I return to Scriptor's on Sunday to find that someone had smashed through the window and stolen all my books. At this point, I'm just glad to have an excuse to no longer sell my horrid new books. To reverse the damage my books have caused, I write a message that came to me in a moment of inspiration: "What do we fear? What makes us squirm? Yet, when we will lose hope?" Then: "Our heroes may be imperfect, but they are also our unblemished symbol of hope. What other city can say they have that?"

I spend Monday and Tuesday refurbishing Scriptor's. The window is replaced, and I enlist Security Saver to invent bullet-proof blinds. Then, I remove all the empty shelves (a few are missing after the robbery anyway) and replace them with bean bags, tables, and couches. I add papers on each table, each labeled with sticky notes that say, "Brainstorm Papers." When I open back up on Wednesday, the shop has been renamed Everyone's Hope (Just Everyone's seemed a little weird). I explain on my blog that it is now a place where people can ask questions to each other and safely talk to strangers about their hopes and fears. I have included a link to printable masks and put spares in my shop for people who want anonymity. Also, I open my bunker to the public to act as a safe place during bumpy times.

By Thursday, the owners of Security Saver have found an alternate building where employees can continue working. When I arrive that morning, Aaron is already crying his eyes out over the fact that Jina and I are ok and how he is so sorry we almost died because he was listening to music and what a jerk he has been and how Jina and I are his heroes.

The other employees tend to agree but with fewer tears than Aaron.

When Jina and I go out for lunch that day, she hands me a piece of paper. It has her phone number and address on it. "I want to take the first step of trust," she explains.

"Hold up." I quickly borrow a piece of paper from the cashier. In front of Jina, he decides to be nice to me. I scribble my address and phone number on the paper. "Here. I said I trust you too, remember?"

The craters are refilled by the end of the week, and a blissful calm settles over the city. Everyone's Hope is a big hit, even making several news headlines. Most of the people who come decide to wear masks, and designing them becomes a trend (#MaskofHope). Jina and I spend a day making our own masks out of spare metal parts from the dangerous inventions we found at Vocal's.

That weekend, I am finally able to stay home and do nothing. I am writing on my blog (which is used less and less now that Everyone's Hope has opened) in my beautiful backyard (that I forgot I own), happy to enjoy the day and do nothing. Of course, that is when my doorbell rings.

One hundred different, horrible scenarios crash into my mind, and my heart beats wildly. I am not used to anyone using my doorbell besides that one time the mailman did, and I sent a hefty email to his boss explaining why he should never do that again. Needless to say, he resigned the next day.

The bell rings again.

Slowly, cautiously, nervously, I go inside and check the footage from the camera. My heart rate increases, and I beam when I realize who it is.

"Jina!" I exclaim through the speaker. "Just tell the door your full name, so I can sync your weight to the system..."

"Jina Olivia Cortez." I frown. Her voice sounds shaky.

"Hey, are you alright?" I question as the door opens. Now that she's standing in front of me, I can tell her face is pale. Her eyes shift rapidly.

"The doctor said there would be no side effects from the electric shock, right?"

I had not particularly believed the doctor when he said anything. He kept telling me how much he didn't know and how much he wanted to do strange experiments on Jina to see how she survived such a massive shock to her system. I told him that Jina isn't a lab rat—thank you, sir—so we would be going now if her life isn't in danger. It took threatening him with a lawsuit for him to finally accept that. But Jina looks nervous, so I think now is not the time to bring that up. "Yeah?"

Jina plays with her hands. Her eyes never look at me for more than a second. I get a nervous feeling in my stomach. "Well... he was wrong."

My first reaction is, "Ha, I knew it!" I am so absorbed in my daydream about destroying that doctor's career that it takes my brain a bit longer to process what is happening (At least, that is what I will blame it on later when Jina asks me about my blank stare). From Jina's hands, tendrils of dark purple magic swirl above her upraised palm and morph into a purple-tinted version of my gaping face. Then, the tendrils swirl back into particles and morph into a book... my guide. I reach out to touch it, but my fingers pass through it.

I turn my questioning gaze up to Jina's sheepish face. She shrugs. "I am a superhero?" I stare at her hands for a long time before I look up at her face. I try to speak, but there is nothing to say. My friend is a superhero.