Hero Worship Read Free

find a vein, and take the blood. It’s shipped off to a lab on the East Coast, and the results are mailed back within a week or two.
    My test was a nightmare from the get-go. The nurse couldn’t find a suitable vein no matter how tightly she cinched the rubber hose around my arm. She unapologetically stabbed me with a needle three times before she managed to extract enough blood to fill the test tubes. And to add insult to injury, when the results came back they were attached to a bright red stamp that read DIRTY . This meant that my powers were “unstable” and that I was a perceived danger to myself and others if I used them. It was explained to me that being dirty and using your powers is like driving an 18-wheeler with faulty brakes—you never know when you could lose control.
    While my parents had always argued, having a son diagnosed as dirty was the beginning of the end. My father wanted me to go to the Power Aversion Program and hopefully take DNA-strand modification meds. “Marvin will be normal,” he said. But my mother would have none of it. “Let him be who he is. He’s perfect just the way he is.”
    They say the Power Aversion Program is voluntary, which I guess is true. But if a dirty doesn’t enroll, it seems to attract a lot of attention from the government. My father had had run-ins with the law since before he was a teenager, and he certainly didn’t want any unnecessary attention directed his way because of me.
    For people whose blood tests are determined to be clean, fame and fortune are in the cards because they become authorized to use their powers for monetary compensation. Being dirty is the opposite—it’s a label that makes you a pariah, prohibiting you from using your powers to earn a living.
    And that’s pretty much why I’m standing over this stainless steel sink washing dishes. I obey the law. Yvonne and Kent don’t. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve told my friends it’s just a matter of time until they get nabbed. They joke there isn’t money in obeying the law and they’d rather get clipped than be poor.
    â€œMarvin Maywood, you were late,” a cheerful voice booms behind me. It’s not hard to see that Gus was a handsome man thirty years ago, but years of playing hard and working hard have taken a toll. I’d guess he’s in his early sixties. His brown skin is leathery and cracked, and his hands are calloused and scarred.
    â€œHow’d you know I was late?” I ask. “You weren’t here when I came in.”
    Gus picks up a dishtowel and begins drying the dishes, stacking them to the side. “You’re right, I wasn’t here.”
    â€œWho ratted on me?”
    â€œYou just did,” Gus smiles, nudging me with his shoulder. “You pay more attention in school, you might actually learn something.”
    My smile fades, which I’m sure doesn’t escape my boss’s attention. Here we go again , I think, talking about school .
    â€œDid you hear about Streak?” he asks.
    My heart skips a beat and my mouth is suddenly dry as the desert. “What about him?”
    â€œSome dirties drugged him today in the park.” Gus laughs. “Can you believe that? It’s been on the news all day.”
    â€œDo they … do they know who did it?”
    â€œSome kids. But Lieutenant Mercury said that he won’t rest until the Core uncovers who’s responsible.”
    A plate slips out of my hand and drops to the floor, shattering into a cascade of porcelain. “Oh man, oh man, oh man!” I mumble.
    Gus grabs a broom and a dustpan and sweeps up the broken plate. “It’s okay, Marvin. Accidents happen.”
    Stunned, I watch as Gus cleans up my mess. His words, as ominous as a death sentence, ring in my ears. Lieutenant Mercury is going to attempt to find out who’s responsible for drugging Streak.
    Most people generally