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  IT'S sort of funny how, when your life is going along at ordinary speed, you can't help wondering when something exciting will come your way. Then, without warning, things start happening, and suddenly you're expected to be doing a thousand different things at once when all you really want to do is sit back and catch your breath.

  I was thinking about that on Wednesday morning as Mr. Diaz marched the entire sixth grade to the auditorium for an assembly. All he would say was that he and the other sixth-grade teachers were going to tell us about a fascinating project that would begin the following week.

  Personally, I've had more than my share of fascinating experiences lately, like finding out that I'm a natural-born superhero. It was pretty crazy at first, learning that I had powers and how to use them. Then there was the excitement of getting my very first supersuit, and taking the Superhero, First Grade test, which I passed with flying colors. (Literally! Amazing bursts of color actually flew out of the letter from the Federation telling me I'd passed.) The good news about that was that I didn't have to study anymore. The not-so-good news was that as a follow-up to the test, the Superhero Federation had given me a writing assignment: I had to do a report on my own heroic ancestry, researching my family's background and summarizing their experiences. Because it turns out I'm not the first superhero in my family; oh, no—in fact, there have been a bunch. It skips some generations, but both my grandpa Zack and his grandma Zelda were Supers too. That's a lot of superheroism for one family tree!

  “I wonder what the surprise project is,” said my best friend, Emily, as we waited in the hall with the rest of our class. She was standing near the tall windows that lined the corridor outside the auditorium. The day was bright and the sun made her black hair gleam.

  “Me too,” I said, glancing past Emily to admire the blazing blue of the sky. I couldn't help wishing I were outside, enjoying the sunshine. I imagined myself climbing to the top of the tallest tree on the playground (an easy trick for a kid with superpowers) and then jumping from the highest branch, out and over the school, over the parking lot.… It would be almost like flying!

  Of course, I couldn't do this for two reasons. One: I'm supposed to keep my powers a secret. And two: flying wasn't one of my superpowers at the moment—but my grandpa Zack said it was one of the skills that often didn't develop until later on, so I was still hoping.

  I felt someone nudge me in the back.

  “Line's moving,” said Howie.

  I pulled myself out of my superdaydream and followed Emily and the others into the auditorium. The giant room was buzzing with chatter; everyone was trying to guess what the teachers were going to announce. Over the din I heard someone call my name.

  “Zoe, over here!”

  Josh Devlin was in the front row, waving to me. I could see that he'd saved some seats. I've had a crush on Josh for a long time, and lately, we've been hanging out more, so now Emily's convinced that he likes me, too. I nudged Emily and led her down the aisle; Howie came along.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the seat next to Josh just as Mr. Diaz stepped onto the stage. He held up his hands and the roar of chattering sixth graders faded to silence.

  “I'm happy to announce,” he said in his booming voice, “that beginning next week, all the sixth graders from Sweetbriar Middle School will be taking part in a work-study apprentice venture.”

  Curious whispers rolled through the auditorium. I pricked up my ears—this sounded way more interesting than our regular school timetable.

  “The object of this program,” Mr. Diaz explained, “is to have you think about the sort of career you'd like to pursue in the future, then give you the opportunity to try it in the present.”

  Ethan Danvers, who liked to think of himself as the class cutup, shot his hand into the air.

  Mr. Diaz nodded at him. “Yes, Ethan?”

  “Do we get paid?” Ethan asked.

  There was a ripple of hopeful excitement. I looked at Emily; I could almost see her mind working, coming up with fashionable ways to spend her first paycheck.

  “Sorry,” said Mr. Diaz. “These will be strictly nonpaying jobs. This project is about observing, learning, practicing. These professionals will be taking you on as—”

  “—apprentices,” I blurted out loudly, before I could stop myself.

  Mr. Diaz (and everyone else in the auditorium) turned to me. The teacher's eyes twinkled. “That's exactly right, Zoe.”

  So I was about to become an apprentice … again! Sixth grade was shaping up to be my best year yet!

  “Here is how the schedule will go,” said Mr. Diaz. “The project will take place over a two-week period. During those two weeks, you will report to school in the morning and attend regular classes until lunchtime. At lunchtime, you will be dismissed to go off to your apprenticeships, where you will spend the afternoon.”

  Allison Newkirk raised her hand. “I have saxophone lessons on Thursdays at three o'clock.”

  Some other kids chimed in, citing hockey practice, dance classes, and Computer Club meetings.

  “Not a problem,” Mr. Diaz assured the class. “You will be dismissed by your mentors at three o'clock, just as if you were at school. You won't have to miss any of your after-school activities.”

  Allison Newkirk looked relieved. I guess she must really love her sax lessons.

  “You'll return to your homerooms at the end of school today,” Mr. Diaz told us. “You will be given a packet of forms to fill out, and you'll have to describe the job you'd like to have. This will be an exciting chance for you to join the professional workforce and find out what we adults get up to all day!”

  As we made our way out of the auditorium, everyone was talking about the jobs they wanted. Emily, Howie, Josh, and I had study hall, so we headed for the library.

  “I want to work as a fashion editor,” Emily gushed, beaming. “And Go, Girl! magazine is published right here in Sweetbriar. I bet I could be an apprentice journalist.”

  “I hear they're looking for research assistants at the zoo,” Josh said. “I'm gonna ask to be placed there. As an assistant to an assistant.”

  I thought that would be a great job for Josh, since he was into animal rights. And I was pretty sure he'd look really cute in green coveralls.

  “I'd like to work with the police department,” Howie said.

  “Cool,” said Josh, but I thought he sounded a little surprised by Howie's choice. I was definitely surprised. Howie had never seemed like the crime-fighting type to me, but then, I guess, neither had I … until I became a member of the Superhero Federation. So far I'd only caught a purse snatcher and helped bring an environmental bad guy to justice, but I nev
er knew when I might be required to battle powerful villains set on destroying the world!

  And now, along with my villain-battling responsibilities, chores at home, Super ancestry essay, and regular schoolwork, I was about to take on a part-time job.

  WHEW!

  So much for sitting back and catching my breath.

  Emily, Howie, Josh, and I went directly to our favorite corner of the library. It's a broad alcove lined with windows, and it's far enough away from the circulation desk that Mrs. Cole, the librarian, can't hear us talking. Just as we were settling into our chairs around the wide rectangular table, Caitlin joined us. She flashed a glowing smile around the group.

  “Hi, everybody,” she said. “Is there room for me?”

  Howie pointed to the empty chair across from him, and Caitlin slid into it.

  Josh had already opened his binder and was scowling at an English worksheet. “Can someone please explain the present perfect tense to me?”

  I'm great in English, but Caitlin piped up that she was an expert at verb tenses, and before I could say a word, she had scooted her chair over to help Josh.

  “It's bad to have dangling participles,” she said, pushing her hair back to reveal a pair of chandelier-style earrings. “Dangling jewelry, on the other hand, is always cool.”

  Without looking up, I rolled my eyes. Subtle? I don't think so.

  Across the library I could see Suzanne Holbrook, an eighth grader and president of the Future Librarians Club, reshelving books in the reference section. She looked very serious as she guided the rolling cart along the narrow aisle between two tall, freestanding stacks. The cart was loaded with books; Suzanne plucked a thick volume about the Civil War from it and scanned the spines of the shelved books to figure out where it went. That reminded me …

  “Be right back,” I said. “I need to find a book about Ulysses S. Grant for my history report.”

  I got up from the table and headed toward reference, where I could see Suzanne reaching up to return a book to its place on the top shelf. Even standing on her tip-toes and stretching as far as she could, she was still a good six inches shy of the shelf.

  It was as if I felt the trouble coming before it started to happen. I wasn't sure exactly what I was expecting, but there was something about the way my whole body began to tingle that told me I needed to be ready.

  Suzanne was giving herself a knee up onto the top of the cart. She hesitated, getting her balance, then stood up.

  The cart shimmied, then started to roll.

  Well, duh! What did she think was going to happen? It was a rolling cart, after all.

  The cart rolled out from under Suzanne, and her arms flailed desperately. Conscientious future librarian that she was, she didn't break the silence by shouting for help. Instead, she reached out to grab the freestanding bookshelf.

  The shelf wobbled, and some books slid forward toward the edge. That was my cue. But first I needed to make sure no one was watching.

  In superspeed mode, I glanced over my shoulder and saw that my friends were all looking out the window at the seventh graders having outdoor gym. Then I checked to see if the librarian was paying attention. Nope—she was stamping overdue slips. The coast was clear.

  ZIP!

  When I reached the reference section, I grabbed the falling shelf from behind and stood it securely upright, then stepped around to the front to catch Suzanne before she hit the floor. I was a blur, so she had no idea I was even there, and in less than a split second, I was back at my seat in the alcove, just as my friends were turning away from the window.

  Caitlin looked at me. “Where's the book?”

  “Huh?”

  “On Ulysses what's-his-name.”

  In the excitement of saving Suzanne, I'd forgotten to grab a reference book. I shrugged. “I couldn't find one,” I said.

  Then Josh said he was going to work on his history assignment instead of his English prep, which meant Caitlin wouldn't be giggling over him anymore. That was fine with me.

  When everyone was involved in homework, I glanced over to the reference section. Suzanne Holbrook had gone back to shelving books. She had a weird look on her face, but I was pretty sure she wasn't going to mention her near accident to anybody. After all, the president of the future librarian squad certainly should have known better than to climb on a rolling book cart.

  When the bell rang, we gathered our stuff and made our way out of the library.

  “Zoe,” Josh said as we filed through the periodicals section, “you never told us what kind of job you want.”

  “Hmm,” I said, frowning. “I guess I didn't.” The fact of the matter was that I had no idea what kind of job I could fit into my already crazy schedule. And since the project was about exploring future careers, I didn't see that there was much urgency for me. After all, I already know what I'm going to be—er, what I already am: a superhero.

  We reached the corridor and headed off to our separate classes. By the time I took my seat in history class, I'd made a short list of apprenticeship options I'd like to try: astronaut, movie director, archaeologist. Of course, I had a feeling Mr. Diaz would have a tough time lining up mentors in those fields here in Sweetbriar. But then again, I supposed anything was possible.

  And of course, there was always Speedy Cleaners, where, with Grandpa Zack's help, I'd be able to do my part to save the world.

  I was pretty certain Mr. Diaz had never imagined that being part of the work-study project. Would he give me extra credit for it?

  Probably … if only I could tell him about it.

  AFTER school I stopped by the dry-cleaning store to visit my grandfather.

  “Hi, Grandpa.”

  He looked up from the cash register, where he was counting dollar bills. “Zoe, I'm glad you stopped by. There are some things we need to discuss.”

  Grandpa closed the register drawer and gave me a serious look. “I hope you've made some progress on your report for the Superhero Federation.”

  The fact of the matter was that I hadn't even started yet, but I didn't feel like talking about it, so I tried to change the subject.

  “Don't worry, Grandpa, it's all under control. Hey, guess what? There's this cool project starting at school next week. It's a work-study thing. Every kid in the sixth grade is going to choose a job and then team up with a mentor.”

  Grandpa's eyes twinkled. “Sounds familiar.”

  “Yeah.” I leaned my elbows on the counter and rested my chin in my hands. “I tried to think of a job I could do that wouldn't interfere with my superhero responsibilities. But if I have to take off every time there's an avalanche or a bank robbery I think my boss is going to get pretty suspicious, ya know?”

  “True,” said Grandpa. “That's why most superheroes are self-employed.”

  “I know my Super stuff comes first. Still, I wouldn't mind trying out a really cool apprenticeship—regular, non-Super, but still cool. Like maybe a deep-sea diver, or a performance artist.”

  “Sweetbriar isn't near the sea,” Grandpa reminded me.

  “I know. And I'm not particularly artistic, either. So, got any ideas? But remember, it has to be something that won't keep me from Super training and heroic missions. Something with flexible hours.”

  “Uh, Zoe …”

  I looked up at Grandpa. “Yeah?”

  He sighed. “I'm going to be away. There's a weeklong superhero training seminar for Fifth Grade graduates. I've been asked to give a lecture on honing the power of superspeed. Gran's coming along. Those of us who are presenting are able to bring our spouses. She's looking forward to it. She hasn't seen Smokescreen's wife, Matilda, in ages. And she can't wait to see the photos of Laser Boy's new grandbaby.”

  “Smokescreen?” I echoed. “Laser Boy?”

  Grandpa laughed. “He's almost sixty. I guess it's probably time for him to drop the Boy, huh? Anyway, his wife, Lucy, promised Gran she'd bring a whole album of baby pictures. And after the seminar, Smoke, LB, and I are
taking the girls on an island cruise.”

  A prickle of worry began in my stomach. “How long is this trip, exactly?” I asked.

  “Two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?” What was I going to do? Would I be able to handle my Super responsibilities without Grandpa Zack here to guide me?

  “Yep. Two weeks.” Grandpa clapped his hands together and hurried on. “Now, about that heroic ancestry assignment …”

  “Wait a minute!” I said. “You're telling me I'm going to be on my own for two weeks? But what if … I mean, what happens when …”

  Before I could manage a complete sentence, the door opened and in came Howie. His grandpa Gil, who owned the florist shop next door, was right behind him.

  “Guess what, Zoe, Mr. Richards!” Howie's eyes were shining with excitement. “I'm going to be working for the SPD.”

  “Hear that, Zack?” Gil demanded smugly. “My grandkid's signed on with the Sweetbriar Police Department. He's going to be a real, honest-to-goodness crime fighter!”

  “You sure found out quickly,” I said.

  “We Hunts have connections,” boasted Gil.

  “Actually,” said Howie, “it was just a lucky coincidence. Mr. Diaz's wife plays tennis with Police Chief McCue's wife, so they know one another pretty well. Mr. Diaz called him on the spot.”

  “Congratulations, lad,” said Grandpa Zack, reaching out to shake Howie's hand.

  “Thank you,” said Howie. “I asked Chief McCue if Detective Richards could be my mentor.”

  “The kid's going to be a natural crime fighter,” Mr. Hunt said, glaring at me. “He can't wait to get out there and pound those bad guys into the dust!”

  I seriously doubted that my father (or any good police officer) would intentionally allow Howie (or any kid) to get within miles of a bad guy. I hoped Mr. Hunt wouldn't be too disappointed when he found out that Howie would probably be doing things like answering nonemergency phone calls and pulling rap sheets.

  “Guess what else,” said Howie, who looked as if all his grandfather's bragging was beginning to embarrass him. “Grandpa is going to be a mentor, too.”