“That’s…Wow, Claire,” Teddy gasps, blinking back his own tears. “How lucky, then, that you get to see him on his last day.”
My insides turn to ice. “What?”
He nods, wiping the corner of his eye. “He’s retiring. Thirty-four years of service, saving people just like you. It’s truly incredible.”
I hear the words, but they don’t make sense. Retirement? No. It’s not like heroes never willingly leave the line of duty, but Blue Streak always seemed like he was in it for life. In fact, I know it—my “Quotable Blue Streak” diary page has him stating his greatest honor would be giving his life for another. Why now? What changed? “I don’t understand.”
“He’s old, Claire. I mean, don’t get me wrong—he’s awesome. Clearly. But he’s also more than double the age of our latest recruit.”
Oh my god…“Joy?” She’s taking his place? Now, this is just ridiculous. Some hotshot pretty face filling the shoes of an absolute god? I feel my knees go weak again, only this time from rage.
“Yeah, have you met her?” Teddy asks. “I think she’s going to be great. A lot of charisma with that one. She’s a marketing team’s dream.”
I force a smile, even though my bones are turning into a liquefied paste.
But there isn’t much time to dwell on the world’s most unjust changing of the guard, because suddenly Blue Streak’s meeting is over and he’s heading this way. I watch in paralyzed awe as my hero holds the door for everyone, kindly shaking hands with and graciously smiling at everyone in the room. He’s always been a man of few words in interviews, and even today, he only offers brief exchanges of gratitude. Teddy pinches my waist to keep me from passing out, and I hold my breath as Blue Streak strides by. Over six feet tall, shoulders broad as an ox, massive hands that have punched through buildings swaying at his sides. Only his graying hair and a few worry lines etched into his fair skin give away his age. Otherwise, he looks as strong and powerful as the day he saved my life.
He walks by with a gentle smile, giving me a wink with steel-gray eyes that peer into my soul, and I swear I have an out-of-body experience, a supernova of emotion launching me to a different plane.
It isn’t until he’s gone, possibly forever, that I finally resume normal motor functions. “Oh my god!” I cry, hands flying to my face. “Did that really just happen?”
Teddy sighs, smiling. “Just another day at Warrior Nation.”
Is There a New Chicago Warrior?
WarriorHunt.usa
Guys, Roy Masterson was just doing a ribbon cutting at some random new bakery on the north side, and he let it slip that some “exciting chapter changes” will be announced soon! That’s right, Mr. Know-It-All himself basically just spilled the beans that we’re about to be blessed with a new hero! AHHHHHHHHH!
@TruWarriorGrrl
um no offense but that sounds like jumping to conclusions hon. Like his statement could mean literally anything
@invisiblegirlfriend
excuse you he’s the Chicago chapter president so what else would he be talking about? It’s not like we’d care if they get new business cards or something dumb.
@TruWarriorGrrl
you think I don’t know who he is? rolls eyes
@NeverCeaseNeverSour
if there’s a new Warrior, then who is out? Don’t remember anyone dying recently
@VaporLover29
IF SOMETHING HAPPENED TO VAPORIZER I WILL LOSE MY SHIT
@WNlyfer
if there is a new hero I hope it’s a girl bc this chapter needs more womens
@invisiblegirlfriend
agreed!
STRIPES OF PINK AND LAVENDER warm the morning sky as I lie motionless on the couch. Dawn is usually my most productive time of the day, but this morning I can’t even get up to make coffee. Wrapped in a blanket, I watch the city wake up, sunlight streaming through windows and gently welcoming the world to the day. I don’t have anything on my schedule today, so I could easily go back to sleep, but this is the time I should be doing my actual work. There’s something about creating before the world is awake. To sketch, to explore, to turn paper into new and interesting shapes. In the quiet stillness of sunrise, I only have to answer to myself, and starting on an artistic note fills me and sets me up for success.
But even though my sketchbook is inches away on the floor, I don’t reach over, paralyzed by my decision from last night.
I have to break up with Matt.
I pull the blanket tighter. Even having the words scroll through my head makes me shiver, not because it’s the wrong choice, but because I know, deep down, I should’ve done it a long time ago. It’s not like last night was the first time he let me down. I could’ve said The End after the Chicago police force charity ball, when he left me alone all night to schmooze with strangers while he worked the red carpet. Or two months ago, when Chomper and his goons threw me in the back of their beat-up van and drove around in circles until I puked. Matt wasn’t even the one to save me that time; it was Earthquake who finally got behind the wheel and drove me to safety.
But honestly, none of this hits the root of the issue. He’s a celebrity; it’s been that way from almost the start, and dating a public figure comes with baggage. Add on the fact that his star shines with an extra helping of danger, and the chances of being a normal couple are pretty much nonexistent. That stuff I can deal with—and have—for years; it’s when my trajectory gets thrown off by his plans that the knife cuts deep. We used to be able to balance the demands of his life with mine, and I was never an afterthought, even when he had to save the world or appear at cons. He used to know, just from a look, when I was feeling down or needed a shoulder. Now I can’t even be sure he’ll show up. We were partners in this crazy adventure, but somewhere along the way, we were thrown off course.
I look around Becca’s apartment, sunlight warming the messy one-bedroom space. Since our parents are in the middle of the world’s most epic divorce, Becca’s been letting me crash on her couch. I don’t want to live with either of my parents, and I can’t stay in the dorms until the fall, so even though my sister’s place is cramped, storing my stuff in Target bags is better than getting tossed around in a power struggle. Besides, Becca is an up-and-coming actress, tending bar when she isn’t lighting up the stage, and I like the cozy, bohemian artist collective we’ve got going.
I hear a thump from outside the living room window, so I sit up to see if our unofficial pet squirrel, Nutty, has returned to our fire escape. Why a squirrel would climb three stories day after day for extremely inadequate shelter is a mystery to me. It’s not like we feed him. But oh well. I don’t see the furry little guy, or anything else for that matter, so I’m about to sink back down for ten more minutes of sulking meditation when a shape begins to materialize on top of the metal slats. Huddled tight in a ball, a human form fades in, and where once there was nothing, suddenly there’s a man, wrapped mostly in white yet flecked with red.
Oh, Matt.
Part of me wants to close the curtain and pretend I never saw him, go on with my day and get things done. But that’s just Bad Bridgette talking—the persona the fangirls and WarNats have put on me. In their eyes, I’m just a heartless, fame-chasing wench who only cares about myself and never prioritizes his needs. But I’d never actually leave him there. My heart hasn’t hardened to the sight of seeing someone I care about hurt. Someone needs to tend to his battle scars, so I open the window and give him a gentle nudge on his thigh, unsure where his injury stems from.