EVEN WITH HOW much the wind blows all around me, my legs remain fastened onto the roof of the skyscraper I find myself on. Below me, far below, I hear sounds of various vehicles, their sounds sharp as if they are right beside me. Behind me the purple cape—attached to my neck by a small knotted string—flaps, making me fashionably super than intended. I close my eyes and try to listen, try to block out all other sounds other than the one I want to hear.

A heavy rush of wind is about to blast my way and I know this because I can hear the silent waves a few meters away. I open my eyes then slide just as the wind damages where I stood a second ago.

Too bad, I think while I stare at the hole in the roof, the owners would have to be grateful they are alive.

"Why do you always know when I am coming?" a whiny voice makes me raise my head and look towards the direction the wind had come from. There is a boy, about my brothers age, in one hand he has a lollipop and in the other is a hand fan, of some sort. I really don't try to observe how it is made of, my only goal is to get this boy down and remove the chip at the back of his head which has been placed by the evilest scientist in Nigeria.

"Because I am Ultrasonic Girl," I place my hands on my hips to show off my strength. I have muscles, and this makes me smile, because today I get to be ale to hear the littlest sounds, have super strength and at the same tine fly. But of course, I always fly, in every of my dreams, I always fly. That is a constant that never changes.

"Amadin, what are you doing?" the boys face remains surprised but his voice is no longer whiny, its no longer a child even. Its an adults voice that sounds feminine and familiar but I just can't recall.

Did the evil scientist add an additional power to his power while I was not looking? I ask myself but out loud, I say, "I am saving you."

The response I get shocks me, almost literally. At first I here laughter of different kind and a sharp hit onto my back. That becomes the moment, my reality changes or rather, I wake up to reality. My eyes open slowly and I suppress a yawn that threatens to escape, mostly because I can still hear the laughter from my dream.

"Why don't you try to save your grades first?" the odd voice of the little boy from my dream sounds again, I sit up straight recalling where I was. Before me is my mathematics teacher with a scowl on her face. She is a thin lady with hair that touches her neck and is never plaited. Also she always carries a cane, as thin as she was, and calls it 'Mr. Do Good'. If it is meant to add a kind of intimidation to her look, it does not work, at least to the rest of the people in my class, set or even school, except maybe the junior students.

I am a final class student in Excellence Secondary School but people say I look like a junior and other than the fact that I wear skirt like them, I am sure my set-mates will send me on errands or make me call them 'Senior' alongside their name. It makes me annoyed at how they thrive in hearing a word that would stop the minute they leave the gates of the school.

"I am sorry Miss Shola," I bow my head out of respect so it will not appear like I choose to be disrespectful, at least that is what I think she will tell the rest of the teachers who will not ask for the truth from a student. She will say, first I had the effrontery to sleep in her class just because she finished conducting an impromptu test and then I look her in the eye to show her I am a boss like she is (although she is not fairly close to the letter 'b') all because I would graduate in less than a year.

To be honest I really care little about how she would feel if I stare at her, but I care a lot what my father would say to me and the punishment he will choose to give. The last time my class teacher reported me, he had me do the 'okada', if you have no idea what that is, stand straight then slowly bend your legs till it appears like you are seated on a motorcycle, stretch out your hands, fold your fists and stay there for an hour plus.

"Sorry for yourself," the teacher says with slight anger and when I think all is better and I can raise my head she speaks again. "Are you wearing a contraband sweater?"

"Shit," I cuss out loud and upon realizing it, I look up for the first time with my eyes wide open and both my hands cover my mouth. The woman has a shocked expression on her face, and with the whispers which floats all around me, I know I am in big trouble.

School gives out two types of cardigans to students; long sleeved and short sleeved. In Excellence Secondary School, the short sleeved is for fashion, basically the fashion trend of almost all Senior Students, while the long sleeved is for the cold weathers. But it really does little work with keeping me warm, which is why I always like to wear my hoodies and I only wear them on extremely cold weathers. Like today or the two other days when my hoodies were seized.

The rain had been harsh in the morning and cold and I never get along. I make sure to turn off the air conditioner or fan when I am anywhere around them without a cardigan or sweater. At the moment, I know my teacher is not willingly to hear my excuse, plus the fact that I just cussed before her. She will also think I called her 'shit'.

"I'm sorry ma'am," that is all I can say at the moment, "I am really sorry ma'am."

My (evil) classmates snicker and chuckle at my demise. No one offers to beg also, although I know why, I still choose to blame them for not being on my side.

There;s a kind of condescending pity that fills the teachers eyes, one that makes me seem like I am a deer and she is a lion. "Take off that thing," she points at my cardigan with her chin, "and let it be the last time you try something like this."

I nod continuously, although I know my last hoodie will be coming along with me once the cold intensifies again. I stand, then pull the black cloth, that has a 'super' inscribed unto the front, over my head and stretch it to her while I nurse a sad look. I was going to miss hoodie number three.

"I am really sorry ma'am," I say in hopes that she would tell me keep it. Instead of what I hope for, the thin woman snatches the cloth out my hand and turns around. I dust my white short sleeve shirt and take my seat.

"I am giving you the next exercise to do because Miss Nehi here has decided to waste the time I would use to teach," Miss Shola says out of the blue and I cannot help but leave my jaw open.

Me? How?

"So, tomorrow have your assignments submitted on my desk immediately after assembly is over." The entire class grumbles lowly and some begin to ask if I can see what I did.

"Did you hear me?" It is obvious she enjoins the sad complaints of her students.

"Yes ma'am," they chorus with pitiable voices. I cannot chorus with them because I stare at my impromptu test booklet for the first time since it was shoved onto my brown desk and I see a big zero with eyes and ears drawn onto it. Underneath it says 'Olodo', the Yoruba word for stupid. I chew on my teeth and squeeze the ugly thing slightly before I keep it inside of my desk.

This is not the first time my scores were that low, or rather it is not the first time my score is nothing in any subject. I just cannot help it, I hate Mathematics, English, Literature-in-English, Government, Economics, Civic Education, Language, Entrepreneurship and Computer Studies, But I love Visual Art, well, mostly the practical aspects.

I am in the Arts department and I plan to be a comic artist when I grow up, but that is after I convince my parents people made money from doing that. Speaking of comics, I remember what I did before sleep came. I put my hand into the desk and bring out, carefully, my issue of the Amazing Spider-man. I just recently got this one from the junior who sells weird stuffs. I bring the comic to my nose and take a long sniff.

Heaven.

"Amadin," I hear my name and realize my mistake.

Miss Shola stands at the door, my hoodie in one hand, her cane in the other and her lesson note underneath her armpit. Her eyes carry slight anger, maybe because I am reading a contraband in her, almost ended, class.

I shove the thing into my desk and pray she does not ask me to give it to her. Anything but that.

"Bring it."

"Shit," I think I cuss underneath my breath but my voice is rather loud and now I know I am in bigger trouble than before.

"That is it, you have been rude and disrespectful all day," this is what I feared. "You are going to the staff room with me."

I have a panicked look over my face, I know because my cheeks feel hot and they only do that when I am nervous or panicked and no one can actually be nervous when in trouble and have to go to a room full of teachers.

"I am sorry ma'am," I try to beg, maybe it will work, "I did not mean to be rude."

"You don't even have a tie," the woman sneers and I cover my face with the comic book. I was done for. Schools attire was a white button up shirt with a blue pleated skirt or trouser (or pinafores and shorts for juniors) and a blue tie worn by both male and female. Because I woke up late, I forget to pick it up, plus I had my hoodie on all day.

"Please ma'am--" I try to beg again but she speaks and its a done deal.

"And you have no school badge either."

For the second time in a day I am headed to the staff room. Miss Shola reported me to the Mathematics HOD who took one long look at me and told her to tell my class teacher, that I was a special case. My class teacher is a short man with visible stubs of beards on his chin and a birthmark close to his eyes. He groaned when he saw me approach with Miss Shola and I could not help but chuckle, which added to my sins.

My punishment had been to uproot the weeds which surrounds the SS3 building while classes went on and if that was not embarrassing enough, I was to do it with nothing but my hands. I managed to do a relatively good job, even though I know it will be only me who thinks so.

I round a corner which is on the path to the Staff Room and bump into someone because my mind is elsewhere. My first reaction is to bite my tongue which hurts a lot and so I cuss. I did not always do that, cuss every time, it just began to happen on its own at some point in my life. But one thing I do is make sure not to do that in front of my parents.

"Amadin?" I raise my head to get a look at the person who knows my name. Of course, that statement feels weird since I am in school and I am supposed to be known. But I am genuinely surprised because for the past year no one, except teachers, call me by my name. The rest choose to use 'Super Girl', which may sound cool at first hearing, but is not, especially if the name is as a result of jumping down from the first floor of the schools administration building in hopes of awakening the dormant superhero powers you believe you have. It is a name that shows my stupidity, but I am used it already.

When I see the face of the person, I bite my tongue again, hurting it the more. Before me is Irekitan Bae Abiade, the schools male Sports Prefect and best footballer, one of the top voted handsome boys (my set-mates have a poll they do online where they vote on shitty things. I never join them but somehow, I win clown of the year even when I haven't done anything stupid since the day I jumped from the building) and my former friend.

"Oh, hi Kitan," I smile and move to pass by his side as quick as possible. I am not ready to make small talk when I know it will not be worth it.

"So, you're just going to avoid me, as usual?" I hear him say and just walk on. Giving a response to him would mean I was, even if I really was. We used to be friends courtesy of our Parents who are friends too, and we used to be friends when we were a three man squad. Now we are two and it hurts too much to be near him.

"See you around then." He shouts and I sniff back a light cry at the bridge of my throat. This is why I make sure not to go close to the Science department, Sports arena or anywhere Kitan will be. My chest tightens and I remember everything too vividly. I adjust myself and take my hand to my neck out of habit of adjusting my tie every time I am to enter the staff room before I remember one of the reasons I am here is my lack of a tie.

Mr Kennedy, my class teacher, is hunched over piles of A4 sketchpads. Apart from being my class teacher, I am sure the reason he tolerates me is because I am good in his class—Visual Art. It is the only one that doesn't feel like jargon to me, maybe because he is a good teacher, and it involves something I am good at, to some extent.

"Sir," I say nervously and he looks up with a brow raised.

"Did you do it well?" the question has me confused. If I did not, there was no way I will tell him that and as a teacher he is to know that, isn't it?

"Y-yes sir."

He nods and looks back at his pile of work, "Okay. You can go and your father says you should come to his workplace." I gulp at that, he definitely reported me to my old man and I was in for some long talks and some severe punishment.

What will he ask me to do this time?

"T-thank you sir," I say sadly and then sight my newly bought comic a few inches from his elbow. "Can I have that back?"

Mr. Kennedy looks up, at me, and then to where my finger is pointed. He gives me a light glare which answers my question before he speaks, "The puff-puff woman would know the best use for it."

My sadness heightens but that is that. Except I plan to buy back all of the comic in form of the small round snacks, there is no way to get that issue back. I head back to my classroom, since it is closing time, there are only a few people in class, mostly couples in the middle of 'paroll', a term I am yet to understand since I have never had a boyfriend in school or anywhere else for that matter. My class captain is also in class, I think she is studying with how she has her face in a book. How someone will love to stay after school to read when it is not compulsory baffles me most of the time.

"Supergirl, entertain us before you go home na," one of the people around says when I wear my school bag. I grit my teeth but ignore.

Silence is the best answer for a fool.

"She don figure out sey she no be hero, she no even get liver to be one," another says, a male this time. He thinks mocking me will get me to say anything but I stand my ground.

Silence is the best answer for two fools.

I make my way out of school and to the tricycle park where I board one to the junction of my fathers workplace. I walk the rest of the journey to the place and wish I am able to take my phone with me to school so I could have music to keep me company anytime I walk. But I can't because if it's found in my bag at school by mistake, no one will care to listen to my explanation.

At last, I arrive in front of a brown colored building with a signboard that says 'Rabiu Archaeology Gallery'. Sometimes I look forward to visiting here, they have one of the oldest artifacts one would ever see in Nigeria and it is fun to hear the stories behind them from some of the workers, including my father who is an Household Archaeologist.

I push the door to the reception open and coolness of the room is too cold for me. I shiver a bit when I approach the wooden desk where Richard, the young intern sits. I know he is playing Ludo again, he always does that even when I suggest he play better games that help his thinking, something like Candy Crush.

"Hey Richard," he looks up and his face lights up.

"Smallie," he says with a local accent I still haven't figured out, "Long time."

"Yeah," the cold gets to me more now, "One week is long. Anyways is my dad here?"

"Yep, but in a meeting at the moment sha."

"Oh," I chew on my lower lip, "I'll just wait in his office."

He nods and focuses on his mobile device just as I leave. My fathers office is small but cozy, the walls are painted a dark shade of blue and has four square framed photographs on it, all of them are him in one site or the other. His table is a brown color and there are only three chairs in the room—his and two visitors. What I really like about the room is the big window where I can see the road. It's not much of a view but it's really cool to open the blinds and stare at the people going about their business.

I drop my school bag on one of the visitor chair and roughly sit on the other, huffing in the process. It is boring being the only one in fathers office but I dare not think of leaving before he sees me, I am already in enough trouble from school I have no intention of adding an extra one.

As I sit, I start tapping a rhythm in my head onto the table, a fast paced but calm one to one of my favorite songs in the world.

"Shoes on, get up in the morn'

Cup of milk, let's rock and roll

King Kong, kick the drum

Rolling on like a Rolling Stone

Sing song when I'm walking home

Jump up to the top, LeBron

Ding-dong, call me on my phone

Ice tea and a game of ping pong"

For the next part of Dynamite by BTS, I get off the chair and begin to wave my dreads back and forth, while singing the lyrics to the song like I can hear the song loudly. Nothing can ever take away the joy of cramming the voices of those special Korean men.

"Dyn-na-na-na, na-na, na-na, ayy

Dyn-na-na-na, na-na, na-na, ayy

Dyn-na-na-na, na-na, na-na, ayy

Light it up like dynamite"

The next minute I am jumping or trying to jump in the small office, I make sure not to hit anything and sing on.

"Dyn-na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na, na-na-na, life is dynamite

Dyn-na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na, na-na-na, life is dynamite

Shinning through the city with a little funk and soul

So I'ma ligh--"

Someone barges into the office and I am startled because my back is turned to the entrance. At first, I think it is my father and he has heard my voice, my fear increases the more. If he saw me dancing in his office it would be bad. So I straighten and turn around while I wear the most innocent look I can summon.

"G-good aft--" I stop short, this person is not my father. It is one of the workers I see when I come around. He has an oval face, small eyes, thin lips and smooth beard cut on his chin and cheeks, his nose is slim but wide. He usually gives me a genuine smile after I greet him, but as I stare at him, his eyes are wide open and his chest heaves continuously. He looks sort of disoriented but what is more weird is what he begins to say.

"Hide. . .hide this," I wear a frown, because that is the best thing I can do when someone asks me to hide something in my fathers workplace. Why not give it to the Rabius? Or my father?

The man comes closer to me, one of his shoe is missing and that bothers me. Is he a criminal who has been pretending to be a good worker? Maybe he is the one who took some of the artifacts that was stolen a few months ago. I scrutinize him again, he has a lot of vintage pendants on his neck.

"Hide this, keep it, don't let anyone know you have it and don't let her know you have it. She is evil, very evil," he takes my hand and puts an object into it. I am too scared to move and too confused, I pray for my father to come in. "Whatever you do, don't wear it and most of all, don't tell anyone about it," he urges on just as my prayer is answered.

"Step away from my daughter," father stands at the door, his huge frame almost covers the doorway and he has an angry frown between his brows. The man freezes temporarily, whispers the words 'hide it' and then turn to face father.

"You know I am right, Osas."

"We know you are greedy," someone from behind my father says and he steps into the office completely revealing Mrs. Rabiu, her voice is calm and calculative and her eyes scans both me and the man. "Duane, you know you cannot plan to steal from me and get away with it. That's making a big mistake that will cost you your life."

Steal. Cost his life.

Her words and tone cause me to be afraid. Could she be the one he talks about? I doubt that, because we knew her. She is the mother of one of my closest friends, or was. But still, I am afraid, so I keep the object in my skirt pocket and gulp down as I watch the three adults.

"I am going to do what the ancestors could not do," the man called Duane says boldly and the woman laughs. I watch my father look at me briefly then at the man.

"That's all myth, you should know better. Well, the police are here, everyday for the thief, one day for the owner." Father grabs the man by his elbow and hoists him out of the office, leaving me and Mrs. Rabiu alone. She walks to me, poise in her step. For some reason she looks like she has not aged a single day since before and after it all happened, and she looks like she will never add weight in her body fitting red dress that complements the black head scarf she has on. Her face is bare of makeup but she still looks the best version of the melanin creations.

"Are you okay dear?" I can't tell if she is really caring with what I saw, but I nod.

"The bad man did not say anything to you, did he?" she says again and I wonder if she is asking about the object he gave me or something else. But I am scared, so I shake my head and she hugs me briefly.

"I am glad. Get yourself something to eat from the store," she kisses my forehead and leaves me in the office. After she is gone, I breath out, visibly shaken by the entire encounter. I make sure to close the door and then gently sit on the free visitor seat. My legs are heavy and I calculate all that was said by the man.

I bring out the object and squint at it even if it is very visible. It is a strange brown and green wooden ring with inscriptions I can not decipher. This definitely tells it is one of the things on display here, and it looks very pretty.

Whatever you do don't wear it, I remember but will definitely go against it, just to see how it fits on my olive skin. I slide it down my ring finger and it is big.

Too bad.

But when I try to remove it, it does not come off, in fact the thing has adjusted to the size of my finger and I almost begin to panic. I struggle with removing it, I pull, push and drag, nothing works at all. I decide to wave the arm, maybe it will come off with the force. The exact opposite happens, or rather the unexpected happens, as I wave my arm once, I am hurled towards the opposite wall with strong force. Before I can comprehend what is happening, my head hits the dark blue wall and my eyes roll back.

•••
Welcome to the beginning of 'How to be a Superhero'. I was actually gonna wait till the ending of September to post this chapter, but then, why wait? And mostly because I told KweenKlara I would try to post the first chapter real soon.

While writing one of the chapters, I saw the word count was really long and so I decided instead of making a step one chapter (the original plan), why not divide the step into two or three chapters? That way it is more fun. Don't understand? in the next couple chapters you will know.

Now, what do you think about the chapter and the character you just met?
Tell me how you see this book going, and do you have any inhuman powers?

Here's a secret; My power is daydreaming, it's always activated.

Anyways, until I write the seventh step offline, you may just have to reread this over and over ;)

Share and tag others, will ya?

Lots of Love
Omonigho ♥