After the Big One, the strangest thing wasn’t that some kids were born with superpowers, but how instinctively they gravitated to traditional roles. Heroes and anti-heroes, villains and henchmen. Save the world or destroy it.

Except me.

They gave me a walkie-talkie but I built a bomb. They gave me poisons but I formulated a serum. They gave me empathy but I started a rebellion. They gave me the Doomsday Book but I made a poem. They gave me a gun but I took the world.

Eventually, both sides tired of courting me. The government decided I was neither asset nor threat and transferred me back to my old high school. No more fighter jet, no more decoder ring. Biology homework and book reports and a yellow bus that always smelled like someone just threw up.

And you. Glitter fingernails, plaid skirt, cornrows, facial expression preset to boredom. Kicking jock ankles in the hallway, cutting class to hang out on the tetherball court and hit the ball like you meant it.

They took my life but I got you a dozen roses.