Not Your Average Hero

•16• death by icecrean

"I'm just saying, it doesn't suit him." Amaris sighed, clutching the schoolbooks to her chest.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Golden Sparkler." She said his name slowly, pronouncing each and every syllable clearly, "why couldn't it have been something cooler, like... I don't know... Firefly maybe?"

"The media is strange people." I stated simply; she nodded in agreement.

"He is hot though." She claimed, biting her lip, "that makes up for it."

"Mer, he wears a cowl. How the hell would you know if he's hot or not?" I asked. I don't even know if he's 'hot' and I've seen more of his face than any hormonal teenager out there.

Amaris shrugged, "I just know when a guy is hot. I have a hodar."

"Hodar?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Hodar... You know... Hotness radar?"

"You made that up." I accused.

"So what if I did?" She said, "you just watch and see. Hodar will be in the dictionary one day, and I'll be famous for my creative mind."

"Do you know who created Instagram?" I asked.

"Well, no... But I don't see how that has anything to do with this." She stated.

"Do you think you'll be 'famously known' for making a word, that sounds more like a radar for hoes than hot guys, if barely anybody knows who thought of one of the most popular social media sites in the world?" I asked; she shrugged. Amaris came to a stop in front of the Culinary classroom, but I kept walking, "see you later, Ash!" She called. I didn't have to turn around to know she was waving her arms, attracting the stares of fellow students.

***

"Today, I want you to write a short story using everything you've learnt this past week." Mr. Lancaster, my AP Writing teacher, said, walking up the row between my desk. He was one of the taller teachers, his receding hairline and round glasses, that made his eyes look bigger than they actually are, took up most of his features. He wore a pink shirt underneath a red vest, and brown shorts that fell to just above his knee. "Be creative, Draven," he placed a detention slip on the desk of a guy who was turned around, talking to his friends, "this is a test on how far you can push your imagination to create something never thought of before, something unique." He found his way back to the front of the classroom and was leaning against his dark oak bureau. "The top samples of literature from each classroom will be featured in this weeks Landchester High Newspaper." As soon as he was finished talking, all that could be heard was lead on paper, quiet whispers, and pencils sharpening.

I chewed on the back of my pencil, a bad habit I acquired in elementary school, thinking of something I could write about. Unique. How the hell do I do that? I started off writing various titles, the lines on the paper were beginning to fade from erasing whatever I thought of every two seconds. I placed the pencil on my paper one last time- A Supervillain is Trying to Ki-

"Psst!" Graham called, yanking me out of my thoughts, I tried to ignore him, focusing more on my work. If there's one thing I hate about Mr. Lancaster, it's that he gives out detention slips to whomever has their back to him. "Psst, Calloway!" Graham whispered once more, he called my name two more times before another voice came into the one-sided conversation.