That's a Pretty Big Secret...

“Can you keep a secret?” Kaitlyn giggled quietly in my ear. I rolled my eyes, as we moved through the lane in the bank. “Shoot for it Katy.” 

“Deante? Deante Mitchell? “

I stared stunned at her. “No. No.”

She nodded excitedly. “Yes. We both know he’s fine. Did you saw him without his hoodie? He’s cute!”

“He hangs with my brother for god sakes,” I said louder than I wanted to. A couple of people looked back at us as Katy bounced on her tippy toes up at me. Katy was black, like me, but a few tones lighter, her curly hair streaming down her shoulders, the opposite of my short puff with a short pick in the back. She pulled out the check from her Prada bag as she went on. I gazed at it too long, my stomach sinking into my lower abdomen. I could hear that voice in the back of my head and that twinge of jealousy at the fact she could afford expensive items like that. Instead, I decided to stay grateful that I and my family weren’t gonna be kicked out of our broken-down apartment this month. Maybe next month. It was better than reminding myself that my rich friend was just that to other people: my rich friend.

“Your brother wouldn't even care! They don't even hang out anymore. “

“Because Deante is crazy!” I retorted. “He keeps talking to himself in the corner of his classes I heard.”

“Not crazy,” Katy put up a finger. “Maybe mentally ill. That’s not something to black sheep about. And those are just rumors Nassandra!”

I groaned. My brother’s ex-friend? It made me shiver. I definitely wouldn't tell my brother about that, and I tell Duane almost everything. My first best friend. We had each other when every other kid shunned us, teased us, or bullied us. Rich kids felt friction towards kids of a lower class like us. 

I felt my mood change when I thought of Duane. It's been three weeks since I had a normal conversation with him. He would either answer in simple yes-or-no or not answer at all. He always had a look on his face. The same look he’d make whenever he sees me being pushed around by racist bullies: anger. Katy poked me on the shoulder. “You okay?” I shook my head. “Yea, I’m fine.” but I knew I couldn't lie to Katy. “Duane again?” she raised an eyebrow. “You know he could be going through puberty. Testosterone and all that. The hair, the muscles, the physique…”

I stared daggers into her, then saw her grin. “Joking babe. Relax. “

“Hard to do that when I don't know if my brother is out robbing gas stations.”

“Now we both know Duane is smarter than that. Our school is a once in a lifetime. He wouldn't jeopardize his scholarship.” she tried to reassure me. She was right. Duane always said think first, act last. That was his motto. 

Katy got to the front of the line and started to talk to the teller when I pulled out my phone and texted my brother. Miss you D’, and I sent a heart. I knew he wouldn't reply in a few hours until he was off his shift at the thrift store he worked at, yet I still felt a twinge of pain.  

I didn't even notice what was happening until I heard the screams. I turned in time to see the glass entrance burst open like a gust of wind. By then, the robber was across the room and handling the guards. They never had a chance. They went to pull out their guns, but the pistols were already out of their hands and stuck to the ceiling like magnets, then they followed them. 

He was a tall masked man in all black, black windbreaker, sweats, and steel toes boots. His face was covered in a ski mask with dark glasses over them and a baseball cap. His voice roared across the building, deep, distorted. “ON THE GROUND. NOW” he flung his hand and a piece of the wall cracked open like a gunshot. We all fell to the floor. It was a conflict against my instinct. Whenever a loud crack happened at night, it meant to stay inside or run for your life. Yet my legs gave out and cold marble met my face. 

The masked man paced to the counter with a raised arm, ripped a fraction of the counter away. The teller screamed just as he spoke to her, a complete opposite to his entrance. “Money. Quickly.”

She went to work quickly, collecting a bag and dropping bills into it. The masked man slammed his gloved fist on the shattered counter. “No fake bills. No ink. No GPS.” he watched her closely as she went. Suddenly, the bundle of cash floated out of the bag, then he stared at her. “I said no tracker,” he spoke more quietly. “This isn't your money. Your bank is insured. Real bills. Now.”

I saw it all as I stared up from the floor. The man turned suddenly and his eyes immediately met mine.  That's when the building exploded.

Or it seemed like it.

Through the shattered glass, a bulky man appeared. If comic book heroes could jump out the book, then Mighty would be one. Pure muscle and in a textured skin-tight suit of crimson and gold, his cape fluttered in the sunlight. He was like the masked robber, a superhuman, one of the new ones, but growing in popularity due to his superman like abilities. Not to mention his appearance. He was blinding blonde, with cold gray eyes that made every girl blush and fond over him. To me, he was just another celebrity, another guy that could go around destroying shit and the police not doing a damn thing but applaud him, while darker heroes like Master Quantum were having protests.

I didn't think of that as he walked into the bank. Instead, I felt relief. In my fear-filled thoughts, he was a sign that hope was here. Then worse thoughts came. Thoughts about if I would actually get out of here without being torn to pieces from his reckless stunts. Maybe I’ll have a car drop on me like that teacher down in Chicago when Mighty was fighting Dominus.

Mighty stared at the robber and smiled. “You just made my day punk,” he said. Then everything was a flash. Mighty shot towards the robber and in a moment, too quick to react, the robber shot his hand out and a field of green appeared, surrounding all of us. There was a shockwave. 

I didn't realize the building was caving in until Mighty punched the robber into a pillar and people raced out. The two superhumans were across the entire building, and Mighty was winning. He was putting all the pressure on the masked man as Katy yanked me out. I couldn't stop staring though. The two men raced across the building and in the air, then cratered into the ground. Mighty slammed an indestructible hand down on the man’s force field and I and Katy fell with the crowd like a wave. People climbed and stepped on one another as Mighty hit the field harder and harder. Rock was raining down. A man fell with a crack and was motionless. A mother and her daughter tried to race out the building, but another shockwave sent them against the wall. My dust clouded eyes stared at them. The masked man was struggling. Suddenly he turned to me and it was like something clicked in him. 

Just as Mighty was ready to slam one final double fist down, the masked man jetted out his hand and I was out the bank into the crowded street. Katy and the rest of us ran into hordes of police cars. I turned and the bank was crumbling. The roof burst open and the two men shot off into the sky, gone.

…

I didn't need to watch the news. Didn't want to pay it no mind after coming home. After riding to the hospital and being treated for minor cuts from glass, being part of the dozens of witnesses in the bank, to file a police statement, then bearing my mother’s tearful hugs? I didn't need another reminder that I was just in my first superhuman event. All over the world, people are victims of stupid kids who developed powers, and reckless dummies who want to put on a mask and “fight crime”. I can't be all pessimistic though. Some of them like The New Unity are cool. Besides fox reporters and every old fart who wants to say something every time after a group of minority heroes actually do good safely and accurately, The New Unity is bearable.

I know that if it was them at that bank, I wouldn't be shaking as I took a shower, replaying the events in my head. Negaton or Vera would simply assure me that everything’s alright, not destroy a bank. Not like those guys. I wanted to blame the masked robber, but I found myself blaming Mighty more. He was right. It wasn't the teller’s money. Banks like hers foreclose on homes every day. Rich guys who own them don't give less of a damn about lower class like us. So what’s wrong with grabbing a few bundles of cash?

I stopped myself as I stood in my family’s broken down the kitchen. Thoughts like that are what got my dad where he’s at. Thoughts like that fueled the veteran to try doing a score like a bank. Thoughts like that are what got him killed. Left Ma and us alone to struggle with bills and watch as our world get filled with folks who can control minds while we’re still struggling to get money for rent. 

If I had those powers…

When I was walking to my room, I stopped. Something was on the floor. It was dark and as I got closer I could smell the copper in the air. It was trailing to his room…

When I opened the door, Duane was sat up in his bed, clutching his side. He gawked at me. My eyes darted to the dark bloody clothing on the floor. The sunglasses…

Duane stood slowly, arms up, then sat back down, whatever injury he had was too much at that moment. I didn't know what to think. My mouth went for words but nothing came out. Duane grinned at me. “I know what this looks like...shit.”

His body lifted off the bed, but he wasn't on his feet. He hovered towards me, legs crisscrossed. No-no-no. Not him. Not my brother…

“Can you keep a secret?”