Thirty-Seven

                                    

                                          
We crammed into the stuffy living room on several fold-up tables Sarah's father loaned us. I dressed in my ragged, dark silver and black hooded leather jacket, a super suit, high-top boots, and a black mask. I was a hot mess with my shaggy blonde fringed hair and filthy face barely visible beneath the dark ash covering my suit.
   After a long day working at Junkies Diner with my girlfriend and the gang and patrolling the city, we returned home to a fresh-smelling Thanksgiving feast. Sam rested a knife against the turkey, slicing it in thick layers before he stopped, his eyes fixed on me. "Before we move on, does anyone want to say—"
"GRACE!" Noah screamed as he dug into the mashed potatoes. There was complete silence as we exchanged glances, trying hard not to laugh before Mark lost his composure.
"Thank you, Noah," my father grumbled in frustration. Suddenly, we all dug into our giant feast.
  "So, I heard you got new powers, James," my father said. I averted my gaze from my family members, who stared at me by looking down at my plate. Then I sighed, giving up. 
"Maybe," I hurriedly said, fiddling with my fork. A piece of the steel fork snapped off quickly, and I watched Sam cringe at the sight of me breaking his expensive silverware. 
"Should we be worried?" Henry asked. I sighed and stared at my food. I was afraid to look him in the eyes. Maybe we should have been worried. I had yet to develop a new ability since I got my powers. 
"What if I want to be normal for once?"
"James, what's so awful about having powers?" Mark grumbled, glaring at me. "You'll never be normal." I scowled at Mark, sinking my fingernails into my palm, and tried not to draw blood. 
Sebastian sat back, watching us with a big grin. He was getting a kick out of this, just like Mark used to do—what a jerk. My eyes switched between Dexter and Sam, unsure what to do with everyone staring at me. 
"Shut up, Mark." I snarled. My dark purple irises deepened as I gripped my fork in my palm. Mark's knife molded to his palm and fingers, smashing the solid stainless steel as everyone watched. Then Claire slipped her hand into mine, soothing my nerves. My father paused momentarily, staring at us before dropping his fork and leaping from his seat. 
"Stop it, both of you," my father roared. He then turned to face me. "And what about you? What will you do if you're stuck with these powers for the rest of your life? Do you think I was happy with what happened to you?" He glared at Sam, watching him sink into his seat anxiously. "Do you think I wanted this for Sam or anyone else?" My father was enraged and was taking deep breaths to calm himself down. Sam, Henry, and my father kept a close eye on Mark, and we tossed our forks to the side and rolled our eyes.
"I have a confession," Dexter drew attention away from me. "I, uh, I have superpowers too." He said, catching us all off guard. That was utterly surprising. 
"What?" Sam said, baffled by the words spoken by his best friend. 
"Danielle and I were actually in the accident, too. I waited years to tell you, hoping you'd at least text me back so I could tell you the truth, but you never did." 
"Mom, don't you think you should tell Dad the truth, too?" Johnathan said, way at the other side of the table. 
"Yeah, Samual. We need to talk," she said, gulping a deep breath. "It's about Maximus." 
"Well, there goes Thanksgiving," Noah muttered, sinking his elbow into the table. Yep. There went our perfect Thanksgiving evening. 
"I'm going to my room." I excused myself. Nobody said a word as I stood up, picked up my plate, and walked away. 
∆∆∆
"Hey, buddy. Are you all right?" My father came in the doorway, knocking while peering in, wearing jogging pants and a regular white t-shirt. I raised my head to look at my father and removed my headphones.
"Why wouldn't I be?" I questioned him. My father sighed and moved a step closer to my room.
"I don't know. You seem moody." 
   I frowned. "What's the problem with that?" I asked. My father adjusted his weight and crossed his arms across his enormous chest. 
"Let me know if you'd like to join me for a jog." He spoke. I groaned and yanked my covers off the bed. 
"I guess I'll come with you," I said aloud, shifting my legs from the bed. 
"Don't change into your suit," He ordered. "I know you love it, but—" 
I scoffed, crossing my arms. "I swear I won't," I said, my brow furrowed in my father's direction.
"Famous last words." He muttered. I slipped my feet into the back of my tied sneakers on the floor and straightened the end against my heel. My father and I left the room together.
∆∆∆
In the chilly November air, my father and I jogged along the street, dressed in dark sweatshirts and jogging pants. I cleared my throat, uncomfortable. "Max is such a jerk." 
"Yeah, but poor kid," he said. "My stupid brother is a hell of a monster." The smell of smoke filled our nostrils from a few houses down, and falling ash fixed our eyes. Firefighters did their best to water down an abandoned house prepared for reconstruction, which had raging flames from every angle. As the event unfolded, my father and I raced over. 
Among others, firefighters communed. The situation infuriated Thomas as his eyes met my father's. "I need to talk to you, uh, Matthew," Thomas called over while taking notes while Dexter and the guys hosed down the building in front of him. With a grimace, my father rolled his eyes.
"Go home, James." He demanded. 
"Seriously, Dad, " I questioned him. My father fumed at me once again, growling deeply under his breath. 
"Go home!" He barked. I rolled my eyes, turned around, and rushed halfway down the block, putting on my hoodie and turning to watch Thomas and my dad. I noticed my father looking up and down, watching terrified, as the blazing chaos died slowly. His gaze settled on the glass windowpane with the ominous word engraved: "We know who you are, Alpha. We're watching you."