The Real Hero

THE HERO

February 1st

The Hero had a name. It was something manly and handsome. But they often forgot what it was and just called him 'Hero'.

He was Brett.

Brett was the Hero.

But truth be told, Brett never wanted to be the Hero. It just... sorta happened, and he rolled with it. The fame was just a nice bonus.

Brett huffed as he waited in line to order. This coffee shop was always full since it was recently discovered that Hero Man frequented there.

Today, Brett wore a beanie and sunglasses as a disguise. It wasn't perfect, but it worked.

"And what will you have today?" The Barista asked brightly.

"The, uh... loco cocoa mocha," Brett answered with the beverage he ordered the most.

"Omygosh! That's totally what Hero Man drinks! Or what Tumblr thinks he drinks," the girl giggled as she quickly whipped up a cup.

Brett decided to enjoy his coffee in the corner, away from people. Maybe if he read the newspaper, he could avoid social contact. But then, I would read something that requires my saving expertise, Brett thought.

For some odd reason, the universe had chosen Brett to be a hero. It didn't matter how much he fought it, Brett was always there to save the day.

One time, Brett was just walking under a tree and a cat fell into his arms. The cat's owner was eternally grateful. Another time, Brett decided to try to be mean and pushed a girl off the sidewalk. She profusely thanked him for not allowing her to step into the huge puddle that was there and would have ruined her brand new shoes.

Everything Brett did benefited someone else. He was sick of it.

The bell above the door jingled as a new customer walked in.

She had crinkly brown hair done up in a messy bun and her nose was scrunched up slightly.

"Just get me the strongest drink on the menu," the woman requested.

She was intriguing to Brett. It was the way she fiddled with her hair to make sure it stayed, the way she tapped her shoes on the tile floor to adjust her footing, the way her nails danced on the counter, the way her lips formed every sound, the way her eyes looked like tears might brim over. Oh no. She might cry. Oh no! Quick! Act like you didn't see her.

She payed for her drink and attempted to sit alone. But there were no empty tables. She reluctantly gathered the courage to ask if she could share a table.

Brett watched as she sat down next to a total dweeb. Why hadn't she sat next to him? Wait, that dweeb looked familiar. What was with that dweeb's backpack?