WHEN I OPENED the box yesterday, I had neglected to notice its considerably large size. It was Saturday now, and I was in my room rifling through the contents while Mom was busy with her morning cooking shows. There were more items inside than I originally thought, and I had no clue what half of it was.

There was the jacket, a shirt to wear underneath it, the pants, the mask, gloves that latched onto the jacket sleeves, a head mask-helmet hybrid thing, a pair of shoes, and that was where my knowledge ended. Everything else was beyond me.

I stared into the box, dejected. How could I practice when I didn't know what or how to practice? I flipped over Kavanagh and Castro's note to find a phone number scribbled on the other side. I'd noticed it earlier, but I didn't know whose number it was, so I hadn't called. But now that I was thoroughly confused, there was no use in not calling.

I dialed the number and waited. When the ringtone stopped, I immediately said, "Hello?"

"Hello, Peter."

"Who's this?"

There was silence on the other end. And then, "Seriously?"

"You never signed your name," I said defensively. "I just want to be sure!"

"I'm sorry," Kavanagh said, "but that note was from two people, and do I sound like Mrs. Castro?"

"No."

Silence again. "Is something wrong?"

"No," I repeated, but I stood and paced around my room, keeping my eyes on the box. Technically, nothing was wrong, but there was a pit in my stomach telling me that if I couldn't even figure out my tools on my own, I would be an idiot of a hero.

 I swallowed my pride and sighed. "It's just that I don't know how to use any of this stuff."

"I'll send Jenny."

"Wait!" I lowered my voice. "I can't do it at home, Mom's here. Nowhere near her bakery, either. Where should we meet?"

"Pick an alley. Goodbye."

"Wait! Don't you want to know which alley?"

"Don't need to. There's a tracker in your suit."

With that, he hung up, and I looked at my jacket accusingly.

☆

At night, alleys can be scary places. I didn't spend any nights in them to speak from experience, but I'd seen enough movies and read enough books to know what kinds of things could happen in those hidden spaces between buildings. In the daytime, though, when it is only a space between buildings with nothing but a dumpster and zero shadows, they may as well be sidewalks. I've been through plenty during the day, and the scariest thing was the occasional jumpscare from a street cat.

I walked to an alley where the nearby businesses were all shut down and the adjoining sidewalks were devoid of people and set the box down. Now that the jacket was stationary, Jenny should realize I had found a spot and was ready to meet.

I waited, tapping my foot lazily, looking up when birds flew through the rectangle of sky above me. I glanced at the box every few seconds to make sure it hadn't sprouted legs and ran away. It remained where it was, soaking up some alley juice at the bottom corners. 

I'd given some thought to its contents. My first challenge would be figuring out how to keep my supersuit with me. Wearing it under my clothes was not an option: both the jacket and the pants were too thick to be underlayers. Those two items, I'd have to carry with me, along with the mask. And the shoes...they could pass as regular sneakers, but wearing them all the time in case a crisis popped up would wear them out. They would also be difficult to carry around; at least the jacket and pants could be folded up.

It seemed like I would have to keep the jacket, pants, and mask with me, shoved into my backpack or in a separate pack of their own. The shoes would have to be saved for non-time-sensitive crises where I had plenty of time to suit up beforehand. There — I figured this out on my own!

After a few more minutes of me getting a headache thinking about that stuff, Jenny walked into the alley, sans clipboard. Good. It was about time I saw her without one. She was wearing a light, short trench coat, dressed like the professional woman she was, and I didn't doubt that she was on her way to something. Her hurried pace said as much.

"Good morning," I said, and I gestured to the box.

She bent down and picked it up by the flaps, setting it onto the half of the dumpster that had its lid on. She handed me the jacket. "Put it on," she said, and she put the pants and mask aside to sift through the other things.

I did as I was told, zipping it up. I folded the collar so that it didn't reach my jaw. She handed me the gloves and I put those on, too. Then she handed me four little metal discs. "These are trackers for your use," she said.

I noticed that there were four identically shaped patches on my left glove, spread on the top of my hand beneath four of my knuckles. There was nothing beneath the thumb. I stuck each of the metal discs in place, and they surprisingly stuck there, fitting in well with the glove. "Cool," I said.

She looked up at me, like 'cool' wasn't the word she would use to describe expensive, useful technology, and while I couldn't blame her, I was too enthralled. She went back to sifting through the box as I stared at the discs, wondering when these could come in useful. Tracking a thief I couldn't catch, maybe.

"Look," she said, and she held up a little rod, pushing a button. It turned into a small boomerang. "I don't think you'll use this, but here."

She was right, I wouldn't use it. I couldn't throw a basketball, let alone a boomerang. I'd end up smacking myself with it. I closed the little rod and put it back in the box.

She showed me a few more things, mostly items that fit into my costume. There was a little earpiece that served as communication means, with a signal that only connected to her phone, so that if anything ever happened and I need to contact her, I could. There was a small, flat button on both of my wrists that would drop a pin on a map and send the signal to the cops, so if there was something I needed them to take care of, I could send them a location. Henderson Technologies had fashioned it in a way that wouldn't let anyone who found my signal track me.

The bottom of my shoes had some sort of special grip to help me keep my feet on whatever precarious surface I happened to be on, giving me a reason to remember to actually wear them. Literally everything else that had been in the box were just small components of the costume, and I listened carefully as she put them all on. I wasn't supposed to take them off the suit, and I let her place them all, memorizing their locations.

"Thank you," I told her as she put everything else in the box.

"No problem," she said, closing it and handing it to me. "So, any plans for your first appearance?"

I shook my head. "Not a clue."

She laughed. "Well, good luck, you sudden superhero. I hope you've given thought to your name."

I just smiled and nodded as she left, running through the list of names I'd come up with. Most of them were generated via a random name generator online, but they were gibberish, and there wasn't a single one I liked. I didn't want to be seen and then called out as Hey, look, it's hdhfidf man.

I balanced the box on my hip, looking straight up. There were no sheets of gray rain clouds, only a bright blue sky with little puffs of white that drifted along with the breeze. I tapped my fingers along the cardboard. There was a lot ahead of me. Trial and error. Mistakes and mishaps. I had to do the best I could.

☆

I felt incredibly dumb. What was I supposed to do, wander around? Hope I stumble upon something? I wasn't the police; no one would call me when they had a problem. All I had to rely on was the fact that I had the ability to find my way up to roofs with good views.

I was in costume, sitting on a roof. I felt idle, like there was no point of me being here, but it wasn't like I had any better ideas. I could swear that someone might see me and wonder why or who I was cosplaying, and why I was sitting on the roof like some bird.

Speaking of which, there was a flock of pigeons next to me. My past few busy days had deprived me of quality conversations with Rory, and staring at the pigeons just made me miss him more.

My mask was on my face, and I toyed with the thin elastic strap that wound around my head. I smiled and frowned, feeling the skin around my eyes crinkle underneath the mask. My hands felt sweaty in the gloves, even though they weren't bulky, and it was probably just nerves. At this point, I was seriously wondering if Ms. Henderson thought her plan through. Revere could fly, he could run faster than a normal human, even if his speed wasn't "super," and, yeah, he wasn't a sixteen-year old kid whose biggest problems were all high-school and Dana Edgar related.

I jerked my head up when I heard a sharp noise. I narrowed my eyes at a convenience store across the street. Nothing seemed wrong, but I could swear I heard a noise. People around heard it, too, and they looked confused, but as strangers do, they just shrugged and kept going their way.

I stood up, deciding that I had to check it out, but then I hesitated. What was I supposed to do, walk across the street?

Frustrated, I shook my head. Being a superhero was already difficult, and I hadn't really started out as one yet. I swung over the side edge and went down the fire escape into the alley, detaching my gloves from my sleeves and stuffing them into the jacket pockets. I took off the jacket and folded it over my arms in a way that revealed the simple black-fabric interior. I took off the mask and stuffed it into a sleeve. Thankfully, I'd chosen not to wear the shoes or the pants.

I still felt incredibly dumb as I crossed the street with my superhero suit folded over my arms like a regular coat. I felt my heart start to pound, even though I wasn't sure if there was anything wrong. The blinds of the store were down, because the sun was out in full force at this time of day, and that wasn't anything unusual. I avoided passing by the front door and went straight into the alley next to it, stopping in front of the storage door that hopefully led to the store.

I quickly put my costume back on, placing my mask on my face. I stared at my hand before finding enough courage to slam it down on the door handle, breaking the lock.

I mouthed a quick sorry to whoever owned this building and let myself in, closing the door behind me. It was a storage room, all right, and a small one. Neatly stacked shelves of stocked medicine and bread and frozen vegetables lined the space, and I picked up a crunchy-looking, two-foot long loaf of bread that crackled when I held it. Colette would be proud.

Peter, you idiot, I thought, you have gadgets and superpowers, and you pick a loaf of bread as a weapon.

I shook my head at myself yet again, swinging the bread around to make sure it wouldn't snap in half. It held.

I started creeping towards the back door of the store, and I swung it open quietly. The store was mostly empty of people, except for a cashier, two pre-teens with chips and cookies and soda, and the robber standing in the middle with a knife pointed at the cashier.

I crept down the aisle, holding a finger up to my lips at the kids, who could see me. One of them didn't react at all, and the other one looked so surprised that he almost dropped his soda. The man with the knife was taunting the cashier, a teenager who was frantically putting all the money from the cash register into the burlap sack.

I noticed that one of the displays had been knocked over, and that was what had caused the noise. I tilted my head. That was a little strange, the fact that I heard that. Maybe heightened senses were a superpower, after all.

Before the cashier noticed me, I leapt forward and swung the loaf of bread at the man's head. It didn't do any damage, of course, but it confused him long enough for me to kick him in the stomach, grab his knife, and fling it behind the counter to where he couldn't reach it. The kids and the cashier stared at me, their mouths open in surprise.

I shoved down the man when he tried to get back up. I then spotted a garden hose and used that to tie him to a display, and he looked up at me with a glare behind his ski mask.

I pushed the button on my glove, even though the cashier herself probably called the police already. I turned to face her, and she threw her hands up and backed away, terror on her face. "Don't hurt us," she said, her voice trembling.

I looked between her and the two kids, who had huddled close together. "Oh, no," I said, frantically shaking my hands at her. "No. I'm not the bad guy, I came here to help." I looked down at the timepiece built into the wrist of the suit. I'd been here for a total of three minutes, and I had to get going.

"Um, bye," I said quickly, and then I turned to go.

"Wait!" one of the kids called.

I turned around again.

"What's your name?"

Crap.

"I, uh..." I faltered. Red. My theme was red. That should be included. Red Ranger? I wanted to face-palm. What am I, a Power Ranger?

I swallowed, looking at the kids again. "Call me...ah...Red..." I paused. "Soldier." I nodded. "Yup. Red Soldier. That's me."

And before I could see whether they approved of the name or not, I hightailed it out of there.