Seven hours, six boring high school classes, and one tardy slip later, I stumbled through my front door. I paused immediately, my boots halfway off my feet. Adrenaline was still pulsing through my veins from my morning escapade, making me feel like I was floating, but it didn't escape my notice that the kitchen was on fire.

For the third time that week.

I couldn't see the damage from the hall, but I could smell something burning. I was almost disappointed in myself that I was growing used to it. But there were a lot of things in Morriston that I'd been forced to grow accustomed to. Superheroes, criminal masterminds, house fires. Just to name a few.

A thin stream of smoke snaked around the doorframe separating the kitchen from the living room and the rest of the house. Due to far too many recent experiences, I knew that the smoke was always step number one of the four step process. Step number two, of course, was my brother letting out a string of curses that would make even the most violent supervillain flinch.

"Abby! It's happening again!" Connor's shouts were obscured by the crash of a pot in the sink and the urgent foaming of a fire extinguisher, but just like a movie that I'd seen a hundred times before, I knew exactly which colorful words his next lines would include.

Step number two certainly never disappointed.

Step number three arrived a bit later than scheduled, but I recognized it all the same. The smoke detector in the hall began its shrill, dependable chorus of beeps, signaling it was time to drop my bag and coat on the sofa and intervene.

"What did you burn this time?" I edged cautiously into the kitchen to see Connor battling the flames shooting through a crack in the open oven door. Goop from the fire extinguisher dripped onto the floor, pudding at his feet.

"Grilled cheese," he said. "Along with my dignity."

"You're supposed to leave the oven closed. Fire needs oxygen, so when you open the door the fire is able to grow and—"

"I didn't ask for a science less—oh, duck! It's an ambush! We're under attack!" Connor hit the floor, flailing as more large flames burst from the oven. He army crawled around the cabinets, extinguisher clutched in his hands like a rifle, and opened fire, quelling them immediately. Coughing in a massive cloud of smoke, I hurried to the window and pushed it up, the frigid winter air stinging my skin.

That was always step number four.

Connor wasn't the best cook even when he had his powers. Actually, I was being too generous. I once found a fingernail clipping in a batch of his fudge brownies. But it was naive of me to think that just because he'd lost his ability to fly, just because he was a civilian now, that he would be any more capable of doing "normal people things" than he was before.

"It's grilled cheese, Connor." I approached the oven, peering inside now that the fire was out. "Grilled. You need to put it on top of the stove, not in the oven."

"Yeah, I thought of that, but I really wanted to get the flavor just right so I decided maybe I should char it a little."

"I think you charred it more than a little. And is that—? Connor! You need to take the plastic wrap off the cheese before you heat it!"

"I did!" He looked over my shoulder. "I... oh. I didn't."

"You didn't," I said with a sigh. A tiny wisp of a flame started up again. I grabbed the extinguisher and put it out before taking the pan of soggy grilled cheese and soaking it in the sink. Connor watched silently, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose while trying not to look too guilty. The tips of his blond hair were singed off near his forehead.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"You don't have to be sorry. This is a much better attempt than yesterday's meatloaf." We both glanced above the microwave, where scorch marks from Connor's previous cooking attempt shined against the paint.

"I suck." He slumped at the kitchen table. "I suck, I suck, I suck. This is all abhorrent."

"Today's word of the day?"

Connor didn't answer. He put his head in his hands. "This sucks."

True, I thought. But teaching Connor to cook was marginally better than the dozens of times I encouraged him to venture downtown alone so he could learn the subway system, which consistently resulted in him getting off at the wrong stop and finding himself lost. Apparently "things look way different when you're not flying one thousand feet up." At least at home, charred oven or not, I could keep an eye on him.

"I bet Eagle Eye never burnt his dinner," Connor grumbled.

I scrubbed at the burnt grilled cheese with a sponge before it could harden and stick to the pan for all eternity. "Eagle Eye retired three years ago," I pointed out.

"Well, so did Red Comet, for all intents and purposes."

Retired. Disappeared. Whatever word he wanted to use didn't really matter. Squeezing my eyes shut, I grasped for a happy thought—any happy thought—so that I could shake away the image of the needle plunging into my brother's neck, changing him forever. Wallace's nanobots had taken away everything. Not only Connor's super vision, but also any chance he had of getting up in the sky again.

Since November, all any of us had heard on the news, in the grocery store, and at school was Mayor Hamilton resigned and Red Comet is missing. Connor had learned to accept his fate, passing his days not by signing autographs and sleeping on top of skyscrapers, but by going to class, perfecting the choreography to 1980s music videos in his bedroom, and eating enough pizza to feed a small country. For a while it appeared like that would be enough to satisfy him, though lately it seemed like he was regressing. He was quieter than usual, and when he did talk, it was mostly about crime scenes and old supers and all the ways Iron Phantom was failing Morriston as their new favorite hero.

"Did you know Iron Phantom fell asleep in a press conference the other day?" Connor asked.

"Hmmm?" Of course I knew that. Rylan had told me. He was exhausted and overworked, and let's face it—press conferences were boring.

"Abby, tell the boyfriend that he could at least pretend to pay attention. I mean, I'll even put on that grimy suit for him and make speeches if he wants."

"No, you wouldn't."

Connor started snickering. "You're right. I wouldn't. I'd rather throw that thing out into the snow."

"You already did that." And then Rylan had to go to work soaked and his underwear froze and... it was pretty embarrassing.

The laughter died in Connor's throat. Making comments about Rylan's work as Iron Phantom was a new favorite pastime of his, and for some reason his comments always turned nastier after he visited our dad in his suite at his rehabilitation facility. Our dad looked small and frail now, busy undergoing treatment to cope with the death of our mother and the guilt he faced after coming under the nanobots' control, but he was doing better. As Connor liked to point out, Dad was living in a glorified spa full of rich people and free food. There was no reason not to be doing better. I often found myself thinking that Connor could benefit from joining him, but I knew if I told him he would just shoot me down. It would take an army to force Connor to move out of Morriston.

"So do you think we should eat cereal again?" Connor asked once I finished peeling the burnt cheese from the pan and dumped the scraps in the trash.

I looked up at the ceiling, where smoke still swirled around the light fixtures. It wasn't like we usually ate gourmet meals, even when Dad was living here, but for some reason eating milk and cereal instead of a real dinner made our large and lonely country manor feel even larger and lonelier.

"I think there's still Froot Loops left," I said. "But it's mostly the purple ones because you always pick those out."

He shrugged. "That'll do."

Just as I started digging through the pantry in search of our dinner, the back door burst open, sending a freezing gust of wind into the kitchen before slamming shut. Excessive gagging filled the room, followed by laughter.

"What's that stench?" Hunter asked from the doorway. He lumbered across the room, Sarah trailing behind him. She was armed with a pile of school books and the journal in which she drafted all of her superhero fan fiction. Hunter was her new "project." Honestly, I was a little frightened to ask what that entailed.

Hunter wasn't wearing his super suit at the moment, but a few scales still peeked out beneath the sleeves of his hooded sweatshirt. Despite his powers only consisting of breathing underwater, growing fins, and having the public refer to him as "Fish Boy," Hunter's life was going more swimmingly than my brother's.

I gestured to Connor. "Behold. The source of the stench."

"Can't be," Hunter said. "I told him to buy new deodorant last week. Connor, you usually don't smell this bad."

"Thanks, bud." Connor scowled. "I caught my dinner on fire."

"Again?" Sarah asked.

Connor nodded solemnly. Then he perked up, and I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes as he straightened his glasses. "Actually... Hunt, why don't we go downtown? It's unlimited wing night at Bronco's." He shot up from his chair, throwing an arm around Hunter's shoulders. "Three words, my friend: Death. By. Hot sauce. Actually, maybe that's four words. Anyway, they have a sauce named the Angel of Death. It's so hot it supposedly made some guy's eyes bleed. They have to import the stuff from South America or something because it's illegal to buy in the US."

"You don't say." Hunter shifted awkwardly, hands in his pockets. Sarah caught my eye and just barely shook her head. I had a feeling I knew what Hunter's answer would be.

I also knew for certain that Connor wouldn't like it.

"Yeah, uh, dude, I wish I could. I mean, you know I really, really wish I could, but some bridge collapsed over in Westview and it sent ten cars into the river, so I'll probably spend the rest of the night helping fish them out."

"When did this happen?" Connor demanded.

"Just now. It's all over the news."

"Oh." Connor sat down again. "I don't watch the news. I've been too busy." Busy being normal was likely what he was thinking.

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Hunter said. "I really just stopped by because I wanted to show you this." He pulled a copy of the Morriston Gazette out of his back pocket. It was a little wrinkled and damp around the edges, like he'd gone swimming with it. I reminded myself that he probably had.

"Look! I made the front page, baby!" Hunter pressed the paper into my brother's hands, his previous discomfort overshadowed by his excitement. "I mean, Iron Phantom got the lead story, but I got this cool little article down in the corner. See? Awesome, right?"

"Yeah, that's... cool. Really cool." Connor gripped the paper so forcefully that his knuckles turned white. Right there on the front page, way down at the bottom, next to a casino ad and this weekend's weather forecast was a black-and-white photo of Fish Boy. His webbed fingers gave the camera a thumbs up while a group of handcuffed criminals scowled in the background.

I almost ripped the paper away from Connor when I noticed a vein start to throb in his forehead. Fish Boy had been getting a lot more press recently, but Hunter should have known better than to bring that kind of stuff around Connor. His situation was still very... delicate. Which was why I had no intention of telling him how I'd spent my morning.

But Connor shocked me when he managed to shake himself out of whatever dark place he'd spiraled into, hand the paper back to Hunter, and actually smile.

"This is awesome, man. Seriously. You deserve it."

"Thanks." Hunter folded the article and slipped it into his pocket. "I should get going though. Places to be, people to save and all that."

"Good luck," Connor said, but his smile had dimmed around the edges. "Why don't we try for wing night next week? I have a lot of homework to do anyway. I'm kind of failing, so..."

"Okay, yeah, sounds good. Take it easy, dude. Great job this morning, Abby." With a distracted wave, Hunter rushed out the door. Sarah gave me a quick hug before snagging a handful of Froot Loops from the box on the counter and following him.

Slow clap for Fish Boy. Thanks a million, Hunter. I held my breath, hoping Connor wouldn't notice his slip up. I wasn't at all surprised when he did.

"You were out somewhere this morning?" he asked.

A lie. I needed a good lie. But it wasn't worth the effort. Connor already knew.

"Yeah. I was out... ish. I was kind of out, but not like out out. Just out a little bit..."

"With Hunter?"

I nodded.

"And..." Connor frowned. "Rylan?"

I swallowed, then nodded again.

Connor's frown turned into a downright disgusted grimace. "Take it easy," he mimicked Hunter. "Sure, I'll take it easy. I'm taking it so easy that my muscles are shriveling up from lack of use while you guys are doing all the work."

"Connor—"

"You might as well leave too." He waved a hand at the door. "Go out again. Go eat with Rylan or something. I know he gets pretty hungry. I always find him groping you against the refrigerator every time I enter the kitchen."

I felt my cheeks grow red. Maybe if I were a better sister I would have known what to say to him, what kind of inspiring mumbo jumbo I could spit out that would keep him from being so upset all the time. But I was in way over my head here. Since Dad left, the powers that be had granted Connor legal custody over me until I turned eighteen, but it was clear that I had taken over the responsibility of parenting him. And I knew it wasn't Connor's fault. He was enraged and dejected. I got that message loud and clear. And yet, I had no clue how to fix him. Other than helping him adapt, I didn't know what else could be done.

Swallowing hard, I pushed down my fury over hearing Connor make yet another taunting remark about my boyfriend. "Why don't you and I go downtown?" I suggested. "We can practice getting on and off the subway." I nudged him in the shoulder, using the only selling point I could think of that would get his grumpy butt out of the house. "I promise you won't get lost this time."

It was the lamest, least persuasive selling point ever, but it was somewhat successful. I caught Connor smile just a little before he rolled his eyes. "Go downtown with Rylan."

"Don't be mean, Connor. Do you want to get food or not?"

"Are you paying?"

"Well, technically Dad gave us his money to use until he comes back, so he's paying."

"Even better." He reached for his jacket slung haphazardly over the hook by the back door. "Let's go."

*******

"This was not one of our best ideas," Connor said as we traversed the snowy sidewalks downtown. We didn't take into the account the January blizzard that was raging across the city, and every time Connor tried to pull his hood up it just blew back down.

"I agree. In fact, it might be one of our worst." I tightened my scarf like a noose around my neck, but it didn't help. I was so cold. My nose had gone numb five minutes ago, along with my fingertips and my toes. The stupid restaurant that Connor wanted to go to for wing night was closed—along with pretty much everything else—and now I was hungry and cold and... I couldn't even think what else. I was just so cold.

Our boots crunched along the sidewalk as we turned the corner. There was an orange fluorescent light glowing up ahead, but I couldn't make it out through the swirls of snowflakes. I wasn't even sure we'd be able to find our way back to the subway station. Well, I wasn't sure I would be able to find our way back to the subway station. Connor still got the uptown train confused with the downtown train, so I knew he wouldn't be much help. I thought about calling Rylan to see if he had some free time between punching criminals to come get us, but considering he left school early and had only sent me one text since, I figured he was busy. Besides, my fingers were so frozen that I didn't even think I could hold my phone.

I. Was. So. Cold.

"I think that's a convenience store," Connor said, jerking his head toward the glowing lights at the end of the block. His shoulders were hunched up to his ears as he nudged me forward, shuffling over a thick patch of ice. "Winter is such a joke. Hey, speaking of jokes, have you ever heard the one about the snowman that lost its carrot nose?"

"Was the snowman's name Abigail?" I asked through chattering teeth. "Because I think I'm dangerously close to losing an appendage or two."

"The snowman's name was Stan," Connor said, like I was stupid for thinking it might be anything else. We hobbled through the sliding glass doors of the convenience store, and he made a beeline for the hot dog cart in the back corner, shaking snowflakes from his hair and wiping away the fog that accumulated on his glasses. I shuffled up beside him and watched as he pulled a paper plate onto the counter and smothered it with every condiment the store had in stock. Ketchup, mayonnaise, mustard, relish, and a bit of hot sauce, all swirled together to make the most repulsive dipping sauce I had ever seen. I was starving, but I certainly wasn't starving enough to eat that.

"I call it ket-may-tard-lish à la hot sauce," Connor said as he ladled a bit on the tip of his hot dog and took a massive bite. "Want some?"

"My sock drawer smells more pleasant."

"Fine. More for me."

Connor finished his first hot dog in two bites and grabbed another. I fixed myself one that was covered in ketchup and only ketchup, perusing the aisles while I ate. Of all the places in Morriston, convenience stores weren't my favorite, primarily because they tended to be sketchier than the abundance of other sketchy Morriston places. This particular store wasn't too bad though. I had my trusty Taser with me, and besides, only half a dozen of the lightbulbs were flickering instead of the usual dozen.

The bell above the door dinged. I looked up from my spot in the potato chip aisle to see a large man walk inside and head for the worker behind the register.

Connor ran over to me. He skidded to a stop, nearly tripping on a stray can of baked beans.

"Get down, get down, get down!" He pushed my head, careening us both into a rack of newspapers.

"Connor, what the hell?" The remains of my hot dog were squished beneath my shoes. Yum.

"Sorry. My stealthy superhero entrances are seriously out of whack." Crouching near the floor, Connor pointed at the man giving a few bills to the cashier. "Look. That guy is totally going to rob this place."

"Are you blind? He just put his own money on the counter."

"That's just a ruse. He's gaining the cashier's trust. See how his other hand is in his pocket? He totally has a gun in there."

"Or maybe his fingers are cold. Shocker."

The cashier, a weedy looking guy who was even taller than the man Connor was convinced was a "robber," looked up at us. Connor yanked my shoulders, dragging me behind a candy bar display in the next aisle, but not before I could see the cashier roll his eyes. He picked up a phone hung behind the counter.

"Look!" Connor said. "He's going to call the cops."

"Yeah. On us. Because he thinks we're crazy. Wonder why."

"No way. Oh man, Abby, I can totally stop this. I can save the cashier! This will fix everything!"

"I don't exactly think he's in danger..." But Connor might be if he didn't snap himself back into reality. I could just picture what I would have to say to the police if they really did show up. Yes, this is my brother. No, he's not unhinged. It's just that his favorite pastime used to be flying hundreds of miles an hour while wearing really tight pants. Nothing more relaxing than breaking the sound barrier, but he's a little antsy because he hasn't saved anyone lately...

Yeah. That definitely wouldn't fly.

"Okay, wait for my signal before you come in after me," Connor said. "I'm going to give the guy the old one-two, and then a little bit of the old three-four."

"Hey, Connor...?"

"And then, when I have him right where I want him—"

"Connor?"

"What, Abby?"

I pointed to the doorway. Connor's "robber" was exiting the store, a pack of cigarettes and a few magazines in his hands.

No guns or nefarious intentions in sight.

Connor's face fell immediately. "Oh."

"It's all right," I said, standing to brush dirt and hot dog crumbs from my pants. "You'll get him next time."

"There might not be a next time," he grumbled.

We trudged through the empty convenience store, and I tried to mentally prepare myself to reenter Morriston's arctic cold. Connor waved at the guy behind the register. He scowled at us.

We paused a few feet inside the doors so Connor could zip up his coat and dig his gloves out of his pockets.

"Okay," he said once he was sufficiently bundled. "Now I'm ready."

We turned toward the street.

The doors were just sliding open when the store's front window shattered—and the building exploded.

*******

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Also, here's a friendly reminder that hardcover, paperback, and ebook copies of the first book in this series, The Supervillain and Me, are available for purchase through the links on my profile. If you're not financially able to buy the book (totally understandable!) remember that you can always request a copy for free at your local library. Additionally, copies of my BRAND NEW BOOK, The Good for Nothings, are also available for purchase and library requests. The Good for Nothings is full of space heists, snark (basically Guardians of the Galaxy meets Pirates of the Caribbean), grumpy aliens, and baking robots, and I hope you love it as much as I do. Visit the links in my profile to learn more!