My next class is English, which is usually one of my better subjects. I like reading and writing, even if I'm not always the best at expressing myself, and having a librarian for a mother means I'm just naturally better at it than most people. Well, not naturally. But she gets on my case a lot about word choice and definitions, and I've never been bad at spelling.

Anyway.

Today, I'm feeling a little apprehensive as I walk into the classroom. It's the first day, and I know the teacher is going to make us do one of those "introduce yourself" assignments. I hate those things. It's like, what am I supposed to say? "Hi, I'm Sam, and I spend my free time fighting crime and getting my ass kicked by supervillains"? Yeah, that would go over well.

I take a seat near the back of the room, hoping to blend in with the rest of the class. But of course, the teacher spots me right away. "Samantha Small?" she asks, looking down at her attendance sheet.

I raise my hand reluctantly. "Here."

She continues down the line, and I realize to my relief that she was not, in fact, picking on me in particular, but just reading out names in reverse alphabetical order, for some reason.

"Welcome to English II," she says with a smile. "I'm Mrs. Hernandez, and I'm looking forward to getting to know all of you this year."

She goes on to explain the course syllabus and the books we'll be reading this semester. I try to pay attention, but my mind keeps wandering back to last weekend's patrol. It's not like anything happened, but, well... there's a curfew now, and it's weird when the streets are so empty. You're so used to, you know, Philadelphia streets. They're busy even when it's 3 in the morning. But now it's empty 3 in the morning. Hell, it's empty at 1 in the morning.

I stifle a yawn.

"...and for your first assignment," Mrs. Hernandez is saying, snapping me back to reality, "I want you to write a short essay introducing yourself to the class. Tell us about your background, your interests, and something you've overcome in your life. It doesn't have to be long, just a page or two. And don't worry, you won't have to read it out loud."

I suppress a groan. Of course, it's the "overcoming challenges" prompt. I glance around the room, wondering what my classmates will write about. Sports injuries? Family drama? Meanwhile, I'm over here trying to figure out how to write about my experiences as a superhero without actually mentioning the whole superhero thing.

I stare down at the blank page in front of me, tapping my pen against the desk. I could write about the accident that gave me my powers, but that would raise too many questions and probably get me sent to the guidance counselor. I could write about my training with the Young Defenders, but that would be even worse. I could write about my struggles to balance my superhero life with my normal life, but that would just make me sound like a whiny teenager. Among other issues.

In the end, I settle for a vague, generic essay about overcoming obstacles and learning to believe in myself. It's not my best work, but it's better than accidentally outing myself as Bloodhound. I turn it in at the end of class, feeling a little guilty for not being more honest. But then again, it's not like I can tell the whole truth. Not without putting myself and everyone I care about in danger.

As I'm packing up my things, Mrs. Hernandez stops me on my way out the door. "Samantha, I just wanted to let you know that if you ever need someone to talk to, my door is always open. I know high school can be tough, especially for someone who's been through as much as you have."

I force a smile, trying not to show how uncomfortable her words make me feel. "Thanks, Mrs. Hernandez. I appreciate it."

She nods, and I hurry out of the classroom before she can say anything else. It's not that I don't appreciate her concern, but I don't need another adult trying to "fix" me. I've got enough on my plate as it is.

I head to the cafeteria for lunch, scanning the room for Jordan and Alex. I spot them at our usual table, along with the rest of Jordan's nerdy friends. They're all talking animatedly about some new anime series, and I can't help but roll my eyes as I approach.

"Hey, guys," I say, dropping my backpack on the floor and sliding into a seat next to Jordan.

"Sam! Just in time," Jordan says, grinning at me. "We were just discussing the finer points of the second cour of Mayhem 12. You've gotta check it out, it's amazing."

"I think I'll pass," I say, picking at my lunch. "I've got enough real-life mayhem to deal with. What's a cour?"

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Alex blinks at me a couple of times, and then remembers that I don't care about anime nearly as much as they do. "It's a-"

"It's a season but for Wapanese people. Like a season of television," Jordan's cuts in, grinning.

"What do you call Wapanese people that are hispanic, anyway? The "wah" part doesn't really fit here. I'm not white," Alex says, glancing around, before his eyes come to settle on me.

"Don't ask me. I'm hispanic too," I say, half-joking.

Jordan's hands slam on the table. "Bull shit. You are the whitest person I know besides me."

"I'm a quarter hispanic on my mother's side, apparently!" I half-shout back. "That counts."

"That does not count," "No the fuck it does not!" Alex and Jordan say, simultaneously.

"The answer is obviously 'Hapanese', obviously," someone whose name I don't know says from the other side of the table.

Jordan rubs their chin in thought. "That sounds like a slur for some reason."

"Yeah, I don't like that. I wish there was a better word besides 'Japanophile'. Something a little more abbreviated," Alex says.

I look back down at my turkey sandwich.

We sit in silence for a moment, picking at our food. I can feel Jordan watching me, but I don't meet their gaze. Instead, I focus on the security guards stationed around the cafeteria, their eyes scanning the room for any signs of trouble.

"They're really not taking any chances this year, are they?" Jordan says, following my gaze.

"Can you blame them?" I ask. "After what happened last spring, I'm surprised they're not searching our backpacks every morning."

Jordan nods, but I can tell they're not entirely convinced. "I guess. But it still feels like overkill, you know? Like they're trying to turn the school into a prison or something."

I don't disagree, but I also know that the school has to do something to keep us safe. Even if it means sacrificing a little bit of our freedom in the process. Or at least, that's what people keep telling me.

As we're talking, I overhear a group of students at the next table whispering about me. "I heard she's a superhero," one of them says, not even trying to keep their voice down. "Like, she has actual powers and everything."

"No way," another one says, shaking their head. "She's just a trouble magnet. Didn't you hear about what happened to her house last year? It's like she attracts danger or something."

I feel my face turning red, and I stare down at my bag lunch, trying to ignore them. But it's not easy. I know they're just rumors, but they hit a little too close to home. I am a superhero, and I do attract danger. But it's not like I asked for any of this. I didn't choose to have powers, and I certainly didn't choose to have a T-Rex demolish my house. And it's rebuilt now anyway, why would they care?

Jordan must notice my discomfort, because they lean in close and whisper, "Don't listen to them, Sam. They don't know what they're talking about."

I force a smile, but it feels fake even to me. "I am going to bite someone's throat out," I whisper back, not looking up from my food.

Jordan nods, their eyes full of understanding, and their mouth just barely above hearing level. "I get it. But you're not alone, Sam. You've got me, and Alex, and the rest of the team. We've got your back, no matter what. Just don't go breaking any jaws. Now's not the time."

"Thanks, Jordan," I say, my voice a little shaky. "I don't know what I would do without you guys."

"Probably get your ass kicked a lot more often," Jordan replies, grinning.

I nod, feeling a little better despite the whispers still swirling around me. I know I can't control what people say about me, but I can control how I react to it. And right now, I choose to focus on the people who matter, the ones who know the real me and still have my back.

But even as I try to push the rumors aside, I can't ignore the growing sense of unease in the pit of my stomach. Something feels off about this year, like there's a storm brewing on the horizon. And I have a feeling that no matter how much I try to pretend otherwise, I'm going to be right in the middle of it.

I twist back up, and a seam in my dress shirt splits. Pop! Like ripping straight off.

"Ugh, not again," I mutter, tugging at the fabric. "I swear, I just got this thing tailored like a month ago."

I did not get it tailored a month ago. My parents got it tailored for me pre-hospital. That's, like... nine months ago. This dress shirt is a fetus.

Jordan raises an eyebrow, looking me up and down. "Growth spurt?"

I nod, sighing. "Apparently. It's like my body is determined to make my life as difficult as possible."

"Tell me about it," Jordan says, rolling their eyes. "Do you know how hard it is to find a comfortable pair of undergarments with a body like mine?"

"No, you wear exclusively sweaters and sweatpants, in brazen defiance of the dress code, and I don't know what the rest of you looks like," I answer. "How hard is it?"

"What, and ruin the mystery?" Jordan asks, laughing.

"Maybe we should start a support group," I suggest, only half-joking. "Teenagers with superpowers and gender issues, unite!"

Jordan laughs, but there's a hint of something else in their eyes, something that looks a lot like relief. "You know, that's not a bad idea. Maybe we could even get matching t-shirts."

I grin, feeling a sudden rush of affection for my best friend. "I'm in. But only if I get to design them. Your fashion sense is a crime against humanity."

Jordan gasps in mock offense, clutching their chest. "How dare you! I'll have you know that I'm a trendsetter. A visionary, even."

"More like a fashion disaster," I retort, sticking out my tongue. "But seriously, we should do something about these uniforms. I can barely breathe in this thing."

Jordan nods, looking surprisingly thoughtful. "Maybe we could talk to the principal about it. I mean, it's not like we're asking for special treatment or anything. We just want to be able to wear clothes that actually fit us."

"Maybe. I'll consider helping with this fascinating new crusade of yours."

"You're the one that started it," Jordan says, grinning, holding up their water bottle in a mock toast. "To fighting the power, one ill-fitting uniform at a time!"

I laugh, clinking my own bottle against theirs. "To fighting the power," I echo, feeling a sudden surge of determination.