Super?

I'm Never Gonna Be That Girl

A/N: Ok, I've felt incredibly guilty about not updating for like, more than a month... I'm just going to post the rest of the chapters so I don't have to feel guilty any longer!
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"I look ridiculous," I say, fidgeting before the full-length mirror in the dressing room. Dave and Ollie inspect me closely, looking like carbon copies of each other with their hands pressed thoughtfully to their chins.
"No way. You look epic," Ollie argues. I'm wearing what he deems my "superhero costume," which consists of a thin grey hoodie-shirt with a floppy hood that covers most of my face when it's pulled up over my head. I'm also wearing black leggings that just look like sausage casings on my legs and black combat boots, which I find to be incredibly uncomfortable and clunky. Screw fashion. I want my sweatpants back.
"I look fat is what I look like," I protest, turning to examine myself in the mirror. "And how is the hood supposed to cover my face if it's windy out? Plus I think I can't feel my toes. Do my thighs look abnormally huge to you?" I ask nervously. This time it's Dave who interjects.
"You look great, love. I think someone's just making excuses because they don't want to be a superhero. But it's either this or a hot pink spandex swimsuit, so..." his voice trails off and he gives me a malicious smile. "Unless you want to fight crime in your pajamas. I'm sure you'll really make a statement there. I can see the headlines now-"
"Please don't get started again," I groan. "Besides, this whole ensemble is like a bajillion dollars. I can't make you pay for this. You already bought me that dress, which was just ludicrous because obviously I'm not going on any dates anytime soon." I grump, pinching my stomach like I'm an obnoxious weight-obsessed cheerleader. (Hey, no offense to cheerleaders. Been there done that.) Dave and Ollie share yet another one of their long-suffering glances.
"I think we can afford it," Ollie says dryly. "But if you really just want to wear your Snoopy shirt, we can probably work something out," he teases.
"I don't look like I'm in the mafia?" I ask them anxiously, striking a brooding pose at the corner of the mirror.
"You're a 5'4" skinny blonde girl. I'm pretty sure you're not in the mafia," Dave assures me.
"Dude, I was a super-villain. Anyway, how do you think I would look with a Mohawk?" I inquire, tugging at a few loose strands of my hair.
"Terrible," Ollie and Dave reply in synchronization. I give them both dirty looks, folding my arms over my chest.
"You're just jealous that you're both not brave enough to try a Mohawk. Hey, what about a half-shaved head? I think I could pull it off," I try. I run a finger through my hair, pushing it into a severe side part, then shoot a smoldering look to the mirror. Dave rolls his eyes at my antics.
"Just stick to your ponytails, Maya. For everyone's sake," Dave advises me. Ollie nods in agreement.
"You're both so boring," I mumble as I pull my regular clothes back on and shake my hair out into its usual jagged part.
"...you say to the people helping choose your superhero costume." Ollie smirks, picking up my new 'costume' off of the floor and tucking the ensemble under his arm.
"Touché. Let's go. I've got people to save. It's almost nightfall, where the villains come out," I tell them in a stage-whisper, making weird hand gestures to accentuate my point. Dave and Ollie look at each other again.
"Oh, God. What have we created?" Dave sighs and shakes his head.
"We've truly corrupted her," Ollie agrees. "I mean, we're making her into a superhero." That's when they both start laughing hysterically.
"I hate you both," I grumble under my breath, and step out of the dressing room, trying to appear super inconspicuous as Dave and Ollie both come out behind me. Nothing weird happening here.
"We love you too, Maya," Ollie says sweetly. "Now, where would you like us to drop you off?" Where exactly is one supposed to park to go off in search of crime to fight?
"There's something I have to do first. Can we stop at Walmart so I can grab a hard drive?" I ask, glancing around and keeping my voice low. Dave stiffens.
"Are you going to do what I think you're going to do?" he asks me in a whisper. I take a deep breath and nod.
"I think it's time that Taylor knows her son is still alive."
-
No return address. Nothing more than a cheap Walmart hard drive in a cardboard box dropped off at Taylor's house. It doesn't seem like much, but it contains proof that I didn't kill her son, and I hope she can connect the dots. I left a slip of paper inside with the same instructions that Bloodhound left me when he sent the video, with the location and the time stamp.
As much as I hate Taylor (or keep on telling myself that, that is) I need to try and do something to help Dominic out. And some part of me keeps on seeing Taylor as she was in that newcast, sobbing into the fat woman's arms. Even though I didn't actually kill her son, I feel responsible for the fact that she thinks I did. Or Eris did, anyway.
"She's the one who can fly," I tell them as an excuse after we drive away. The lights were darkened and she wasn't home, which was all well because it'd be hard to explain dropping off a mysterious package and then running away. For all she could know, maybe we were haters leaving a bomb behind. And she probably wouldn't trust us anymore if we wrote "Not a bomb :)" on the front,
"I'm proud of you. Hero." Dave claps a hand on my back. Hero. I always thought that I knew the definition of that word. I guess I was wrong. Sometimes villains can be heroic and heroes can do villainous things. Nobody is straight up black and white.
"Yeah, whatever. I'm just giving her a chance to redeem herself. Because that's what I do," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Ollie's eyes light up.
"That's it! I have your new codename!" he crows from the backseat. He leans in between our seats, his face excited. "What do you think of 'Hope?'" I make a face.
"God. Do you want them to put me on Hallmark cards?" I scowl and cross my arms, but I'm don't actually care. I'm not doing this for the code name or the costume, (which is still illogical and uncomfortable) or not even for the people I can save. As selfish as it sounds, I'm pretty much just doing this to ease my guilty conscience.
"I don't know," Dave says, his voice encouraging, "it has potential, Ol." Ollie gives me a self-satisfied smirk and I just roll my eyes.
"I was hoping for something less gag-inducing," I explain, trying to decide how to word that exactly.
"You mean you want a villain name," Dave states, looking amused. "I get that you're a pessimist and all of that crap, but you don't want to give people the wrong idea. You're not a villain anymore. You can't call yourself Deathbringer and expect people to want you to save them."
"Shut up. I'll come up with something, ok?" I stifle my smile and try to frown disapprovingly. "Deathbringer? That was the best villain name you could come up with?"
"I was put on the spot!" Dave exclaims defensively, stopping abruptly to let a slow old lady and her Jack Russel cross the road. "You think Eris is any better? 'Eris' sounds like the name of a Russian model or something. Where did you come up with that anyway?" he asks, laughing.
"Ok, don't judge me. I was like, obsessed with Greek mythology when I was kid," I reply hotly. "It's actually very interesting. Not that you would know. You're both uncultured, close-minded, ignorant swine!"
"Listen to you, Merriam-Webster," Ollie retorts. "What kind of kid were you anyway?" he scoffs. 
"Smarter than you are now," I shoot back. "And I'll have you know I wasn't a total nerd. I was a cheerleader for a while, even."
"What happened to the cheerleading? I don't see it contributing any pep to your personality," Dave says with a grin. I quickly look out the window, not wanting him to see my expression change. The mood in the car dims once they both realize that was the wrong question to ask. "Maya?" Dave asks softly. "You okay?"
"Crap happened, ok? I'm fine. You can let me out here," I say briskly as we get further into the city. I'm already changed into the hoodie, the sausage-casing leggings, and the chunky combat boots. I asked them why I couldn't just use an illusion like I always do, and Dave said that if I ever lost concentration or even worse- consciousness- then at least I'd still be wearing my costume. Sound logic. But at soon as they let me out onto the street, I cloak myself. Dave blinks rapidly, but Ollie just has on his fanboy expression.
"That's so cool. You're like Harry Potter with his invisibility cloak," Ollie murmurs in awe.
"Dork," Dave tells Ollie affectionately. "Stay safe out there, ok, Maya? If you need us, find a payphone and give us a ring." Dave was insisting on buying me a phone, also, but I wouldn't let him. Ollie may be a lawyer, but I'm not going to even more of a liability than I already am. I'm like this stray that they took in off the streets. Quite literally. And I don't want to unprepared to the fact that I might lose my charm to them. I understand. That's part of the reason I agreed to this- in the case that I need something to fall back onto. I haven't told Ollie or Dave about this, and I probably won't ever. I know what they'd say. They're too nice to tell me anything to my face, so I just keep quiet.
"Yeah. Of course. Thanks, guys." I give a wave, but then I realize they can't see me. "I'm waving," I say stupidly. Dave grins quickly and they both give me a wave in return before they drive off. I watch until they disappear down the street, then take a deep breath and start to walk. Ok, Maya. All you gotta do is find some crime to fight. Easy. This is Birchwood City. For every hero there will be a villain. The balance of nature and all. That's when I realize I may have to fight villains, and the metallic taste of fear sparks in my mouth. What if one of them recognizes me? Tate said that I have a bounty on my head. Oh, God. I'm so stupid. Every hero and villain in the city is looking for a short blonde woman who likes to wear dark colors. And here I am, blending in like I'm Where's Waldo smack dab in the middle of a blank sheet of paper.
In a moment of panic, I quickly adjust my hair and my face. Shorter hair, brown to the point it's almost black. Brown eyes and a long face. Skin a shade darker. The opposite of myself-- I almost feel like Gia. But I tell myself that this is all for the right reasons. I'll never be like her. Dave's warning about losing concentration and being discovered echoes in my head, but I'm already nervous enough without his worst-case scenarios. Besides, I'm invisible right now. Nobody could see me unless they had effing infrared. Which gets me thinking. (I really should have bought the Index of Super-Villains and Superheroes and Their Known Powers.)
This was such a bad idea. I should've said no to Ollie's puppy-eyes. (But really, who can say no Ollie's puppy-eyes?) But nevertheless, I trek on, hoping some weirdo with infrared vision doesn't pop out from an alley with a chainsaw. I'll be super cheesy and say I'm doing it for Dominic or Chrissy, when really the only person I'm doing this for is myself. I'm helping myself by going out as some do-gooder D-list superhero instead of a super-villain batting with the pros on the A-team...? I guess degrading myself is supposed to be therapeutic? Not exactly sure my logic is right there, but whatever.
If something doesn't happen here right now, I swear to God I'm going to have a nervous breakdown.
And just my luck, because that's when I hear a male scream echo from a few blocks down the street. How stereotypical. Careful what you wish for, am I right?
"You better need saving, or this is going to be really awkward for me," I mutter under my breath as I hurry down the street toward where the scream came from. "Hey, what's the worst that could happen?" Famous last words.