Then, they felt it. The rhythmic, tectonic thud-thud-thud of massive feet. Amelia stepped into the light of the flickering streetlamps, her towering 50-foot form draped in her scorched leaf-armor, her bright blue eyes weary but triumphant.
Mayor Higgins was the first to break the paralysis. Standing in a crisp black suit, his mint-condition dark hair gleaming, he raised a white megaphone with a bright red handle. "Citizens!" he bellowed, his dark tan face splitting into a jolly smile. "Tell us! Who is our savior?"
Amelia knelt, a movement that sent a gust of wind through the square. "My name is Amelia," she boomed, her voice vibrating in the chests of everyone there. "Amelia Rose."
I fought my way through the throng, my heart soaring when I saw my parents standing by a ruined fountain. We collided in a fierce hug. "Son," my father said, thick with emotion. "Your girlfriend is a hero." I looked up at her, standing tall against the starlit sky. "She’s the one who stood her ground when the world literalized her nightmares," I told them, I actually felt a surge of pride.
The following week was a whirlwind. The Valley Sentinel and the Mountain Gazette ran front-page spreads: LOCAL GIRL GROWS TO GIGANTIC PROPORTIONS and LOCAL TOWN GIANT SAVES THE DAY. The articles detailed the "accident" with the DGX Engine and how she had heroically fought the "insect-like robot," shearing off its limbs and blinding it before decapitating the beast.
Two weeks later, the town threw the Amelia Victory Parade. I watched from the roof of the tallest building, level with Amelia’s waist as she rested her shoulder against a light-green skyscraper. The floats were masterpieces. The second float showed her punching the robot, her muscles rendered in peach-colored carnations. The third was a vivid recreation of her jabbing the robot’s eyes with thousands of blue blooms. The fifth float showed Amelia as she was now—taller than the towers, wearing a black shirt the town had meticulously woven using construction cranes.
The town had spent five days tailoring her a new wardrobe: bright red sneakers—built from heavy industrial canvas to replace the ones she lost—and thick black socks, blue jeans reinforced with leather belts, and the finest white undergarment she had ever seen. The scale of her was impossible; her eyelashes were like jousting swords, and her nails served as natural awnings for the balconies she passed.
"Thank you, Richard," she whispered to me, her car-sized eyes shimmering.
"We’re a team, Amelia," I said, leaning against her massive thumb. "Always."
But the homecoming wasn't just cheers. Her father was waiting by the porch, silhouetted against the light of my living room. "I know I’ve spent more time with my inventions than with you," he said, his voice soft. "But I am so proud. I want to help you now. I want to find a cure, just like your mother would have wanted."
"Thanks, Dad," Amelia said. She picked him up gently, and they began the walk back to the Rose house.
But as they left, I caught a glimpse of something in the tree line—a shadow that didn't belong. Someone was watching from the heights of a tree. I saw the same cold eyes I'd seen in the school hallway. Zack Roberts was watching.
The next day, my mom saw how the town wouldn't let me breathe. "Richard, if you want to be homeschooled to stay with her, we'll start Monday. No more month-long waits. You're part of her world now."
"Deal," I said. I knew that with Zack Roberts watching from the woods and the secrets of the basement still unfolding, I was going to need every second of my time to protect our hero.