Happy Birthday Hero! Read online

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  FOR GRAMPY,

  WHO LOVED A GOOD ADVENTURE

  I didn't look up. I couldn't look up. I knew it was rude, but I was on the second-to-last frame of the last page.

  “Zoe …”

  Last frame. Seven words, tops. Lightning Girl's got Frostbite right where she wants him and—

  “Zoe Alexandra Richards!”

  I tore my eyes away from the page.“Yes, Mom?”

  My mother shook her head, but I knew she wasn't really angry. “I was asking you a question,” she said patiently. “Would you like some orange juice?”

  “Sure.” I held out my glass while she poured orange juice into it. “Sorry I wasn't paying attention. But Frostbite—he's Lightning Girl's big-time nemesis, a major villain—he was about three seconds away from complete and total world domination.

  See, he stole this super megaweapon from the Army of the World Republic, which he converted to a freeze ray. Actually, he didn't convert it. He kidnapped the chief scientist guy from the AWR headquarters and then held the point of a sharpened icicle to his throat and forced him to make the mechanical adjustments. I was right at the part where Frostbite had pointed the megaweapon directly at the orphanage where Lightning Girl grew up. He was threatening to ice-ify the orphanage if the World Republic didn't turn over control of the universe to him immediately. Lightning Girl was about to utilize the forces of wind and rain to create the ultimate storm cloud….”

  “Wow,” said Mom.“Sounds intense.”

  “It is.” I shrugged, tracing the rim of my juice glass with my finger.“But it's all in a day's work for Lightning Girl.”

  Boy, was that ever the truth. Lightning Girl was definitely no stranger to danger. Villains, monsters, natural disasters—she never backed down from a threat, and she always came out the winner. But as far as I was concerned, the thing that made her truly heroic was the fact that she never pretended she wasn't scared. In fact, in issue #72 she actually came right out and admitted to Agent Stanford of the Bureau of Absolute Secret Information and Covert Knowledge that supercriminals and tidal waves and acid-spitting mutant cobras made her nervous. Knowing that Lightning Girl got freaked out by stuff like that just made her seem even braver.

  Mom sat in the chair across from me.“So what else does Ms. Lightning do besides fight evildoers?”

  “She recycles.”

  “I didn't realize recycling was a superpower.”

  “It's not. It's an environmental responsibility. And she donates to Greenpeace, and she never, ever uses aerosol hair spray—bad for the ozone.”

  “And bad for someone who works with lightning,” Mom observed, sipping her coffee. “Highly flammable, that aerosol hair spray.”

  I nodded, giggling.“The point is Lightning Girl is a responsible superhero. She's totally socially conscious and passionate about what she believes in. Like you and me.”

  “And what exactly …,” came my father's cheerful voice from the kitchen doorway, “are my two favorite activists feeling passionate about today?” He stepped into the kitchen, pulling on his suit jacket. His badge was clipped to the breast pocket; the shiny metal caught a ray of sunlight and seemed to wink at me.

  “Oh, the usual,” said Mom, getting up and crossing the kitchen toward the fridge.“Animal rights,” she said, opening the refrigerator door.“Civil rights …”

  “And the most important right of all,” Dad said.“The right to eat dessert for breakfast!”

  Mom reached into the fridge and removed the biggest, most beautiful birthday cake I'd ever seen. It had bright green frosting and was covered with pink icing roses. I couldn't believe it. I'd been so absorbed in my comic book that I'd nearly forgotten what day it was.

  said Mom.

  “Thank you!” I grinned, suddenly feeling a whole 365 days older than the day before. “But could I take some for a recess snack instead? Then I can share it with Emily!”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” said Mom. She cut a couple of pieces and placed them in a plastic container.“There, now the roses won't get smushed on your way to school.”

  “Well, this is one gift you won't have to worry about smushing,” said Dad. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box wrapped in shiny silver paper with pink and green ribbons.

  “Happy birthday, Zoe!” he said, handing me the package.

  “Thanks!”

  My mother slipped into the seat beside me to watch me unwrap the gift. Her eyes sparkled as I tore open the wrapping. The box was a perfect square of navy blue velvet. I opened the hinged lid and gasped. Attached to a velvet-covered piece of cardboard were the most amazing earrings I'd ever seen—two little gold lightning bolts, each with a tiny diamond chip shimmering at the tip.

  “Oh, wow. Mom, Dad, these are so cool!”

  “Turn them over,” Mom suggested.

  I gently slid the cardboard out of the box and immediately understood the reason for the sparkle in her eyes.

  “They're for pierced ears!” I cried, and looked from one parent to the other, my eyes wide. “Does this mean you're actually going to let me get my ears pierced?”

  Dad nodded.“A whole year ahead of schedule.”

  “Thank you!” I jumped up from my seat and threw my arms around Mom, then hugged Dad. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  I couldn't believe it! I'd been begging to get my ears pierced since I was eight, but my parents had insisted I wait until I was thirteen. I was so desperate that I'd even organized a sit-in in the living room to protest the unfairness of the situation. My best friend, Emily Huang, sat with me, and even Howie Hunt, my next-door neighbor, came for a while (but I think that was only because he thought we'd be serving cookies). My mom had said she was impressed by my organizational skills and had praised my natural activist instincts, but she still hadn't budged on the age issue. So for four years I'd watched miserably as nearly all of my friends marched happily off to the mall to get two little holes punched into their earlobes, while I'd been forced to tough it out with clip-on or stick-on earrings, and even though Emily (who is quite possibly the most fashionable, style-conscious person in the world) swore to me that those were perfectly acceptable substitutes, I knew better.

  And now, miraculously, my parents had seen the light. I was finally going to be allowed to get my ears pierced.

  “When?” I asked eagerly.“Where?”

  “Today after school,” my mother replied, chuckling. “At the Piercing Post, in the mall.”

  I had to ask. “How come you're letting me get them done a year ahead of schedule? What changed your mind?”

  “Actually,” said Mom, getting up to pour some more coffee,“it was Grandpa Zack's idea.”

  “Grandpa Zack?” I blinked.“Get out!”

  My grandfather was the greatest, but I c
ouldn't imagine he'd care one way or the other about me getting my ears pierced.

  “It's true,” said Dad, accepting a steaming mug from Mom.

  “He convinced us that you deserved it. You know, as a reward for helping him in the store.”

  I had spent weekday mornings during both Christmas and February breaks behind the counter at my grandpa Zack's dry-cleaning store on Main Street. It never felt like a job because I really do like spending time with my grandfather; we have a way of making each other crack up over the silliest little things. I like meeting the other shop owners on the block—and the customers who come in panicking over salad-dressing stains on their best blouses or soup splatters on their favorite neckties. I had no idea what any of that could possibly have to do with getting my ears pierced, but I sure wasn't going to argue! I started to daydream about buying earrings.

  “I'll pick you up at school,” Mom was saying.

  My birthday celebration was cut short by the ringing of my father's cell phone. He flipped it open.

  “Detective Richards here. Good morning, Captain Walker.”

  Dad's eyes turned serious as he listened to his boss. I glanced at my mother. She was still smiling, but I could see the slight shadow of worry in her eyes. She's proud of my father and always supportive of his work, but that doesn't mean she doesn't worry a little (or a lot) every time he walks out the door to do his job. I understand perfectly; I worry about him, too. As well as being totally proud of my dad for being a police officer, of course.

  As a police detective, it's Dad's job to study crime scenes, track down clues, arrest suspects, and question, or interrogate, them until they confess. I know firsthand what a good interrogator Dad can be—whenever I go to a sleepover or the beach or pretty much anywhere, he asks me billions of questions about who'll be there and when I'll be home and stuff like that.

  It's pretty neat, the way our family works. It's Dad's sworn duty to serve and protect by seeing to it that the laws of the community are upheld. Mom, on the other hand, is a big-time activist. She's involved with every nonprofit organization in town and fights against all kinds of injustices, which, as she always tells me, occasionally means taking a stand against rules or ideas that are less than fair and need changing. Both my parents do what they can to make the world a safer, happier place—Dad does it by enforcing laws, Mom does it by challenging them. Of course, it would be a bit weird if my dad ever had to come and arrest my mom for chaining herself to a tree or something.

  “Second Avenue and Bailey Street,” Dad was saying into the phone. “Got it.” He checked his watch. “I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

  He snapped the phone shut and grinned at my mother and me.“Duty calls,” he said.

  He says that a lot.

  Then he ruffled my hair. “Better get moving, Birthday Girl,” he said,“or you'll be late for school.”

  “Okay.” I gathered up my books and my lunch bag and headed for the door. Mom threw me an apple for my breakfast, and somehow I managed to find a spare hand to grab it out of the air.

  Dad kissed my mother's cheek.

  “Be careful,” she said.

  She says that a lot.

  And as the kitchen door closed behind me, I decided I was glad she did.

  was waiting for me at the end of the driveway.

  As usual, she was dressed to perfection in a pink T-shirt and denim miniskirt, just right for the early fall weather.

  “Happy birthday!” she cried, giving me a hug. Then she handed me a purple envelope with my name written in bubble letters across the front.

  “Thanks.”

  I tore into the envelope and removed the card. For My Best Friend on Her Birthday, it read.

  “The card's kinda corny,” Emily admitted.“But look inside.”

  I opened the card. Inside was a gift certificate for my absolute favorite store on Earth—Connie's Cosmic Comic Shop.

  “Excellent!” I particularly appreciated it because Connie's store was most definitely not Emily's favorite place to shop.

  “I knew you'd like it!” Emily took a step back and examined me carefully.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You are so twelve!” she announced, tossing her silky hair.

  “You're totally mature. You know, I think I can actually see the maturity in your eyes.”

  “Well, after today, you're going to see it in my ears, too.

  ” Emily gave me a puzzled look that made me laugh.

  “I'm getting my ears pierced!” I explained.

  Emily's mouth dropped open.“Shut up!”

  “Seriously! My mom and dad just told me. They even bought me pierced earrings, so I guess it's official.”

  “What happened to waiting until you turned thirteen?” she asked as we started walking toward school.

  “They changed their minds,” I explained. “My grandpa Zack talked them into it.”

  Emily grinned.“He's pretty cool, for an old guy.”

  I nodded, then listened as Emily told me about this pair of superfunky boots she'd seen in Miz Thing magazine.

  “I asked my mom if I could buy them, but when she saw the price, she absolutely freaked!” Emily sighed; the fringy edges of her bobbed hair fluttered against her chin.

  “When I'm R and F, I'll be able to buy everything I want! And whatever you want, too.”

  R&F was Emily's abbreviation for “rich and famous.” She used the phrase so often that it needed an abbreviation. She'd been using it ever since we'd met in first grade. Emily's plan is to grow up to be rich and famous, and I've never doubted for one second that it will happen one day. Emily is smart and outgoing, not to mention gorgeous. She's got shiny coal-black hair that's cut in a sleek bob to show off her dark eyes, and amazing bone structure. She's tiny on the outside, but she packs a lot of personality.

  “Lightning Girl has glow-in-the-dark boots,” I informed her. She smiled.“Bet they cost a fortune!”

  I don't know half as much about fashion as Emily does, and she's not all that into comic books. You'd think that would be a bummer between best buddies, but Emily and I simply combine our two interests to create a common one: Lightning Girl's extensive (and unexpected) wardrobe.

  “Actually,” I explained, “they were just ordinary boots until she got kidnapped by Dementizor …”

  “Dementizor? Which one is he again?”

  “He's a second-tier supervillain. Not as strong as Frostbite but way more dangerous than the Bloodboiler.”

  “Oh, that Dementizor.”

  “Dementizor kidnapped Lightning Girl and put her in his dungeon, which was protected by a nuclear-powered force field. She managed to escape, of course, and defeat Dementizor—”

  “And,” Emily interrupted, beaming, “she came out of it with fashionably radioactive footwear on top of it!”

  Emily gave me a pretend-serious look.“Of course, it would be a complete fashion disaster for a girl to wear glow-in-the-dark boots before Labor Day. And she'd have to have a matching purse.”

  We arrived at Sweetbriar Middle School and headed up the walkway toward the front entrance.

  Emily elbowed me and nodded toward Megan Talbot, one of the most popular eighth-grade girls. Megan was flirting with Dan Keller, one of the most popular eighth-grade boys. I could appreciate the symmetry in that. That sort of thing was definitely one of the differences between elementary school and junior high. Flirting was practically a competitive sport, and the popular kids were at national-league level.

  Megan tore her attention away from Dan long enough to nod hello to Emily and me. I returned the greeting by giving Megan a quick smile, being sure to keep a casual air. Inside, though, I was turning somersaults. An acknowledgment from one of the eighth-grade in crowd! This was big.

  Emily sensed it, too.“She wouldn't have bothered to nod to us if she didn't think we were cool,” she whispered to me.

  I motioned toward the school steps. “Speaking of cool … there's Josh.”

  Em
ily gave a little snort of laughter. “Try not to melt,” she advised.

  That wasn't going to be easy. This was Josh Devlin we were talking about. Joshua Everett Chandler Devlin. Green eyes, silky brown hair. Surfer. Soccer star. Math genius. And if that wasn't enough to bring him onto my radar, in third grade he circulated a petition to keep five hundred acres of rain forest from being destroyed. That was pretty much when I started doodling his name in the margins of all my notebooks.

  I'd only meant to allow myself a quick glance to admire Josh's adorableness, but I guess I wasn't quick enough. He saw me looking at him and, to my shock, he actually waved. Or maybe he was swatting at a mosquito. Or shading his eyes from the sun. Maybe it was a muscle spasm.

  “Did you see that?” I asked Emily.

  “I totally saw that,” said Emily, smiling from ear to ear. “Josh Devlin just waved at you!” She gave me a high five.

  “Excuse me?” came a pleasant voice from behind us.

  I turned and came face to face with a girl I'd never seen before. She was a little taller than Emily but not quite as tall as me. Her pale blond hair was stylishly cut—medium length and shaggy at the bottom. She had green eyes and perfect teeth, the kind you'd see in a toothpaste commercial. She was carrying a bulging paper bag that smelled delicious.

  The girl gave me and Emily a big smile.“I'm Caitlin Abbott,” she said, extending her hand to shake.“I'm new here. Today's my first day. I'm in 6D.”

  “Hey, so are we!” I grinned back and we shook hands.

  If Caitlin was aware that Emily was studying her outfit—an expensive-looking linen peasant top and a denim skirt with a frayed hemline—she didn't show it. Instead, she motioned over her shoulder toward the street.“I've just come to Sweetbriar to live with my aunt Nina. That's her over there.”

  I glanced where Caitlin had pointed and saw a glamorous-looking woman standing beside a sleek little sports car. I tried to imagine my mom in a pair of leather pants like the ones Caitlin's aunt was wearing. Not in a million years!

  “Have a stress-free and soul-soothing day, Caitlin,” Nina called, blowing a kiss to her niece. Then she smiled at me; our eyes locked and I felt a strange shiver race down my spine. Before I could figure out what was spooking me, Aunt Nina slipped gracefully into the sports car and zoomed off.