I feel around the rocks for the little hole. Once I find it, I stick my index finger in and press it against a fingerprint scanner.

Beep! Beep! Beep!With a mechanical screech, a ten-foot section of the rock wall retreats inward, then slides to the left.

Two men in security guard uniforms greet me with unwavering frowns. The zense in my chest spikes, confirming what I already know. Their aggravated energy seeps into my head, bringing my already shitty mood down more.

“’Sup, Carlos,” I say to the older one. He’s been working here for as long as I can remember.

“Don’t think I missed that wink,” he growls.

The younger, more muscular guard hooks his thumb toward me. “Who’s he?”

“Big V’s annoying nephew. He used to live here and liked to play practical jokes on me.”

I played jokes on Carlos because he was an easy target. This other guy though... He must be new, because I’ve never seen him before. He’s got a scar down his left eyebrow and looks like he lifts trains for fun. As a kid, I wouldn’t have played jokes on him. I wouldn’t have even considered it.

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