When I was little, I could hear Pantheon U’s stadium roaring from halfway across Liberty City, this massive metal dome that would erupt and scream almost every single Saturday night. I’d stay up late watching the Pantheon U Titans charge into the Pantheon Dome, dressed up in their matching crimson, white and bronze costumes. I’d get so close to the TV screen that mom would drag me back, kicking and squirming, telling me that I’m hurting my eyes. I just never thought I’d actually be here, standing in the stadium’s packed full parking lot, gaping at the freaking size of this thing. It is huge. And I’ve seen huge before. Skyscrapers are huge. Class Two Kaiju are huge. The Iron Dome (what everyone else calls it, because standing beneath it, the entire thing looks like one giant iron, well, dome) is a hulking beast of noise, with a blimp in the sky dragging a scarlet banner through the clouds, right alongside a few news helicopters circling overhead, and don’t forget the dozens and dozens of families surrounding the stadium.

  If you’re wondering, the Iron Dome is part of PU’s campus grounds. This place is so freaking big that it’s probably got its own zip code. It took mom twenty minutes because of traffic to get to the gate to the parking lot. I can’t even imagine what it’s like on Fight Nights. I guess Freshman Day is the closest I’m gonna get to it right now.

  “Holy shit,” I whisper, shutting the car’s door behind me, and letting my mouth fall as a roar erupts from inside the stadium. A giant screen outside of it is showing a montage of all the Capes that have walked through the very tunnel most of us in this parking lot are about to. Patriot. Titan. Booster-Blitz. Stormsurge and Celeste and Saint and Matriarch and I can barely bottle my excitement. But I do. Because Guardian’s daughter is supposed to be cool and calm and collected and holy shit, I’m on the big screen. One of the news helicopters above me has its camera pointing downward, changing the montage to a live broadcast, brought to you by Liberty News themselves.

  A smattering of cheers from inside the stadium follows when I awkwardly wave. Then mom rounds the car and swings her arm around my shoulder, grins, and throws up a peace sign. What follows is an eruption of so much noise I flinch and almost cup my ears. Almost suddenly, several people push toward the SUV, some with phones asking for pictures, a couple more already livestreaming what they can see of her. Pictures. Questions. Guardian, kiss my baby, and kiss me, too whilst you’re at it! That kind of stuff. Regular…annoying…gross humans touching us too much, kind of stuff. But I put on the biggest practiced smile I’ve got and pretend I don’t hate when people tug and pull and nearly blind me with their phone cameras. By the time mom says we need to get moving, I’m so dizzy and quietly angry I feel like scrubbing my skin off my bones just so I can get the feeling off my body.

  “You alright?” mom says under her breath, as we take off above the crowd. We’re not the only pair in the air, and I catch a father trying to get his daughter to stop hyperventilating into a brown paper bag. “You’re red.”

  I smile a little and shrug. “Just…a lot more people than I expected. Way more people.”

  She nudges me as we stop mid-air. “Get used to it. If you thought you were popular before, you’re going to be everywhere now. But that means you’ve got to put your feelings about them to the side. The last thing we need is for people to start writing all kinds of headlines about how we think we’re way too high and mighty to be touched.”

  It doesn’t help that I’m only wearing baggy jeans and the red and white jacket they sent me when I finally committed to the program. It is way too hot to wear anything else except a sports bra. Sue me for being comfortable.

  “I knew I smelt trouble hanging around here,” a voice says behind us. I feel the rhythmic beat of air against the back of my neck, then we turn around, and a woman with large, gloriously white wings lowers through the sky. Short white hair, soft brown skin, and eyes so amber they’re almost golden glitter as she smiles. Saint has always looked perfect, even mid-fight when you’d think the sweat, blood and grime would leave her ugly and exhausted, she’s found herself on the cover of almost every Hard-Knuckle Monthly magazine. Except she’s not in her white and golden costume today, sword very much missing. Flared white pants, figure-hugging white t-shirt, and golden hoop earrings glint in the sunlight. Mom breaks into a grin as they hug. “Ain’t you too old to be going to college?”

  Mom waves her hand. “Oh, please. I can pass for a twenty year old any day of the week.”

  “Yeah, maybe on a good day, and today just isn’t one of those days, honey.”

  I tense a little. I’ve seen mom kill purse snatchers for a fraction of that insult.

  Except she snorts now and says, “Whatever, chicken wings.”

  Saint smiles, then offers me her hand. “You must be Samantha. I’ve heard a lot about you. Your mom keeps talking her head off every single time we’ve got a team meeting. It gets Titan so angry sometimes. Sentry, right?”

  I shake her hand. Her grip is so firm, so strong, I have to try not to wince. “It’s an honor, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am?” she asks, raising a finely done eyebrow. “I’m basically your aunt, Sam. Call me Angela.”

  “Aunt Angela,” mom says.

  “Right,” I say, and God she’s strong. I discreetly massage my knuckles after she finally lets go.

  “So,” mom says. “Where’s Jordan? I thought she’d be soaking up the crowd right now.”

  Saint—aunt Saint? I dunno, having a human for an aunt feels weird—sighs. “Anti-social as ever. She’s already inside the stadium. Did you know there’s only about eighty freshmen this year?” Mom and I both raise our eyebrows. Apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, or whatever. Saint folds her arms. “I know. Smallest draft class in years. Liberty State plucked most of them up, and don’t get me started on those gaudy programs in Florida and L.A. these days, but I guess these kids aren’t all that big on tradition. Sam, why don’t you go and find the rest of the PU commits? They’re down there somewhere in the locker rooms, getting their freshmen costumes fitted. We’ve still got thirty minutes before the ceremony starts, anyway, and knowing this school, it’ll be another hour of waiting.”

  I look at mom. She pats my back and says, “I’ll be right here. Go mingle and have fun.”

  I fly backward and say, “It was nice meeting you, aunt Saint. I like your sword, by the way!”

  “Hold on,” mom says. I flinch and glance over my shoulder. She makes a hand it over sign. I sigh and slowly float back to her, then dig inside my jacket and hand her a flask full of jade-laced beer. Mom stares at me. I sigh again and give her my packet of cigarettes too. Saint smiles. Mom shakes her head and says, “Play nice, OK?”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I say, and fly toward the stadium before she can frisk me down some more.

  The stadium has two entrances, one in the gaping ceiling that’s open to the sunlight-filled sky above it, or the normal entrance through the fan admissions, which currently isn’t open to the public and the large, snaking line of people waiting to get inside. A couple of younger-looking Capes are manning the entrances, asking people to please step back and patiently wait their turn. I decide to hover toward them instead of, you know, going right in there like I probably know I can. It’s all about making good first impressions, since humans love doing that a lot.

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  “Yo,” I say, and a girl wearing a PU polo shirt nearly jumps out of her skin. I wave at her and say, “I’m, uh, one of the freshmen. Sentry. I heard there’s a costume-fitting thing going on inside of the stadium right now, so…”

  She blinks at me, then says, “Oh. Oh. You’re Guardian’s kid.” I grin and say— “You’re smaller than I first thought you’d be.” She nudges the guy working beside her, a half-lizard thing…person, sorry, with a tail poking out of his jeans. “Check it out, it’s Guardian’s little girl. I told you the pictures all make her look way bigger, Jacob.”

  He groans and slips ten bucks into her hands. “Whatever,” he mutters. “Whaddya need, Guardian Girl?”

  I stare at him for a second, because…Guardian Girl? Fucking really? Who the fuck does he think he—

  Breathe, Samantha. Breathe.

  “Costume-fitting sesh,” I say, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. “Where exactly is it?”

  He points at the stadium, which is really helpful. “Go down the hallway, past the statues and the trophy case, first turn on your right, down that hallway, take the stairs to the level below, and you’ll probably find ‘em.”

  “Probably?”

  He shrugs. “I dunno, man. I’m just doing this for extra credit.”

  “Well, thanks, anyway,” I mutter, turning my back on the people asking for an autograph.

  I leave Lizard-Boy and Polo-Girl gossiping about in the least discreet way possible.

  Landing in front of the stadium’s plated glass doors, I push them open and walk inside a lobby so huge it can probably fit our entire house inside of it. I try not to walk around with my mouth wide open, because all I can see down the stretch of hallway is gold, scarlet, and towering statues of honored Pantheon U alumni. The long receptionist’s desk is empty, so I take it upon myself to go exploring whilst I still have the chance. Sure, I can follow Lizard-Boy’s instructions and be a good little superhero to get my very own PU costume…but I would much rather wander down each one of these hallways right now, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. First comes the statues. Dozens of them line the corridor, illuminated by soft white light coming up from each of their pedestals, making their jaws sharper, eyes more reflective, and tight-lipped smiles even shinier. I trace my fingers along some of their arms, their chests and their capes, glancing at their career achievements engraved into the stone wall behind them in gold letters. Nearly every single member of Ultra Force has walked through this same freaking tunnel. Half of the West Coast League at least studied here for their freshmen year before transferring or washing out and trying again.

  The same hallways my sneakers are scuffing right now has been walked on by gods.

  And then I came to the hallway Lizard-Boy was talking about, the one that would probably lead me to the fitting rooms underneath the stadium. But… I pocket my hands and whistle along, ignoring the thunderous chant that erupts through the entire stadium, muffled by the dozens of several meter thick concrete that separates myself and the actual stadium grounds. I slow down when I reach the trophy cases, all of them lit up individually, making gold and silver and bronze glitter and shine. There’s three bigger ones on their own black pedestals, guarded with invisible laser systems I can somewhat see, but only faintly. Three alumni from Pantheon U have won Cape of the Year, and that means PU got replicas so good they might as well be the real thing. Patriot, way back in the 40s. And then came Liberty, just slightly over ten years ago, and finally Booster Blitz, who’d shocked everyone when he’d waltzed up on stage, kissed the woman handing him the golden trophy, and went on a bender so legendary they even renamed part of New California’s massive red light district after him—Blitz Street, that’s what they call it.

  I swallow saliva just staring at them, as towering murals of all three heroes grinned down at me.

  I get that itch. That itch in my brain that tells me to do something stupid and break the rules.

  And I cave into that itch very, very easily.

  Slowly, I reach my hand toward Booster’s trophy, because, c’mon, I just wanna feel it in my hands. A girl like me is gonna have to get used to bringing back as much gold as possible to this place. They haven’t won a Cape of the Year award in nearly a decade, and the last time they won a National Cape Championship, I was waddling around in diapers, trying to get used to how light earth’s gravity felt. Just a touch. Just enough to feel it in my hand.

  “Touch that, and the entire building is gonna go on lockdown,” someone says. It’s my turn to nearly jump out of my own skin. I quickly spin around and lock my hands behind my back, sweat sliding down the side of my neck as a guy strides down the corridor. He’s in a loose Hawaiian t-shirt and board shorts, flip-flops and a chain of tiny seashells circling his thick neck. He’s tall, maybe six-one, lean but muscular, with sandy blonde hair with dark black roots on the crown of his head. He’s handsome, I guess, and grins easily, making the red, sunburnt skin on his cheeks crinkle as he gets closer. “Pretty sweet, huh?” He puts his hands on his hips and looks at the three Capies. “I want to touch one so bad, but I heard this story once that some idiot tried to do what you just did, and nearly got blown up because this school’s security system is freaking nuts. Look, don’t touch. That’s what PU teaches you.”

  “I wasn’t even doing anything!” I say, maybe too fast. “I just figured I’d, you know, clean it a little.”

  He snorts and says, “Yeah, sure, and I’m guessing you’re a freshman with hopes of being a janitor?”

  I fold my arms. “Yeah, maybe I am, so what?”

  He laughs, and it’s a sound that comes from his chest, like he really does think that’s funny. He offers me his fist. I bump it. “I’m Logan,” he says. “And you probably shouldn’t be wandering around on your own like this.”

  “Sam,” I say. “Or, you know, Guardian’s kid.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Who?”

  I stare at him, then look around. “Is someone gonna jump out now and say gotcha or something?”

  “No, really, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that name before.” He folds his arms and drums his finger against his chin. “Guardian…Guardian…” He snaps his fingers. “Oh, right. The lady on the cereal boxes, right?” He shakes his head. “Man, your mom must make a lot of money. In my opinion? That stuff is way too sugary for me.”

  I blink and say, “You’re being serious right now.”

  “Dead serious.”

  “Guardian,” I say. He shrugs. “The Guardian. Savior of the World. Two-time back-to-back Capie winner, and five-time Capie nominee.” He pretends to think harder. I spread my arms. “She’s literally Ultra Forces’ leader.”

  “Ohhhh, that Guardian,” he says, then pauses. “Nevermind, I’m thinking of my buddy Gary.”

  “Dude.”

  He grins and gently punches my shoulder, but…what the hell? I actually felt that. “I’m screwing with you, Sam. I saw your face on the screens when you arrived, and, you know, all anyone keeps talking about right now is you, you, you, kinda like you’re the second coming of Uncle John.” I raise my eyebrow. Logan jerks his thumb at Patriot’s mural. “That’s what we call him around here, mostly because he loves wandering around randomly. Weird guy, I’ll be honest, but pretty harmless for someone who led a one-man war through the Soviet Union." The stadium erupts again. A walkie-talkie hitched to his board short squawks and spits out garbled English. He sighs and says, “Looks like I’ve gotta run before I get detention. It wouldn't be the first time they’d give me one on Freshmen Day, but I’m also trying not to break my own record. Hey, let’s catch up soon enough. You’re weird, but kinda cool. Do you surf?” I shrug and then nod. He breaks out into an even wider grin. “Awesome! Finally! Katie’s probably gonna kill me for this, but I am totally making you join the surf club. Fun times, big waves, chill days. Brought to you by—” His walkie-talkie squawks even louder this time, making us both flinch. “I should go.” He pats my shoulder as he walks past me, deeper into the stadium. “And, hey, don’t go touching things! Don’t wanna blow everyone up on your first day! That would really screw up your GPA. Go get changed, too. The ceremony is about to begin.”

  Before I can ask him what kind of university hands out detentions, he’s off jogging around a corner, the sound of his flip-flops slapping quickly against the floor. “Weird guy,” I mutter. Must be one of the student helpers.

  My arm, though, still stings where he’d gently punched me. I massage it as I walk the opposite way.

  The only person who’s ever given me a bruise is mom when she was teaching me how to fight years ago. Sure, I’d sniffled and huffed and tried not to cry, and she’d felt so bad that we went out for ice cream three days in a row, but never a regular superhuman. Not even the one or two A-Grade villains I’ve fought scuff my skin. I roll my shoulder as I walk, wincing when it moves. Welcome to Pantheon U! is scrolled above the hallway I’m supposed to go down in golden cursive. Home of Heroes, Academy of Legends, Birthplace of the Brave. One hell of a welcome.

  I just hope Logan didn’t actually give me a bruise, because come on, nobody is that strong.