Bonus Scene! Red Comet's Origin Story

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Hey friends!

It's time for more bonus content! Just a reminder, I'll be posting new bonus chapters every week until the release of the paperback edition of The Supervillain and Me on July 9th! Another reminder, the paperback will have some awesome extras attached, included a never-before-read bonus scene that you won't be able to get anywhere else! If you're interested in pre-ordering the book, visit the links on my profile! :)

Now let's get to the good stuff... 

The following short story begins right before Connor's 16th birthday and progresses up to the point when he finally decides to become Red Comet. Just for reference, in this story Connor is a sophomore in high school (tenth grade), and Abby is in eighth grade. And yes, 16-year-old Connor is rather pervy. Unfortunately, some of the things he says are 100% based on people I knew in real life.



Beer tasted a lot like piss.

Not that I ever drank piss or anything... but I did have somewhat of a bladder control issue growing up. Abby never let me forget it.

But back to the beer. It tasted like urine. And warm beer tasted even worse. The only thing that could make it better would be if I had a girl or two on each arm to distract me, but alas, I was hiding in Tommy Douglas' fungus-ridden basement, working my way through my third bag of cheese curls. Those things were damn delicious. Not as good as girls, but still. Delicious.

I licked the cheesy goodness from my fingers. Hiding in dark corners was usually beneath me, but I wasn't feeling up to partying. My sixteenth birthday was tomorrow, and Tommy and Alex—my two best friends basically from birth—were throwing me a party tonight to celebrate. It was one of our classic ragers. Half the school was here. Tommy's parents were out of town for the weekend—off to Peru or Prague or somewhere exotic where they could spend their oodles of cash—leaving the house up for grabs. Alex's sister was old enough to buy booze, so naturally she was our supplier. Lindsey Lombardo. She had told me multiple times that I was way too young for her. Fine, whatever. Just because I couldn't touch didn't mean I couldn't look. And man was there a lot to look at. I mean, jeez, the orbs of greatness that were spilling out of her shirt... I was like Moses trying to part the fabric.

Slumping against the basement steps, I listened to the stereo vibrate the floorboards above my head. I gagged as I took another swig of beer. I always felt like I was obligated to acquire a taste for alcohol lest I get teased by my classmates and thrown into social obscurity, but all I could really think about as I tilted the metal can against my lips was how much I was craving a glass of orange juice.

"You'll get used to it," Alex had said before the party started as he tugged his Morriston High wrestling T-shirt over his gut. Seemed to me like Alex had already gotten used to "it" a few times over. "Drink a couple more and you'll be so relaxed you'll hardly notice the taste."

That's what I was trying to do. But as I pushed my glasses up my nose, wincing as the pounding music worked its way between my temples, I couldn't shake the horrible feeling that something was wrong.


I crumpled my cheese curl bag as Abby and Sarah appeared at the top of the stairs. Sarah's red hair glowed like fire in the light from the kitchen. She clutched a notebook to her chest. Writing again, I thought. Probably about some super. Part of me always wondered what happened in her stories, but if they were as horrendous as the several paragraphs I wrote about Eagle Eye during freshman year English, then it was probably best that I never read them.

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