Page 22 of The Surprise

It’s a little corny, of course, but it’s also true. So many of the superhero movies out there have good themes. The superheroes want to change the world, or heal the world, or protect the world, and I think that’s a good thing. I’ve certainly met plenty of people who don’t try to do anything to better the world. I’ve never wanted to be like that.

But after Dad died, I didn’t want to watch those movies any more.

At first, I thought the doctors were heroes. I thought they could save my dad from the cancer that was replacing his organs with junk cells. I thought they would be the real-life superheroes.

Only, they failed.

He died.

That’s when I realized—I mean, I knew it before, but I hadn’treallyaccepted the truth of it—that superheroes don’t exist. There are no magical powers. There’s no special pill that changes you, no miracle cure that fixes things. No one can leap small or large buildings. We’re all mortal, and we’re all subject to the whims of fate.

All my hopes that I might better the world died with Dad. But forget being a superhero, I was almost a super villain tonight. I almost struck someone with my car.

Only, once I hop out, my heart pounding, adrenaline spiking in my system, I realize it’s not just anyone.

It’s someone I know.

“Beth?”

“Ethan?” It’s Beth, alright. She’s wearing jeans, wet to her mid-calf on one leg, like she stepped in a lake or a huge puddle, and her hair is loose around her shoulders. Her eyes look dazed and a little lost.

“What in the world are you doing, running out into the road?” My heart rate’s coming down, but I’m still shocked. I barely pulled my mom’s Tahoe onto the side of the road in time to miss her. “Why are you out here?” I glance around. “Isn’t that the horse doc’s place?”

Beth nods.

And that’s when I notice what she’s holding—a beer.

I step closer and take a good sniff. I’ve never had any alcohol—my mom’s got strong opinions about waiting until it’s legal, and she never drinks anyway—but when I might have had some at a party, I was busy dealing with a dying dad. The year after that, I didn’t really feel up to partying.

And now I’m here. The tiny town without a local bar, where I could definitelynotget a fake ID, even if I wanted one. So where did Beth get beer?

Her parents, probably.

A lot of adults are way cooler than my mom about it. “You’re drinking.” I state the obvious, because I’m not sure what else to say.

“Beer,” Beth says, “is just as gross as it smells.” She laughs then, and stumbles away from the road.

I catch her before she can fall and belatedly realize she wasn’t falling. She was trying to sit on a weird bench that’s facing some trees.

It’s in front of a little stream.

The wet ankle makes more sense, at least.

“Why are you out here, drinking alone?”

“Why not?” Beth asks.

That makes no sense, but it doesn’t seem like she’s about to explain it to me. I glance back at where my car’s still running, barely off the road. “I should move my car.”

“You should get home before your milk turns into cream.” She laughs again, too loudly.

I can’t help joining her this time. Even drunk, her memory’s not too bad. “It was before my cream turns into cottage cheese,” I say. “But no fear of that. I was actually picking up chicken feed, so there’s nothing in my car that can spoil.” Before she can stop me, I hop in the SUV, pull it further off the road, and cut the engine.

It’s not like she invited me to join her, but she’s stumbling in front of cars on the road, so I’d say she’s not really safe to leave alone.

“So, Beth,” I say.

“Nope.” She holds up one finger, tipping the can in her other hand sideways, beer sloshing out. “You and I cannotgo on a date.”

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