The Caped 6th Grader (10 page)

Even though it was my last day, the hours really dragged. At
last it was four-thirty and I could go home. I crossed the attic toward the door just as a violent gust of wind rattled the windows.

“Getting pretty nasty out there,” Electra observed. “I think I should drive you home.”

“No, that's okay.”

“But Zoe, it's—”

“Really. I'm fine. I've got an umbrella.”

Electra looked as if she wanted to argue, but in the end she just smiled. “All right then.”

I left the attic, pounded down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen, grabbed my backpack, and ran out the door.

I didn't look back.

I
trudged through Sweetbriar, barely aware of the force of the wind that whipped against my face and through my hair. If I hadn't had superstrength, it would have knocked me over. I just kept my head low and walked with firm strides into the fury of the storm. The rain pelted me like little steel balls, and thunder exploded again and again behind the clouds.

I could have made the trip home at superspeed since there was no traffic to speak of; the weather seemed to be keeping people indoors. I could have run, but for maybe the first time since I'd found about my powers, I just didn't feel like using them. It suited my mood to walk as slowly as a regular person and get completely soaked.

I was nearing the Sweetbriar River. The high metal bridge that crossed the deepest part of the river had just come into sight when the most brilliant flash of lightning I'd ever seen lit up the
darkened sky. That got my attention! I raised my eyes to the gray-black clouds in time to see a long, jagged blade of lightning strike the tall electrical tower that stood on the far side of the river, just beside the bridge. A huge crackling and hissing noise burst from the tower and a shower of sparks sprang to life, slicing through the midsection of the narrow metal structure.

I gasped and ducked, covering my head with my arms. There was a weird—and yucky—burning smell, and I could feel the hairs on my arms standing up from all the electricity in the air.

Behind me, I heard the sound of an engine, followed by the screech of brakes, but I couldn't look; my eyes were glued to the top portion of the tower, which was swaying, severing itself from the base. Its long tentacle-like electrical wires flailed against the angry sky, sputtering and buzzing, shooting off more sparks. I was aware of more screeching coming from behind me—the desperate sound of someone slamming on the brakes and not being able to stop—and I whirled around to see that a school bus from Sweetbriar Elementary was skidding straight toward the side of the bridge. The driver must have seen the electrical tower get hit by the lightning and tried to stop before reaching the bridge, but the road was covered in at least two inches of rainwater and his brakes were useless. The bus barreled onto the bridge just as the electrical tower came toppling down.

My first thought was to jump up and catch the falling tower. But I wasn't wearing my supersuit and I had no idea if an out-of-uniform superhero could be electrocuted. My guess was yes. Hadn't I just gotten a major shock from wearing new slippers on my bedroom carpet last week?

I could catch the bus and carry it safely to the opposite side of the bridge, but I was bound to be seen.

As these thoughts raced through my brain at warp speed, I watched the bus swerve to avoid being crushed by the falling, spark-spewing chunk of metal tower, which had just hit the surface of the bridge. In the space of a heartbeat, I heard the bus tires squealing on the wet pavement, and stared as the long yellow vehicle skidded sideways toward the thick metal guardrail of the bridge.

The sound of the impact was almost unbearable—metal grinding against metal as the bus came to a hard stop against the rail. The weight of the bus bent the rail to the point that it looked ready to snap like a Popsicle stick.

ZOE, DO
SOMETHING!

Moving faster than the lightning itself, I flung myself behind a mailbox and dug into my backpack for my suit. I peeled off my wet clothes and wriggled into the suit just as a megagust lifted the mailbox from the sidewalk and into the sky.

I ran for the bridge.

The bus was shimmying in the strong wind; the girders of the bridge were creaking loudly as it struggled against the wind, and the rail was straining under the weight of the vehicle. As I ran toward the bus, I could hear the kids inside screaming for help. I figured screaming was better than no sound at all.

The door of the bus was crumpled against the guardrail, pinning the driver into his seat. The windows on that side were over the river, so the children couldn't climb out of them. Some of the kids were struggling to open the windows on the bridge side, but they were little and scared, and without the bus driver
to help them, they couldn't figure out how to release the safety glass. The broken tower slid closer and closer to their bus, pushed along by the force of the gale. Its live electrical wires reared up like giant snakes, snapping like whips toward the bus, throwing sparks into the air every time they moved.

I know from science class that cars and buses can ordinarily withstand electrical currents because the rubber of the tires acts as a ground. But the fact that the bus was pressed against a metal guardrail was a problem. The rail would act as a conductor, overriding the grounding effect of the tires. So if the electric wires made contact, the current would shoot straight through the bus—and the kids.

The first thing I had to do was move the broken tower and its wires, which were scooting ever closer to the bus.

No. The first thing to do was to move the bus away from the broken rail. Then the rubber tires would save the kids inside from the electrical cables.

But what if the wires struck the bus before I could get a good grip on it? I should get rid of the tower first.

But what if the rail gave way while I was moving the tower? The bus, with all those kids and the driver inside, would fall over the edge and into the rushing river, which seemed to be rising by the second.

My pulse was racing. I tried to tell myself not to freak out, to stay calm, to think clearly. Just then, a clap of thunder made the bridge shudder under my feet, as though the universe were urging me to act, and fast. There was no time to stop and think clearly. But so much depended on my doing things in the right order. So much …

“Arrrrghhh!” I let out a shout of frustration. “What do I do
first?”

A bolt of lightning illuminated the sky.

And I heard someone shout at me:

“Chronology is always the toughest part.”

I turned to see someone wearing a glittering eye mask and an impressive yellow outfit. It was clearly not as new as mine; Emily might even call it retro. The pants had giant bell-bottoms and the top had huge cuffs and lapels. It looked … well, the only word I could think of to describe it was
groovy.
Her hands were on her hips; her legs were braced apart.

“Lightning Girl?” I cried in disbelief.

“Close enough,” the yellow-clad figure replied.

I gasped as I recognized the voice, then smiled. “Electra!”

My comic-book mentor and fellow superhero smiled. “We don't have time to talk right now,” she called over the noise of the rain. “You grab the bus. I'll handle the wires!
Go!”

It was way easier with two superheroes.

I crouched at the back of the bus, slid my hands underneath it, and lifted it with only the slightest effort. I had to be careful not to tilt it too much because I didn't want to send all the kids shooting to the other end.

Walking quickly—and as smoothly as I could, given the circumstances—across the swaying bridge, I carried the bus to the solid ground on the other side. Then I ducked out of sight behind a billboard to watch Electra do her thing. The short, spiky blond hair, the musical lilt to the voice—I'd been working side by side with this person for two weeks. I knew it with certainty:
Lightning Girl was real … and she was Electra Allbright.

I watched her grab the live wires (without even flinching) and tie them off into a neat bow, as if she were wrapping a present, then lift the hunk of twisted metal and fly it away from the bridge, where she deposited it safely on the ground. It only took her a couple of seconds, and she looked so efficient and … and … experienced while she was doing it! I could still hardly believe I was watching my mentor.

When Electra joined me behind the billboard, I could hear rescue sirens in the distance.

“Let's get out of here,” she suggested. “I think we have some things to discuss.”

I nodded, suddenly feeling worn out to the ends of my toes.

She hooked her arm around my waist, careful not to dig my tool belt into my side. With the dark clouds roiling above us, we flew back to her house.

I was sitting at the counter in Electra's kitchen again, just as I'd done every weekday afternoon for the past two weeks—only this time, I was dressed in an indestructible supersuit.

And so was she.

She'd made hot cocoa for the two of us; the chocolatey smell filled the kitchen while the rain carried on hammering at the windowpanes.

Electra picked up a can of whipped cream, shook it, then poised the spout over my steaming cocoa. “Say when,” she instructed.

I let her continue to swirl the cream into the cup until she'd created a fat white mountain.

“When.”

She shook the can again, then put twice as much cream into her own cup. “I think I burned enough calories this afternoon to justify this.”

We sipped in silence for a while.

“Well,” she said at last, “I might as well start at the beginning.”

“That would be good,” I said, resting my elbows on the counter.

“I was a working superhero for many, many years. Like you, I received my powers on my twelfth birthday. I was known as Electra Girl.”

“Not Lightning Girl?” I interrupted, puzzled.

Electra laughed. “Anonymity, remember? Anonymity and poetic license, actually. I think Lightning Girl sounds much better! I had—well,
have
—the power to generate electrical currents, as well as to withstand high voltage—and to fly, of course. My uncle Illuminoe trained me. Once I was ready to undertake missions, I got in with a very elite Super crowd, let me tell you. We were the best of the best.”

“I think my grandpa Zack was part of that crowd,” I said, recalling the articles I'd read in his scrapbook. After all, how many superhero elites could there be? There weren't very many of us in the first place.

Electra nodded, and her eyes looked kind of dreamy. “Zip. He was a hero even among heroes. We went on a lot of missions together back then. We were a good team.”

Her voice had definitely gotten softer when she was talking about Zack. I was dying to ask her if she and Grandpa had ever been boyfriend and girlfriend before he met my grandma, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Thinking back to the times
I'd seen them interact in the dry cleaner's, and the day at the ice cream shop, though, I had my suspicions. And then there was the tension between her and my grandma—Gran acted exactly like someone would behave around her husband's old sweetheart. Whoa, this was turning out to be way more information about my family legacy than I had bargained for!