Page 33 of No Capes
“Not for the girls’ team.” He sighs, as if it is physically paining him to explain. “Besides, you and I are a team. I push you during practice and you push me. If you’re not up to snuff, I’m going to suffer too.”
“I just cut six seconds off my hundred time, thank you very much.” That means my time is 0.1 seconds behind his.
He clenches his jaw like he’s struggling to say something the right way, or trying—for once—not to be a jerk. “Your race was fast,” he says, “but it might have been fast for all the wrong reasons.”
Why can’t you just be happy for me, Fox?I think, stunned at his boldness. A race like that could unlock a lot of doors for me. And what reasons does he mean? Could he tell how much I was panicking?
Fox lifts the goggles from my forehead, wiping away the vapor on the lens. An official’s whistle blows—time for the next race, the boy’s 100m freestyle. Fox’s race.
“Your turn,” I tell him, but his shamrock eyes stay fixed on me.
“LEVINE,” Arielle shouts from the other end of the pool.
He hastily pushes the goggles back into my hands. “Watch and learn, Maddragon.”
As he leaves, Kristen takes his place. “That was weird, Mads. Since when does Fox talk to you at swim meets?”
“Yup.” I agree.
As if the day couldn’t get any weirder.
Thirteen
A police cruiser is in the driveway when I arrive home. I start jogging the second I see it—please let my dad be okay.
The friendly neighborhood police officer, Officer Kyle, sits with Dad at our kitchen table. Officer Kyle holds a large mug between his hands, and the room stinks of stale coffee.
“Madeline,” says Dad, “This is Officer Kyle.”
“We’ve met,” says the balding, middle-aged paper pusher. “Madeline, I have some questions I’d like to ask you, if that’s alright.”
“About my mom? Now that it’s a murder investigation?” I put as muchI-TOLD-YOU-something-was-fishy-SOinto my tone as I can and sit beside my dad. My stomach growls, but dinner appears to be delayed.
Officer Kyle waves a dismissive hand. “Routine follow-up.”
My dad nudges my arm, reminding me to cooperate. He still wears his mechanic uniform—a polo shirt and grease-stained slacks, and I wonder if he’s eaten anything since lunch.
A small notebook lies in front of the policeman. Scribbles fill the top page, taken when Officer Kyle had privately questioned my dad. I squint to try to make something out, but my dad nudges me again.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Officer Kyle starts.
“Thanks…”
“Can you walk me through your day on September second, three years ago?”
The day in question, he means. “Sure,” I say. “I went to school. Then I babysat. Then I came home.”
Officer Kyle sniffs. “Did you notice anything unusual about your mom in the days or months leading up to September second?”
The low ringing starts in my ears, and something more than hunger pangs my stomach. I steel myself, not wanting Officer Kyle to read anything into my reaction.
The thing is, I hadn’t hung out with my mom enough in the weeks before the car crash to answer. Those days were the last of the summer before high school. I spent them playing basement pool games with Fox and making a last effort to get a tan-but-not-a-sunburn with Kristen, who had stories from traveling everywhere but Capital City.
There hasn’t been a Super who can time travel. But if there ever is, I’ll beg them to go back and make me stick around whenever Mom was home. If they can’t stop the whole murder thing from happening.
“She was busier,” I finally say.
“Busy how?”
