Scott Mason: Gay Superhero (boyxboy)

Chapter 1

"Life doesn't always give us a purpose. We give life a purpose."

—The Flash

***
I lived in the nice-sized city of Denver, Colorado.
Well, I actually lived in one of those side-cities bordering Denver, so if you live in one of those cities, to anyone else out of the state, you basically lived in Denver. Nobody really cared about you.
So, restart: I lived in the small side-city of Centennial, Colorado with my mother in a small two-bedroom apartment. The neighbors upstairs stomped too loud and made the drywall flake down like my hopes and dreams, and self-esteem (and I'm sorry that escalated so quickly); while the neighbors in the basement argued too much.
The apartment complex that I lived in resembled something that might have been the tasteless fusion of boho-sheek and a elderly woman's floral couch. You know the kind I mean—with the loud plastic cover? I know you do.
It smelled like my gym teacher, and looked the same too (but in some nose-twisting personification of despair and poor hygiene). The look was epitomized in what the landlord called 'The Lobby' of our apartment building.
There was a small bulletin board that hung on the wall with grimy thumbtacks stabbed through paper. Underneath there was a small couch with an even smaller coffee table sitting in the small room, with a small bowl of unusually small penis—I mean peanuts.
My apartment was the one with the green door. Apartment B of Xenia Circle, the one apartment equal with ground level and probably the only one that was clean on the inside.
Residents: Undercover superhero and clueless mother. Also known as Scott and Rebecca Mason.

***

I nearly fell flat on my face as I stumbled out of my apartment in effort to not be late to school.
That was the reason why I stuck my fingers inside the light sockets that resided in the fantastic 'lobby'.
I don't do it for fun, I swear!
I do it so that I can teleport. You know, through the power lines??
Duh.
I'm a superhero. In Denver, there are only a few superheroes. I am one of them. Now, I bet you're thinking, 'Whoa dude, cool!', but it was so not cool. It felt like an obligation.
Don't get me wrong, there are the setbacks, like the villains trying to kill you, (totally not super-villains...so far) and trying to learn how to fly when you realize that it isn't as easy as you think. There are plenty of bad things. Like balancing it with your school life. Conversely, though, there are a lot of good things. If you need to get to school on time, why catch the B-line downtown when you could just stick your finger into a light socket?
Which brings us back to me being late for school.
Superhero 101 for you here: If you need to use your powers, go ahead and use them, but make sure that when you do, you don't let ANYONE or ANYTHING notice you.
That was not what happened when I arrived in an alleyway with a slight fizz sound, shooting up out of a underground electrical landline in a blur of electricity.
This time the sound of my arrival was marred by a surprised cat, which shot across the alleyway and into the street. I clutched my Biology book to my chest, hoping that I had not lost it during my travels. I shivered, remembering how I had once left an eyebrow at home. I'd never heard the end of it from Will when I told him that I shaved it off for no reason.
The alleyway was deserted as I jogged out of it, looking from left to right as I crossed the street to walk to my school. (Tip: ALWAYS look both ways before you cross the street. A superhero will not always be there to save you from becoming a grease spot on the asphalt)
My school was a big school. By big I didn't mean famous, but large. There were four large buildings set on a alarmingly steep hill—which made it a pain to walk between classes in time. After a while, though, I came to not notice the hill and instead notice how good my legs looked in the mirror.
        It was one of these buildings that I started out my first class of the day: AP Biology.
        I was told that AP was easy and that you didn't have to do any work in the class, but whoever said that had a twisted sense of humor. AP was terrible. You had to do college essays in high school, extra work over the weekends, and you had to memorize every amino acid known to man to pass the freaking biology class with a C.
The teacher that you had made a big difference on your grade, too. Mine, for example, was Mrs. Dork. No, really, that was her real name. Her name was, unfortunately, not the most unfortunate part of her.
The most unfortunate part of her was, well, I take it back: everything. She was built like a refrigerator and had creases on her forehead from years of scrunching up her eyebrows; her lips were thin and constantly pulled into a frown, and her glasses made her look like a bug. A big bug that wore dresses with ugly paisley patterns.
"You're late." She said as I ran into the room. I suppressed the hot feeling on my face and smiled stupidly, hoping that she would take it easy on me.
"Sorry." I apologized, sliding into my seat next to my friend, Will. I figured out that my apology didn't work.
"You will be sorry...in detention." She retorted, glaring back at the class. I sunk in my seat, disappointed.
I better pass this exam!
I looked up at my best friend and smiled secretly at him as the teacher explained the rules of the exam. "Hi," I breathed out, sliding my book onto the desk. He smiled through his eyes, looking back at the teacher. He knew not to whisper too loud while Mrs. Dork was talking.
"Nice job scoring detention." He whispered, barely moving his lips. I elbowed him as he chuckled, watching the teacher start to pass out the exams. When she made her way to me the exam made a slight hissing sound as it slid onto my desk, almost like it was a dangerous snake.
Goosebumps rippled on my arms as I picked up my pencil and answered the first question.