I slammed my locker shut hard enough to rattle the metal frame.
Mateo stood beside me, staring into his own open locker like it held the answers to all of his bad decisions. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, and for once he didn't have a joke ready.
"Gregory is going to kill us," he said.
"I know." I dragged a hand down my face and leaned my forehead against the locker door for a second. "I know that."
"And it's not just him. It's the guys you stole the cash from too."
My head snapped up. "You told me you won that money."
Mateo winced. "I did. Sort of."
I groaned so loudly that a freshman three lockers down flinched. "Mateo. You are going to get us killed."
He folded his arms, trying to look calm, but his expression gave him away. "Be glad Gregory isn't here today."
I stared at him. "How do you know that?"
"I haven't seen him yet."
"That is not comforting."
The warning bell rang overhead, sharp and cruel. I shut my locker again, harder this time, then started down the hallway with Mateo hurrying beside me.
"We're going to die," I muttered.
Mateo let out a breath. "Probably."

⚡️⚡️⚡️

The cafeteria smelled like grease, salt, and disappointment.
Mateo and I sat at the same scarred table we always claimed, pushing around a lunch tray loaded with mashed potatoes that had the consistency of drywall, Salisbury steak, and gray gravy that looked like it had already lost a fight with the steam table. Around us, the room buzzed with the usual noise of students pretending not to watch each other.
We didn't need to look far to find Gregory.
He and his crew were across the room, seated at their own table like a pack of bored predators. Gregory was leaning back in his chair, one boot hooked around the leg of the table, while the others kept glancing over at us between bites of their food. He didn't need to say anything. The glare was enough.
Mateo stabbed at his potatoes with a fork. "Are you going to tell him, or do I have to?"
"Tell who?"
He gave me a flat look. "Don't play dumb. Gregory. About the money."
I shook my head. "We are not telling Gregory anything until we talk to your dad."
Mateo followed my gaze across the cafeteria. Gregory had stolen a packaged snack cake from someone else's tray and was peeling it open with the calm, deliberate cruelty of someone who knew nobody would stop him.
"We are not telling my dad anything," Mateo said. "This might be his mess, but it's our fight."
I snorted and forked a bite of the rubbery steak into my mouth. "Sure. If by our fight you mean the thing that gets us buried in shallow graves."
Mateo leaned back and crossed his arms. "Someone has to stop him. The guy's a terrorist."
I almost laughed. "Yeah, and it sure as hell isn't going to be us."
Gregory took a bite of the cake and kept staring.
I swallowed hard.
The rest of lunch passed with the same knot of dread sitting in my stomach, growing heavier by the minute.

⚡️⚡️⚡️

When Mateo and I came through the front door after school, my father was waiting.
That alone should've been enough to tell me we were already dead.
He stood in the kitchen with a seltzer beer in hand, tapping his boot against the tile with the kind of patience that meant he had been waiting long enough to get angry. The second he saw us, his eyes narrowed.
Mateo froze beside me, his backpack sliding off one shoulder.
I dropped mine right there by the doorway.
"How was your day, boys?" my father asked.
Mateo sucked in a breath like he was about to lie and then thought better of it. "It was okay, Mr. Lopez."
My father took a slow sip of his beer. "Good. Good."
He wasn't fooled. Neither was I.
"You were supposed to stay home today, Alexander."
I walked to the fridge, opened it, and grabbed two colas. "I went anyway."
I handed one to Mateo and cracked the top off mine before taking a long drink straight from the bottle.
My father's face hardened. "Alexander Martinez Lopez."
Here we go.
"You're not listening to me." His voice sharpened. "You were struck by lightning. For God's sake, I'm trying to take care of you. I want the best for you, mijo. I'm worried about you."
I shrugged, though the weight of his stare pressed against me. "I'm fine."
"That is not the point." He pointed toward the stairs, his temper finally rising. "Go to your room."
Mateo started to back away, but my father caught his arm before he could escape.
"Not you, Mateo. Go home."
Mateo blinked, then let out a quiet breath through his nose. "Yes, sir."
He shot me a helpless look as he walked out.
My father finished the last of his beer, then looked back at me like he expected me to magically become responsible in the next ten seconds.
I passed him and headed upstairs without another word.

⚡️⚡️⚡️

Mateo was already in my room by the time I got there.
He had climbed through the window like he always did whenever he didn't want to deal with his own house. I found him sitting on my bed while I scrolled through lightning strike articles on my phone, trying to find any explanation that didn't sound insane.
Electrical injury symptoms. Burn patterns. Nerve damage. Temporary blindness. Cardiac arrest. A dozen ways to die.
Not a single line about developing powers.
That was what freaked me out the most.
If I had superpowers, why me? Why now?
Mateo flopped back against my pillow. "Daddy dearest at it again, huh?"
"He only wants 'the best for me,'" I said, mocking my father's tone.
Mateo groaned. "That man acts like you personally insulted his ancestors every time you leave the house."
I set the phone down and rubbed my face. "He's going to find out eventually."
Mateo tipped his head. "About Gregory?"
"About everything."
He went quiet for a moment, which was rare enough to make me glance over at him.
"What are we doing about the thirty grand?" he asked finally.
I stared at the floor. "I don't know."
He lifted a brow. "That's not reassuring."
"You're the one who said we'd be fine."
Mateo sat up. "I said that because panicking is useless."
"It is when your idea of a solution is 'hide from a violent criminal and hope he gets bored.'"
Mateo opened his mouth to argue, but a voice from the hallway cut him off.
Melissa walked past my open door with a pack of Red Vines in one hand and a disgusted expression already loaded on her face.
"Yeah," she said, looking straight at Mateo, "you're an idiot."
Mateo clutched his chest dramatically. "Ouch. She's feisty today."
"I'm on my period, dumbass," Melissa shot back without missing a beat.
She bit into a Red Vine, gave him the finger, and kept walking.
Mateo watched her go, shaking his head. "T.M.I., Mucosa."
Melissa poked her head back into the doorway. "I heard that. You're such a little pinchazo."
Mateo smirked. "Como una maldita sanguijuela."
Before Melissa could fire back, my father shouted from downstairs, "Knock it off, Mateo."
Mateo instantly straightened. "Yes, sir."
My dad's voice drifted up again, colder this time. "I thought I told you to go home."
Mateo's face went pale in an almost funny way. "I should go," he muttered.
I snorted.
He stood, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and paused by the doorway, eyeing the splintered wood near the frame.
"What happened to your door?"
I shrugged. "Dunno."
He gave me a weird look, but thankfully he didn't push it. "See ya, bro."
"Later."
He climbed back out the window, and I flopped onto my bed with a long exhale.
At least he hadn't asked the obvious question.
How did I bend a door frame like that?
I wasn't ready to explain super strength to my best friend, especially not when he already thought the whole world was one giant comic book and would probably explode with excitement if I admitted anything.

⚡️⚡️⚡️

That night, I waited until my house was quiet before I slipped out.
I pulled on Mateo's hoodie, sweatpants, and an old pair of tennis shoes, then headed down the sidewalk under the cold glow of the moon. The streets were nearly empty, the puddles shining like broken glass in the dark.
It was just past midnight when I checked my phone.
12:01 a.m.
I should've gone home.
Instead, I kept walking.
The air was sharp against my face, but the chill felt good. It helped me think. Or maybe it just made it easier to pretend I wasn't insane.
I looked around carefully, then lifted off the ground.
Not high. Not yet.
Just enough to feel the familiar weightlessness rush through my stomach.
Then I heard it.
An engine roaring down the street.
I turned and saw an SUV barreling toward the intersection, blacked-out windows, the body swaying slightly as it sped around the corner. Three men in ski masks sat inside, one of them leaning halfway out the passenger window with a gun in his hand.
My pulse jumped.
Behind them, two cop cars screamed after the SUV, lights flashing red and blue across the pavement. One of the officers I recognized immediately—Gabriel Hernandez, Mateo's father, hanging out the window with his weapon drawn.
The masked man spotted me.
He raised the gun.
Two shots cracked through the night.
I jerked sideways, the bullets whizzing so close I could feel the air split beside me.
That was enough.
I shot forward.
The SUV swerved hard, trying to avoid me, but I dropped in front of it and planted myself on the road. The hood hit my chest with a deafening crunch.
The front end buckled inward.
The whole vehicle stopped dead.
For one impossible second, everything went silent.
Then the two police cars slammed to a halt behind it, tires screaming against the road.
I staggered backward, stunned.
I had just stopped an SUV with my body.
My body.
Gabriel and three other officers jumped out with their guns trained on the vehicle. The men inside were staring at me as I'd crawled out of nowhere.
I hovered a few feet above the pavement, trying not to panic, my face hidden under Mateo's hoodie.
"Son of a bitch," I muttered.
Gabriel lifted his radio. "This is Sheriff Hernandez. Requesting backup and medical."
A crackled voice answered, "Roger."
The street had filled with people now. Neighbors had come outside, phones raised, recording. I could already imagine the news clips tomorrow: some random hooded kid hovering in the street while a wrecked SUV smoked behind him.
Gabriel lowered his weapon slightly and looked directly at me. "Are you okay?"
I had no idea how to answer that.
So I tried for confident, which came out sounding more like a growl.
"Yeah."
My phone buzzed inside the hoodie pocket. I winced and shut it off by instinct.
That was when I noticed the pain.
A hot, wet ache low in my stomach.
I looked down.
There was a deep gash torn across my shirt beneath the hoodie, probably from when the SUV hit me. Blood had soaked through in dark streaks.
"Oh, that's not great," I muttered.
"I-I gotta go," I said before anyone could stop me.
"Wait!" Gabriel called. "Who are you?"
A few people in the crowd were already filming. One woman had her hand over her mouth. Someone else yelled, "That's a kid!"
I pointed weakly toward the trapped robbers. "You've got three bad guys in the car."
Gabriel's mouth tightened. "I'm aware."
"Do you need medical?" one of the officers asked.
I shook my head and tried not to double over. "Nah. I'm sure it'll heal."
That was probably the dumbest sentence I had ever said in my life.
I gave Gabriel a clumsy salute.
"See ya, Chief."
Even as I said it, I hated myself for it.
Then I pushed off the ground and flew home, clutching my stomach, trying not to think about how much worse things were about to get.

⚡️⚡️⚡️

Back in my room, I dropped onto the bed and peeled off Mateo's hoodie and my shirt.
Two shallow cuts ran across my stomach and chest, ugly and angry, but not nearly as bad as they should've been. It still hurt like hell, though, enough to make me curse under my breath.
"Fuck," I hissed. "Shit."
I touched the wound again.
Something sparked at my fingertips.
A faint streak of lightning flashed over the cut, and the torn skin began to knit itself closed. The pain dulled almost immediately. Within seconds, the injury faded into smooth, unbroken skin.
I stared at my stomach.
Then at my hand.
Then back at my stomach.
"Fuck," I said again, quieter this time.
My phone buzzed on the dresser. I grabbed it, unlocked the screen, and saw a message from Mateo.
WE NEED TO TALK.
Before I could answer, Melissa screamed from downstairs.
I shot out of bed and hurried down the hall, then into the living room.
Everyone was crowded around the TV.
Melissa was practically vibrating with excitement. "There's a super! Holy fucking shit!"
"Shut up, Melissa," Emanuel snapped. "I'm trying to listen."
I dropped onto the couch beside her, doing my best to look calm, which was hard when my entire body still felt like it had been hit by a truck.
On the screen, a reporter stood in front of a street full of police lights and wreckage.
"Who's this super?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
My father glanced at me, then did a double-take.
His eyes dropped to my bare torso.
Then widened.
"Have you been working out?"
I almost choked.
"There are worse things I could be doing," I muttered.
My phone buzzed again.
WE NEED TO TALK.
I stood up too fast. "I'm going for a walk."
My father frowned. "Since when do you go out shirtless?"
"Since now."
I was already halfway to the door when I heard him mutter my full name under his breath, but I didn't stop.
Because Mateo was waiting.
And I had a feeling this conversation was going to change everything.

⚡️⚡️⚡️

Mateo was standing outside under the streetlight when I got there, arms crossed, looking both furious and weirdly impressed.
I was still shirtless, which was a terrible choice now that the night air was biting cold, but I'd committed to the bit at that point.
He pointed at me the second I stepped outside.
"It's so obvious you stopped the robbers, bruh."
I sighed. Of course, he knew.
"First you get struck by lightning," he said, "and now there's a super running around town. Not to mention I want my hoodie back."
I folded my arms. "Mateo." I lowered my voice. "So what if it is me—"
"What are you going to do, tell me I'm wrong?" he snapped.
I stared at him.
He grinned as he'd already won.
"No," he said, "but I've got something better. You can finally kick Gregory's ass."
"I'm not doing shit to Gregory."
"Why not?"
"Because it'll backfire."
Mateo threw his hands up. "Not if you wear a mask."
I blinked.
He kept going, getting more animated by the second. "Think about it. I still have the masks from when we dressed up as Robin and Nightwing three years ago. Do you know how long I've been waiting for somebody to finally put Gregory in his place? Years, Alex. Years."
"That's not a good enough reason."
"It is to me."
My skin prickled. My powers buzzed faintly under the surface, reacting to my frustration. I stepped closer and clamped a hand over his mouth before he could say anything louder.
"Keep your voice down," I muttered. "I do not need the entire neighborhood knowing about this."
His eyes went wide.
Then he pointed at me. "That was you."
I let go of him. "Yes. Congratulations. You discovered the obvious."
Mateo rubbed his jaw. "I want to know everything."
"Eventually."
"No, now."
A sound behind us made both of us freeze.
We turned.
A homeless man had stepped out from the shadows near the corner, staring at us with narrowed eyes. For one horrible second, neither of us moved.
Then he barked, "What are you two boys doing out here?"
Mateo and I exchanged a look.
Then he shouted, "Fuck!"
And we ran.
We didn't stop until we were several houses down, both of us winded, though I was trying very hard not to show it.
Mateo bent over, hands on his knees, gasping. "You're not even... out of breath?"
"I'm trying not to be offended."
He straightened slowly, still wheezing. "You really should consider this superhero thing."
I rolled my eyes. "I'll consider it if you promise not to give Daxon any money and talk to your dad."
Mateo made a face. "Hard pass."
"Mateo."
"I don't want to get shot for being a snitch."
I lifted both hands in surrender. "Fine. No superhero stuff."
He narrowed his eyes, then shoved my shoulder. Hard.
He instantly regretted it and shook out his hand with a grimace. "What the hell?"
I smirked. "Strong enough for you?"
"Shut up."
He looked at me more seriously now. "Okay. Fine. You win. But I want to see the powers."
I laughed. "Hard pass."
"You are an asshole, bruh."
"I have a reputation to uphold."
Mateo stared at me for a second, then barked a laugh. "You do realize my dad nearly had a stroke tonight, right?"
I winced. "What'd he say?"
"He was losing his mind."
"Good to know."
Mateo kicked a pebble into the street. "See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Text me before school. We need to talk about rules."
He made a face. "Rules?"
"Yeah. If I'm going to do this, I'm not doing it dumb."
Mateo folded his arms. "That sounds suspiciously like a plan."
"It is."
He nodded once, then pointed at me. "And I want my hoodie back."
I glanced down at myself. "Tomorrow."
"You better not bail."
"I won't."
Mateo shot me a skeptical look, because we both knew I had a habit of doing exactly that.
Then I lifted into the air a few feet just to show off.
His eyes widened instantly.
"Okay," he said. "That's actually sick."
"I know."
"Still want the hoodie back."
"I said tomorrow."
He saluted me. "Don't die before then."
"Goodnight, Mateo."
"Night, bruh."
I hovered there for a second longer, the cold air rushing around me, then turned and flew up into the night.
For the first time since the lightning strike, I didn't feel like I was falling apart.
I felt like something new was beginning.