by Zoe Quinn
“Something wrong?”
Grandpa held out an envelope. I recognized the stationery. It was from the Superhero Federation. Uh-oh.
“Bad news?” I gulped. “Again?”
“See for yourself,” Grandpa advised.”But I think we should go into the back room.”
It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened. From the way they were behaving, I could see that the letter told us I'd failed. I'd blown it. My throat went tight and I could feel my chin quivering. I followed them into the office, took out the letter and read.
Dear Zoe,
It is with great pleasure
Great pleasure? That sure didn't sound like a notification of failure! Maybe, just maybe…
I held my breath and read on eagerly.
that we, the Superhero Federation,
do hereby inform you that you
have been promoted to Superhero, First
Grade, and are, as of this date, considered
on Active Superhero Duty!
My head snapped up from the page and I saw Gran and Grandpa smiling.
“I passed?”
Gran beamed at me. “With flying colors!”
When she said that, three-dimensional streaks of colored light shot out of the page and began to soar around the room like a fast-moving rainbow.
“What are those?”
“Flying colors!” Grandpa said, reaching out to touch a streak of brilliant purple as it shrieked past his head.
I raised my hand and let the pink streak zoom through my fingers.
“Congratulations!” cried Grandpa.
“You guys knew all along!” I scolded, smiling my head off. “That was sneaky!”
For a few minutes, we watched the colors bolt around the room. It was more beautiful than a fireworks display—the colors crossed paths and shimmered, or collided and exploded into smaller streaks of new colors. All for me!
Me. The superhero! Officially on active duty, no less!
Finally, the light show dissolved and the letter did the self-destructing trick I remembered from before. And it happened just in the nick of time—as the light show ended and the letter puffed into nothingness, the front door of the shop opened, its little bell jangling happily as if it, too, wanted to congratulate me.
“Good afternoon, all!” said Electra Allbright, stepping into the store, carrying a pile of rumpled clothes.
“Ellie,” said Gran stiffly. “Back in town already?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” She turned to Grandpa Zack and gave him a glowing smile. “Nice to see you again, Zachary”
Electra Allbright, my favorite comic-book writer on this or any other planet, was standing there right in front of me, for the second time in my life. She'd popped into the dry cleaner's just a few weeks earlier when she was in town for a meet-and-greet at Cosmic Connie's Comic Shop. Weird—that was when I'd first discovered that I had superpowers. And here she was now, on the very day that I was being notified that I'd passed my test.
What was even weirder was that Gran knew her well enough to call her Ellie.
“Hi, Ms. Allbright,” I said. “Remember me?”
“Of course I remember you, Zelda.”
“Uh… Zoe.”
“Of course. Zoe.” She turned back to Gran and dropped her basket of clothing on the counter with a sigh. “I've just returned from a national tour of speaking engagements.”
“How nice for you,” snapped Gran, sounding as though she didn't think there was anything nice about it. She'd gone from stiff to snippy, and frankly, I couldn't believe it. My grandmother was the very personification of good manners and kindness. I'd never heard her be snippy to anyone!
Electra gushed on. “Oh, I love being on the road. But it's such a whirlwind—personal appearances at comic-book conventions, lecturing at art schools, visiting bookstores. And all those fancy receptions they throw for me certainly take their toll on my wardrobe. Consequently, I've got lots and lots of clothing that needs to be freshened up and pressed.”
“You could have had that done 'on the road,' “ said Gran.
That seemed like a strange thing for Gran to say. I didn't know much about the dry-cleaning business, but I was pretty sure it was counterproductive to encourage customers to take their clothes elsewhere.
“Of course I could have,” said Electra in a sugary voice. “But the last time I was here, you did such a wonderful job. Better than any dry cleaners I've ever patronized.
“I just loved the way Zachary pressed my pantsuits. He's got such a wonderful touch with steam ironing. He flattened my cuffs to perfection.”
I was shocked to see Grandpa blush a little. And for a minute, it looked like Gran wanted to flatten more than Electra's cuffs. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought Gran was acting jealous. But that was just plain ridiculous.
“So here's the big news,” Electra continued. “I've decided to live right here in Sweetbriar! After all, I grew up not far from here, as you know.”
I didn't know. Nobody knew anything about Electra AUbright. Correction: Gran and Grandpa knew, apparently. But Electra's personal history was as famously secret as that of her character Lightning Girl. So how did they know? And why the heck hadn't they ever mentioned it to me?
“You've bought a house in Sweetbriar?” Grandpa just about choked on the words.
“Why, yes. Nothing too ostentatious, you understand.” Electra turned to me. “You know the old mansion up on Sweetbriar Mountain? I sign the papers tomorrow and it's all mine.”
“Wow,” I said, truly impressed. “That place is awesome.”
“Well, it needs a little work,” Electra admitted. “I plan to restore it to its former grandeur, the way it used to be in the old days.” She batted her eyes at Grandpa. “You remember, don't you, Zack?”
“Let me get this straight,” said Gran coolly. “You like the way my husband presses your pantsuits, so you're buying a mansion in Sweetbriar?”
Electra thought for a moment, then pursed her lips in a tight smile and nodded. “Mmm-hmmm. Pretty much.”
Gran's eyes narrowed to slits. “Lovely.”
She didn't sound as though she found it lovely in the least. I, on the other hand, could hardly imagine anything cooler. The creator of Lightning Girl was practically going to be my neighbor. Oh, man, did I wish I could tell her about my powers! I wished I could let her in on the fact that superheroes like LG didn't just exist in comics and that I just happened to be one. Maybe she'd want to hear all about my heroic adventures (once I'd had some, that is) so she could use them in her comic books.
Too bad I had to keep my mouth shut.
I watched as Gran put all of Electra's gorgeous clothes into a nylon bag and printed out the slip indicating the day and time for pickup. After Electra had crooned “Ta-ta!” to all of us and made her exit, Gran tossed the bag over her shoulder. It landed on top of a high pile of other nylon bags.
“I've got something for you, Zoe,” she said.
She went into the back and returned with a dark garment bag, zipped up securely. Since cleaned clothing was generally returned to customers in clear plastic bags, I had a pretty good hunch what was inside.
I gasped. “My suit?”
“I put the finishing touches on it this morning,” said Gran, handing me the bag. “It's ready to be worn. All you have to do is put it in the backpack until you need it.”
“When will that be?” I asked in an excited breath.
Grandpa shrugged. “Could be any time.”
The bell on the door jangled and Emily bounded into the store.
“Hey,” I said. “Where's Caitlin?”
“Still shopping. Her aunt must give her a huge allowance. When I left, she was up to five tops, three pairs of jeans, and a beaded purse.” Emily shook her head. “Even I have to admit that's extreme.” She shrugged. “Let's go to your house and watch music videos.”
“Okay.” I kissed my grandparents good-bye, and Emily and I left.
“What's in the bag?” she asked as we rounded the corner of Main Street.
“A suit,” I said honestly. “A business suit.” Also true, since I'd be wearing the suit to do my superhero job. I was pretty sure Emily would assume it was one of my father's work suits. We headed up the hill toward home.
Hugging the garment bag to me, I glanced over the roofs of the quaint downtown district and over the rolling hills toward Sweetbriar Mountain. There, sitting majestically atop it, was Electra Allbright's newly purchased home. It was huge—a little run-down, as she had said, but she was going to fix it up. As Em and I skipped along, I tried to imagine how it would look.
And then I tried to imagine myself, in my supersuit, soaring through the sky above that mansion, with the setting sun glinting in my hair…
… which was why I didn't see the iron lamppost ahead of me.
I skipped right into it!
“Zoe, are you all right?” Emily cried in a panic.
I couldn't blame her—I'd just crashed headfirst into a big old metal pole!
“I'm fine,” I said. There was a pretty good dent in the lamppost, though. Luckily, Emily didn't notice it; she was just relieved that I wasn't unconscious. So was I. I suppose all the superpowers in the world can't save a kid from being an out-and-out klutz every now and then.
Strangely, I was glad about that. It was nice to know I was still at least a little bit normal, even if I was a whole lot super!
and I made popcorn and watched about six million music videos before she had to go home for dinner.
When she was gone, I finished the popcorn and watched about thirty-eight more videos, everything from hip-hop to heavy metal. Evidently, Mom was still really upset about her rally bombing, because normally she would have told me to change the channel somewhere around the third video. (Mom was not a fan of music videos.)
I brought the empty popcorn bowl into the kitchen and found her seated at the table, going over the original notes she'd made about the factory. She was so intent on her task that she didn't even notice me standing there.
I sat down across from her and waited. The front page of the newspaper was on the table; there was a small blurb about the planned protest rally, but the big news was that the Slink, the diamond thief who'd been plaguing Sweetbriar for weeks, had struck again the night before.
I read the article absently until Mom noticed I was there. When she looked up at me, she seemed defeated, which was not something I was used to. My mom was not the sort to give up.
“You did see it, didn't you, Zoe?” she asked. “You saw the pipe.”
“I saw it.”
“So it was there?”
“It was definitely there.”
“I didn't imagine it? The sludge, the foam…”
“Nope. You didn't imagine it,” I said, thinking of the awful soapy taste I'd had in my mouth after I'd landed in the river.
Frustrated, Mom ran her hands through her hair. “So what happened to it? Where did it go?”
I shrugged. “Mitchell must have had it removed somehow.”
“I'm going to get to the bottom of this!” Mom promised.
She bent back over her notes. I decided I might as well get a jump on my homework for the week, so I went upstairs to my room and turned on my computer.
I was greeted with an instant message from Josh.
I flopped back in my chair and dragged my hand through my hair. I couldn't let him go there alone! Who knew what Mitchell might do to a kid like Josh if he caught him snooping around? And what about those two bodybuilding, sunglasses-wearing henchmen of his? I was pretty certain he didn't keep them around for their stimulating conversation. Mitchell had deliberately lied about how he disposed of his hazardous waste. Who knew how far he'd go to keep his secret? I got up from the computer, closed the door of my room, and wrote a note to my parents:
I didn't think my folks would check on me, but I figured they'd freak if they did and found my room empty. Of course, they'd freak even worse if they found the note and believed I was out walking after dark alone, but I didn't have a lot of options at the moment.
I opened the closet and grabbed my superbackpack with my supersuit safely tucked inside. I would have liked to put it on in the privacy of my bedroom, but I couldn't risk running into Josh dressed like a superhero. I could find a place to change at the factory if necessary.
Two seconds later, I was standing on the windowsill with my backpack on my shoulder, looking out over the dusky yard.
“You're superpowered, Zoe,” I whispered to myself. “This would only be a dangerous and unbelievably stupid thing to do if you were just a regular kid.”
Confident of my powers, I sprang off the sill—the superjump took me across the lawn, over the fence that separated my backyard from Howie's, and onto the sidewalk of Brandon Street. From Brandon it was a straight shot to Route 17, which would take me directly to the factory.
“Here goes nothin'.” I took off at top speed. Luckily, no one was out walking on Brandon Street or I'd have been busted big-time!
Boy, did it feel good to run. I'd been struggling so long and hard to keep from using my powers that the sheer relief of letting them take over was amazing. I was born to run like that. My spirit soared as my legs churned. And my mind seemed to be working just as quickly. With every mile I covered, my thoughts about the factory became clearer. All the random hunches and feelings I'd been having seemed to come together into the shape of something logical. By the time I reached the corner of Brandon and Route 17 (in roughly the blink of an eye), I'd come up with a solid theory about George Mitchell and that oh-so-convenient truckload of cardboard.
theory made perfect sense, I decided, skidding around the corner and kicking up chunks of asphalt. My feet were buzzing, and my hair was whipping out behind me so wildly it made me wish I'd thought to stick a brush in my backpack.
Route 17 was a woodsy, winding access road that led out of town. Nobody used it much, so I didn't think I'd have to worry about getting caught being super… until I saw Josh.
He was way up ahead of me, riding his bike. I could see the red reflectors on his pedals flashing as he pumped them.
If I kept running, I'd blow past him, and even though I was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to tell it was me, I couldn't risk letting him find out there was someone or something bolting around Sweetbriar at warp speed.
I was going too fast to stop short, so I did the next best thing. Still running, I let my knees go soft, then sprang off the pavement like an Olympic hurdler. The jump was amazing—I rose at least fifty feet in the air and covered a distance of a hundred yards. If Josh sensed anything in the sky above him, he probably thought it was a bird. Or a plane. Hey, that sounded kind of familiar….
I touched down on the dark street, taking a few scrambling steps to come to a complete stop. Then I turned and waited for Josh to catch up. It was only a few seconds before he reached me.
“Hey, Josh!”
He hit his brakes and came screeching to a stop, then looked over his shoulder. “Zoe, is that you?”
“Yep, it's me.”
I noticed that he was looking at me a little strangely. Then I realized that my hair must have looked like a crazy, wild explosion. I reached up to smooth it.
“New hairstyle, huh?”
“Urn…”
He smiled. “Looks great!”
“Oh.” I felt my superpowered knees turn to ice cream. “Thanks.”
“So … what are you doing here?”
“Well, uh… well, see… I was coming to meet you at the factory. But, um, one of the tires on my bike blew out, so I had to leave it.” I motioned over his shoulder into the distance. “Didn't you see it back there on the side of the road?” Before he could answer, I barreled on. “I guess you were going too fast to notice it. Anyway, I was going to walk the rest of the way, but now that you're here, maybe you can give me a ride on the handlebars?”
Josh frowned, thinking. I knew as
well as he did that riding with someone on your handlebars was stupid and dangerous. What he didn't know was that his passenger was pretty much indestructible. I would never have suggested it otherwise.
“Okay,” he said at last. “But only because it would be more dangerous to leave you out here stranded on Route Seventeen in the dark by yourself.”
“Right.”
I hooked my backpack onto the back of his bike (I was grateful that he didn't ask what was in it; I guess he was too worried about the whole handlebar-riding thing), then settled myself as best I could on the handlebars.
As we rode to the factory, I knew my hair was blowing into Josh's face and I could feel his breath puffing in my ear as he pedaled, and I couldn't help sighing. After all, if my bike really had blown a tire, and Josh had come along to rescue me, it would have been very romantic, in a fairy-tale sort of way.
When we reached the factory, I sprang off the handlebars and hurried to the gate while Josh was busy parking his bike out of sight. I took hold of the padlock, closed my hand around it, and with only the slightest effort, crushed it into a fistful of metal rubble.
“Look at this!” I said, quickly brushing the metallic powder from my hands. “No lock.”
“Lucky for us,” said Josh, joining me at the gate. He handed me my backpack and we slipped inside, keeping to the shadows of trees as we made our way across the grounds toward the factory.
“Listen,” I said as we walked. “I have a theory. About Mitchell and everything.”
“Yeah?” Josh slid me an interested glance. “What is it?”
“That truck we saw today—it was a decoy! I think Mitchell must have arranged for a truck full of recyclable cardboard to just happen to drive by.”
Josh considered the idea. “Now that you mention it, that Charlie guy seemed a little freaked out. And the stuff he said about the factory being environmentally conscious sounded pretty stiff.”