Page 39 of All Superheroes Need PR
“Not a good look for the Forty-Eight, either,” Margerie says with a grimace. “We’ll need to put out a press statement.”
I nod. “I’ll work on a draft and send it to y’all in an hour.” Margerie opens her mouth to try to stop me; I can feel it. I jerk my thumb toward the door. “I’m not tired.”
She frowns. “Well, I’m ordering you dinner at least.”
“No, don’t. My brothers are coming over tonight. They called for a mandatory movie night. They’re pissed I didn’t tell them about my ankle.” I wave my phone at her by way of explanation, and, begrudgingly, Margerie sighs and leaves, dragging Vanya and Garrison with her. I turn off the TV.
I work on the press release draft and have just sent off some notes to Margerie, Vanya, and Garrison when the doorbell rings and my brothers flood my house, street tacos in tow. My stomach rumbles and my mouth waters as my brothers grunt and rage and annoy the crap out of me about my ankle—like they haven’t all broken bones before or been in even worse accidents. Vinny was in a helicopter that malfunctioned once and had to be in the hospital for a week, but my brothers didn’t react half so dramatically as they do to my little swollen foot.
“So, what’ll it be, Vanny?” Charles says after tacos have been devoured and dishes have been put away. He plops down onto the other end of the couch and moves my feet into his lap. He hands me abowl of Elena’s homemade dulce de leche ice cream, made with actual dairy this time; she must really feel sorry for me tonight.
My brothers scatter around the living room, each moving like a synchronized swimmer to his respective station. Only Luca shakes things up, taking the armchair instead of the window seat since Vinny isn’t here but is flying to Europe.
“Yeah, what’ll it be? Some stupid show about baking or a true crime thriller?”
“I’m a girl. Sue me.” I stick my tongue out at him. “But it’s fine. Y’all can pick tonight,” I insist, a little tired of being babied.
Luca and David don’t hesitate before launching themselves at the bookcase, where they proceed to knock three of my neatly arranged figurines of Miyazaki characters onto the floor in their battle to the death over the remote. David wins. Luca skulks off with a scowl.
Charles and Mani argue over whether or not a new blockbuster sci-fi movie that just released is better than the original movie while I add snide remarks about how sexist the book is and how none of them should ever read it—not that they ever would. Vinny’s the only one who ever reads anyway, and that’s only because he flies so much.
I sit smiling as I check my emails, looking for an update from Margerie on whether the press release was sent to outlets for tomorrow’s papers or posted in part on our socials. I’m annoyed she hasn’t responded yet. I know she’s not a machine, but ... she kind of is. More than annoyed, I’m actually kind of worried.
I scroll over to text her when I get a surprising call. I clear my throat and make wild hand gestures at my brothers to turn off the volume as I answer. “Mr. Singkham.”
“That the president of Cambodia again?” Luca shouts.
I gesture angrily at him, and David throws a navy-blue velvet pillow at him. Luca laughs and throws a pillow back, almost knocking David’s ice cream out of his hands. Charlie’s not helping at all but sitting beside me laughing.
“Mr. Singkham?” I say, surprisingly out of breath.
“Yes, did I catch you at a bad time, Vanessa?”
“No. Not at all. Just wrapping up dinner.” I hold my finger to my mouth to encourage my brothers to shush the hell up, which they more or less do.
“Sorry to call you after hours again, but I wanted to let you know that the Wyvern has been deployed to Washington state to assist in the extraction of the trapped skiers and now the emergency rescue team.”
Shock. I sit up bolt straight and set down my bowl of ice cream before it topples onto my rug. “They requested him directly and think he can help?” My heart is pounding. Oh my gosh, this is huge ... and dangerous.
“I ... was apprehensive to send him. His gifts aren’t in the realm of ice and water at all, and I worried that sending him could result in more collapse, like with Pele. We don’t need another firestorm—figuratively or literally.” I’m nodding along, but I freeze when Mr. Singkham clears his throat and says, “But the Wyvern assured me he could extract them easily. He volunteered. It was so out of character for him, I didn’t really feel I could say no. I just got off of the phone withFema, who got approval from the president.” The president of the United freaking States? Oh my gosh!
“I wanted to let you know we’re sending his handlers—COE security trained to support him in these types of situations. They are boarding the plane now and should be in Washington in five hours, weather permitting. Is there any essential person you’d like to include on board ...”
He’s barely finished speaking when I blurt, “Yes! Can we send our photographer?” I explain Monika’s qualifications and get Mr. Singkham’s verbal approval.
“She’ll have to sign liability forms ...”
“She’ll happily do so from the plane. She’ll be there in thirty minutes. Can you wait that long?”
“Not a moment longer.”
He hangs up, and I’m on the phone with Monika in the next second. My brothers have changed the channel to the news coverage of the accident. It looks like they’ve managed to get six more of the emergency workers out of the snow, but there are still eighteen more trapped. No news has broken yet about the Wyvern’s arrival. We know before anyone—a fact that Luca is freaking out and trying to text all his friends about.
“Can you take his phone away from him? Please? Thanks, David and Mani. Monika? Yes, sorry, Monika, hello. This is Vanessa Theriot from The Riot Creative. Yes. Yes, so excited to be working with you, too, on Monday, except I have a small question. How would you like to start working for us four days early?” I explain what I need from her and get her on the flight in thirty minutes’ time. I call Margerie, and my team goes absolutely bananas when they realize what the Wyvern is doing. Margerie is back at my house forty minutes after that.
“Whoa. There’s dude in here.”
“We can make space,” Charlie says, lifting my legs like they’re a blanket and giving Margerie a funny look.
