By the time I finally get home, mom’s already hauled most of my suitcases into the back of her car, and I find her in the process of scratching the back of her head, trying to figure out how she’s supposed to fit five cardboard boxes full of comics and old superhero gear into the back seats. I land beside her, burger already finished and slushie melting in my hands, suck from the straw, and pat her shoulder. It’s a mess. When I said she’s managed to fit almost everything inside the car, I literally mean she’s forced them to fit inside the car. My suitcase is bent and half of my duffel bags are pressed so tightly I’m surprised she even managed to get them inside. She might be this year’s front runner for Cape of the Year, but man, she kinda sucks with the regular human stuff. Well, it’s not like I’m any better.

  I doubt either of us cares all that much about fitting in with these guys, because why would you want to?

  You don’t see humans swinging from branches, returning to the apes they evolved from.

  “How’re we gonna get any of this stuff out of the car if you squished it all together like that?” I ask.

  Mom takes the slushie from me, takes a sip, and says, “I heard Pantheon U has Teleporters on stand by that’ll help most kids with their stuff, so that’s their problem.” I’m about to ask why she can’t call one of her own Teleporter friends to literally do the same thing for us, but she speaks first. Quietly, though. Guarded because the neighbors are passively watching, like they always do. Pretending to water their plants. Drinking tea almost in the middle of the day as they sit on their porches. Even dogs slowly pad past our house, sniff our lawn, tilt their heads, and keep it moving when mom and I both shoot the mutts a look. Yeah, we smell weird. Aliens tend to do that. “So,” mom says under her breath, forcing the trunk shut. “How’d it go at the bank? Saw you hit all your markers.”

  I shrug one shoulder and follow her up the porch. “Pretty routine stuff by now. Sweep up the goons, give the police what they wanna hear, then I got inside the bank and all of the civilians were really, really scared of this shadow-powers guy.” Mom and I stop in the foyer after I shut the door. She raises an eyebrow. “I know!” I say, pulling off my costume’s top, sweat slick on my arms and back. “Can you believe it? They were afraid of shadow-man, the fiftieth supervillain in this city who can control darkness. He tried to trick me into fighting some security guard he could control, but I smacked him into a police car, and then burned him to ash in Old-Port.”

  I grunt as I sit on the couch, pull off my boots and wriggle my slushie-soaked feet. Gross.

  Mom leans against the couch and says, “Did you check for cameras?”

  “Yep,” I say, peeling my socks off my feet. “Besides, who cares if shadow-guy number seven dies?”

  “The humans care a lot, Sams,” she says. “You know how it is with these people.”

  I snort. “So? He almost killed a bunch of civilians, but I’m in the wrong if I take him out.”

  “They’re sentimental creatures,” mom says with a shrug. “And you better not put those socks on the carpet, missy, unless you wanna spend the next hour and a half scrubbing the stain you’re gonna leave out of the floor.”

  I hover off the couch, socks over my shoulder and boots in my arms. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll go shower.”

  “Samantha?” I pause on the stairs and look over my shoulder. She’s got her arms spread, a grin on her face and…are those…are those tears in her eyes? She sniffles a little, then says, “Come over here and give mama a hug.”

  I blink, look around, then say, “A hug? Are you, like, dying or something?”

  “Just come here and give me a hug.”

  “You’re being really weird right now.”

  She drops her arms and rests her hands on her hips. “My little girl is going off into the world on her own, and I know I just said that humans are sentimental, but…look at you. You’re all grown up!” She uses her thumb to wipe a tear off her cheek. “Come here, let me tell you a story.” I already don’t like where this is going, because mom has an emotional side that’s always kinda freaked me out, like this one time when I found her bawling her eyes out at three in the morning because she found out Alejandro, the main character in some superhero soap opera she loves watching, chose the wrong woman. Keep in mind that this woman literally punched a hole through a Kaiju’s chest that day, the largest one on record in the past three years. And what did she do after she made sure to carry the Kaiju’s body into the sun, then land outside of Ultra Force HQ to a horde of reporters? She shrugged, smiled, and told them it’s just another sunny day in Liberty City. So, slowly, I sit on the edge of the couch, and she sits beside me, grabbing a hefty yellow photo album off the shelf and flipping it open. I try not to groan as she pulls out the first ever picture she’d taken of me once we’d gotten to Earth. I was three, thin, gnawing on a large red lollipop upside down in mid-air, getting my own saliva all over my face as soapy water trickled off my body. “Look how cute you were,” she says, then pinches my cheek. “You used to have the most adorable little fingers. You’d grab anything you could and hold on tight. You almost pulled my hair out once because you didn’t wanna go bath.”

  “Mom,” I groan. “Come on, I’ve gotta go shower and then we’ve gotta go for Freshman Day.”

  “And look at this one,” she says excitedly, pulling out another of me in middle school in a stupid play about the first Cape War here on Earth. I had played Liberty, and mom had spent the entire night getting shushed by other parents because she kept clapping every time I got on stage. “You’ve always been so confident. I was so proud that night. Remember what Mrs. James said about you that day? That you should be an actress when you’re older?”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  “I was ten, mom. She said that about everyone that day.”

  “Oh, and this one,” she says, pulling out yet another, this time with me in my very first costume, standing awkwardly in the living room. Shorts. Knobby knees. Elbow pads and a bright yellow cape. I’d lost both my front teeth at that time, so my grin was wide enough to almost see inside my throat as I jutted out my chin and kept my fists planted to my hips. “I know your costume now is what you like, but I was always a fan of this one a lot more.”

  “I looked like such a dork,” I mutter. “I can’t believe you let me be your sidekick wearing that.”

  “It was cute!”

  “I look stupid!”

  Mom ruffles my hair and says, “No daughter of mine looks stupid. Besides, just look at that smile on your face. The little girl in the picture didn’t seem to think it was stupid, and in case I’m wrong, you still have this suit.”

  I push my fingers through my hair. “That’s because you didn’t let me throw it away.”

  “You don’t throw away things that mean something to you, even if they don’t anymore,” she says softly, nudging me in the ribs. “You might feel all grown up right now, but life is just getting started, Sams. And now that you’ll be living on your own a lot of the time, you’re gonna have to make smart decisions. But if you ever feel confused, or the world feels too much, then you know where home is, and you also know where I’ll always be.”

  I sink into the couch and fold my arms. “You’re acting like I’m never gonna come back.”

  “That’s…a chance, kiddo,” she says, squeezing my knee. “Back home on Utopia, children would live with their parents until they chose to leave. Sometimes they wouldn’t. That’s how a lot of colonies on our moons started, and then villages grew into towns, and towns into cities, and…” I watch the emotion slowly build on her face. She takes a moment to swallow, nod a little, as memories flick past her eyes. Then she smiles at me and pinches my nose, just like she used to do when I was little, except I freaking hate it now. “Human kids go off and live on their own the first chance they get, and sometimes they never come back home. All they do is call their parents sometimes, maybe see them once in a while, but it’s never the same, like we’re just…people who used to know one another. I know I’m gonna have to let you spread your wings, like they always say on their TV shows, but…we’ve got to stick together, Sam. The people out there, all of the people you’re gonna meet this year, they’re not your friends. These people did terrible things to our home. Horrible, horrible things to our people. And in four years time, when you get drafted into Ultra Force, or maybe some other hero team, I want you to be better than them. Be so fucking good that they’re afraid of just how much you’re not even showing them you can do. Be the embodiment of good. Hard-nosed good.” Mom stood up and shut the photo album. “Humans don’t know what that word means, they just like how it sounds. They’re gonna try and change your understanding of what good means, so if you ever get confused, come back home, and I’ll show you just how much good they did when they tore Utopia apart. Am I clear on everything?”

  I swallow, the back of my throat suddenly dry. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “Understood.”

  Mom smiles. “Great. Now go and get ready. I wanna take a picture of you on your first day in college.” With that, she slides the photo album back onto the shelf, and goes to make herself some coffee. I watch her quietly hum a song under her breath as she fills the kettle and grabs her favorite mug, Mom pauses, then looks over her shoulder at me, then raises her eyebrow. “What’s the matter?” she asks, turning around. “Having second thoughts?”

  I drum my fingers against the bannister, then ask her, “What do I do if I don’t like it there.”

  Mom leans on the kitchen counter and sucks air through her teeth. “There’s always Liberty State.”

  I scratch the back of my neck. “I mean, what if I don’t like it…anywhere.”

  “Unfortunately, Sams,” she says, as the kettle begins rattling. “Junior Capes can’t just walk onto Major Hero Teams. You can try getting into Minor Teams, but we’re aiming for the stars, right? It’s only four years, too.” Mom turns around and flicks the kettle off, then pours herself a mug of coffee. “In the grand scheme of things, that’s a couple of weeks for us two. By the time you’re my age, I’d be surprised if Liberty City isn’t a distant memory in most humans’ minds. The kids you’ll sit next to in class will all be dead, or on their death beds. The teachers you’re gonna argue with, hate and love, are all gonna be names on gravestones, and at the end of the day, you’ve just gotta do your best, right? Besides,” she says, turning around to look at me, “if you flunk out of college, the humans win.”

  I nod slowly. “Right. And the last freaking thing I want is to let them do that.”

  Mom winks. “Atta girl. And throw your costume into the washing machine, too. It reeks.”

  “But what if I need it in school?”

  “Then I’ll just come over and bring it to you, honey.”

  “That sounds like an excuse just to come and see me.”

  “Is that a crime?”

  “What happened to letting me spread my wings?”

  Mom sips her coffee, purses her lips, and says, “Clock is ticking, missy.”

  I shake my head and climb the stairs, leaving mom staring at the baby photos she never put back. If you ever want to know what it’s like living with the world’s strongest superhero, here’s an answer: she’s pretty weird.

  Like a walking-talking nuclear warhead that also burns every pancake she tries to make.

  But if I’m being honest, I can’t wait to get out of here. For once in my life, I’m gonna be free. When your mom can see through walls and floors, hear everything down to hairs growing on my head, it feels kinda like a cell. A loosely defined maximum security prison that’s got barely any room to breathe. The one time I tried sneaking a girl into my room, and mom was halfway across the country in L.A. for some joint Cape event with the West Coast League, she was home before either of us had pulled off our t-shirts, knocking on my window and shaking her head. I’d gotten grounded for three months just because I kissed a girl, and mom had been so angry that she almost vomited when she heard that I’d also been thinking of asking her out, too. I’m talking semi-out of commission, sick. Does it freak people out when I try to bring them over here? Yes. Does everyone act weird, sitting up straight, barely touching anything, and not even looking at me when they’re here? Also yes. So I stopped bothering with friends years ago, because, like mom always says, humans aren’t our friends, and that’s just never ever gonna change now.

  God forbid I ever have sex with one, or hold their hand or even look at one too much.

  But I guess that’s what college is for, so let’s go and find out what freedom tastes like.