I gulp. “It means if anyone finds out, I’m in big trouble.”
“Yes, but also something else.” She leans back, seeming unsure of whether she should go on. “You might be the only one who can stop Radiasure from being made again, which means you have a big decision to make.”
Mom’s right. Either I protect my friends and lie low until the fight for Radiasure is over, or I put everyone in harm’s way and make sure that horrible drug never gets made again. Maybe if I was only putting myself at risk, I could be okay with it. But I can’t make this decision for my friends and family. This is too much for one invisible girl to handle. “What do I do, Mom?”
She puts her hands on my shoulders. “Sit down. I’ll get the Pop Tarts.”
I do as she says, and she’s back with a big box of cheap pastry goodness. Digging in, I realize I’m starving after all that running last night. Mom watches me in silence, to the point where I have to ask, “What?”
She shakes her head. “Oh, I guess I’m not sure what to tell you, honestly.”
“Awesome.” I snort. “You have plenty of advice when I don’t want it!”
Mom smiles, and I’m so glad she’s not yelling because I need her support. It’s nice to know we’re a team now, with no abusive Dad to get in the way. “Well, what do you want me to say? I know just as well as you do that stopping them would be the right thing to do, but I can’t tell my baby girl to throw herself into harm’s way.”
Sighing, I can’t say I disagree. “When I heard about this quest for Radiasure, it made me mad, but I didn’t think I could do anything about it. I’ve been trying to tell myself it would lower the drug’s value. Everyone would be able to get it, which means everyone would have an equal footing. But deep down I know…”
“Whoever got it first would keep it for themselves? Use it to expand their territory? Do whatever the hell they please with no one to stop them?” Mom rattles off.
“Yeah, pretty much.” Because as horrible as syndicates are, in a weird way they also keep the country floating because they balance each other out. If one person were in charge people would suffer even more. “So would I be a terrible person if I turned a blind eye to what I might know?”
“Hmm.” Mom taps her chin, thinking. “Not necessarily. People ignore bad things all the time to keep themselves safe. Think about when we first came here—sure, someone could have told the cops or Juan but ultimately their fear protected us. They didn’t want to earn the wrath of your father.”
This doesn’t make me feel better. “I don’t like the Army or Juan thinking I’m scared of them.”
She smirks. “You’re not afraid? Because I am. Not being protected by a syndicate is so scary I even lied to The Phantom that we were still in one.”
“Well, I am scared…” I put my head in my hands, struggling to find the words. “But I don’t want them to know that. They should be afraid of me. I’m not weak anymore. If I wanted, I could stop them.”
Mom stares at me like she’s not sure who I am. “Well, it sounds like you’re a lot more courageous than I am.”
“No.” More like crazy. “Sometimes I worry I’m more like Dad than I should be.”
She holds out her hands, and I put mine in hers. “Fiona, being a leader doesn’t mean you have to be a bad one. Not that I’m saying you should do this, but don’t be afraid of becoming your father. That will never happen—you have too strong a moral compass.”
I tackle her into a hug. Maybe I still don’t know what to do, but it’s nice to sort it out a bit. “Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome.” She hugs me, and I savor it. There was a time when she wasn’t much of a mother because of what Dad did to us—it feels like we’ve been making up for lost time.
“Whoa, did someone die?” Miles’ voice sounds groggy, and when I look up he seems to have just rolled out of bed.
“No,” I say.
“Are you begging Mom not to ground you?” he asks next. “Because I purposely slept in to avoid that blowout. Should I go back to bed so you can finish?”
“Very funny. I’m much more supportive of my kids than you give me credit for, son.” Mom holds up the formula to me. “I wasn’t half bad at chemistry. I’ll see if I can figure some of this out for you, okay?”
My eyebrows pop up in surprise. “That would be amazing if you could.”
Miles shakes his head. “Am I still dreaming? Is our mother seriously not freaking out about this?”
“Yup.” Mom stands from the couch, heading for her beloved coffee pot.
Miles takes her seat, staring me down suspiciously. It doesn’t have nearly the effect he thinks, since his eyelids still sag with sleep. “Are you sure you’re invisible? Or are you so good at persuading people that we only think you’re invisible?”
I snort. “Unless I can also persuade myself into thinking I’m invisible, no.”
“I’m not convinced. Never thought Mom would be so calm about what you did.” He turns on the TV, flips it to a baseball game.
“This is how she is now, without Dad,” I say.
He nods. “It’s scary to think he had that much control over you.”
“It is.” And now that we’re on the topic, I can’t help thinking about how Miles now has the very same power Dad has if he wanted it. “Are you ever tempted? You know, to use his scent?”
Miles actually looks away from the game, and his eyes meet mine. “No. Never. Sometimes I’m disgusted that I even know the scent—how could I ever want to take away choices from the women I care about?”
I lean on his shoulder, knowing he’s absolutely sincere. “I thought so.”
“You better.” The slight citrus scent he was emitting turns to blueberries. I’ve always appreciated how he changes scents just for me. “Besides, I enjoy smelling like fruits too much.”
After about fifteen minutes of baseball—nearly my max attention span for it—I realize someone’s missing. “Where’s Graham?”
“Went back to see Allie.” He shudders. “Those two can get so mushy together. It’s weird seeing him like that after so many years of Violent Angry Graham.”
“I can’t even picture it.” All I can conjure is a scowling Graham with some overly happy girl, and it just doesn’t work. “Do they have anything in common?”
“They really like playing board games together. Especially chess.”
Words won’t come.
Miles laughs. “I know, right? It gets really gross when they start flirting with chess euphemisms.”
“Ew. No more.”
“You asked for it.” Miles looks at his phone, and the smile falls off his face. “It’s nice that they do things like that together, though. You should want to spend time with the person you care about.”
I can’t stand that pout. He has to be thinking about Spud. “Can you at least call her?”
He shakes his head. “She uses a different number every time, hacks them and drops them just as fast. I never know where or when I’ll run into her.”
“That’s gotta be hard.”
“I knew what I was getting into. Keeps things interesting.” Miles shrugs off the sadness like he can’t stand to talk about it anymore, but I can feel how much this bothers him. I watch him—there are circles under his eyes, creases in his brow, stubble on his chin—it seems like Miles has aged years since he first showed up to help me get free of Dad. Where did my happy, carefree brother go?
“How long are you staying?” I ask after I finish another Pop Tart. “The whole weekend?”
“Probably longer,” Miles says without looking away from the game.
“Longer?”
“Until my ankle is better at least. Like a week.”
I purse my lips, confused. He went out in the desert last night though I told him he shouldn’t walk on it—he said it wasn’t that bad. Now he’s using it as an excuse to stay here? “What about school and work? I thought your Spring Break wasn’t until the end of March.”