How to be a Superhero

One

EVEN WITH HOW much the wind blows all around me, my legs remain fastened onto the roof of the skyscraper I find myself on. Below me, far below, I hear sounds of various vehicles, their sounds sharp as if they are right beside me. Behind me the purple cape—attached to my neck by a small knotted string—flaps, making me fashionably super than intended. I close my eyes and try to listen, try to block out all other sounds other than the one I want to hear.

A heavy rush of wind is about to blast my way and I know this because I can hear the silent waves a few meters away. I open my eyes then slide just as the wind damages where I stood a second ago.

Too bad, I think while I stare at the hole in the roof, the owners would have to be grateful they are alive.

"Why do you always know when I am coming?" a whiny voice makes me raise my head and look towards the direction the wind had come from. There is a boy, about my brothers age, in one hand he has a lollipop and in the other is a hand fan, of some sort. I really don't try to observe how it is made of, my only goal is to get this boy down and remove the chip at the back of his head which has been placed by the evilest scientist in Nigeria.

"Because I am Ultrasonic Girl," I place my hands on my hips to show off my strength. I have muscles, and this makes me smile, because today I get to be ale to hear the littlest sounds, have super strength and at the same tine fly. But of course, I always fly, in every of my dreams, I always fly. That is a constant that never changes.

"Amadin, what are you doing?" the boys face remains surprised but his voice is no longer whiny, its no longer a child even. Its an adults voice that sounds feminine and familiar but I just can't recall.

Did the evil scientist add an additional power to his power while I was not looking? I ask myself but out loud, I say, "I am saving you."

The response I get shocks me, almost literally. At first I here laughter of different kind and a sharp hit onto my back. That becomes the moment, my reality changes or rather, I wake up to reality. My eyes open slowly and I suppress a yawn that threatens to escape, mostly because I can still hear the laughter from my dream.

"Why don't you try to save your grades first?" the odd voice of the little boy from my dream sounds again, I sit up straight recalling where I was. Before me is my mathematics teacher with a scowl on her face. She is a thin lady with hair that touches her neck and is never plaited. Also she always carries a cane, as thin as she was, and calls it 'Mr. Do Good'. If it is meant to add a kind of intimidation to her look, it does not work, at least to the rest of the people in my class, set or even school, except maybe the junior students.

I am a final class student in Excellence Secondary School but people say I look like a junior and other than the fact that I wear skirt like them, I am sure my set-mates will send me on errands or make me call them 'Senior' alongside their name. It makes me annoyed at how they thrive in hearing a word that would stop the minute they leave the gates of the school.

"I am sorry Miss Shola," I bow my head out of respect so it will not appear like I choose to be disrespectful, at least that is what I think she will tell the rest of the teachers who will not ask for the truth from a student. She will say, first I had the effrontery to sleep in her class just because she finished conducting an impromptu test and then I look her in the eye to show her I am a boss like she is (although she is not fairly close to the letter 'b') all because I would graduate in less than a year.

To be honest I really care little about how she would feel if I stare at her, but I care a lot what my father would say to me and the punishment he will choose to give. The last time my class teacher reported me, he had me do the 'okada', if you have no idea what that is, stand straight then slowly bend your legs till it appears like you are seated on a motorcycle, stretch out your hands, fold your fists and stay there for an hour plus.