Page 129 of Flash Fire (The Extraordinaries 2)

And mail? Who was sending him mail? Curious, he set his backpack on the bottom stair and headed toward the kitchen. He paused at the entryway. Sitting on the table was a white rectangular box with a blue ribbon wrapped around it. It was heavier than he expected it to be when he lifted it to shake it. He set it back on the table, untying the ribbon and lifting the lid.

Inside was tissue paper. On top was an envelope with his name written on the front in a stylish flourish. He lifted the envelope, opened it, and pulled out the paper. He unfolded it and glanced down at the signature at the bottom.

Miss Conduct

He paused. He hadn’t seen the Extraordinary since the attack at prom. Seth had a couple of times and they’d all exchanged messages through the app, but Mateo was lying low, worried about the same things the rest of them were. No one had seen or heard from TK, however. Dad had seemed weirdly frustrated when he’d grilled them about the other telekinetic hero, especially when they hadn’t been able to give him much information.

Nick went back to the top of the page and read:

Nicholas—

I’ve thought about this for a long time—whether giving something like this to you was the right thing to do. In the end, I figured it’s better for you to have it, just in case. Before you decide, please read this note in its entirety.

A hero is called upon when they’re needed most, notwhen they’re most prepared. I know it may not seem like it, but I learned a lot from you and our fiery friend, and not only from the disaster that was your prom night.

If you’re anything like me, you’re worried about the future. Everything we’re hearing about Extraordinaries is scary. People are angry with us. Those in power are trying to track us. That asshole Burke thinks we need to be cured. We don’t. There is nothing wrong with us. We are as we’re supposed to be. I’ll always believe that. Giving ourselves permission to be human is hard, but that’s what we are. We just have something a little … extra.

It’s not about the costume, but the person who wears it. I know about your mother. I know she was once the hero the city needed. A guardian. The Guardian. I hope you don’t mind, but I put together a little something for you, with help from Seth and Gibby and Jazz. I tried to find as many pictures of Guardian as possible so I could honor her memory. Girl was elusive; mad props to her. I know she’d be proud of you.

If you decide to become the hero this city needs, I hope you’ll wear this with pride. I hope you’ll live with pride, because pride is a riot. We fight because we can. We love because we can. We become a lighthouse to guide others home. We become guardians to stop evil in its tracks.

Guardian, Nick.

A perfect name for a new hero, don’t you think?

Love,

Miss Conduct

The letter fluttered to the table. Hands trembling, Nick reached for the box and pulled out the tissue paper.

And there, sitting inside, was a cerulean-blue costume.

It was like the one his mother had worn, though with noticeable differences. The material was stronger, lined with white stripes that crisscrossed along the chest and legs. The boots were stiff and shiny.

And the helmet.

Nick lifted the blue helmet from the box. It was heavier than he expected it to be. The lenses were white and appeared to be made of some sort of thick plastic. He turned it over in his hands and thought he saw something blinking inside. He frowned, squinting at the tiny light. It called to him like a lighthouse in the distance, leading him home.

Without a second thought, he slid the helmet over his head.

He breathed and breathed andbreathed—

White light exploded. He stumbled and bumped against a chair, whirling around as numbers, shapes, and words flitted in front of his eyes, running faster and faster. Lines of code flew as a deep chime sounded around him. Then it was gone, Nick’s vision clearing—except everything was sharper, more in focus. He could see the grain in the table and chairs, the chips in the cabinets, the crack in the wood of the windowsill. Before he could react, a voice spoke in his ear.

“Guardian,” it said. “This is Lighthouse. Do you copy?”

Nick gasped, dumbfounded “Seth?”

“Gibby here!”

“And Jazz!”

Seth’s voice was warm when he said, “Guardian, you’re coming through loud and clear.”

“What is this?” Nick whispered, a tear trickling down his cheek.

“The future,” Seth said. “For you. For me. For all of us. You’re a hero, Nicky. An Extraordinary. It’s about time you had a costume to show that.”