The Waterman Chronicles: Rise of the Elementals

By Patrick Harris

Near 500 years ago, the Aztec empire forged seven powerful artifacts for their god. But then the Spanish arrived. As Cortez and his conquistadors invaded the empire, a band of Aztecs ran north to hide the artifacts in the sands of Red Springs, Nevada. It is there, 500 years later, that a group of high school students stumble upon the most powerful of the artifacts. With a single cut and giving of blood, Eric Atl and his friends are gifted with powers over the planet: air, earth, fire, flora, and water.

Now able to control water, Eric dons the mantle of Waterman to save his city. With the aide of his confidant, Melissa, Eric soon discovers dark forces clawing for the surface to reclaim what the Aztecs buried and Eric found. They want it...and they want him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9780359664399

Patrick Harris

Patrick Harris is a former soldier, academic, and corporate lawyer. He has worked in many industry sectors, inlcuding mining, insurance and energy supply. He now writes full time.

Book preview

The Waterman Chronicles: Rise of the Elementals

The Waterman Chronicles

Rise of the Elementals

A Novel by Patrick Harris

The Waterman Chronicles

Copyright © 2013 by Patrick Harris. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-0-359-66439-9

Second Edition.

1. Juvenile Fiction / General

2. Juvenile Fiction / Science Fiction & Fantasy

www.AuthorPatrickHarris.com

CHAPTER 1

Hero

Eric Atl had always loved Water, and nothing would ever change that. While he liked, but did not necessarily love, the natural element he found most relaxing to be in, the very same element that fortified the Aztec Empire, when it came to Water, he loved the girl.

Melissa Water was the girl of Eric’s dreams. She had fair complexion, blonde-brown hair, a curvaceous figure, and that knowing half smile that said, I know what you’re thinking, and I’m thinking it too. But it wasn’t just her gorgeous appearance he was in love with, it was also her witty personality and unfailing kindness. For these reasons and many others, Eric could not talk to Melissa any better than a toddler could. He stared at her, mispronounced things when around her, and could not stop thinking about her.

In fact, Melissa was on Eric’s mind that very morning as he drove into Elko for the swimming meet and walked into the locker room. Her songbird voice filled his ears as he stripped down to blue swimming trunks and goggles. And that smile…

Within seconds, Eric himself had a goofy grin on his face.

That was why he won the medals, why he tried his best. Every time he hit the water at the start of a race, he wanted to win for her. He could hardly wait to see her smile again.

Today was no different. He felt jittery as he stepped upon the starting block. His competition today was eleven other swimmers. He stood atop the grooved platform, stretched his fingers to the bar on the edge of the block, head nearing the water. The light sting of chlorine filled his nose. He loved that smell from the water nearly as much as he did Water.

He fastened his goggles over his eyes, swung his arms in circles, and closed his eyes. All around him were cheers and yells, a jumble of incomprehensible voices. He blocked it all out, focusing. All there was in this moment was Eric and the fifty- meter swimming lane.

Swimmers, at your marks!

Eric’s eyes snapped open. He staggered his feet, his left leg extending back for balance. His hands gripped on to the bar, his right thigh pressing against his stomach. Weight centered on the balls of his feet, his muscles tensed, his quads throbbing slightly— he was ready at any moment to push off. From previous races, he knew the water was chilly and it would keep him moving.

Focus, he thought. Freestyle, one hundred meters, all for her.

The buzzer sounded, the crowd fell silent for hardly a millisecond before roaring back to life—and then the race began. Eric’s legs exploded forward as his arms pulled, propelling him off the block and deep into the water. He flew forward, lacing his fingers in front of him, pumping his legs uniformly. Underwater, the roaring crowd was muffled. Beside him, Eric saw faint flashes of the other swimmers already surfacing.

A quarter of the way across the pool, Eric surfaced for a breath, the thunderous crowd’s noise filling his ears, and he was off. He felt light, near weightless, gliding. His right arm swung into the water, his abnormally large hands pushing back the liquid, followed by his left arm, then his right. His legs kicked persistently, propelling him. He moved like a machine, cool and efficient with a perfect rhythm of strokes and the occasional breath. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see nearby swimmers behind him, falling farther back. Eric did not let up. He could not allow himself to. He pushed past the burn, kicking with all he had, pushing his arms through the water faster and faster.

It was this moment that Eric loved about the sport of swimming. It was him and only him. No looking for the other racers to see if he was ahead. No coach yelling in his ear to do better. It was solely Eric’s determination and his willpower. He had to give his best every second, straining, pushing, never letting up, focusing constantly. Give up a smidge, and he would be last. Through his goggles, Eric spotted the black X: he was coming up to the wall on the opposite side of the pool. With dolphin- like reflexes, he flipped through the water, connected his heels with the wall, and pushed off. He propelled forward at breakneck speed twenty meters through the pool, resurfaced, and was back at it, judiciously rotating his arms like a windmill in a twister, pumping his legs up and down in a frenzy of white water.

His breathing was faster now but still controlled. He fought to raise his head above the splash for a gulp of air.

He could see the end now. The wall was meters away. The adrenaline surging through his veins picked up, carrying him. The white-hot burn in his triceps and shoulders intensified.

He kicked hard and his hand hit the wall.

Eric surfaced to a cacophony of noise. Spectators had run off the bleachers to poolside, many to his lane. There was his family— Wayde, Tahira, and Ben—followed by many of his friends— Ethan, Sara, Joseph, and Jack. But in front of them all, staring at him with that knowing half smile, was Melissa.

Everything that occurred from that moment on was a blur. Eric shook hands with the swimmers in adjacent lanes to his. Melissa helped him out of the pool. Eric’s dad, Wayde, threw a towel over his back, clapping him hard and saying, Great job, son! Tahira was hugging him now, and Ben was yelling at the top of his lungs, You broke a record!

Eric looked over to the screen on the far side of the building. He was in first with a minute and half a second, breaking the Elko County school district record.

The swimmers were ushered over to a multileveled platform that had always reminded Eric of the Olympics. A clean-cut official was speaking into a microphone, but there was so much echoing noise, Eric could hardly hear.

Two swimmers took the lower levels of the stage for second and third place. Through the static-filled speaker and crowds, Eric heard his name. He stepped up and bowed his head forward as the official placed a gold medallion around his neck that fell cold upon his chest.

He could see Melissa smiling, and he held up the medal with a smile of his own.

And for that moment, surrounded by his friends and family, everything was perfect.

—

Dried from head to foot, Eric scrambled into his clothes.

The adrenaline was finally fading away, leaving his fingers shaking and arms sore. Fellow swimmers gave Eric a slap on the back as they walked by on their way out of the locker room.

Congratulations, Dolphin-Boy!

Yeah, way to take the water, man!

Keep at it, Atl the Paddle!

Eric smiled a broad toothy smile.

What was there not to smile about? He was a Spring Creek High School senior who thought about education less every day and more about girls. Each night, he came home to his loving parents, Tahira and Wayde, and his ten-year-old brother, Ben. During his free time, when he was not beating his brother at Guitar Hero or blasting ducks out of the sky for sport, Eric swam. No other sport or hobby offered the kind of quiet solitude that those fifty meters of blue allowed him.

When he swam, he was overcome with anxiousness as to what the future held for him. He often caught himself wondering if he was ready to leave home and take on the world—it seemed an awfully large place. If he were to take on the world, what was he to do? What was he meant to do? At times, this unease grew into a numb hollowness within him that his life was directionless and without meaningful purpose. His parents constantly tried to allay these fears by assuring that he was predestined for greatness and had much to be happy about: a loving family, a strong heart, and a sound, thoughtful mind. He did not tell them that the latter of these two frequently gyrated around Melissa.

Eric grabbed his backpack, carrying his wet trunks and towel, and headed for the door. Feeling the gold medal drum against his chest, he walked with his head up and shoulders back. He felt like a hero.

Like many, Eric admired heroes, both super and mortal. His family caught movies, read comic books, and soaked up stories about great acts of selflessness. At times, Eric wished that there was a career choice of superhero. But alas, it was an out-of-reach dream that only existed during instances like this.

He did have the look of a hero: startlingly blue eyes set in an angular face accompanied with a carefree smile, dishwater blonde- brown hair that was flipped in all directions from the swim, and a sturdy, broad swimmer’s body. Oval glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, a precarious place from where the spectacles usually slipped off during moments of quick movement. Almost as a daily uniform, Eric wore a blue T-shirt and blue jeans.

Eric approached the chrome door and took a deep breath, knowing what lay beyond. Without a doubt, his parents and friends would be waiting for him through this door and maybe Melissa too.

He pushed against the door. The fresh air caught him in the face, and the flood of people closed in on him.

I told you rubbing the beard would work! Jack Nolan hollered. Over Jack’s well-tanned skin was his supposedly lucky beard that he insisted Eric rub before every swimming match.

Party at Eric’s house tonight! Ethan Cartmen shouted.

Cheers! Joseph Harit echoed.

"Shouldn’t you ask the host before having the party at his mother’s house?" Eric’s mom asked his friends.

Sara Mandell started laughing and crying at the same time.

Eric’s dad, Wayde, grabbed his shoulders and whispered amid the shouts, Hey, son, great job.

He smiled. Just a guy tryin’ to do my best.

When will you realize you are destined for greatness? shouted Ben.

Wayde glanced back at Melissa. Speaking of doing your best, a lovely lady behind me parked a couple blocks from here. She needs an upstanding gentleman such as yourself to walk her to her car.

Eric was smiling again, imagining himself striding with his head held high, escorting Melissa safely to her car, and seeing that priceless reward light her face.

—

See you at home, Eric! his mom called from across the road.

Eric waved as the last of his friends and family got into their vehicles and drove away, leaving him alone with Melissa. For a moment, they both stood on the sidewalk, Melissa looking around at the world, Eric looking at what made his world.

She was gorgeous, perfect even. Eric’s father had once told him that Melissa could not be completely perfect, that perhaps she had a flaw or two on the inside. He refused to believe it. Even an imperfection was just another part of the masterpiece.

Well, I’m parked on the other side of the park, Melissa said.

Eric snapped out of his daze. I’ll walk you, he said. That would be wonderful.

Eric walked beside Melissa across the street and along the park’s walkway. The Elko City Park was an acre of green in between the Elko High School’s swimming pool and Elko’s main street, a walkway surrounding the perimeter. On the east side of the park was the Northeast Nevada Natural History Museum, an assortment of jungle gyms and swings covered the west. Groves of aspens and pine trees were spread throughout the park’s back forty. Eric and Melissa followed the walkway winding through the trees toward the forefront of the park.

You must be bouncing off the walls, Melissa said excitedly. You won!

Eric’s stomach tightened and the butterflies inside began to fly. He puffed out his chest and stood a bit straighter.

Yeah. Yeah, I did, he said. Thanks for coming to watch.

I couldn’t imagine being anyplace else. You are absolutely amazing in the water, she said. I’ve never seen anyone swim so fast before, so fluid.

I’ve never seen anyone laugh and cry at the same time, but Sara does that pretty good, Eric replied. Sara Mandell and Melissa were best friends.

Melissa was laughing now. Yeah, she does. I can’t imagine anything funny enough to laugh and cry at the same time.

Look to your left. This face makes my dad laugh sometimes, and that’s saying something.

"You can’t make me laugh and cry." Melissa looked  at him daringly.

I would never make you cry, he said earnestly, and Melissa’s cheeks flushed.

Melissa batted her eyelashes and said, Good. My dad told me if any boy ever made me cry to sock him in the gut.

Eric laughed nervously.

By the way, Melissa said, did I ever thank you for my Christmas present?

Trying not to do anything too stupid, Eric bobbed his head repeatedly.

Well, thank you again, Melissa said. It was very sweet of you. Technically, there’s only one on earth every century, but thanks to you, now there’s two.

Technically, one was a picture and the other was a myth.

When Eric had found out Melissa’s favorite flower was a bloodbloom, he researched it. It was a rare miracle flower that could cure any disease and halt death. Many believed it to be nonexistent. South American myth claimed that to find the bloodbloom, one must look through a double prism to see through the flower’s disguise, a typical gathering of daisies and dandelions. Eric kept his mind open that the bloodbloom might be more than just a myth. He paid an artist to draw the flower and gave it to Melissa, earning him a brief kiss on the cheek.

Bringing up the gift seemed to be an opening for Eric. Should he pursue and ask her out?

The butterflies started doing the backstroke in his stomach.

AryofweeSatday?  Eric stammered, his brain no longer functioning as it normally did. I’m sorry, he murmured.

Don’t be, Melissa replied. Just might want to put your tongue back in your mouth next time you want to talk.

They continued on the walkway for several minutes without talking, enjoying each other’s company. The walkway curved past the museum, parallel along a busy street, and to the Dreamer Memorial, an elevated dais filled with fertile soil and pink orchids. In the center of the circular platform was a bronze statue of a kneeling man steadied by his plow. Stone benches were in front facing the street.

Eric and Melissa reached the memorial and paused at the front. The centered man kneeled upon his plow, glancing down with a kindhearted smile. He had a balding head, high cheeks, and walnut eyes. In one clenched hand were crushed petals. Around his feet was a cluster of dandelions and daisies.

Eric looked down to the stone pedestal on which was written the purpose for the memorial.

Here lies the Stone Bird Hero Artzania Zain

Take the chance, make the choice—it is the sacrifice of many for one

Make the choice, take the chance—it is the sacrifice of one for many

While reading, Eric remembered an old fable that Artzania Zain had used the legendary bloodbloom to save a couple in distress.

That’s pretty deep, Melissa whispered. Makes you wonder which one Zain lived by. Which one is right?

Depends on what you believe. Chances or choices?

The good of the many or of the one? she shot back. Is there a difference?

Of course, there is, Melissa answered. You of all people should know that.

I should?

Melissa turned around and sat on one of the stone benches, looking up at the enormous pine trees. Eric followed suit, making sure to leave the necessary distance between them. Not too close, but not too far away.

This is a cluttered little town, isn’t it? Melissa said, looking out at the congested street. Police sirens echoed from far away, growing fainter with each passing second.

Across the street, an ice cream truck started up. Above the traffic, Eric could hear a soft melody begin.

He turned and looked at Melissa.

Still jingling, Mr. Happy McGee’s ice cream truck waited for a break in traffic and pulled onto the four-lane street. Halfway through the two middle lanes, the ice cream truck choked up and died.

Horns blared, tires screeched. Eric and Melissa turned just in time to see a southbound black sedan slam into the passenger side door of Mr. McGee’s truck. Seconds later, a sports car on the opposite side rammed over the tire, pierced the back side of the steel-framed carriage. The ice cream truck shuddered violently, tire treads screeched sharply, and it fell onto its side, the cabin landing on the sedan.

Eric and Melissa leapt to their feet.

I’ll call the police, Melissa said, already pulling out her phone. You go help them!

He nodded, dropped his backpack, and was off.

Eric ran to the driver’s side of the sedan, catching his glasses as they slipped off his nose. Through the broken glass, he could see the driver was unconscious. Although the front doors were crushed by the ice cream truck, the backseat door was accessible. He tried the handle. Unexpectedly, the door opened. Working quickly, he reclined the driver’s seat and unstrapped the driver from her seat belt. He carefully pulled her out.

Melissa placed her cell phone in her pocket.

To her satisfaction, sirens started up in the distance, but they were still quite far away.

Eric ran up to the sidewalk with the sedan driver over his shoulder.

What can I do? Melissa asked as he placed the women on the sidewalk. Once sure that the lady was breathing, he unzipped his backpack and withdrew his swimming trunks, wrapping them around his hand.

Help Mr. McGee, Eric said, pointing to the front of the ice cream truck.

Is that really his name?

I don’t think now is the time for biography. They both took off at a run.

—

At the front of the truck, Melissa climbed up the side, noticed that the sideways engine was making odd croaks and clicks, and opened the door. The driver sat sideways in the seat, fighting against his pillow-like air bag, white talcum powder covering his face.

Are you okay? Melissa shouted.

The seat belt is stuck! He jerked against the strap.

Melissa pulled a pocketknife out of the driver’s pocket and snapped it open. With a flick, she severed the seat belt.

Way to use your resources, Mr. Happy McGee, she said and extended a helping hand.

That’s not my name, the driver replied.

How ’bout Dopey? Come on.

Melissa turned to go, but a burst of fire sprung out of the hood and surrounded them.

—

Swimming trunks in hand, Eric ran for the Mitsubishi.

As he rounded the ice cream truck’s front and ran past the oil pan, he heard the distinct drip of gasoline and crackle of fire.

Oh, boy, Eric muttered. This was a sign that the fuel line had ruptured and gas was running onto the engine exhaust. Soon the truck could explode.

Eric ran over to the Mitsubishi. Both driver and passenger were fine, straining against their doors. He tried the driver’s door, but the handle snapped off. They were trapped.

Watch out! he shouted. He wrapped his trunks around his hand and balled up a fist.

The driver got the idea and ducked out of the way. Eric swung with all his might.

The safety glass cracked but did not break.  Eric jumped up and down, holding his wrapped fist, biting back a string of obscenities. His glasses bounced on his nose.

He wound up, swung again, and this time was rewarded with a crash of glass caving in.

Can you get out? he said through gritted teeth. The people nodded and climbed out of the broken window.

Knuckles burning with pain, Eric turned back to the ice cream truck. The front tire was on fire. Putrid smoke issued from the hood. Melissa and the truck driver were trapped on top of the cabin, looking around the sides to find the least dangerous route of escape.

Oh, boy, Eric whispered again. He raced over, unraveling his wet swimming trunks from his fist. He wrung his trunks on the fire, dousing the flame.

Jump! he shouted, extending his arms to Melissa.

She leapt over the tire, her hair flying back, and landed in Eric’s arms. He yelled for the driver to do the same.

Let’s go! Melissa shouted once the driver was on the ground, but the man began to shout in protest.

The truck’s bottom gave off a thick burst of smoke and the tire was on fire again.

Hey, Happy McGee, Eric shouted.

That’s not my name! the man shouted back. Angry then? Melissa threw in.

Is there anyone inside the truck? Eric asked over the crackle and smoke.

Yes! he shouted.

Overcoming the impulse to run for it, Eric bounded to the back of the truck. He leapt over the tire, making sure to hold his glasses, and into the carriage.

Inside was already an inferno. Fire licked the carpet and plastic wrappers. Liquids were bubbling, paper cones burning like marshmallows. Smoke clouded the cabin with noxious fumes. A freezer was lying in the far left corner, mist coming from its emptied spaces. A young woman lay unconscious on the floor, pinned down by a crate of ice cream.

Eric stumbled over to the lady. He placed his trunks over her mouth and nose to filter the smoke fumes and pried his fingers in between the metal crate and her. He lifted up, but it refused to budge. Eric stood back up, breathing hard and trying to remain calm, but it was too hot to concentrate.

An idea came.

He ducked down, removed a bucket of melted ice cream from the crate, and pulled off the lid. Eric turned and splattered cold watery mess on the walls, dousing the flames.

He opened a dozen more containers, two at a time, pouring the liquid ice cream onto walls, others onto the lady to keep her cool. With no buckets left on the crate, Eric wrapped his hand around the crate and heaved with all his might. With his arms warm and stretchy like rubber bands, the crate lifted.

Eric lifted the ice cream crate completely off and tossed it to the side.

Time to go! Eric shouted to himself, but wished he hadn’t as he inhaled a mouthful of smoke.

He squatted down and picked up the woman in a cradle hold, coughing uncontrollably. Charm bracelets on her right forearm tinkled rhythmically.

Eric looked to the right. Fire was covering the hole he had come through. The retractable door at the back was cluttered with fire and melting popsicles. There was no escape.

Suddenly, the fire covering his entrance grew wildly. Fire exploded everywhere around him, singeing his hair, burning his flesh. The odd combined smells of rubber and gas hit him in a draft of smoke so dark he could not see. His eyes began to burn. He heard the charm bracelets jingling, and he knew where to go.

—

Held back by a beefy fireman, Melissa jumped as the air was broken by a loud explosion.

Mr. McGee’s ice cream truck and the sedan exploded in an eruption of orange-yellow flame and smoke. The cabin disappeared in a plume of smog and flying debris while the carriage was torn apart, flinging steaming metal parts in every direction.

When at last the smoke cleared, no one had left the truck.

Eric was still inside.

Melissa felt the fireman’s grip on her lessen and she slipped away. She raced back to the truck, ignoring the sparks and smoke. As she approached, the smoke cleared away from the carriage, revealing a shell of wreckage. Crates of melted plates, burnt buckets, and boiling ice cream littered the street and remnants of the truck. In a burnt corner lay a blackened freezer, the door swinging half-open.

Melissa looked around. Nothing. Not even ashes.

The freezer crashed open and the lid hung on broken hinges. Crammed into the freezer was Eric and a young lady, torn-up trunks dangling from her face.

Eric was a mess. His glasses hung disjointedly from his ears, his shirt was burnt open, his hair was singed, and his whole body blackened from the smoke. His knuckles and an arm were bloodied. Thankfully, he did not appear too badly burnt.

Eric crawled out of the freezer and looked at Melissa sheepishly.

Eric! Melissa shouted, pulling him to his feet and embracing him. You survived!

He gave an exhausted sigh. Words escaped him.

Are you okay? she asked. She tried to look into his eyes, but they would not focus.

Iyam now, Eric slurred and fell forward onto her, unconscious.

Melissa stumbled under Eric’s weight, trying to prop him back up.

Police officers and paramedics ran into the destroyed carriage. Several loaded up the young lady on a stretcher while others took Eric off Melissa. She ran after the paramedics toward an ambulance.

Hold up!

Someone caught Melissa by the arm, stopping her from getting into the ambulance with Eric. She turned to find the Elko police chief, Riley O’Malley.

Who are you? Chief O’Malley asked.

I’m Melissa Water and I need to go with Eric, she explained and tried to release the chief ’s grip.

Lieutenant Water’s daughter? Melissa nodded.

Not so fast, you need to tell me what happened. I need a statement.

The truck exploded and there were two people inside. He managed to get into a freezer with the lady.

What’s his name? the chief asked. His name’s Atl. Eric Atl, sir.

Chief O’Malley released her. Eric Atl, you said? Melissa nodded again.

It’s a miracle he didn’t die, the chief said quietly. The freezer should have exploded or at least the heat should have killed him. Seeing as how he’s alive and quite well, Melissa shot back, I’ll be going.

As she ran off, Chief O’Malley said to no one in particular, Of course. Wouldn’t want to miss anything amazing.

—

He really didn’t want to host the party.

A voice replied. Male.

Oh, come on. If he didn’t want to host the party, he would have told us.

A girl’s voice now: And we would have had it at your house.

"Mine? Why mine?" Another female, but Eric knew this one.

Her voice sounded like singing birds, like a waterfall.

You have the biggest house, the one female told the other girl with the songbird voice, and besides, Eric totally likes you. There’s no place he would rather be than in your—

He doesn’t like me. Her name was on the tip of his tongue. Does too.

He does not.

M…Me…Mel…

Does too! Four voices shouted at once.

Eric’s eyes snapped open. Blurry at first, his vision came into focus.

He’s awake!

Really, Sherlock? Joseph said.

Standing in a horseshoe around Eric’s bed were Ethan, Sara, Jack, Joseph, and Melissa.

Way to go, buddy, Jack said. You nearly blew yourself sky-high.

But first, you had to save Mr. Happy McGee, said Joseph. That’s not his name, Melissa said for only Eric to hear.

Eric squinted, trying to remember. The last thing he could recollect was being very content.

Joseph held up a newspaper. Below an extensive article was a picture of the gutted ice cream truck. The headline read:

TEENAGER SAVES VICTIMS OF CRASH, SURVIVES EXPLOSION

Reporting from Carl Stentons

The memories flooded back to Eric. His arms had been scrubbed clean of smoke and ash, revealing a couple of scabs and blisters.

He did not want to be a hero if a hospital bed was all that awaited him after every save. How did superheroes do it time and time again?

Superpowers, my dear Watson, a voice inside his head mocked.

Does this mean we get to have two parties? Sara asked. One for the race, one for him surviving?

Ethan leaned over and patted Eric on the head.

While some of us are too concerned with our social lives, Ethan said, giving his girlfriend a joking grin, the rest of us are glad you’re okay.

Your parents are outside, Melissa added. So about this party, Jack interjected.

Yeah! Joseph shouted. Whose house? Clearly, you didn’t want it at yours, Eric.

Melissa’s house! Sara said. Melissa shot Sara a frown.

Eric shook his head. No parties. I’m—

A hero! Melissa declared.

No, Eric insisted and felt himself shake his head. "I’m just a