CLAIRE

I spent way too long trying on garments, taking them off, and trying on new accessories and combination in preparation for my date.

Well, friend-date. For some reason, I was having a hard time remembering that.

I'd decided on two girlish braided pigtails for my hair, as the blue streaks showed amazing when woven together with the rest of my hair. I switched out my simple sterling silver nose ring to one with a little blue gem in the center to accent my teal-streaked hair.

That actually helped me start being serious about the rest of my outfit.

I grabbed a dark blue, white, and green plaid dress, and put a sheer black top under it— one of my favorite layering pieces. I deliberated over chokers before picking one with a silver crescent moon, and accessorized with simple black tights— no rips— and my white boots because that was cute and coordinated.

I checked it with my olive green military-style jacket and my messenger bag, now empty of school supplies for my date.

I looked cute.

I tilted my head in the mirror—I knew this was overkill for just hanging out at the Winter Festival. But I couldn't help but second-guess, tugging at the pleated skirt of my dress, adjusting my straps over my mesh shirt, and struggling to center my choker.

Claire, you cut that crap right now, I told myself as I adjusted my jacket. He said you were hanging out, not that this was a date. Besides, not even Tristan is that bold. Since when did you even care? Just go have fun.

Not that the thought did much for my nerves, but it was the idea that counted. I then looked to the superhero costume lying on my dresser top.

Should I take it?

I didn't know when exactly I'd start patrolling the streets or anything, and I didn't expect anything bad to happen. It would be a bit soon, since being a supervillain isn't exactly a paying job, and it requires time off.

But a little voice inside my head urged me to do it, to be prepared— just in case.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

I reluctantly stuffed it inside my bag, under the tampons and my wallet and phone. Anyone would then just assume it was a spare t-shirt or something, not an actual superhero costume.

After all, what kind of super was dumb enough to leave her costume in her own purse, after all?

I pulled my phone back out and checked the texts that ensued.

In the days since that first text, Tristan told me that he'd pick me up for the Winter Festival. We had several of those starting with the first snows of November, continuing bi—weekly until it all melted in March.

I grinned at my phone—even if I wasn't sure where we were, in relation to each other, it would be just some fun.

And I could use some fun, in the middle of all of this. Just some typical high school teenage-dream fun, unrelated to the new world I was now a part of, or the stresses of the wavering future in front of me.

By next fall, maturity would be required. I briefly thought of my college applications— all of them were out of the city, a few out-of-state. All of them for communications or for the journalism majors.

It was funny, how while we had gone in such separate paths, but those paths seemed to circle back around— journalism and political activism were inherently linked. How had I not seen that before—

I shrugged. The heart's a funny thing, I guess.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by the text tone. I was relieved to see that it was a text from Tristan. I started down the stairs, palms sweaty and my heart racing.

Like Monday night, there was a teenage boy standing in the doorway of my step-mom's house, talking to her— not Dad, as Dad was at work again— but it felt so different.

Like how graceful I felt as I descended the stairs. Too graceful for just two friends hanging out—but what can you do?

"Ah, there she is." Holly smiled, stepping aside.

"You look great," Tristan said, eyes wide for a moment. "I've got your tickets, right here—"

He fumbled for a moment before placing my ticket in my hand for the Winter Festival— the first of the season.

I pocketed it and smiled up at him— he was frustratingly tall, towering over me. Even with the extra inch the platform Docs gave me, there was still a huge height difference between us.

"Thanks."

"No problem." He looked me up and down, and my heart beat faster. For a moment, we could have been the only two people in the world and it wouldn't have made a difference.

"You seem like a nice boy, Tristan," Holly interrupted. "Please be careful with Claire. You'll be back by three?"

Tristan nodded. "Three-fifteen at the absolute latest."

"Good." Holly's posture relaxed somewhat. "You'll be in Stephens Park, right?"

"That's where the festival is held every year," I reminded her, crossing my arms over my chest. "And my phone is charged— it's on vibrate, but I'll answer it as soon as I can if you call."

"Okay." Holly smiled again. "You two have fun!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Browning-Ward," Tristan said.

We then made our escape into the car.

"Sorry about her," I said as I buckled my seatbelt.

"It's alright, it's good to see that your stepmom cares so much," Tristan said with a smile as he backed out of our driveway. "Your dad deserves a break like that. Besides, this day and age, we need people to care."

"We do," I agreed.

And so we went to the Winter Festival, the one that would change everything.