“Pepsi,” she said, and the glass
immediately filled itself to the brim with the dark and sticky cola. She picked
up the glass and sipped from the edge, careful to make sure none of it spilled
before placing it back on the cafeteria table. She smiled a bit, proud of her
skill, and then frowned, suddenly ashamed by it. This was it. This was all she
could do.
Everyone had a superpower these
days. Some dormant gene had resurfaced in the human race decades ago, granting
each human their own ability. Some could shapeshift into people, others into
animals. Many could fly, at least one person was confirmed to be totally
bulletproof, and there were rumors of a man in Asia who could actually control
all four elements. But for Emma Fuller, the best she could do was fill a cup
with whatever liquid she wanted.
Her mother, blessed with super
speed, had been bustling in the kitchen one day when Emma was about seven,
multitasking between cleaning the oven, frosting a seven layer cake, and
bathing the dog. Emma had asked for some of her favorite soda and pouted when
her mother took too long to get it for her. “If you can't wait for ten seconds,
Emma, then you can get it yourself,” she had scolded between forming another
delicate frosting flower on the cake and pouring the pet shampoo into the
bathtub.
Emma had pouted, placing her head
on the table and tapping the empty glass with her finger, stewing about cherry
soda. “All I wanted was some cherry soda,” she had grumbled, and suddenly the
glass had sputtered up pink liquid. Both mother and daughter were stunned by
the sudden appearance of the drink. When her father had come home, the three of
them sat down and had a discussion about responsibility and how they expected
her to use her new summoning power. But still, Emma found herself sneaking an
empty cup into her room at night in order to drink as much cherry soda as she
liked.
The downsides quickly became
apparent. First, Emma drunk herself into cherry oblivion, and one night in the
bathroom caused her to swear off the stuff forever. Second, and most
importantly, once she had enrolled in Hero School, it became clear that she
couldn't summon anything other than liquid. After months of working on her
powers, it was now official. The best Emma Fuller would ever manage was free
refills.
“There she is!” Emma winced at the
sound of the voice. No matter where she sat or how she dressed herself, they
always managed to find her during lunch. What should've been the best time of
the day always ended up being the worst.
“If it isn't Refill Fuller, trying
to hide from us,” sneered a large girl who looked more like a gorilla. Three
cronies behind her burst into uproarious laughter. Emma just sat there, staring
at her tray. It was easier this way, she had learned. Easier if she ignored
them, easier if she didn't react. Easier than getting angry and finding her
head in the toilet of the basement bathroom again, anyway.
The girl knocked over Emma’s glass,
and Emma automatically jumped out of the way of the cola, cursing her reaction.
One of the gorilla’s arms pushed her down into the bench hard, and Emma winced
not only because of the bruise she knew she would have on her shoulder, but
because of the loud crack that came from the bench.
“You know what we’re here for,
Fuller,” she hissed. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I don’t want
to get another detention, do I?” The hand clamped down harder on Emma’s
shoulder, and she tried to hide her wince as she held out her own hand. The
gorilla smiled and placed a water bottle in Emma’s hand, and she started
whispering the commands. Alcohol, high proof. Next bottle: an illegal protein
shake that was more drug than protein. Bottle after bottle placed into Emma’s
hands, forcing her to be an accomplice to the crime. She never knew if they
sold them or drank them all, but she never asked. She didn’t want to know.
As she finished off the last
bottle, the gorilla smirked and ruffled Emma’s hair. “Good job, Refill. See you
on Monday.” Emma just sat there, tears in her eyes. One day, she’d fill it with
bleach.
Ten years later
Lieutenant Bridget Rodriguez strode
down the halls of her old Hero School, telling herself it was out of necessity
rather than nostalgia. After all, nostalgia wasn’t something she wanted to
relive. As much as she had enjoyed playing on every sports team, she regretted
nearly every action she had taken back then. Smarts were something she had only
acquired after she had joined the Navy and realized she was a tiny fish in an
ocean of sharks.
She had studied physics, what
happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, what happens when
the two meet in battle. Strategy was a hard science, particularly when so many
living variables made up each equation, but somehow her answers had achieved
positive results the vast majority of the time. It was that, along with her strength,
which had caused the Navy to dub her with her Hero Name: Roadblock. Her husband
teased her about it constantly, but she could tell he was secretly proud of
her.
Her reflection caught in a pane of
glass to her right, and as she glanced over at it, she stopped. It was a
picture of the football team from her sophomore year, and there she stood in
the middle of everyone, grinning. But now, she frowned. That girl was mean.
That girl tried to bulldoze her way through everyone and everything. That girl
needed someone to care about her enough to tell her that she needed kindness
instead of platinum hair dye. And above all, she needed someone to intervene
and tell her that one day, people would love her, even though she wasn’t as
feminine as she thought she was supposed to be.
But here she was now, about to meet
with a reporter who was going to put her on the cover of Hero Weekly, with a
husband and a rank and an upcoming promotion. Not everyone with powers got an
advancement to Hero, and never so soon. No, for the time it was best to let the
past stay in the past, a place where it couldn’t hurt her or anyone else
anymore.
She entered the school’s gymnasium
to see it brightly lit with two chairs placed neatly near the wall to her left
and a petite woman shrouded in a baggy black cardigan standing near them, flipping
through a notebook. When Bridget entered, the woman looked up and smiled, her
caramel ringlets bouncing, and motioned Bridget over to the chairs.
“Come in, come in!” she said
cheerily. “Come sit right here, Ms. Rodriguez! I’ve got us all set up!” The
woman kept talking as Bridget smiled woodenly. She looked so familiar. However,
Bridget dutifully took her seat.
“...so the photographer will come
tomorrow to get the shots. Is that okay?”
“Yes, ma’am, that will be fine.”
The woman smiled. “Good, good. So
how do you prefer I address you? Roadblock? Mrs. Rodriguez?”
“Whatever is easiest,” she said,
uncomfortable. The gym seemed to loom over them, reminding her of all her past
misdeeds. And the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach…
“So,” the woman said breezily,
readjusting her glasses and raising her notepad to eye level. “Roadblock. You’re
a Hero now. That’s so exciting, to get there so soon, right out of Hero School.
A lot of other people who have reached Hero so fast almost feel a sense of
guilt for their past actions. They feel like they aren’t ready to save others because
of who they were in the past.” The woman put the notebook down and stared Bridget
in the eye, and Bridget felt a sudden chill as she realized the woman had never
stated her name. “Do you?” she asked quietly, and suddenly Bridget remembered
her name. “Do you feel guilty?”
“Emma,” Bridget whispered in
horror. “You’re Emma Fuller.”
Bridget’s head spun, remembering
the bottles upon bottles she had poured down the locker room’s drain, bottles
she had filled out of power more than pleasure. It had been so long since then,
so long since she had felt the need to feel emotions by being cruel.
“I-I’m so sorry, Emma,” she gasped,
terrified by the bright and cheery smile that had reappeared on Emma’s face. “I
was wrong, I was--”
“You made me transfer schools,”
Emma sang. “You made me think that all I was good for was hurting people. But
filling is such a profitable business, you know. I guess I have you to thank
for that.”
Bridget had never froze in a combat
situation before, but here, confronted with the sins of her past, all she could
do was attempt to stammer out an apology.
“It was such a long time ago,” she
said. “Emma, I was--”
Emma smiled and put her hand on Bridget’s
braid. “I know,” she said, a little sadly. “I know, Roadblock. But my name
isn’t Emma anymore.”
Bridget’s breath caught in her
chest. Without the designation to Hero, there was only one other option…
“My name is Floodgate, and I’m not
a reporter. I’m a Villain. And it’s too little, too late.”
And before Bridget could run, or
even raise her hand in defense, Floodgate had placed her hand on Bridget’s
chest, smiling.
“Bleach.”
