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Dust settles and I glance at the wall. Whoa. Cracks stretch from floor to ceiling. My heartbeat quickens. Why did I do that?

Slumping to the floor against the transparent wall, I press my hands to the glass. My room is on an overhanging part of the canyon, displaying hundreds of feet below me as if I were floating in air. Far below, the humans ride donkeys along jagged paths, using binoculars and zoom lenses on their cameras, hoping to capture glimpses into the Super world.

When I was a little girl I would stand in my room and wave, thinking they could see me. They couldn’t, of course. They’re so far away they look like ants to me, and to them Central is just a massive wall of glass near the top of the canyons. An architectural masterpiece, for sure, but nothing more than the canyons themselves—a vast mysterious land they’ll never be able to step foot in.

Standing on those rocks amongst the humans, are dozens of kids. Human kids who adore Maci—not me, the Maci who is locked up in her bedroom rotting in a pit of depression—but Maci, President Might’s daughter. The girls dress up as me for Halloween in little pearly white spandex suits (whose crap material would do no protection in the real world); black boots, gloves, and an eye mask that ties on with elastic. They wear light brown wigs and carry trick-or-treat bags with the King City crown logo and frolic around for a night, pretending to be me.

Those kids deserve to have me as their protector. I refuse to let them down.

My MOD rings, bursting out Crimson’s ring tone before I have time to freak and hope it’s someone from Central calling to award me Hero status. My foot is closer to my nightstand than I am, and since I’m
really
feeling sitting on the floor in the epitome of self-pity wallowing, I kick out and knock it onto the floor.

“Answer,” I say. A hologram appears over where the phone rests on the floor. Crimson’s face hovers a few feet in front of mine. Her white-blonde hair goes down to her butt crack in cascading waves. She has dark eyes with arched eyebrows and her signature crimson lipstick. The hologram cuts off at her neckline, but I know there are two brilliant boobs hiding under her tank top. Crimson has everything I don’t have.

Including Hero status.

For now, at least.

“What’s up, hooker?” Crimson leans toward me, pulling down her eyelid with her middle finger as she applies eyeliner. She must be calling me from her wall screen where she can see her own reflection in the glass. It’s efficient, I guess, although distracting.

“Er … nothing,” I say. And it’s true in a way.

“Have you seen your Hero suit design yet?”

I shake my head. Crimson’s Hero suit is, of course, a dark red, skintight masterpiece that shines like vinyl but is actually a praseodymium composite with Kevlar accents for durability. It cinches tight at the waist and laces in a corset up the back. The front plunges into a heart-shaped neckline that displays her greatest assets.

I haven’t put a ton of thought into my Hero suit but I hope I can capture villains without mesmerizing them with my breasts first.

She switches to the other eye. “Just calling to tell you that Ian finally got the balls and asked me out, so I have a date tonight. I’m hoping we can push back your birthday celebration until tomorrow?”

“Sure, no problem.” She doesn’t need to know that with all the crap I’ve been through today, I completely forgot we were supposed to have dinner. Oh, and that it’s my birthday.

“Awesome. Ian and Max should be back within the hour. They had to stop some high school gang thing—well you already know,” she laughs, placing the cap back on her eyeliner and reaching for mascara.

“I do?” I ask like a total dumbass, before I remember to keep my mouth shut on the whole
I’m not quite a Hero yet
thing. Luckily she’s focusing more on her own reflection than on the red pooling in my cheeks.

“You have a BEEPR now, right? You can see the missions without my help anymore.”

“I … er …” I mumble, knowing the only good lie is one you tell a villain. But a teensy lie right now won’t hurt anything. I hold up my empty wrist. “They’re uh, still working on mine. Some kind of delay.”

“Delay? Mine was ready when I signed my Hero contract.” She caps her mascara and fluffs her hair by shaking her head back and forth. “I guess crime rates were up when I became Hero. They needed me immediately, ya know?”

“Yeah.” My back straightens as my teensy lie branches off on an equally small tangent. “They said I have to wait about seven days so they can get my BEEPR and … paperwork ready.”

Crimson cocks an eyebrow. “I don’t believe that shit.”

I dry my palms on my pants, grateful she’s not in the room with me where she’d be able to hear my rapid heartbeat. “You don’t?” I ask, weighing my options—do I stick with my lie or admit I’m a failure?

“They’re obviously just trolling you because of the whole dead twin thing. The examiners are so old fashioned. They need to get with the program.”

“Right,” I say, relief replacing my dread.

“You’re not evil, Mace.” She rests her hands on either side of her screen. “Date time! Love you.” She kisses the air and hangs up.

Yep. That’s my best friend.

The doorbell plucks me out of my Hero daydreams and back into the real world, where, uh no one ever rings the doorbell. Scrambling to my feet, I head to the living room where there are no new messages on the MOD. My fingertips press to the door, but then I hesitate. Supers don’t just show up unannounced. We’re not like the humans who have Girl Scout cookies or door-to-door salesmen. Although I’d give my right arm for a box or two of Thin Mints right now. Thin Mints always take the pain away.

Maybe it’s a Super child who took a walk instead of the KAPOW and got lost in the tunnels. Or, even better for my master plan of convincing the examiners that I’m good, it could be someone badly injured who needs my help. Shaking away my momentary caution, I press my hand to the door and it slides open.

A tall thin Super in a navy blue bodysuit tilts his head. I can’t see his face under the shiny fabric but it’s almost as if he’s smiling. “Maci Might?”

My fingers tighten on the doorframe. Not many Supers wear their facemasks in Central. That’s more of an outside world thing. No worries—I’ll rip this door out of the wall and slam him into next week if I need to. “Who’s asking?”

“Yep,” he says, grabbing my hands and flipping me over his shoulder in one lightning-fast move. “It’s you.”

“Tell me where the hell we’re going.” I sit rigid across from the mystery man in the KAPOW. This pod is a personal one and it reeks of old pizza. My thighs hurt from straining to keep my knees from touching his in this cramped, one-person pod.

We’ve been riding for ten minutes since he so very rudely captured me and threw me in this pigsty, despite my wailing on his skull with my fist and random kicks to the area just around his groin. I was too short to
actually
kick him in the groin.

With each fleeting second of the KAPOW zooming three hundred miles an hour, I lose the flicker of hope that maybe this is some intern at Central come to take me to the examiners where they will tell me they’ve made a terrible mistake and are awarding me Hero status ASAP. Central is thirty seconds away from my house. I haven’t been more than ten minutes out of Central in years.

And now we’re rounding on the eleventh minute.

“I know you’re capable of speech, you know.” I lean to the right where the Not Intern is watching the blurry nothingness out the window. “I’d like to know where I’m being taken.”

I smile, unsure if he’s looking at me or not. Ugh, these face masks are creepy. I’m glad mine only covers the area around my eyes. I want villains to see the smirk on my face when I bag and tag them.

I give a casual shrug as I glance at my fingernails. “I could just beat it out of you, I guess.”

His mannequin of a face turns in my direction. “That would be against Hero law.”

“He speaks!” I fling my arms up in a miraculous gesture toward the heavens. The way he flinches at my outburst doesn’t escape me. Seizing a moment of vulnerability, I throw myself across the pod, resting one knee on the bench and lodging the other knee firmly in his abdomen. I press his shoulders to the wall, digging my fingers into bone. He lets out a choked cry. “I don’t give a shit about the law. You tell me where I’m going.”

“You’re in no harm,” he blurts out, holding up trembling hands. “I wish I could tell you but I can’t. It’s a—I just can’t.”

I let him go, but keep my dominating position on top of his lap. By the way his voice squeaks, I don’t think a girl has ever been this close to him. Wow. He doesn’t even sound legal yet. Not that I have room to talk since I’ve only been legal for one day.

I press a finger to his chest. “If you’re lying to me, you’re going to regret it.” He nods once. I don’t need to elaborate on my threat since my voice alone conveys enough fear to send his imagination running to hide under the covers.

As if sensing the tension in the air, the KAPOW decelerates.

A few moments later, I step out of the pod and into soft white sand. This is unlike any kidnapping situation I could have imagined. We’re on a beautiful beach near a cabin surrounded in tiki torchlights. There’s music and lights and—

“SURPRISE!” A conveniently placed food truck drives forward, revealing two dozen teenagers, all wearing beach attire and Hawaiian leis around their necks. It takes me a second to recognize them as my friends, mostly Supers I’ve trained with over the years, and some of them older from Crimson and Max’s grade. We rarely see each other wearing anything other than a training suit. And now they’re all in
bathing
suits.

I whip around and jab my finger into the mystery guy’s chest. “You little shit!”

He pulls off his mask, revealing big eyes like Crimson’s, and gives me a sheepish smile. It’s her little brother, Blue. My face flushes and my chest relaxes, making me realize I’d been
nervous
this whole time. I wasn’t kidnapped at all. A fourteen-year-old kid set me up.

Crimson appears at my side and throws her arm around my shoulder. She wears a bikini top in red, white, and blue and a pair of cut-off jean shorts. There’s a pink paper umbrella in her hair. “Happy Hero Day, Maci.” She hands me a tall glass with a fruity-colored drink adorned with a slice of orange, a cherry, and one of those umbrellas. “Oh yeah, and happy birthday too.”

I eye her. “You had a date.”

She shakes her head. “Lies. All lies.”

“I can’t believe this,” I run my hand through my hair. “Where are we?”

“Camp Isle of the Kings.” Crimson’s lips twitch as she tries to keep a straight face. CIK is a small island near Hawaii, donated by Hero Kamehameha centuries ago to use as a retreat for Heroes who need a vacation. It’s incredibly exclusive. So exclusive, that even as the president’s daughter, I’ve never been invited.

“How did you …?” I ask, unable to find the words. Crimson shrugs. “I’ve had this planned for months. It’s a big deal when your best friend becomes Hero.”

I think I might cry. Everyone joins in wishing me a Happy Hero Day while I stand dumbstruck and barely able to say anything other than a mumbled thank you. When the hugs and high fives are over, the girls go back to their game of beach volleyball while the boys gather around a large mass of firewood they’re about to set ablaze.

I follow the shirtless muscular bodies with my eyes. Supers are hot. We really should convey this more in their suits. I wonder if Pepper, our suit designer, can make some kind of invisible fabric. I’m about to ask Crimson if I’ve ever met the guy kneeling by the fire with a lit match in his hand. I can’t see his face, but something about the shoulder-length blonde hair is familiar.

Someone walks behind him, catching my attention. “
Ohmygod
is—” I press close to Crimson so no one can overhear, letting my head nod ever so slightly to the bonfire.

She follows my gaze. “You bet your sweet, tiny, Hero ass it is.”

My heart drops to my stomach. My brain melts into a thick goo that sloshes around in my head. Not only has Crimson thrown me a surprise birthday party, she’s invited Aloki.

Aloki
. As in, the eighteen-year-old Super who makes tall, dark, and handsome men look short, pale, and gross. He’s been my one and only crush for the last three years, pretty much since the day I first set eyes on him. Only, we’ve never actually talked outside of a casual hello, or that one time he saw me at the Atrium and he asked, “Where’s your brother?” and I replied, “I think he’s at home.”

“I can’t believe you invited him.”

“How could I not invite him?” She takes a sip of her drink, which by the smell of it, isn’t nonalcoholic like mine. “With the way you gush about him constantly? One of these days you’ll have to give up that V-card, you know. You can’t be a monk forever, Mace.”

Right. Like I could have sex with someone I can’t even bring myself to walk over and talk to. Plus Dad would probably freak because he isn’t a Hero. He works in robotics, which to Dad means he’s worthless, but to me means he’s smart
and
insanely cute.

Crimson nudges me in an effort to make me venture out of my comfort zone and say hi to him. Hero training taught me how to fight, how to lie to villains, and how to save humans. But it never taught me how to talk to Aloki. I wish I wasn’t wearing torn jeans, old flip-flops that reveal my chipped toe polish, and a shirt with one of the human’s fictional Heroes called Batman on it. I wear it to be ironic, but it is
so
not sexy.