around him, and pulled him in for a real kiss. It was so unlike me! But it felt so good. We left shortly after that, my canvas mostly blank. But I definitely have inspiration for what to paint next.
Love,
Bridgette
STEPPING ONTO MICHIGAN AVE, I feel like I just woke up from a dream. A blue-lit, emotionally charged dreamscape where I not only walked through scenes from my imagination but saw my idol with my very own eyes. Was it real? Is it true? Did I actually just tour Warrior Nation HQ and see Blue Streak walk away, possibly forever? I reach into my pocket, where my plastic security badge remains as a touchstone of my new reality.
Holy shit. My whole world has changed.
I didn’t say much as Teddy packed me into the elevator that took me up to Water Tower Place, an eight-story mall so packed with shoppers dazzled by designers, no one has time to notice what anyone else is doing. Back in cell range, my phone starts blowing up with a stream of texts from both Mom and Demi.
So did you find it or are you dead from heat stroke
I’ve been talking to dogs for the past several hours. Need human interaction.
HELLO?!?
How’s it going sweetie?
I believe in you!
When you’re done saving the world, can you please pick up a pizza or something for dinner? Love you!
My fingers fly, typing out long and detailed replies to them both, but before my thumb hits send, I pause, realizing that even though I just lived the most singularly perfect day of my life, I can’t tell either of them what I saw. No names, no details—the only thing I can share is that I do have an internship at Warrior Nation, but nothing beyond that fact.
Crap. How am I going to live like this?
It’s nearly five p.m., meaning Mom will be leaving work soon. I order some Lou Malnati’s deep dish and hop on the Brown Line back up to our Lincoln Square neighborhood, savoring the day’s events as the L car sways. I keep playing Blue Streak’s wink over and over in my head, a slo-mo reel of the coolest thing that has ever happened to me. I wish I could have had the guts to say something—to thank him for my life—but hopefully he sensed my eternal gratitude through my head-to-toe quivering of glee. I pull out my grail diary, finally free to capture all the details. Even if I can’t tell Mom and Demi, I can pour my guts out here. Maybe writing it all down first will keep me from saying something I shouldn’t later. My pen can’t write fast enough…until I turn to a fresh page for Joy.
Hmph.
Every hero in Warrior history has their own section in my diary, detailing their power, catchphrase, weaknesses, and most notable highlights. But it doesn’t feel right to immortalize Joy’s name in ink. Not yet, anyway. Untrained and inexperienced, she’s not like any other hero I’ve known. I mean, does she even have a hero identity? Besides her super strength, I don’t know anything about her, except that she has impossibly large shoes to fill. It’s been several years since Chicago had a new hero, and now they’re swapping out a seasoned fifty-five-year-old man for a hot teenage girl? I shake my head. The WarNats are going to eat her alive.
Off the train and walking up my street, I spot a herd of dogs ahead, tangling their leashes into a giant knot. Oh, poor Demi. She usually does her last walk of the day in our neighborhood so that she can flop on her couch as soon as she’s done. Even from several houses away, I can tell the dogs are leading her, not the other way around. I sprint ahead to give her a hand, but the second I grab a leash, she spins around, full of fury.
“Hey! Hands off!” she yelps, karate-chopping my arm before realizing it’s attached to me. “Oh, Claire! Jesus! I’m sorry, I thought you were a dognapper.”
“Ow,” I moan, rubbing my forearm. That self-defense class we took together really made an impact, literally. “Are there such things as dognappers?”
“I don’t know. It’s a sick world, so probably.” Demi bends down to pacify a particularly feisty poodle. “So? Did you find it or what?”
I flash all my pearly whites. “I did it—I’m in!”
“No way!” she exclaims, her excitement riling up the dogs. “Where was the entrance?!”
“It was—” I stop myself, remembering the NDA I signed. I