EYES Chronicles of a teenage seer

Ten hours of Chill-fi “Human Music“ above.

You don“t need superpowers to defend truth， justice， and the American way. You just need a pallet that doesn“t turn at the words "breaking and entering."

Take right now， for instance. I“m at the edge of the Silver Dollar Strip， where the city turns to rust and gnarled tree roots and the moon sinks low in the sponge of gray clouds. I skim my fingers over the dozen or so “No trespassing“ signs scattered throughout the forest， hopping the loops of barbed wire half-buried in the mud.

"Monet!" Finn shouts in the left ear of my headset. "Kai“s bullying me!"

"I am not!" Kaito shouts in my right. "He“s so freaking delicate. It“s like I“m riding shotgun with a Cattleya Orchid."

"He took my calzone， Monet. You know how I feel about him taking my food."

"You know how I feel about Finn in general." Kai huffs. "He“s a pathetic， little—"

"Yeah! Well， you“re a jerky little emo brat， and I-I“m taller than you!"

In case you“re wondering， no， I am not a mother and no， these are not my derpy kids. These are my best friends. Finn， seventeen， the guy with the intel and Kaito， also seventeen， the guy with the Pizzastar delivery car.

"Guys， we“re about to see a supervillain." Me， this time. "I“m not your mom. Cut it out."

"Mon-neet!" Kaito whines. I click him off and click on a chill-fi ten-hour edit of “Human Music.“ I stumble onto the driveway and drag my feet across the gravel to clean off the mud. It“s a cute little cottage， with a front porch and a swinging tropical-print love seat. Vines climb up the yellow siding. The windows are boarded up with red shutters， the planter boxes filled with tiny white flowers. I slap the crowbar against my thigh， notepad tucked neatly under my arm as I step up onto the creaking porch. I crouch below the window， ear pressed against the wall. Low voices murmur and laugh.

I rise， adjust my starched collar， and knock on the faded pink door. "Mr. Preston?"

The voices silence. I exhale a holed-up breath.

"Mr. Preston! I“m glad you“re here! I was texted an anonymous tip about your meeting with a Masquerade tonight." I pull out the notepad and fumble with the pencil tucked behind my ear. It makes me feel like one of the old reporters， the ones with “Press“ stuck in the bands of their pork-pies. "As in， the villain Masquerade. The one wreaking havoc and terror. You wouldn“t know anything about that， would you?"

The silence is so thick my dubstep gives it a heartbeat.

"Okay， great. I“m just going to pry these shutters open and snap some pictures myself."

"Monet!" Finn shouts. The chill-fi zaps off. "You can“t just cut us off like this. We“re on a mission."

Kai cuts in too. "Yeah， hasn“t anyone taught you about stranger danger or anything?"

Precisely. "And that“s why I“m doing this alone." I drop my voice into a whisper and step to the side， the porch creaking under my feet. "The mayor already knows me and my dad. If you guys get involved， he“ll hurt you to shut you up."

"And he won“t hurt you， too?" Finn“s voice is quiet and shaky.

"Yeah， Mo“，" Kai says， "this is kind of stupid. Even more than it usually is."

The guys are at my command. I make them the best coffee to be had by the Silver Dollar Shore and they follow my plans. Easy. "Yeah， well， if I end up in tiny slivers at the bottom of the Silver Dollar Surf， everyone“s gonna know who did it."

I crouch low in front of the window and pry the shutters open with one， two， three tugs of the crowbar. It makes a croaky little sound. The panes beneath are frosted blue. I lift my camera. The room is average enough， luxury Americana， straight from the catalogs. There“s a chestnut coffee table with a fruit bowl on top， pastel paintings on the back wall， and sure enough， a balding， pot-bellied mayor sitting on the couch. Beside a hooded figure.

I wave， smile， and take as many pictures as my giant old camera will allow. It“s a beaut， this camera. I fished it out of a dumpster somewhere and it“s got a good， heavy feel in my hands. Plus， I love slapping prints down on my boss“s desk. The mayor catches my eye and smiles.

And that“s when it hits me that maybe the boys are right.

"Guys， guys， I“m going." I spin around on my heels. Glass explodes behind my head， shards whipping out behind me. I duck， but not fast enough to avoid at least a dozen or so nicks to the back of the head. I can“t help a little cry of pain.

"Monet， what“s happening?" Finn. His voice is calm. "Are you okay?"

I open my mouth to respond， but a hand grasps around my throat. I“m yanked back through the window， kicking and screaming. I grip the fingers and try to pry them off my neck， but they just sink deeper into the delicate flesh.

"I take that as a no. Locking in on your location. Stay strong."

"What“s happening?" Kai， again. "Monet， answer me! What“s going on?"

I“m dying， Kai， that“s what“s going on. "Choking， for the most part."

"What should I do with her?" Masquerade asks， dangling me a couple inches off the shag carpet. Mayor Preston stands up from the couch and sets his Coke on the table. The man gives me a hard appraising look as I scramble and scream， arms flailing， legs kicking out. Then I drop， limp against the villain， too tired and weak to breathe.

"Ms. April O“Neil. What a pleasant surprise." He sniggers this. I never pegged him to be much of TMNT fan. "Or Ms. Jackson， I should say. You share a remarkable resemblance with your father."

My throat is scratchy and raw. "Flattered，" I say， "Would you mind answering a few questions? Or do you usually have supervillains attack your house guests?" I can barely choke out the words， gasping even to breathe.

"Look." Masquerade huffs. He has a young voice. "Should I kill her or do you want to monologue at her?"

"I“ll kill you!" Kai screams as Finn cooes at him in hushed， mothering tones in the background.

The mayor shrugs. "She has friends. They come here or she dies. Tell them that."

Masquerade drops me. I hit the floor in a wheezing puddle， the headset wrenched out of my ears. "Really， sirs." My chest heaves. "I just wanted you to answer some questions， is all. The superheroes are gone. What happened to them? If you“re innocent， I can clear your name."