Fallen Heroes

Chapter Four

Things remained quiet throughout the weekend. No more buildings blew up, so... yay. Rylan and I went ice skating downtown, chugging gallons of hot chocolate to keep warm. Connor binge-watched his way through seven Hallmark Classics. Feeling the increasing guilt on my shoulders, I dialed my dad's cell phone number, staring at the screen. That's as far as I got. As usual, I couldn't call him. Calling would only make him feel worse, and would it even help my brother? I didn't think so.

I was out of options. But I knew Connor needed someone to talk to because God knows he wasn't going to break his streak of sadness and talk to me anymore than he already had. And talking to Hunter or Rylan—forget it. Connor would rather eat a bucket of nails.

No, what Connor needed was a new friend. Someone who could relate to him, maybe mentor him. Someone who had once been on top of the world, but had since fallen down...

Oh. Now there was an idea.

*******

"How many supers do you think live in Morriston?" I whispered to Rylan and Sarah in the back corner of our study hall on Monday afternoon.

"Not a clue." Rylan flipped a page in his anatomy textbook, yawning. "It's not like people run around with a sign on their back advertising, 'Hey, I'm a—'"

Sarah cut him off. "Approximately two hundred and thirty-six." She thought about it for a second. "Well, two hundred and thirty-five, without Red Comet."

Rylan snorted. "There is absolutely no statistical evidence to support that."

"Sure there is. Don't you read message boards? There's one conspiracy theorist online who thinks that every five hours someone in the country is born with superpowers."

"Okay, forgive me. I meant that there is no reliable statistical evidence to support that. And if there are truly that many people running around the city with powers, can someone draft them, please? I have it on good authority that Iron Phantom only got three hours of sleep last night."

"Oh, so that explains why you're so snarky today," Sarah said.

"I'm not snarky," Rylan sputtered. "Abigail, am I being snarky?"

"Not much more than usual. But listen. I have an idea." I motioned for them to scoot their desks closer to mine for privacy, not that it mattered much. Most of our classmates, led by Gary Gunkle, had started a spirited game of Hangman on the whiteboard. Gary was one arm away from losing for the third time and was quickly becoming frustrated.

I lowered my voice anyway. "Of the supposed two hundred Morriston residents with powers—"

"Two hundred and thirty-five," Sarah interrupted.

"Right. Two hundred and thirty-five. How many do you think were actually heroes? As in they put on a dorky costume, gave themselves a dorky name and saved people kind of heroes?"

Rylan stole a highlighter off my desk and started marking a long paragraph in his book. "I feel immensely insulted by that description, but I'll bite. Probably a dozen or so."

"Exactly! A dozen. And I only have to find one person who is willing to help Connor."

"Help him how?" Sarah twisted her pencil around one of her auburn curls.

"I don't know. Just talk to him, maybe? It would be nice if someone could show him that there's more to life than performing death-defying rescues all the time."