Hero by Perry Moore Page B

Dad and I visited the old-timer.
    My nostrils filled with a familiar smell, and my eyes scanned the grounds for the gardenias. The smell always reminded me of my mom, since they were her favorite flower. I didn't see gardenias anywhere nearby, but I knew they must be there.
    I looked at my watch and suddenly I was worried about getting a head start on the crowd. I didn't want to be late for tryouts. Plus, I needed a Gatorade. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and turned to leave, when I spotted my father crouched behind a lighting crew, where he'd managed to steal a spot near the stage. He knelt on one knee, and his eyes looked heavy as he listened intently to each speaker. He didn't see me.
    The slew of celebrity mourners streamed off the stage after the service, and I lost sight of Dad in the crowd. I was nervous that he'd bump into me and ask why I wasn't at my game. I wiped more sweat off my forehead and contemplated making a run for it, but my eyes caught a glimpse of Uberman, still up onstage with the rest of the League as they paid respects to family and friends of the deceased hero. I'd never seen Uberman with such a look of genuine sadness on his face. He tightly hugged a girl who I assumed to be one of Captain Victory's attractive great-grandnieces, and she cried into his chest, right in the spot where I'd always imagined my head would rest at night when he and I drifted off to sleep together in our beach house, with our golden retriever puppy nestled peacefully at our feet.
    Suddenly I saw Dad behind Uberman at the foot of the stage. He approached Justice, who was engaged in conversation with the mayor, and tapped him on the shoulder. Suddenly my stomach felt sickly and sweet, and although I couldn't put my finger on it, I thought it was really wrong for these two to talk. It could only lead to disaster or shame or both.
    Justice glanced over his shoulder and saw my father in his old uniform. Neither of them said a word at first. They just looked at each other, until finally the mayor filled the awkward silence and excused himself to join another conversation on the other side of the stage.
    I couldn't tell what was passing between them. My dad didn't give much away—if he'd gone in for gambling, he would have been a world-class poker player. Justice wasn't giving away much, either. I moved up behind the trunk of an ancient oak tree for a closer look.
    Then Dad did something that freaked me out. He balled his good hand into a fist and lifted three fingers into the air.
    Justice met the gesture, raised his own fist in the air, and lifted three fingers. Then just as quickly, Justice lowered one. Now there were only two. They both grew solemn and looked down at the ground between them.
    It felt like the wind had been knocked out of my lungs, and I actually gasped out loud. Suddenly I understood exactly what was happening. Exactly who they were to each other. I couldn't believe I hadn't recognized him when I met Justice in person.
    Dad and Justice were re-creating Mom's picture, three generations of the world's greatest heroes. Except now only two remained—my father and his sidekick. I ducked behind the oak and rested my head against the giant trunk and caught my breath. I'd witnessed something I was never meant to see.
    Justice had been the hero formerly known as Right Wing.
    He gripped my father's hand in a firm shake, the kind old war buddies give each other when they meet years later. Survivors.
    I didn't know what to make of this. I guess it made sense that Dad never mentioned he knew the leader of the League, what with his devout bias against superpowers. Still, you'd think it would have come up at some point.
    I stole away from the tree and tried to block all the new questions out of my mind. All that mattered was the League try-out, and I needed to get my head together for it. I weaved in and out of folding chairs stacked in piles like giant headstones, and hurried out of the park. I caught the next bus