something that probably wouldn’t be appreciated.
Dad kept the pills locked up in the safe in his room. It wasn’t because he didn’t trust Nick, he’d told him, but he knew the dangers of peer pressure, and he didn’t want Nick to get caught up in the world of drugs and dealing them under the bleachers on the football field.
“Thank you for not letting me become a drug dealer,” Nick had said. “I felt the pull toward a life of crime, but you saved me.”
Nick picked up the pill now, Dad turning to watch him with an eyebrow arched, and he swallowed it, chasing it down with a sip of orange juice. Gross. He’d just brushed his teeth, and now he had a mouthful of the plague. He grimaced as he stuck out his tongue, raising it up and down, showing that he’d swallowed the pill.
Dad turned back toward the stove and the growing stack of French toast.
An old TV sat on the counter near the fridge, turned to the news as usual. Nick was about to ignore it until the perfectly coifed anchor announced they were going live to Rebecca Firestone, now on the scene.
Nick’s attention snapped to the screen as he grabbed the remote off the table and turned up the volume.
Nothing else mattered. Not the bitter aftertaste of the pill. Not the fact that his father seemed to be making enough French toast to feed a family of thirty-four. Not the fact that Nick was pretty sure he’d forgotten to put on deodorant after his shower. No. All that mattered was Rebecca Firestone. Because if Rebecca Firestone was on, that meant one thing.
Shadow Star.
There she was, makeup expertly applied over glowing white skin, brown hair cut pixie-short, eyes wide and teeth Hollywood white as she smiled at the camera. In the background, police cruisers lined the sidewalks, lights flashing. “Thank you, Steve. I’m standing here on the corner of Forty-Eighth and Lincoln in front of the Burke Tower, where last night, a brazen attempt at a break-in occurred.” The screen cut away, showing the gratuitous skyscraper rising high above Nova City. “Sources tell me that a group of armed militants attempted to parachute onto the roof of Burke Tower. Though their intentions remain unclear at this point, their plans were immediately vanquished upon landing when they were met by Nova City’s own Extraordinary, Shadow Star.”
“Immediately vanquished,” Nick muttered, making a face. “Because that rolls right off the tongue. Get an editor, Firestone. You’re an embarrassment to your profession.”
The screen returned to Rebecca Firestone. She was smiling widely, her cheeks flushed. “I was able to speak with Shadow Star off camera earlier this morning, and he told me that while the militants were prepared, they didn’t get much farther than attempting to gain access through the ventilation system. All seven were incapacitated in a matter of moments and have since been handed off to Nova City’s finest. No civilians were injured.”
Nick absolutely did not swoon. And if he did, it had nothing to do with Rebecca Firestone. She was the gnarled barnacle attached to the wonder that was Shadow Star. Most everyone thought there’d been something between them at one point. And even though Nick knew Rebecca Firestone was nothing but a nosy jerk who lived to play the role of a professional damsel in distress, Shadow Star was always there to rescue her, no matter what she did to get herself in trouble.
Nick was not a fan of the self-proclaimed intrepid reporter. She was obviously using Shadow Star to make a name for herself in the cutthroat world of reporting on Extraordinaries. Maybe Shadow Star tended to give her exclusives he never gave anyone else, and maybe there’d been that one picture where he’d saved her from a burning building, Rebecca clutched in his buff arms, her face in his neck. And yes, Nick had printed that photo and used it as a target for the dartboard in his room, but he wasn’t jealous. He was just a firm believer in journalistic ethics.
“With me now, is Nova City’s Chief of Police, Rodney Caplan.”
The camera panned left, and a large Black man stood next to Rebecca Firestone, sweating profusely, his caterpillar mustache wilted. His uniform was straining at the stomach, and he reached up to wipe his brow before attempting a smile that came off as a grimace.
“Cap looks like he could use a vacation,” Nick said without looking away from the TV.
“We all do, kid,” Dad said. “Maybe