Atomic Rebooted

1. Betrayal

CLAIRE

I remember the day the heroes disappeared. When I was a little girl, about nine years old, there were superheroes in our city— not just the Sentinels, the ones who were controlled by the local energy company. There were heroes and villains who used our city as a battleground.

Some might have thought that meant that we were constantly afraid or in danger. But that wasn't the case, or at least, that's not how I remember it used to be.

It was whimsical and wonderful, where life was bigger than life and every single day felt like a story too fantastic to be ours, but was somehow our miracle all the same.

Maybe it wasn't that great, though— maybe it's my own nostalgia that makes it brighter by comparison. After all, what happened on that day changed my life forever.

It was the kind of event where everyone remembers where they were in crystal-clear perfect clarity.

I was in school when City Hall burned down.

It was math time, and Mrs. Murphy had deviated from showing us long division to lecture us about the evils of calculators. This had been brought on by Charlotte Collins, who made the fatal error of mentioning that her mother's college students exclusively used calculators for their advanced math.

The ringing of the telephone tacked to the wall interrupted her rant's conclusion about the laziness of our generation, much to the relief of Charlotte and the rest of us. Mrs. Murphy grimaced as she walked over to the far wall of the classroom to accept the call.

As soon as she lifted the speaker to her ear, low whispers filled the classroom. As long as Mrs. Murphy was distracted and we didn't disrupt the phone call, we could get away with doing whatever we wanted for a few glorious minutes.

I pulled out the book on Greek mythology I'd hidden in my desk cubby that I'd gotten from the weekly trip to the library. I was sneak-reading a passage or two during the math lesson. It was an unfortunate habit I'd developed at that age, born out of one of Mrs. Murphy's tantrums earlier that year.

Look, I've never exactly been a math whiz, and that was especially true when I was a little girl. It took me so long to grasp the subjects that there was a point in the third grade when my teacher considered holding me back.

I'd come into the fourth grade eager to prove that I deserved to advance forward— only for Mrs. Murphy to get frustrated with me and berate my lack of ability or comprehension many times over the course of the year. No matter how hard I tried, nothing seemed to work. By the time the spring rolled around, I figured I was a lost cause and there was no point in paying attention since it didn't make any difference.

I don't remember everything about that day. I don't remember when exactly Mrs. Murphy started staring at me, a grim expression on her face. Or how long it took before the class went silent, all eyes on me. Or even the words in my book, as they all blurred together in my memory.

But I will never forget what Mrs. Murphy said when she got off of the phone.

"The rest of you, keep working. Claire Browning, please come outside and speak to me, please."

I cowered— I thought I was in trouble for my math grade or for reading my book in secret, and I was sure that Mrs. Murphy was going to yell at me again.

The whole class was silent as I somehow propelled my slow, heavy limbs forward. Even my body dreaded what would come. I just hoped I wouldn't stress-vomit on Mrs. Murphy's favorite shoes again, like the previous time Mrs. Murphy had removed me from the class to "speak to her."