CLAIRE

Somehow, I managed to survive until lunch. When the bell for B-lunch rang, I bolted from my desk in History. With my head down and my sole focus on propelling one foot in front of the other, I managed to make it to the library without having to talk to anyone.

In the library was where I ate with those four closest friends I mentioned earlier, at the small circular table next to the anatomy books and far, far away from the computers at the request of the librarian.

Others liked to eat in the library, too, but they were usually loners or working on projects— not doing it for fun, like we did. 

Sitting with her back to the wall was none other than Charlotte Collins, who was in my homeroom and psychology class. While we knew each other all our lives, we weren't exactly friends until the eighth grade, when I had some time to move past my grief and she ended up in some of the same classes I did.

Next to her was Leta Lopez, one of my friends from esports. She was the one who had lent me the leftover hair dye from when she redid her ombré of teal and turquoise to pink last month. 

Across from Leta was Grace Waller, who while she wasn't a member of the esports team, was definitely a gamer girl also and one of the nerdiest girls I knew.

The last member of our squad was Stephanie Sanderson, a girl who had only just moved to New Kingsbury during her freshman year and was still somewhat enamored with superheroes in general, as she had a deep love for Spiderman and Marvel films and general as a kid.

I mean, I did too— for DC, as that was more my mom's thing— that is, until the day City Hall burned down. 

I stumbled gratefully into my seat and pulled out the lunch that Dad had packed before he went to work. It was something nice he liked to do for me before going to work.

It wasn't anything super special or anything— usually a grilled cheese, some apple slices, and one of those chocolate nutrition bars that Holly had gotten us all addicted to. But because it was a way that Dad had gotten to put a little more of his time into my day, they somehow tasted way better than they had any right to be.

"Oh my God, Charlie was just talking about what happened," Stephanie said as soon as I sat down. "I can't believe you were in a real supervillain attack!"

"Me neither." Despite growing up in New Kingsbury, it was still rare for you to specifically be in an incident with a superhero or supervillain— one of the benefits of being in one of the most populated areas in Montana. 

"I feel so bad— I should've offered you a ride home." Leta pushed around her sushi with her chopsticks— she couldn't look me in the eye.  "If I'd known. . . "

"It's okay," I assured her. "No one expected Tenebrous to attack the monorail."

"He has been moving on to bigger and badder stunts," Stephanie pointed out. "I was watching this analysis on YouTube of the fight, and they were talking about how big-scale this was— it was almost on the scale of the fire at City Hall a few years ago, according to this guy!"

A chill went down my spine at those words. 

Charlotte, Grace, and Leta all gave Stephanie a look, the kind that said, shut up.

"What?" Stephanie frowned. "Did I say something wrong?"

Charlotte looked to me, but I held my hand up. 

Might as well not treat it like it's some big thing. It was nine years ago, after all.

"You know how I mentioned my mom died, in a fire?" I asked. It was just one of those topics that comes up, when you meet new people even if the details weren't important.

Realization dawned on Stephanie's face. "Oh. I'm sorry, I had no idea."

"It's okay, I don't exactly go around telling everyone about it all the time," I said, waving around one of my apple slices for punctuating purposes. 

Partially because everybody already knew.

"Well, then. . . It must've been scary, then," she said awkwardly. "But I was wondering— what was Renegade like?"

There it was— Stephanie had been fascinated with the heroes and villains of New Kingsbury since she'd arrived— a whimsy that all of us had gotten over since the City Hall fire.  And our first anti-hero, the first to play both hero and villain at the same time, had captured her imagination the most.

"Yeah, I saw that you tried to fight him," Grace said. "Stupid powers. You could've had him."

Given that I'm a short, skinny little thing who forgets to eat sometimes? Fat chance.

"It was kind of scary," I admitted. "But what was really weird was that he apologized to me, when he did it."

This piqued even Charlotte's interest— and I thought I saw a few heads around us pop up.

"What did he say?" Charlotte asked.

"Just, 'sorry, sweetheart, don't take it personal.'"

Stephanie and Grace exchanged a look.

"Wow," they chorused.

"It sounds like he thought you were cute," Stephanie then said.

"Oh no, sister, I'm not exactly Lois Lane here." I shook my head. "Besides, heroes don't exactly hold their crushes at gunpoint."

"But antiheroes do." Stephanie's eyes sparkled as she nodded enthusiastically.

"Come on, she has a a point," Leta said. "In fact, I've never really cared for Renegade. The time of independent heroes is gone— and he's exactly why they can't be trusted. They're not as incorruptible as the Sentinels."

"He's not all bad," Stephanie protested. "He did break the tram's windows so more people were able to escape!"

"That's true," I admitted, repeating the incident in my mind. 

"Makes you wonder, though, doesn't it?" Charlotte wrinkled her nose in thought. "Powers and the mask— it seems to be not a good combination, without someone with neither to manage it."

I felt like I was going to be sick. My heart pounded and my stomach lurched. Was this a glimpse into the crystal ball, to see what would eventually become of me?

I'd known what the citizens of New Kingsbury thought of people with superpowers— I'd even thought some of the same things, and a part of me still did. But it was different, now that I knew that I was one of them.

I couldn't help but feel as I put my head between my hands as if I were being watched. 

I glanced over my shoulder to see a boy watching me— Tristan Turner.

In the last few years of elementary school and throughout middle school, we'd been closer friends. He was the only person who had tried to be friends with me after my mom died. A real friend, not just a constant pity party. 

I'd done the same for him when his dad died three years after my mom did, in the seventh grade. 

But after the first year or two of high school, we'd started to drift away— different interests and different paths, I guess. Besides, Tristan had become far more reclusive after his father died, preferring to keep to himself and practice like, music and stuff. 

I still tried to say hi when I could, be nice and offer to work with him on projects when we were in classes together and stuff. 

But now I was wondering if I should have done more. 

"Hey," I called out. "You wanna come join us?"

He packed up his laptop and bag and came over to us, dragging a chair behind him. He sat down and folded his arms over the table. With his big black jacket, he looked even smaller than he was, like he was sixty pounds soaking wet.

"Long time, no see," he murmured to me. "So what are we talking about?"

My friends stopped, looking slightly uncomfortable with this new addition to the table. 

"About whether supers were a good thing or not," Stephanie admitted. "Because of last night."

Here, she nodded at me.

"Those assholes," Tristan muttered. "I saw what that bastard, Renegade, did. And Tenbrous— that's low for him— and of course Powerline killed civilians last night, because he objectively sucks."

He then met my eyes. "And then there's Heretic."

I nodded— was he afraid like Dad probably was, like I was? That she would have hurt me, even if Renegade didn't—lost just like my mother was to her evil?

"I take it you don't like them very much," Charlotte said diplomatically.

Tristan looked straight at me as he replied. "No, I don't. Especially when they hurt good people. Are you okay?"

Even though everyone had been asking me that, I felt something different this time— something like affection, if I had to sit and examine the feeling.

This was Tristan, the boy who'd comforted me when my mom died— and who I'd talked to when no one else would after his dad followed. I felt like I could be more honest with him.

"I guess I'm okay." I shrugged. "I'm a little shaken, if we're being honest."

Tristan nodded, as if he understood and knew what I would say before I did. "Anything I can do for you?"

"Not really, but I appreciate it." I found myself genuinely smiling— I don't know why. Or at least, I didn't then.

"Well, the offer's open, anytime." He glanced down at his watch. "Except now. Gotta bounce."

I watched for a moment as he gathered his things and walked out the library. 

I looked back just in time to see Charlotte and Stephanie shoot each other a knowing look.

"What?"

"I don't know, why don't you tell us?" Grace grinned like a shark.

I picked up my grilled cheese and shrugged. "There's nothing to tell. He's just an old friend."

"Famous last words," Leta muttered.