The Vigilante's Handbook (Misfits #1)

Thirty Six: Even Superheroes Need Ice Cream

I was cold and wet when I woke up. Probably because I was buried up to my neck in snow and muddy slush. Miguel sat three paces away, his forehead crinkled up in that signature Anna wrinkle. 

I wish I could say that my latest waking up from unconsciousness happened gracefully. My eyes fluttered open. My dark eyelashes beating against my cheeks. A smile on my lips when I saw my friend waiting for me. Somehow my hair would be in perfect order, flowing locks laid out over the snow with delicate precision. 

That’s not how it went down. 

I was groaning the second consciousness returned to my body. Every part of me hurt. I thought taking a bullet to the arm was bad, but Gift burnout was worse. Especially now that I had a decent Gift to burn. My muscles were tense and brittle. Each movement and contraction made them feel like they would snap. 

Miguel scrambled to his feet toward me but I waved him away. Twisting over myself, I let out whatever bile had collected in my stomach. The acidity burned my throat. 

“What did you do to me?” My voice was scratchier than Miguel’s. 

He stayed back until I signaled that the puking was done for now. “You overheated.  I waited for the ice you trapped me in to melt, and I covered you in snow to help.” That much was obvious, but the look in his eyes said more. You need to be careful. But I didn’t want to be careful. And I was willing to tell him as much. 

I threw his words back at him. “That’s what we do. We’re superheroes.”

He didn’t say anything after that. He didn’t need to. I knew the words that would have been on his lips, could read them in the way he wouldn’t meet my eye: he thought I was wrong. But I wasn’t. The more I pushed myself, the more I could handle, the more I could help. A bit of Gift burnout in exchange for helping people was a small price to pay.

He reached a hand out to me. The burns were minimal, but they were still there. His skin was a little too shiny and tight. He didn’t flinch when I placed my hand in his, and he hauled me to my feet. I didn’t say anything as he stripped off his coat and laid it over my shoulders. 

“I’m supposed to be colder than you, Miguel. That’s the whole point of my superpower.”

He prompted me to put my arms through the sleeves and zipped up the coat. He fiddled with the hood and brushed dried mud off the shoulders. Anything but looking in my eyes. It meant something different now. The way he pushed a strand of burnt hair behind my ears said something that I could decipher. His finger slipped through the strands, and I laid my hand on his, careful of his burned skin. My hair was a few inches shorter than it had been last night, the ends sizzled off.

When he was satisfied that I would not develop sudden hypothermia, Miguel said, “We should get back to the others.” He pulled his hand away from my cheek to help me to my feet.

The sun was beginning to set as he led me back through town. It was only closing in on evening, but the chill was already setting in. There would be another storm tonight, I could feel it in my bones. 

The apartment was a mess. I mean a literal, pigsty mess, worse than usual. I hadn’t even been gone twenty four hours and they forgot basic habits of human hygiene. There was a takeout pizza on the counter so old it had cartoon smell lines rolling off it. Empty cans of energy drinks and various caffeinated beverages were strewn everywhere, the floor, the counters, on top of the fridge, the overflowing trash can, the windowsills. We would never get our deposit back if this is what happened every time I disappeared into the woods without warning. 

No one looked at us when Miguel and I walked in. Stitch and Lucia were at their normal vigilante station, pouring over the map on the kitchen table like it was a battle plan. There was a faint glow of electricity under Stitch’s skin, but no one seemed to notice. A pile of broken pencils was gathering near Lucia. She did that when she got nervous.