The Anti-Heroes

Chapter Fifteen EMILY

Chapter Fifteen

E MILY

I may have traded one obsession for another.

In the past few weeks, I’ve been thinking less about the old days. I no longer let every thought pull me back into Jeremy’s world. I’m living more in the now. That’s a positive. What’s less positive is that I’ve become consumed with trying to figure out Zeus’s deal. I mean, what kind of dark magic is he practicing—on us, nonetheless?

I’m seeing real, tangible changes in the group. For example, Michael figured out how to download Grindr, and he’s been swiping or tapping or whatever the date-creating protocol is. Apparently, his longtime partner left him around the time his assistant retired, and he’s been struggling on all counts ever since. I don’t think Michael’s done much of anything for himself in years. That said, he figured out Grindr all on his own. He says understanding technology is easier when there’s a prize at the end.

B-Money has been doubling down on his music, so much so that he’s dropped down to part time at the coffee shop. He hadn’t informed his parents of this development as of last week, but working up the courage to follow his dreams should be commended.

Vishnu says he’s writing a couple of pages every day, but what’s more significant is that he paid Liv a compliment without turning purple. On paper, those two have so much in common, from feeling pushed around at their jobs to not wanting to disappoint their families. I suspect there could be something there.

As for Liv, she’s demanding more from work, and she’s not letting her family rule her life as much. Just last week, she came to our impromptu group karaoke night instead of letting herself get roped into her sister’s drama. Granted, she overpaid B-Money’s friend to babysit her hell-spawn niece and nephew when her sister had her crisis du jour, but she didn’t take the task on herself, and that is progress.

Personally, I’ve never been a Deandra fan. The first time she visited Liv in Ann Arbor, it was crystal clear that Dee was incredibly jealous of the life Liv had carved out for herself on campus, but Liv kept making excuses for Dee’s criticizing everything she did. Bullshit, in my opinion—Liv was a child of the same divorce and that didn’t turn her into an opinionated, entitled asshat.

There is zero love lost between Deandra and me, but Liv supports her unconditionally, so I try to respect it even if I don’t like it. My point is, for Liv to even challenge her sister is progress.

We’re all progressing, so I don’t know why I can’t just appreciate that and not obsess over Zeus’s origin story. It’s almost like I’m only happy when I’m unhappy, but that defies logic. No one would revel in feeling miserable on purpose, denying themselves little pleasures and constantly flagellating themselves over survivor’s guilt ... right?

“’Sup, fam?” B-Money asks, sidling into the chair next to mine. His T-shirt reads Supreme and his expensive sneakers are beyond white. I don’t know how he keeps from getting coffee on them at the shop. He and I have gotten tight. He’s the only other person vaguely curious about how Fearless Inc. came to be.

I tell him, “I still haven’t found anything about him. It’s driving me to distraction. How do you just not exist online? Him having no digital footprint makes me so skeptical about what the whole ‘Master your life’ thing is really about.”

“It’s completely sus,” he agrees.

“Did we accidentally join a cult? Are we about to be hit with an MLM pitch, like, if we want to be Fearless (Inc.), we’re going to have to start selling supplements? None of this sits well with me.” Then I look down at my biceps, which are visibly more toned. “But I’ve lost five pounds since we started boxing.”

Michael glances over and nods. “Five down, ten to go.”

I poise to confront him, but B-Money grabs the back of my shirt. “Not worth it, sis. Anyway, we gotta ignore him. I got my own problems.”

“Why, what’s happening?” I ask. He’s not his usual larger-than-life self today.

He runs a palm over his twists, which now have little gold beads at the end. They glint under the fluorescent lighting. “My folks are all over me. They were not down with me cutting my hours at the café. They said I need to either start working for my dad or move out because I’ve been freeloading for too long. Facts.”

“Would you want to be in your father’s employ?” Vishnu asks. “I work for my father’s radiology practice. Zero stars. Do not recommend.”

B-Money says, “I’d have to start in the field doing exterminations, but I don’t mind the idea of blue-collar work. That’s not the problem. All the best MCs kept it real. You feel me? Biggie drove a UPS truck. Kendrick Lamar was a security guard. Kanye worked at the Gap.”

Michael snorts. “Kanye worked at the Gap? That explains so much.”

B-Money shoots him a poisonous look. “Nah, son. I’m allowed to mock Kanye, not you.”

Michael pretends to wipe dust off his shoulder and returns to his app. “Whatever.”

“But my big problem is a major bug phobia. Not down. Anyway, I’ve got a week to cure that or I’m out on the street, cut off.”

“That’s terrible!” Liv says. She and Vishnu are sitting together. Again, he’s so not her type, and I would bet cash money he’s never seen a real woman naked, but I could see something there. He’s kind and asks for nothing; Liv could use more of that in her life.

“Yeah, and my dad won’t let me live on my boat either,” B-Money says. “Guess he’s still salty I went to three universities.”

“I also went to three universities!” Vishnu exclaims, delighted to have a commonality. He raises his hand to high-five B-Money, who is too empathetic to leave Vishnu hanging. The sound of their hands clapping together resonates through the warehouse.

“But you’re a doctor. You got out with a BS and an MD. I’m just a guy with no degree who’s scared of bugs and even more scared about being kicked out.”

Out of nowhere, Zeus materializes. How does he do that? How is he able to approach with no sound whatsoever? See, it’s stuff like this that makes me suspicious. Being able to silently advance seems like some kind of Special Forces training. Now, if he were an ex-SEAL or something, that might explain why he’s so secretive, and also why he’s left no sort of electronic trail. How do you not have Yelp reviews? Someone even Yelped the lobby of our condo building. It’s a lobby! Sorry the elevators aren’t fast enough for you, Bob .

I try to get some information when we chat during breaks, but he’s like the sphinx—silent and mysterious. And somehow he also has so much charisma; it’s like he compels me to keep prodding.

Zeus just stands in front of us like a statue until we’re all rapt with attention. Again, this hints at some sort of special training. Normal people can’t stay still like that. They twitch, they pulse, they burp, they breathe, they ... something . But he can practically turn himself into a tree. Once he’s sure all eyes are on him, he says, “This week, we tackle everyone’s greatest fear. Who can tell me what that is?”

Liv’s hand shoots straight in the air, just dying to please. “Saying no? Being impolite?” Liv guesses. “Oh, or not smiling when a man on the street tells you to smile?”

“Interesting guesses, but no,” Zeus says. “Vishnu, what do you think?”

“Telling your parents you do not want to follow in their professional footsteps, because you cannot imagine anything more boring and soul sucking than sitting in a little room by yourself, staring into a bright light and interpreting the results of X-rays and ultrasounds and MRIs? Then sometimes, after squinting at strangers’ insides all day, having to share the worst news a patient may ever hear?”

“That’s a little specific, so no. Michael?”

Michael chews on this for a second. “Unnatural fabrics?”

“Not even remotely. Emily?”

I can’t help myself. The words pour from my mouth before I can stop them, like wild horses bursting through a fence line. “Getting scammed by a mysterious guy who says he can make you fearless?”

Zeus inhales so powerfully, I’m afraid he’s going to suck all the air out of the room. His exhale ruffles my hair. How does he make having an active respiratory system hot? How??

“The answer is performance anxiety. Statistically, what people fear most is getting up in front of a crowd. So, we’re having a talent show next week and—”

I stand up, forming my hands in a T to make the timeout gesture. “Whoa, hold on. We need to change the syllabus.”

Zeus stares at me long, and I feel a flash of heat zip from my head to my toes, ending up just below the waist. (Why? No. Why??) Finally, he says, “Because?”

“Because B-Money’s about to be kicked out of his parents’ house if he doesn’t fix his entomophobia.”

Michael huffs into a handkerchief. “Well, I never! I thought we were friends!”

Vishnu whispers to Michael, “It does not mean he hates the LGBTQIA+. It means he is afraid of bugs.”

“Never mind, then,” Michael says, but takes his first two fingers and points to his face and then at B-Money, then back at his face, like he’s going to keep watch for homophobia, even though B-Money is super inclusive.

I explain, “Because B-Money is about to be kicked out of his parents’ house if we don’t help him fix his fear of bugs.”

“So?”

“He’ll be unhomed,” I say, exasperated. I swear Zeus is trying to be obtuse.

“He can’t live on his boat?” Zeus asks.

“Right?” B-Money says. “Wait, how did—”

Zeus claps his hands with a thunderous sound. His trademark, apparently. “Anyway, performance anxiety.”

I make another timeout sign. “I’m sorry, you’re just going to ignore what we need and do what you want?”

A rare, slow grin spreads across Zeus’s face, and something primal inside me stirs when I see all those straight white teeth aimed in my direction. Oh, fuck me, there’s a small dimple. The full wattage of his smile could light the Vegas strip. Even Vishnu makes a little gasp. Is this how my students feel when they see, I don’t know, Tom Holland or Zendaya? “You’re catching on, Professor. Addressing your performance anxiety is more important. Trust me, this is what he needs. It’s what you all need. Are you in or are you out?”

He goes around the room, looking us each in the eye, and one by one, I can feel my friends bending to his will. They fall in line, readily agreeing to whatever Zeus has planned for us next.

I imagine this is what it felt like to be in the Russian court with Rasputin. Even I find myself saying, “In.”

“On a scale of one to ten, how afraid are you of bugs?” I ask.

Liv and I are having lunch at the coffee shop because B-Money is working and we want to help him. I wonder if coming together as a group is part of Zeus’s plan. It has to be, right? All of our exercises are done together. We’ve had no individual challenges. Vishnu offered to call in sick, but considering what a hard-ass his supervisor-father is, we told him we could handle it.

Michael is also in the café, although he wasn’t invited. He just happens to work around the corner, so he’s in and out all day long. He’s currently ignoring us, poking at his laptop screen and grumbling under his breath.

B-Money answers, “Infinity? A googol? Which is the most?”

“Hmm,” Liv replies. “What scares you the most, specifically? Is it the crawling, the flying, the burrowing?”

B-Money squirms, visibly uncomfortable at the mere thought. “All of the above.”

“What about exposure therapy?” I ask. “Have you tried it?”

He nods. “Like twenty times. My dad even hired a lady to come to the house. She brought a cage full of butterflies. She tried to get me used to them first ’cause who doesn’t think butterflies are dope? All those pretty wings? She pulled one out and showed me how gentle it was, and I was like, ‘A’ight, not so bad,’ then she pulled out another one. Problem was, she was old AF and her grip was shaky and she dropped the cage, and those fuckers swarmed me like in a remake of The Birds or some shit. That made it a million times worse.” He swats at himself, like he’s trying to get them off. “I’ve got nowhere to go! I can’t live in my car! Where would I plug in my frozen daiquiri maker?”

From his corner, Michael snorts.

“Are you even trying to help?” I ask.

“Oh, was I not clear that I don’t care?”

“Then why did you come?”

“I like the coffee. It’s so watery!”

“Usually, I get real nervous about performing. But I’m so scared that I’m gonna fail when I go to work with my dad later this week that I’m not even sweating the talent show,” B-Money tells us.

I’m relatively sure the show won’t be a big deal, largely because it’s taking place here in the shop. “If we’re lucky, ten people will show up. If we’re really lucky, Miles won’t be one of them.”

“You haven’t dumped his boring ass yet?” B-Money asks.

“Not yet, but she will once she figures out the best way to let him down gently,” Liv assures him, giving my hand a comforting tap.

Honestly, the deeper into this we get, the more I realize I haven’t been fair to Miles. I’ve said as much to Liv, who surprised me by agreeing. He’s never been anything except exactly what he presents, yet I blithely plowed forward, thinking I could turn a tabby into a tiger. That’s not on him, that’s on me.

I’ve spent our whole relationship comparing him to Jeremy, and measuring all the ways in which he falls short. But because I’m thinking about Jeremy less now, I’m finally seeing our deficiencies as a couple for what they are. We wouldn’t have worked even if my heart had been in it. We don’t mesh. We don’t challenge each other. We don’t bring out each other’s best traits. I always wanted to be in a relationship where I’m 100 percent and he’s 100 percent, but together we’re 1,000 percent. Before that can happen, I have to get myself to that 100 percent. I think Fearless Inc. could get me there. Miles deserves better than I’ve given him, but I haven’t got it in me to articulate all that, at least not yet. So for now, status quo.

I clear my throat, eager to change the subject. “Anyway, what should I do for my talent? I’m thinking of lecturing on the water table.”

“Everyone loves a lecture,” Michael says with a smirk. Why is he even here?

Liv says, “I was a majorette in high school. Would baton twirling be too weird?”

“Absolutely not,” I start to say, just as Michael butts in with “Absolutely.”

“What’s Vishnu doing for his talent?” Liv asks. “Something with his writing?”

“He says he’s gonna read one of his short stories,” I say.

“Good for him!” she replies.

Michael starts aggressively poking his screen.

“Problem, my man?” B-Money asks.

“How do I fatten up a YouTuber?” Michael replies.

The three of us look at each other, each more confused than the last. “It’s too thin, it needs to be fat,” Michael clarifies, as though that explanation and his use of jazz hands will help.

As I’m attuned to figuring out my students’ slang and bullshit, I field this one. “Do you mean, ‘How do you make a video full screen?’”

“Yes.”

“As miserable as you are, do you seriously expect us to help you?” I ask. I cross my arms and scowl at him. I’m getting tired of his attitude. Everyone else in the group is open and vulnerable, and he’s just a wall of negativity and snarky remarks. B-Money follows suit with his body language, and grudgingly, Liv does the same, but still mouths an “I’m sorry” when she thinks we’re not looking.

We all watch as Michael continues tapping fecklessly at his screen. He finally slams it shut, defeated. “Fine. Y’all win. I created an ad campaign for the new insectarium exhibit at the Lincoln Park Zoo. The director owes me a favor. I’ll call her. Maybe she can help B-Money with his problem,” Michael says.

B-Money absolutely lights up. “Michael, thanks, my man. That may keep me living indoors! I owe you one of my world-famous frozen daiquiris. How do you feel about mango?”

Michael shudders. “I feel sorry I mentioned anything.”

“Friends, family, followers—welcome to the Fearless Inc. talent show!” says Zeus, addressing the sparse crowd. For some reason, he’s dressed like a stand-up comic from the 1980s, wearing high-waisted acid wash jeans and an oversized leather coat. He looks ridiculous, but he’s carrying it with such confidence that it works.

I’m at a table with Miles, who insisted on coming. Michael walks past us with his coffee and stops to admire Miles’s handbag. “I love your satchel,” he says.

“Thank you!” says Miles. And to me, he says, “I told you it’s not a purse.” Argh. I know our problems are my fault, not his, but damn, he doesn’t make this any easier.

“Olivia Bennett is kicking off our performances tonight with a twirling routine. Everyone give it up for Liv!” Zeus says, clapping his way off stage, which is really just a small platform by the Brew and Chew corkboard.

Liv enters from stage right, dressed in a modest skirted leotard, baton in hand and a huge grin on her face. From the back of the room, Trevor from her office catcalls, “Take it off!” Her face falls, and I shoot him a look . He has the good sense to appear chastened.

The lights dim and Liv hits a switch on her baton, which glows with LED lights. She used to twirl a flaming baton—that was the best party trick in college—but she’s afraid she’s out of practice and doesn’t want to burn down the Brew and Chew. Probably a good call. Regardless, her routine is impressive, with lots of spins and passes, and I cheer loudly with every catch and spin. By the time she finishes, she’s all smiles again. Funny how a little burst of achievement can do that for you. I give her a standing ovation and I don’t sit down until everyone follows suit. Knowing my eyes are on him, Trevor claps the loudest and longest.

After Liv, Michael gives a rather spirited talk about how to tell the difference between a silk tie and a silk-blend tie. Of course Miles is riveted. He’s probably mentally shopping for matching ties with the Chairman as we sit here. I’m aggravated that Michael’s talk is actually informative, especially when he mentions the environmental dangers of synthetic fibers. This is what he does: he pushes us all to the edge and then manages to redeem himself right when we’re about to vote him off the island.

Vishnu reads a short story that borders on erotica. I mean, move over E. L. James. Though his presentation is halting and stiff, his words paint an indelible picture. Liv pulls at her neckline, flushed.

“Is it just me or was that ... whoo ,” Liv says, fanning herself with a menu. She dabs at her neck with an ice cube from her water glass.

“That was a way hotter story than I anticipated,” I agree. “He may well have hidden depths.”

“My man is a freak, hard stop,” B-Money says.

The loudest applause for Vishnu comes from his more confident doppelg?nger, who we find out is Sanjay, a.k.a. Jay, Vishnu’s brother. He and Liv catch each other’s eye, and Jay raises his latte to her in a mock salute. I don’t know if it was the story or Liv’s increased confidence from her brilliant baton performance, but sparks are flying. I’m glad she decided not to invite her family, because I guarantee they’d have just demeaned her and made the night all about themselves.

I give my talk on the water table, which is met with exactly as much enthusiasm as I anticipated. For a minute, I thought I’d sing something. I pulled out my vintage acoustic guitar and tried one of the old Blues Traveler songs we used to sing around the campfire, but I was too out of practice. When I hit the chorus on “Run-Around,” Miles came rushing in because he thought I’d stepped on Chairman Meow’s tail. (It’s possible I was never good, and we were all tripping too hard on shrooms to notice.)

After I finish my talk, I ask if there are any questions. Taylor, who’s now in the summer session of my class, raises her hand. “Professor Doctor, do I get credit for being here?”

Feeling generous, I say, “Why not?” I don’t want to see her again this fall.

B-Money closes out the show. He’s planning to perform an original piece. He bursts onto the stage, full of swagger. Performance anxiety? Not him. He’s got this. He sort of has to make a go of it—the insectarium was an unmitigated disaster. All his screaming frightened the children, causing a small stampede. He may well have created a new generation of entomophobes.

B-Money surveys the audience, waiting to speak until he’s captured every single person’s attention. “Gonna do something tonight inspired by my struggles. See, this week, I got kicked out of my house because I couldn’t rise to the occasion and kill some bugs. I couldn’t even be in a room with bugs behind Plexiglas. Oh, God, they were just so crawly and hairy and ...” He trails off, wincing. But he composes himself and speaks like he’s at the United Center and not on an ad hoc stage in the third-tier coffee shop where he slings espresso. “I tried, I failed, and I was offered no grace. This is about change. This is about making do. This is about having a dream. I’ve been keeping it real, sleeping in my car, because I know I have it inside me. And I’m ’bout to let it out, so go off.”

We all cheer, and he has to wait a few beats for the applause to die down. He’s got this. We’re all in the palm of his hand. If he can be half as good as he is when he’s just freestyling to himself while cleaning the espresso machine, this performance is going to be lit .

B-Money begins to rap about the story of how his life was totally flipped, entirely turned upside down, and ... is ... is he doing the theme song to The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air ?

“I love this song!” Miles says. So, confirmed.

B-Money, what are you doing?

It dawns on him that in giving in to his performance anxiety, he’s entirely plagiarized that old Will Smith song, and he freezes. He looks wildly around the stage for his easiest exit.

“Don’t quit!” I yell.

“I believe in you!” Vishnu calls.

“You’ve got this!” Liv says.

Oh, yeah. He’s about to run.

But before he reaches the exit, he stumbles over a bag of the shop’s terrible coffee beans, secured with a length of rope, gets twisted up in the burlap, and slips on the spilled beans.

Vishnu flies out of his seat to help right his friend. Poor B-Money’s eyes are wild and he’s hyperventilating as Vishnu attempts to push the beans out of the way. He stares at the door, and I’m so afraid he’s going to run out and never come back, that he’s going to let this moment define him.

“Stay, stay, stay,” I whisper, more of an incantation than an instruction. He needs this. We all need this.

“We love you, B-Money!” Liv shouts.

“We know you can do it,” Vishnu assures him, patting B-Money’s back.

Zeus watches the whole scene unfold. Shouldn’t he be doing something? Or is not doing something the something he should be doing? Finally, he shrugs and says, “Life is a classroom,” as though that were in any way helpful. WTF?

B-Money grabs the length of rope from the now-open bag of beans. He’s thinking, processing. Most importantly, he’s staying put.

“Don’t hang yourself!” Michael calls. The entire room whips around, and no one is madder than Liv.

“What the fuck , Michael?” Liv hisses, and I feel such a surge of love at her anger and profanity that I spontaneously hug her.

Michael’s confused. “What? I was being supportive.”

B-Money holds the rope for an uncomfortable silence. Then he reapproaches the mic. “Yo, my bad. Guess my new rap isn’t ready. Sorry ’bout that. But lemme show you something that’s even more important. I’m talking about how to save your life on the high seas, deadass.”

He launches into a knot-tying tutorial, and it’s actually incredibly entertaining, as he mixes his knot tying with tales of adventures he’s had on solo sails. He shows us bowlines and stopper knots, calmly explaining when you’d need them. By the time he finishes teaching us how to create a clove hitch knot, the audience is eating out of his hands. He takes a bow to thunderous applause and performs two knotty encores.

By the end of the night, it’s just the five Fearless Inc. acolytes and Zeus sitting together. There’s a certain irony that we’re back where the police first interviewed us, but the vibe is entirely different. No more baked potatoes here! Miles was miffed when I told him to go home without me, but tonight’s about us, not him.

“Who knew knots would be such a big hit?” B-Money muses.

“What a night!” Liv agrees, although I’m curious as to how much of her enthusiasm stems from Jay’s insisting he take her out to dinner this week. Vishnu thought that was a capital idea, but I wonder if that’s how he truly feels. Given that he’s inhaled seven stale crullers in a row, I suspect he’s eating his feelings right now.

“I guess I’m glad about the knots and all, but I’m still homeless,” B-Money says.

“Homeless how?” Vishnu asks.

“As in, I don’t have a place to live?”

“That is magnificent news!”

We’re all trying to parse Vishnu’s meaning when Michael says, “Aren’t you all going to dogpile on him? Y’all would nail me to a cross if I said that.”

Vishnu quickly explains, “Oh, sorry, I meant it’s magnificent news because I have a spare bedroom. My Realtor insisted I would want a nursery.”

“That’s wonderful, Vishnu,” says Liv. “Not about your bad real estate agent. So, B-Money can stay with you?”

“That depends ...,” Vishnu says, pausing for a dramatic beat. “On if you bring your daiquiri machine!” B-Money drops all pretense of coolness and wraps Vishnu in a grateful hug. Vishnu needs company more than he needs rent money, so they agree that B-Money can stay for free as long as he’d like, especially if he keeps the daiquiris flowing.

Zeus rises from the table. “Mission accomplished.”

“Um, no, not exactly. B-Money still can’t rap in front of an audience and he’s still afraid of bugs,” I remind him.

“Tonight wasn’t about performance anxiety or entomophobia. It was about addressing B-Money’s fear of failure. He didn’t quit when it got hard, he soldiered on,” Zeus says.

B-Money offers a wry laugh. “Yeah, and it only cost me my pool house and my boat and—”

Zeus claps him on the back. “A win’s a win. You’re on the right track now. Sometimes the monsters are just trees. See you next week.” And like that, he’s gone. Poof. How does he do that?

B-Money pulls out an iPad and sits next to me. “Yo, Emily. Been meaning to show you this. Check it out.” He presses play on a YouTube. “Have you seen the new Taylor Swift video?”

I let out a quick yelp of laughter. “Um, no, because I’m not twelve. Also, her song ‘Lover’? It’s basically just a remake of Mazzy Star’s ‘Fade Into You.’”

B-Money takes a deep breath, as though trying to compose himself. “I’mma let that disrespect slide, this time but don’t you come for the queen again,” B-Money says, in all seriousness. “But look here.” He expands the video—also known as fattening up the YouTuber—and points to a hulking, familiar figure in the front row of what looks like a live performance, dancing alone in a sea of Gen Z. “Is that who I think it is? What is up with his mystical white boy shit? And how did he know about my boat?”

I squint at the screen. Yes. The face, the biceps, the profile. It’s him. It is definitely Zeus, and dancing is definitely not his strong suit.

Who is this guy and what is he hiding?