Super (Not)

Chapter 1: Super Baby

Ever sung a baby to sleep? Yeah, well, I just tried, and he shot a fireball at me. Don't worry. I dodged it. I'm not on fire. Oh, and the house isn't either. The walls are fireproof. If I told any of my school friends that they would be thinking — "What!? Fire!? BABY!?"

Well, first off, I wouldn't be telling any of my friends, and if I did, I'd tell them to relax. He's just a super.

He's not my brother if that's what you're thinking, I just happen to be the only super babysitter in all of America; or maybe I'm just the cheapest (but I try not to think about that too much). You see, I was a little unfortunate compared to the rest of my family. Super parents, super brother... and then superNOT me. But I do know how to deal with supers. My parents got me into this... job - if that's what you could call it — because they knew that most supers have kids and need a babysitter.

It makes you wonder what went through their minds, like, "Oh wow, you know what? Charity has like no powers. Let's get her to babysit tiny, out-of-control kids that could possibly kill her! That sounds like a brilliant idea!"

It wasn't.

But I didn't get much of a choice. The moment I hit fourteen, I was whisked off all around the country to babysit super babies. My dad, Marc Perron, better known as Quiver (lame, I know), would teleport me with this weird superhero tech stuff. Within moments, I would arrive at the house I needed to be at.

As soon as my parents put advertisements up on the top-secret super site, I've seriously been asked to babysit everywhere and anywhere in America. There are times when I babysit six nights a week for like three consecutive weeks. I basically know the identities of all the supers now. At least the ones in New York.

I remember the first time I was called 'Super Nanny'. I was looking after a little girl named Diana Jones, and her power is so cool. I don't know how she'd ever fight a villain with it, but she can travel dimensionally through mirrors. That night, after baby-sitting for six hours, I had the news on so I could keep up to date. Mr. Jones had helped the police arrest two thieves or something, I didn't really think much of it. He should be coming home soon anyways.

I was searching for Diana, and no, I did not lose her. She just likes to play hide and seek... in the mirrors. At least her useless powers have made a good game, but it makes it extremely hard to find her (I swear she cheats). Mr Jones entered his small apartment to find me looking into a mirror in the hall.

"Diana, dearie? Daddy's home!" he called, smiling at me.

"Daddy!" she screamed with delight before literally jumping out of the mirror I was looking into. I quickly dodged the flying child and let her tumble onto the ground. She stood right back up again and ran straight to her dad. Kids are made of titanium, yeesh.

"How's my little pumpkin?" he asked, picking up the five-year-old.

"We played hide and seek!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands.

"Yeah, for like three hours," I commented, my voice dripping with exhaustion.

"Thanks again, Charity. Did you want me to call your dad?" Mr Jones offered.

"No, I should be all good. I'll just wait in here with you guys until he arrives," I replied, taking a seat in his small living room. Unlike most supers with kids, Mr Jones didn't have his own house, which meant no protection for the child or where he was staying. It's a long story. Something to do with a messy divorce and the government wouldn't alter the apartment to suit his circumstances. But at least Diana couldn't burn things within seconds.

My dad showed up after a few minutes, he ready to leave as soon as possible. Mr Jones handed me $650 as we were about to leave. Now, this may seem like a heap of cash, but it's actually little compared to the professional supers that babysit. And where do the supers get money? The government, I think. If not, normal day jobs.