Damsel[ed]: No Rescue Required

Chapter 1: Learning To Avoid Heights the Hard Way

Gats doesn't miss a beat. "We didn't know you were allergic," he grumbles. To his credit, he called 9-1-1 as I choked to death, but I have more proof stashed in the file.

"Okay," I say, "then how about you, Hev? Pushing me down the Academy stairs?" Another breeze stings my cheeks, and I hug my arms tighter to my chest. 

I hate this.

I've known Heaven so long, I can just picture the goofy smirk on her face. Heck, I practically hear her shrug. "I didn't know you were so clumsy."

"Oh, that's bull-spit!" I clench my fists. I want to go home. Is that so bad? "You know I can't walk, like two feet without tripping. You've known me since forever!"

"Who, me?"

"Heaven!"

"Okay, okay. Maybe, but I didn't know students stampede. Or that falling down a little flight of stairs could result in broken bones."

"It could result in death!" My arm throbs from the very mention of the Stairs Incident. The memory is still fresh in my mind, and I don't think it'll ever go away. She pulled me into the throng of kids while I thrashed, whimpered, and begged mercy. 

To this day, she insists it was an accident. While half of me believes her, the other half thinks it was a murder attempt.

"Um." I try to snap myself from the daze. "How about...the haunted house?"

"Who knew they used actual chainsaws?" Gats asks. "I think that place was illegal." He says it so casually, like villains hadn't chased me in circles with bladed weapons screaming, "Off with his head!"

"It was the front of a supervillain's lair," Hev says. "They tried to kill you that time, not us."

And "they" would've. Seventh grade. I hid in the haunted house's basement. Three other, older dudes were down there, too, counting money and talking about "heists" and "protection" and "world domination."

They also had chainsaws. Really, if Galaxy hadn't showed, I'd be so dead, I'd put MySpace to shame. "Well, there was the time when—"

Hev laughs. "You need to relax, okay? It's pretty up here. Just look. You'll like it."

"Don't care." I wouldn't peek if Darth Vader popped up to reveal I'm his son.

"We're here to stargaze, Angel," Gats says, his tone chillier than the night. "So, while we're up here, gaze at the freaking stars!"

"Oh, screw you!" I shout. Knowing him, he'll let me die of hypothermia before taking me home. He thinks he's building me character. I think he'll show me the light at the end of the tunnel before I turn eighteen. I swallow hard. If I fall, I hope Galaxy catches me. She's an awesome superhero, one of Starlight's best, and she's the only person I can think of to comfort myself. "Here goes."

I blink. At the rush of my surroundings, my courage crumbles like the NSA's credibility post-Snowden. We're so high. Even birds don't fly up here, and that's saying something, I guess. I scan my drab surroundings and grab for my pulse, silently counting to ten. Don't panic, Angelos, don't panic. Heaven brushes up against me. Her gray, oversized hoodie shadows her face, hangs to her knees, but I know she's grinning. "For a supervillain's son, you don't seem very brave."

"Yeah, well, genes don't mean anything," I point out, digging my heels into the sinking wood. "Storm and Juniper make me the gentle giant I am. Now, aren't you glad?"

"No! You're a pushover, Angelos Fibbs!" Gats shouts from the roof's edge. I only pick him out from the skyline because of his blondish hair. It glimmers like a halo, and I find it awfully unfitting. A guy like him deserves devil horns.