Blog of a Teenage Superhero

atery shadows splash the orange-brown floor. Kids squirm on

finishes with a polite smile， "

he gym， thrumming my fingernails in the wall“s ruts. My knees are curled to m

at is scratchy and dry， hands clammy， pulse pounding in my wrists. I volunteered

Show me the clipboard." And I scrawled my name in the “Vice

are clapping. They never clap for student council electees. Most of them have other things to worry about， lik

ed back in a neat ponytail， heart-shaped face. She“s a cheerleader， and a popular girl， but she“s never been mean to me， if that“s what p

d lu

I clench my shaky hands around the hem of my hoodie. All half-glazed eyes are on me. I swallow back the lu

rners of the gym， taped up to the mats. I step up， thumping my fingers on the mic

ing dog. Kai is playing poker in the back row over an open binder with a couple of

fe， except maybe picking out the themes for Prom and the homecoming dance， which you guys probably don“t care about all that mu

ch I hope will look like a dramatic pause to whoever cares enough to listen. "I promise to， uh， cut the bullcrap，

a excitable way. More in an awkward harr-harr-harr way of sleepy kids drowning in their own drool. And the teachers don“t look all tha

three hours. I settle beside Finn“s gir

“s a cool person to look at. Two piercings in her left ear and one in her eyebrow. Her blonde bangs frame her face in

a second too long and leaves us blushing and

are for the position. They even have notes， binders and notebooks and index cards and everything. I drift out

ary somersault. He“s cute. A little short， but most guys are to me， and he“s got that sun-kissed tan most the surf boys“ wear. He“s even go

he wrist of my hoodie.

r representatives with a

ep as a teen“s can be， and his smile is charming and sweet. The way he presents himself， so seriously， makes the council seem to actually matter. The cheese to

lks about Red Comet. "She“s our hero，" he says， "and so is her team. This school was built in her honor， and as students， we have to show that we too can be heroes and p

fee. Not just for the caffeine boost，

my tired brain can“t connect that dimply face and those big brown eyes to the man who t

ing to himself， drawing out the boy“s words in a gravelly hero voice. "I“m Max Preston， and I would be honored to be your president." And， y

r. "There are a lot

d around a peace-signing Max. The boy looks particularly cute in this picture， with his starched collared shirt buttoned up to his

and a demeanor that screams， “I don“t want to be here， some parent-teacher-terrible f

s a catchphrase， and then he pulls the mic off the stand and drops it， much to the del

rative spurs on her heels that look just as sharp as the real things. All I know is that I don“t want to get on the bad

e lights dim， something I didn“t know gym lights were cap

side-bangs hiding a single eye. She holds her head up， a beatific smile grac

nts. It looks like I

astic chips flying. He swings down beside Finn and elbows him hard. I fidget with my sleeve， w

y peers has all but vanished as I focus on my hero“s face. She“s standing in front of a white background， no

t the responsibilities of our future cit

ing thick pink booklets over her shoulder. One lands in my lap.

knows who I am. My heroes are gone. M

lips， "one of our first rules at this high

fy air. For a whole second， the kids in the bleachers are frozen. I am too. Bec

te crap. Masquerade“s black cape hangs limply behind him， his baggy hood casting a shaky gr

tments to fit at least a toolbox or two. Even in the darkness， I can make out

s up into the air and kicks over the projector. It hits the ground. Lenses

me. I only need one or two of you as my hostage， so please， feel f

and orderly evacuation. Finn and Kai have barely enough time to shoot me what I s

one of these guys is like taking on a grizzly bear. Stupid， unless you“re a t

rcy， who is still wearing a smile

no

above a sea of heads. I grab hold of a door， flatten myself against the wal

ads to the

But when you speak， sometimes you phrase things wrong. Sometimes you stumble over your words. Sometimes you can“t remember what you“re suppo

room. It“s a wonderful place. The purple canopy ceiling glitters with hanging stars. Tie-

darkness pushes in on all sides， cold and heavy. At the end of the closet where she keeps the fake superhero gear for when we put on our inevitable “Superhero Ap

mask and run. My sneakers squeak on the polished floor， sleeves of half-disregarded

iss. Which I“ve begun to do a little too much of

posing. I take off into the hall， blinking hard to adjust to the two sweaty eyeholes. The plastic has already begun

or so windows. Red splashed here， a little blue splashed there. The artwork is impossibly beautiful. Landscapes and portrait

erpowers， but if there“s ever be

w them open， thunking hard a

n one hand， a choking hostage cl

， that choking

e kicks and squirms and cusses until Masquerade squeezes him even tight

lips his phone around so he“s filming me.

hide your identity without one. "Let the hostage go." I make my voice deep and husky， much to Masquerad

ybe some money to make off a benefactor who doesn“t want a

grasp， Masquerade jets past me， so fas

swung myself a