“I've been mistrustful of Electra since the whole comic-book brouhaha,” he said. “I was afraid that if you knew, you might be tricked into telling her all your superhero secrets.”
“But she would never do anything to endanger me … or any of us. She's a real hero at heart. And now that I've worked with her, I can tell you for sure that the comic books aren't as bad as you think. She really doesn't give away anything about the real heroes. Sure, she draws from her experiences, but she changes the names and swaps the powers around. You'd never know they were real stories unless … well, unless you
knew
they were real stories, like we do.”
I could tell from Grandpa's expression that he wasn't ready to accept that yet. I knew him well enough to know that if he had reservations, they were probably for good reason. This was not an issue that was going to be ironed out in one quick discussion. I'd just have to wait and see.
Then Mom and Dad came in with a tray of coffee and dessert and the conversation turned to Gran and Grandpa's not so super but very entertaining adventures on the cruise ship.
After my grandparents left, I went upstairs. It had been a crazy day; I needed some time on my own. And there was something I wanted to do.
I sat down at my computer and wrote an addition to my Superhero Federation essay. I would e-mail it to the Federation and tell them I wasn't looking for extra credit or anything—but then again, if they wanted to give me some bonus points, I wasn't about to argue.
One of the things I learned from studying my
ancestry was that the most important power a
Super can have is the power of family … and the
power of friends. Even if a superhero has the ability
to save the world all on her own, it's much
nicer to have someone working beside you. Many
hands make light work, as they say. So I guess
many Super hands make superlight work.
I read it over, feeling pleased, then got down to the other business at hand: my work-study report. I had totally forgotten about it in the confusion of thinking that Electra had betrayed me and fearing that I'd exposed the whole superhero community!
It wasn't going to be easy to write. There was so much to think about—for example, how I now had two completely different pictures of Electra Allbright in my head. There was Electra the writer—a hip, chatty, fabulously creative woman who created comic books—and Electra Girl, the superpowered crime fighter. I wished I could mention both Electras in my report, but of course, I couldn't.
Settling in for yet another report-writing session, I pulled out a piece of loose-leaf paper and began.
On Monday, Mr. Diaz called us up one at a time to give our reports. All my classmates had visual aids and cool props that had to do with their jobs.
All except me. In the rush to save a busload of schoolkids on Friday, I hadn't had a chance to ask Electra for anything like that—no storyboard, no sample comic pages, not even a freshly washed ink bottle. I felt annoyed with myself for forgetting about the presentation, but it was too late to do anything about it now.
Howie went first, telling us all about the brave work done by the Sweetbriar Police. Then my dad arrived with the chief, and they awarded Howie a special medal for his part in bringing down the counterfeit handbag ring.
When Howie passed my desk on his way back to his own hisseat, he gave me an apologetic look. I could tell he felt bad that I wasn't getting any of the credit. But I'd sworn him to secrecy about my being at the boutique, and I knew Howie was going to keep his promise. I gave him a wink and a thumbs-up. I promised myself I'd tell him that I really didn't mind, and that I was just as proud of him as everyone else was, since he'd done all the investigating that led to the arrest.
Next, Caitlin gave a flower-arranging demonstration using chrysanthemums and roses. Unfortunately, Ethan Danvers, who'd done his apprenticeship at the ice cream shop,
“But she would never do anything to endanger me … or any of us. She's a real hero at heart. And now that I've worked with her, I can tell you for sure that the comic books aren't as bad as you think. She really doesn't give away anything about the real heroes. Sure, she draws from her experiences, but she changes the names and swaps the powers around. You'd never know they were real stories unless … well, unless you
knew
they were real stories, like we do.”
I could tell from Grandpa's expression that he wasn't ready to accept that yet. I knew him well enough to know that if he had reservations, they were probably for good reason. This was not an issue that was going to be ironed out in one quick discussion. I'd just have to wait and see.
Then Mom and Dad came in with a tray of coffee and dessert and the conversation turned to Gran and Grandpa's not so super but very entertaining adventures on the cruise ship.
After my grandparents left, I went upstairs. It had been a crazy day; I needed some time on my own. And there was something I wanted to do.
I sat down at my computer and wrote an addition to my Superhero Federation essay. I would e-mail it to the Federation and tell them I wasn't looking for extra credit or anything—but then again, if they wanted to give me some bonus points, I wasn't about to argue.
One of the things I learned from studying my
ancestry was that the most important power a
Super can have is the power of family … and the
power of friends. Even if a superhero has the ability
to save the world all on her own, it's much
nicer to have someone working beside you. Many
hands make light work, as they say. So I guess
many Super hands make superlight work.
I read it over, feeling pleased, then got down to the other business at hand: my work-study report. I had totally forgotten about it in the confusion of thinking that Electra had betrayed me and fearing that I'd exposed the whole superhero community!
It wasn't going to be easy to write. There was so much to think about—for example, how I now had two completely different pictures of Electra Allbright in my head. There was Electra the writer—a hip, chatty, fabulously creative woman who created comic books—and Electra Girl, the superpowered crime fighter. I wished I could mention both Electras in my report, but of course, I couldn't.
Settling in for yet another report-writing session, I pulled out a piece of loose-leaf paper and began.
On Monday, Mr. Diaz called us up one at a time to give our reports. All my classmates had visual aids and cool props that had to do with their jobs.
All except me. In the rush to save a busload of schoolkids on Friday, I hadn't had a chance to ask Electra for anything like that—no storyboard, no sample comic pages, not even a freshly washed ink bottle. I felt annoyed with myself for forgetting about the presentation, but it was too late to do anything about it now.
Howie went first, telling us all about the brave work done by the Sweetbriar Police. Then my dad arrived with the chief, and they awarded Howie a special medal for his part in bringing down the counterfeit handbag ring.
When Howie passed my desk on his way back to his own hisseat, he gave me an apologetic look. I could tell he felt bad that I wasn't getting any of the credit. But I'd sworn him to secrecy about my being at the boutique, and I knew Howie was going to keep his promise. I gave him a wink and a thumbs-up. I promised myself I'd tell him that I really didn't mind, and that I was just as proud of him as everyone else was, since he'd done all the investigating that led to the arrest.
Next, Caitlin gave a flower-arranging demonstration using chrysanthemums and roses. Unfortunately, Ethan Danvers, who'd done his apprenticeship at the ice cream shop,
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