School started. I was a superhero studying algebra and physics before recess. Craig was taking nothing but advanced placement classes on his home computer. He walked me to school, ate lunch with me on the playground, then came back and walked me home. That was the extent of our dynamic duo routine, apart from weekends at our lair, apart from a few minor rescues here and there, nothing the press was keen enough to cover. Heroes, sure, but not so super.
“I hate this,” I said, many weeks later, the leaves already falling from the trees, the days growing shorter, my patience right along with them.
It was a Saturday. The Den was cold, bleak. We’d installed space heaters—little good they did us. Craig smiled at me. The room warmed up a bit. “The press has died down. The police seem not to care
