Updates

Jason Blatt is in a relationship with Brooklyn Haupenstaat.

(Read about the fallout.)

Inbox: Re: 18c report

From: NSC, ID division
To: softstone@umn.edu
Subject: Re: 18c report

Dear Softstone,

We, the unmasking committee of the ID division of the NSC, have carefully examined your report and considered all relevant evidence. Thank you for being so thorough in your description—not having to call you for further information streamlined our process greatly. As you can imagine, the holiday season is a very busy time for us. You might not know that we have a saying here: “More unmaskings take place at Mom’s house than anywhere else in the country.”

Having reviewed the evidence, we have determined that this is a guiltless unmasking—and though noted on your record, will not count in any way as a breach of conduct. Some members of our committee felt you should be reprimanded for maintaining an ongoing relationship with romantic overtones while in costume, but the majority held this to be a harmless activity. (This is a gray area of NSC regulations of course, but most of us do agree that continued interaction with “Titania” was not the wisest action you could have taken.)

Your case was further sped along because Brooklyn Haupenstaat already has a record with the SecretKeepers. As always in such situations, we encourage you not to inquire as to the reason for her preexisting record but to instead respect the privacy of those around you to the degree that you would want them to respect yours.

Because you described a romantic element in your relationship with this young women, policy requires that you contact us immediately in the event of the dissolution of your close ties, and keep us informed if she at any time ceases to view you with good will.

(Off the record J-man, I’ve seen her pic and read her bio. Not only is she beautiful, but that girl’s going places in life. Don’t screw this up, cause if she’s as great in person as she is on paper, you’ve got a keeper there.)

Harrison Somers

Director of Unmasking Incidents

Identity Division of the NSC

“You keep the secret, we keep you safe.”

Incident Report Type 18c – Identity Compromised

ID Number: 84R92-01

Alias: Softstone

Date of “unmasking”: 11/26, Thanksgiving

Date that you learned of the discovery (if different from above): same

Number of individuals involved and all names available: Brook Haupenstaat, only ind. involved

(Note: if total number uncertain, estimate liberally.)

Venue of unmasking: Personal interaction, @ my parents’ house

Please attach a description of the event. Be as thorough as you can.

(attached)

(See Deena's version of secrecy.)

Thanksgiving

“I still say you should have been a professional baker. Those rolls are to die for! I have to have the recipe.”

“Oh thank you dear, you are so sweet! Ira, where did you find such a lovely girl? She’s lovely.”

Brook kept a wide, innocent smile on her face while she shook her head, dismissing the compliment. “You’re hardly one to talk, Harriet. I can’t remember the last time I met someone as kind as you.”

Much to Brook’s satisfaction, the compliment seemed to fluster Ira’s great aunt. Thanksgiving dinner was almost over, and Brook had spent the entire meal flat-out impressing Ira’s family. Not for any particular reason—it was just useful to keep her networking skills in top form. And it wasn’t hard here. Most of the older family members—the over 70 crowd—had fallen in love with her as soon as she started complimenting them and asking them about themselves. Ira had been wrapped around her little finger almost since they first met and for some reason Jason seemed to be going that same route—so the younger generation was taken care of, too. She wasn’t as sure of Ira’s parents, though his dad did seem to warm up to her every time she made a football reference.

Marsha still wasn’t budging on the question of the sculptor though, and she obviously wanted Brook to drop the issue. The one member of the family that Brook actually did want something from was the only person presenting a real challenge.

She was here until Saturday. There was time yet.

“Do you cook, Brook?” Jason asked. He was sitting across from her, with his back toward the kitchen. He was squinting a little, because his seat faced the glass windows looking over the porch and the backyard and an orange winter sunset. The light was coming in almost sideways, and Brook was sure that by looking in her direction he was giving himself a very good view of the sun.

Normally Brook’s answer to that question would be something along the lines of, “Not while I have the money in my pocket to pay someone else to do a decent job of it.” That didn’t seem like the right answer for Ira’s family though, so instead she giggled and said, “Sometimes. Not as often as I’d like. We don’t eat in the dining room much at my house, so I usually either scrounge for food or eat out.”

From a few seats down, Ira spoke up. “Brook made crème brulée from scratch a couple weeks ago.”

Appreciative “oohs” filtered down the table.

“Crème brulée?” Jason leaned forward, his forearms folded in front of him on the edge of the table. “That’s impressive. I love crème brulée.”

“If you like it burnt through, then you would have loved the way I made it,” Brook said. The table laughed politely.

Jason just shook his head. “I’m sure it was delicious.”

“Well, speaking of dessert—it’s about time we cleared the plates away,” Ira and Jason’s mother said. She stood up from her seat near the kitchen door, and around the table a couple of people rose to help.

Brook stood, but Jason was faster. “No, I’ll get it,” he said, reaching for her plate. The sun was getting low; the sideways beams that had nearly blinded him when he was sitting barely shone on his face when he stood, bent over the table. Brook tried to protest that she wanted to help, but Jason snatched her plate away. “You’re the guest. Just relax until dessert comes.”

Something about the forceful tone in Jason’s voice gave Brook a weird sense of déjà vu. She frowned, sure that she had heard it before. It wasn’t the first time that some little thing about Jason had seemed familiar in the past couple of hours. That made sense, of course—he was Ira’s brother and there was definitely a resemblance. Still, Ira never spoke like that. Jason sounded insistent and sure of himself in a way that Brook couldn’t imagine Ira copying. It was very much Jason’s unique voice, but she was sure that she recognized it.

When Jason stood up straight, the low streaming sunlight only reached up as far as the bottom of his nose. It was an odd lighting situation, something that Brook couldn’t imagine any artist trying to capture, even though dawn and sunset had some of the best painting light. It was still beautiful in the moment. The top half of Jason’s face was in shadow, while his chin and slightly stubbly cheeks had a bright yellow-ish tint from the light. It made his lips look good. A little too orangey maybe, but they arched in a way that made subtle shadows, and when he smiled a little bit at his uncle—

Brook knew why Jason’s voice sounded familiar.

From down the table, Ira was asking her something about dessert. Brook couldn’t focus on the question. She realized that she was gripping the table tightly enough to strain her fingers. “I’m sorry, I have to—excuse me.” She tried not to run out of the room.

Once she had reached the guest room, Brook sat on the edge of the bed and tried to bring her breathing under control. Once she could think clearly, she had to work to keep herself from laughing, too. No wonder Ira hadn’t wanted her to meet his brother, or come down for Thanksgiving! He knew that she refused to tell Softstone anything about herself unless he was willing to do the same. The situation in these past few months must have been so weird for Ira!

On the table beside the bed there was a bird, about the size of a fist, made out of granite. When Brook had first seen it she had thought it looked clumsy and amateurish, like a child’s modeling clay sculpture—except that it had been chiseled from hard rock, so obviously it had required skill to make despite its clumsy appearance. That wasn’t true though, if the artist could make granite turn soft as butter. Brook shook her head, laughing a little bit at the situation.

There was a knock on the half-open door, and Jason stuck his head in. He looked worried, but with a tightness on his face like he was preparing himself for anything. “Are you—is everything all right?”

Brook stood up and smoothed her skirt. She looked at Jason and realized that he hadn’t really been acting too weird today, all things considered. “Softstone.” She said the word quietly, not far above a whisper.

Jason made a face that was halfway between a smile and a grimace. Then he tilted his head sideways and said, “Titania.” He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “Listen, I had no idea that you were the friend Ira was bringing home. When I saw you outside I was tot—”

He stopped talking when Brook kissed him.

In the next few seconds Brook wrapped her arms around Jason’s shoulders and he pressed one hand between her shoulder blades, with the other cupping the small of her back. His cheeks were scratchy and his lips were smooth, with just a slight tang of cranberry sauce on his breath. The superhuman strength that he held back to keep from crushing her made his body almost vibrate along his torso and shoulders, where Brook had pressed herself tight against him. The idea of that much power in human form used to freak Brook out, but knowing that Softstone could snap her in half if he wanted to didn’t matter as much right now as the fact that he was very carefully modulating his strength for her comfort and safety. He wasn’t a bad kisser either. He was exactly her height, and even though all of Brook’s kissing experiences involved guys taller than her, she decided that she could get used to not having to stretch.

Neither one of them remembered to breathe at first, so when they finally did stop for air they were both gasping to fill their lungs. Brook eased back, her hands sliding to Jason’s forearms while his lowered to the top of her hips. They stood with their foreheads pressing, both smiling and breathing heavily, for a minute or two.

“We need to get back,” Jason finally said, softly, “before someone comes looking for us.”

Brook sighed, then grinned. “You have any plans tonight?”

The question made Jason return her grin, and then scrub a hand across the bottom of his face. “Well, it looks like I have an incident report to put together and send off to my boss, but after that I’m free—and at your service.”

Brook kissed him on the cheek. “Did I just get you in trouble?”

Jason considered. “I hope not.” Then he laughed. “Ira accidentally helped me out by bringing you here. If I had gone around campus looking for you, costume-free, and you had figured it out, I would be in trouble.” He added in a whisper, “And it took some serious self-discipline to stop myself from doing that, you know.”

“I would have been harder to find than you think.”

“I was surprised when I went to the play and you weren’t there. I definitely broke the rules that night. I was so bummed when Titania walked out on the stage and looked nothing like you!”

That made Brook laugh. “I’m sneaky, aren’t I?” The she stepped back. “You need to get back out there. I’ll join again in a minute.”

“What should I tell them?” Jason asked.

“I was feeling a little dizzy, and needed to catch my breath.”

“Are you feeling dizzy?”

Brook smiled. “Just a little.”

(Continue with Deena's story.)

Updates

Brooklyn Haupenstaat is excited to learn all of Ira’s embarrassing childhood secrets this thanksgiving!

Kati Foster B you’ve gotta let me know everything!

Ira Blatt doesn’t understand why his mom wants to ruin his life.

Brooklyn Haupenstaat don't be sad - it'll be all kinds of fun!

(Continue to Chelsea's kind of fun.)

Updates

Brooklyn Haupenstaat is feeling on top of the world.

(Continue with Chelsea and Deena's lives.)

Updates

Chelsea Haupenstaat is getting ready for a big scary convo.

Brooklyn Haupenstaat has some serious sparkle to add to leotards before the dress rehearsals. In a mystery location.

Ira Blatt wishes he could tell someone why his life feels like a sitcom.

(Continue with Deena's story.)

Updates

Chelsea Haupenstaat is trying to think big thoughts. but she is sleeeeeepy.

Deena Markowitz is ready to party like it’s 1999. (meaning, 5-yr-old naptime.)

(Continue.)

Updates

Deena Markowitz is excited that the week is finally over! Fun time!

Brooklyn Haupenstaat has the movies and the junk food and is ready for a great girl night.

Chelsea Haupenstaat is gonna rock this sleepover.

(View the aftermath.)

Status updates

Brooklyn Haupenstaat has just as much to do now as last week. But – forget it! I’m going to the theatre building to play with feathers.

Deena Markowitz feels like a giant load’s been taken off her shoulders, literally, figuratively, in every possible way.

Chelsea Haupenstaat has taken on the world and feels up to doing it again. o, and she’s not dating DM. give it a rest, guys. we’re just friends. and i want my spot back at the lunch table.

Brooklyn Haupenstaat is going to jaywalk around campus this afternoon, and see if anyone cares.

Ira Blatt will be busy until 8, but give me a call if you want to hang out after that.

(The End.)

(Return to the Table of contents.)

Text messages

Sender: Darcy
Brook, come to office immediately. Emergency. Don’t ask questions, just get here now.

(Continue to Ira's email.)

Text messages

Sender: Brook
hey chels, you planning on coming home from your sleepover any time today?

Sent on 10 Oct, 4:12 pm.


Sender: Brook
Srsly, where are you? call me call me.

Sent on 10 Oct, 6:57 pm.


Sender: Brook
if u dont call by 8 im calling deena’s rents.

Sent on 10 Oct, 7:31 pm.

(Continue to Brook's rant.)

Status updates

Deena Markowitz is never, ever going to get her beauty sleep at this rate.

Brooklyn Haupenstaat is looking forward to a romantic evening with music, candles, some smelly bath products and a good book. Yay Friday night home alone!

Ira Blatt can’t believe he has to work a double shift. Can’t the U get its scheduling straight?

Chelsea Haupenstaat hopes tonight goes the way its supposed to….

(Continue to text messages.)

Coldstone

Brook accepted her change from the cashier and picked up her ice cream. She stepped back so the next person could pay, and then she gave herself a second to enjoy the first bite. The gooey, fudgy, banana-and-nutty mixture made her smile, just a little, and helped her pretend that she wasn’t having a terrible, stressful week.

The cold against her tongue woke her up a little, too. She had been so tired lately, and all the extra work this week at ReginaPro on top of classes was coming close to pushing her over the edge. The ice cream was exactly what she needed. Smiling evilly, Brook dropped a dollar in the tip jar. It made the servers start singing, loud and annoying. Brook ducked out the door so she wouldn’t have to listen.

Two storefronts and three bites later, Brook turned around the corner of the block and stopped. Super. She felt a tiny surge of panic trying to rise, but she didn’t let it. Softstone was standing barely ten feet away. He was leaning against a brick wall, surrounded by three high-pitched, giggling girls. All three of them wore skirts too short for this time of autumn, and they all looked like freshmen. Figured.

Brook rolled her eyes and kept walking. From behind her she heard Softstone saying quick goodbyes to the girls. Brook picked up her pace, but even so it was only a few seconds before he was walking beside her.

“Well-met in moonlight, proud Titania,” he said, trying to sound conversational. “How’s it going?”

There was clearly no graceful way to get out of talking to the guy. Brook sighed. “It’s ‘ill-met by moonlight,’ Softstone. Oberon is in the middle of a fight with Titania when he says it, and they’re still arguing.”

Softstone shrugged. “Shakespeare was never my strong point. But I’ll keep that in mind. So, how are you doing? That looks good. What flavor is it?”

“It’s delicious.” Brook demonstrated the deliciousness of her ice cream by taking a bite. “Fudge and banana.” Then she cocked her head at him. “Do you spend a lot of your time hanging out in front of the Coldstone Creamery? Softstone at Coldstone—you could advertize for them.”

Softstone laughed. “I wish. An ad contract for a place like that, and my student loans would be history. I was just supervising a money transfer into the armored vehicle for a store down the street. It’s something that the local businesses have asked us to help with when we have the time.”

Brook had stopped walking to talk with Softstone, but now she started moving again. The supe followed alongside her. Brook resisted the urge to glare.

“And you have time to work extra security? You don’t have anything better to do, like track down the rogue supers who attacked ReginaPro?”

“I would rather do that instead,” Softstone said. “All of us would. If it really was rogues and not freak lightning, it’s a huge issue. But we’ve gone as far as we’re allowed to legally, and ReginaPro’s given us almost no access—so we can’t do any more investigation. It’s frustrating, Titania. But we’re all doing our best to keep a lookout for other similar activity.”

The way he kept calling her Titania was really starting to grate on her nerves, and Brook knew it was just a ploy to get her to tell him her real name. There was absolutely no way she was going to do that. Brook turned a corner and continued walking down a side street. She had been heading toward her parked car originally, but now that Softstone was following her she didn’t want him to see her license number.

It was also annoying that he was telling her things she knew weren’t true. “I’m sure ReginaPro is giving you all the cooperation they think is necessary,” Brook said sternly. “They’re really upset by this whole thing—from what I hear.”

“It may be as much as they think is necessary, I don’t know, but it’s not enough,” Softstone said. He did sound frustrated. “All of us think they’re afraid that we’ll steal their proprietary ad secrets and make our own version of, ‘If cookies ruled the world.’ Who knows. We’ve done all we can by them. Hey, that ice cream looks really good. Can I have some?”

“I’m sure you can.” Brook took another big bite. “Just tell the store that you named yourself after them—they should give you a free bowl.”

Softstone laughed. “You’re a cruel woman, Titania.”

“I’m not taking any chances with super-germs. But the ice cream is great.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, then. Have a good night.”

“You too,” Brook said, doing her best to look perky, instead of relieved that he was leaving.

Softstone nodded his head to her and turned away, to walk briskly back along the path they had taken.

After Softstone left, Brook took a second to check out his butt. The gossip columnist was right; it looked good.

As soon as she had finished her look, Brook leaned against the nearest wall and continued eating her ice cream. She would go back to her car as soon as she was sure that Softstone wasn’t anywhere nearby.

She definitely wasn’t going to blog about this encounter. Kati and Ira would give her a hard time, and it just wasn’t worth it. Not with everything else she had to do.

(Continue to Ira's outbox.)

Status updates

Chelsea Haupenstaat isn’t going to be in school for the next few days. tiiiirrrrrreeeeedddddd.

Ira Blatt doesn’t like the way this story is developing.

Deena Markowitz is feeling sick. That’s what I get for dating someone with the flu ;-).

Brooklyn Haupenstaat sees a lot of overtime @ RP in her future.


(Continue to a narrated story.)

Text messages

Sender: KT
cant get out of dorm cuz tornado warning. start w/o me sorry.


Sender: Chelsea
b, i have a fever 104! come home now!


Sender: Brook
im on my way!


Sender: Darcy
B, come back office asap. Emergency!


Sender: Brook
omg C, call an ambulance. i cant come now.


Sender: Brook
on my way. 15 mns. can i bring anything?


Sender: Ira
any1 see that lightning downtown?


Sender: Brook
from closer than you did, i bet


Sender: Chelsea
its not bad enough 4 that, but I NEED U.


Sender: Darcy
Police/firemen on their way. Find me outside if we’re still evacuated.


Sender: Brook
WHAT?? RU ok?


Sender: Brook
im so, so sorry cant come. will explain. call deena?


(Continue to Darcy's email.)

Status updates

Deena Markowitz hopes all this hard work is about to start paying off.

Brooklyn Haupenstaat is feeling under the weather. Seems like a good day for it.

Ira Blatt forgot his umbrella today :-(.

Chelsea Haupenstaat is like a duck in the rain. quack quack!


(Continue to the text messages.)

Progress Report

Chelsea Haupenstaat, Class of 2011
First month of school progress report:

A___English ________I have not seen the caliber of work this semester that I have come to expect from our Chelsea

F___Math __________Tutoring options are available. Email me.

A___History ________I am sure Chelsea could be doing much better than she is. Are there any situations at home I should be aware of?

E___Phys Ed________It’s wonderful to see C applying herself‼!

F___French _________Chelsea could be doing perfect work if only she would fait attention!

E___Env Science_____ If only all of my students were as dedicated as Chelsea!

G___Civics_________Chelsea is a joy to have in the classroom.

N___Study Hall _____C’s constant skipping puts her in great danger of failing study hall.


Exceeds expectations, Good, Average, Fair, Needs improvement



(Read the email from Brook's 4th grade teacher.)

Status updates

Brooklyn Haupenstaat thinks there’s nothing like making out with a cute boy to lift a girl’s spirits.


(Read Kati's response.)

The Secret Lives of Students: The Softstone Interview

For part three of our six-part series on the supes who help keep our campus safe, I had a chance to sit down and get up close and personal with Softstone.

The rumors are true, ladies and gentlemen! He is a dreamboat! Of course I’m only guessing, since he was too straight-laced to take off his headgear (or his shirt), but he did promise me that the top half of his face matches the bottom half, and the bottom half (not to mention the bottom half of the backside, which I got a chance to check out when he walked away at the end of the interview) is gorgeous.

Softstone, like Baseline and Deep Indigo, wouldn’t budge an inch on the identity protection stuff. As you my dear readers know, the only thing the supes have been willing to say about their six members is that two are alumni, one is on faculty and the other three are enrolled students, in some mix of grad and undergrad.

I pegged Softstone for a grad student. It made him blush adorably and thank me for the “compliment,” but he didn’t deny it. I’ll bet he’s in law school or business. I wish we grew them like that here in journalism!

“Listen,” Softstone said after I had given him the third degree for a while, “All this speculation is fun, I get that, but I’d really like to talk about campus security. I’ve been hearing about people taking extra risks lately because they figure that everything’s safe with us supes guarding them—but we can only do so much and it’s so important that everyone use their best judgment all the time.”

I promised him I would put that in the article in return for finding out if he’s seeing anyone. Guess what ladies and interested gentlemen? He’s single!

“I haven’t found the right person to settle down with. But I don’t really have time to look right now, either. Maybe when the semester starts settling down….”

The takeaway message is clear. Do your part to keep campus safe, or else you won’t even have a shot at this hunky hero.


Softstone answers your questions!
Q: How old are you, Softstone?
A: Sorry, that’s classified. I’m older than 18 and younger than 30. I hope that’s good enough.
Q: I heard that you’re not actually from Minnesota. Is that true? Where are you from?
A: It is true. I’m a transplant from another part of the Midwest—but I love it here.
Q: What’s your favorite thing to do when you’re not keeping the streets safe for the rest of us?
A: Nothing too exciting! I like to hang out with friends, barbeque, watch baseball—normal stuff.
Q: What teams do you route for?
A: I like the Twins okay, but I’m really a—um, I’ll just say that I like my home team the best.
Q: Do you play any sports?
A: I like to play basketball on Sunday afternoons. I’ve never been a part of a team though. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone else if we supers played competitive sports.


(Read a message sent from the ReginaPro office.)

Softstone

Sender: Darcy
Brook, tomorrow stop by printers on the way in and pick up the wedding invitation proposals. Thx.



Brook rolled her shoulders back slowly, trying not to wince when bones along her back popped. She hated that sound! It felt good though, after an evening of bending over a design table and going through what had to be hundreds of pages of period photos and fairy costumes. And she hadn’t even started her reading for her Thursday morning class yet. It was going to be a long, long night before she finally went to bed.

It was cooler outside than it usually was in the middle of September, since it had been raining earlier. Oily water pooled in the gutters and clouds covered the moon—if there was a moon tonight. It felt like autumn already.

Good—that meant she could wear boots tomorrow. Autumn was the best time, fashion-wise, to live in Minnesota. It was a chance to wear cute stiletto boots and sweet little coats, without having to worry about whether the clothes were functional or warm enough to fight off frostbite.

What time was it? 9:00? 9:10? Brook pulled out her cellphone, but instead of listing the time it told her that she had one new text message. “Stupid reception,” she muttered, opening the message. The whole theatre building was a black hole—not only did it eat time, it also ate phone service, too.

The message was from Darcy, and it had arrived… phew, just five minutes ago. But that meant it was already 9:10, so Brook was running late to meet Ira. Not that Ira was going anywhere. If he was in a bad mood he might complain that Brook had kept him waiting, but a big smile and an effusive apology from Brook would make it all better, even if he was angry. She had learned that convenient fact about Ira last year when they worked on their “group” project in economics.

Brook shrugged her bag higher on her shoulder before she pushed the button to respond to Darcy’s message. Since Brook was late already and there was no reason to try to get on Ira’s nerves, she started walking at the same time.

It was a fairly quiet evening, even though it was still early. That was probably because of the rain. There weren’t many people or cars out, and no campus security types either, so Brook crossed at the middle of the block to speed along her way.

There was a puddle that she didn’t see until after she splashed into it. Brook winced and shook her foot, as the cold wet feeling seeped in through her strappy sandal. Boots tomorrow, definitely. She tossed her hair back over her shoulder in a motion that she had practiced so many times in high school that she didn’t even have to think about it anymore, turned back to writing her text message and kept walking.

A car horn blared somewhere nearby, too close and too loud, and then there was a screeching of tires against wet blacktop. Brook saw the car coming toward her, could see the driver’s face, scrunched up and yelling, but then the headlights were shining on her, like spotlights on a stage, blocking out the rest of the world. Brook didn’t move. The only thing she thought was, Who will pick up the invitations for Darcy if I die? The headlights were getting brighter and time had slowed down, but even though she knew she was supposed to do something she couldn’t remember what that something was.

At the last possible second, some little voice told Brook that if she stayed there she would be crushed under the car, so she jumped. Not to the side, not away—just up, so that at least the car wouldn’t drive on top of her.

She went up but then she kept going, above the car that had still barely slowed down, above all the parked cars on the side of the street. At first there was pressure against her armpits, but then her feet flew up and there was something pressed against her side, and then the car honked again and time seemed to go back to normal.

“Are you okay?” someone asked, the voice right next to Brook’s ear. That same someone was holding her, and her feet were dangling and she was pressed against that someone’s flat, muscled stomach.

There was also a face looking down at her, but Brook could only see the bottom half. There was a chin, pronounced cheekbones and soft, curved lips, but after that a cloth covered the rest of his face, with holes punched out for his eyes.

Brook groaned and leaned her head back. A supe. Just perfect.

“Miss, can you hear me? Are you all right? Did the car hit you?”

“I can hear you just fine,” Brook said, letting the irritation she was feeling bleed into her words. “And I’m also okay. Could you please let me down?”

From what Brook could make out of her environment, around the big hulking head of the supe with his face bandana’ed over, the ground was farther away than Brook wanted it to be. The guy was probably a flier—and a show-off.

“Don’t worry—I won’t let you fall. You’re perfectly safe with me.” His lips turned up in a smile that might have been cute if he weren’t laughing at her.

“Yeah, and I’d be perfectly safe on the ground, too,” Brook said. She had to angle her head around to see that they were somewhere around the second storey of an academic building, with Mr. Supe standing on the edge of a stone outcropping.

The guy in the mask laughed, like Brook had just said something really funny, and then he readjusted his hold on Brook so she was cupped against his side almost like an overgrown baby cradled in his arm. His superhuman strength allowed him to hold her against his side tightly enough that she couldn’t fall, and he didn’t even have to lean to the side to compensate for the extra weight. For a second all she could think about were the news stories back when she was in middle school, about innocent bystanders crushed to pulp by the Fireshield Maestro’s lackeys during the siege. The helplessness of knowing that her life was literally in the hands of someone else who could easily crush her made Brook feel cold. Still, as soon as she could see how he was holding her she reached to wrap her arms around his shoulder, to give herself at least some sense of balance.

The supe started moving, walking carefully—though even the most careful movements made Brook tilt and jolt uncomfortably in his arm—down the stairs toward the sidewalk.

“Really, ‘perfectly safe on the ground’?” the supe asked. “The driver of that car would say otherwise, miss.”

At that moment, Brook was too busy paying attention to what the guy was doing to notice much of what he was saying. There were no stairs on the side of the building, or at least there hadn’t been, but he kept his free hand running along the wall and brick outcroppings shot out, evenly spaced, below and a little ahead of him. It was kind of cool.

And, of course, really bad news to the rest of the world if a guy with powers like that ever decided to go the self-employed route. Or set out on a personal vendetta.

They were near the ground before Brook realized that the supe was talking to her. “…with the wet streets in particular, but of course it will be worse in winter. And texting on top of jaywalking? That’s just asking for trouble. Where do you think you are, New York City?”

“Sometimes,” Brook muttered. She all but shoved the guy away the second his feet hit the sidewalk. She looked around for her bag and found it—wet, of course, half in a puddle—between two parked cars. She picked it up very carefully, so the wet part wouldn’t touch her, and turned back around just in time to see the supe—who was wearing full-body spandex, in maroon and gold—fix the wall.

He had placed both palms against the side of the building, and all the brick steps that had popped out were now retracting with a dry, rubbing sound. A few seconds later the building looked the way it had before he messed it up in the first place.

Then Brook turned around and—“My phone!” It was in the middle of the street, still open but dark. She darted for it, forgetting about the still-wet bag that thumped against her side when she moved.

“Hey, hey! Wait!”

She was crouching in the street to pick up her phone, which was at least still in one piece, and a second later the supe was standing beside her, his hands resting too heroically on his hips. “What do you think you’re doing? You just almost got run over and you’re back out in the road, not checking for cars, again?”

Brook tried unlocking the keys, but nothing happened. “Oh no, come on.” She held down the power button, and the logo of her service provider filled the screen. “Thank God! It might still work.”

“You are aware that cars drive on this road, right?” The supe was starting to sound annoyed, his voice rising to a high octave that made it sound somehow familiar. Then he cleared his throat and added, “It’s very important for your safety that you look both ways before you step onto the street, and only cross at designated crosswalks.”

“You’re kidding, right?” It was nearly 9:30 now, and Brook was in the middle of a wet road being lectured by Captain America. She stood up and brushed some grit off the side of her pants where her bag had hit against them.

Brook was surprised, when she stood up, to realize that she was as tall as the supe. If she were wearing more serious heels, she would be able to look down at the guy. His muscles weren’t bulky either—though they were well enough defined under the spandex—so all in all she supposed it was kind of impressive that he could pick her up so easily. Or, it would be if he weren’t gifted with preternatural strength.

“Listen.” For no particular reason Brook put on one of her prettiest smiles, the one that had put her on the homecoming court two years in a row in high school. “I appreciate your help, and I understand that you’re just doing your job, but I’m okay. Just fine. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m late to meet a friend for coffee—”

“Just how late are you?” the supe asked, glancing pointedly at her phone.

“None of your business. So I’ll be on my way now.”

The supe held up a hand. “Wait a second! Seriously, wait, we have these forms….” He reached into a little pouch on a belt he wore over his spandex and pulled out a small folded piece of paper. “It’s like an evaluation, to judge the effectiveness of the super program, so if you could just fill this out and drop it off at student life, in the campus security office….”

Frowning, Brook accepted the form. She tossed her phone in her bag so she could unfold the paper. On the top it had the caption, “You have been assisted by: Softstone.”

Brook stared at the form for almost ten seconds, trying to keep herself from laughing, before she gave up and made a rude noise. “Your name is Softstone? And you don’t find that horribly embarrassing?” she asked.

The question seemed to surprise him. Then he smiled a little and said, “I’m mortified. I can’t even show my face in public.”

Without meaning to, Brook smiled. The supe, Softstone, went on, “If you ever feel like it, you can go on the NSC website and see names and bios of all registered public supers. Every official name is trademarked; it’s really hard to come up with something that’s original and as heroic as I’d like. So, what’s your name?”

Brook clenched her jaw closed. “What’s yours?” she asked through gritted teeth.

The supe motioned to the paper in her hand. “I’m Softstone, remember? You were just making fun of it two seconds ago.”

“That’s not your name. It’s your super identity,” Brook said.

Softstone shrugged. “I have a contractual obligation to stay incognito when I’m in costume. But I’ll bet you go around telling your name to strangers all the time in social situations.”

“I do, but only when I expect them to tell me their names back.”

“Well, I’m Softstone, and it’s a pleasure to meet you. If you want to use a fake name, I can respect that.” Softstone held out one maroon-gloved hand.

Brook said the first name that came to mind. “Titania.” She wanted to wince as soon as she said it, but she stopped herself. At least she hadn’t said Peasblossom. She placed her hand in Softstone’s.

For someone as strong as he was, he wasn’t out to prove anything with his handshake. If anything he was too polite, holding her hand as gently as if she were a Southern lady. She was almost afraid that he would lift it up to his lips and kiss it.

He did look amused, though. “Titania, queen of the fairies? I’m honored that I had a chance to rescue you!”

“Shut up.”

Softstone laughed. “I take it you’re a theatre major, then?” he asked.

Agreeing with him was easier than making up a lie on her own, so Brook nodded. “You’ve got me. Anyway, thanks for the rescue and all, but I’ve really got to get going. You know, hang out with people who let their friends see their faces. Um, keep up the good work!”

Before Softstone had a chance to say anything, Brook turned around and half-ran toward the corner. She would have rather just run across the street, but she was sure he would give her a hard time if she jaywalked again with him standing right there. After she had gone about twenty feet he called out to her, “If you ever need someone to rescue you again call the super hotline anytime, day or night! Be sure to ask for me—Softstone!”

Luckily, the light had turned green just before Brook reached the intersection. She rolled her eyes and crossed quickly, to get as far away from this weirdo as possible.



(View Brook's explanation of the interaction.)

Status updates

Ira Blatt is going to have a busier semester than he realized….

Chelsea Haupenstaat isn’t sure she likes how this year is starting out….

Brooklyn Haupenstaat has a crush on her job!


(Read Chelsea's blog.)

Tracking the Glacial Buzz

Three years ago in our special issue, Holding out for a Hero, the editors of this magazine noted that even twenty-five years after the first government recognition of the Great Awakening, scientists still had no concrete theories on the nature of the link between the Glowstone Quarry in the Andes and the sudden emergence of superhuman abilities in previously unremarkable individuals.

According to Dr. Fairboe at the University of Oslo, that may be because we have all been looking in the wrong place.

Fairboe spent much of this past summer in Antarctica, where he and two colleagues, as well as a class of advanced students, examined a site that, in Fairboe’s words, “May be glowstone ground zero.”

It all started when Dr. Sørenson, also of the University of Oslo, developed a camera lens that responded to the high levels of “buzz” in glowstones. Buzz, which many in the scientific community prefer to call USR (Unexplained Sensitive Response), is an unquantifiable but widely accepted human reaction to glowstones. Buzz has variously been described as “an energy signature,” “a feeling of endless potential” and “brain drain” by those sensitive to it.

Sørenson’s lens relied on the fact that glowstones release very weak levels of both radio waves and ultraviolet light. “On both sides of the spectrum their energy signatures are weaker than many other items in our ambient environment,” he said, “but the fact that they release both at once is unique, and something we could look for.”

After a few upsets and trials last year, Sørenson’s lens was sent up to the international space station back in January to conduct wide-scale a study of Earth.

Before this study, the only way to detect buzz was to send a sensitive into an area and rely on his or her impressions and feedback. Sensitives are usually—though not always—supers, though by a slim majority most supers are not sensitives. (The reason for the correlation is still unknown, though nearly ever non-super sensitive on record does have family members with powers.)

For the first time, Sørenson was able to systematically examine the entire world’s glowstone supply. Some of what he saw was as he expected. “Spots all along the Andes were glowing bright, and of course London was a big blip, thanks to the exhibit at the British Museum. There were a few dozen places where I was surprised to see the concentration of glowstone that I did, but I’ve been informed by more than one government that many of those locations are privileged information. There were also a few false positives, but what fascinated us all was Antarctica.”

Specifically, the Antarctic ice shelf. The levels there were lower than in the Andes or Siberia, but they were spread out over miles of land. None of the other natural major concentrations on record spanned more than a couple hundred feet.

“We all knew that this was something different, something exciting,” Fairboe said. He and Sørenson immediately started planning an expedition, scheduled to take place during the coldest season of the Southern Hemisphere because of recent reports of the ice shelf shifting dangerously during the summer months.

In Antarctica they found barren expanses of ice that went on for miles. The land seemed featureless to all of the participants except Jarrod Rollag, a graduate student who was also a known sensitive.

To Rollag, the whole place was humming. “My friends say that I acted like I was punch-drunk most of the time. But everything—the land, the colors—was just so vivid.” Rollag reports that the experience was pleasant at first, but that as time went on he started suffering frequent migraines and—once again according to his colleagues—a sense of paranoia.

Still, Rollag’s presence was invaluable as the group worked to explore the boundaries of the glowstone field. His sense could determine, more quickly and easily than their bulky expensive equipment, how far out the glowstone concentration went.

Meanwhile, Sørenson was making a geological survey of glowstone intensity. Using the same drills that environment scientists have used for years, he and his crew began extracting cylinders of ice roughly a foot across and fifty feet deep from the glacial ice.

The ice was riddled with glowstones. Interestingly, they seemed to increase in concentration deeper in the ice. Each individual sample gave off a much weaker resonance than any pieces of equal size from Chile or Russia. However, because of the sheer volume of stones present at the site, the intensity rating was practically off the charts. “This is a major find,” Fairboe said.

Even before they cut into the ice, they found glowstones scattered liberally along the surface. “It took us a while to notice them, since they were smooth and milky white, just like the ice,” Rollag said. “Once we figured out what they were though—we got a few boxes full of the things before we realized there was no point in trying to collect all of them.”

The expedition was cut short by an approaching storm or equipment malfunction (accounts differ), but the trip leaders are confident that the information and materials they collected on their abbreviated mission still constitute a major find. Fairboe said, “With this new discovery, we’re one step closer to figuring out where glowstones come from and what they have to do with the extraordinary abilities that have surfaced in the past generation. This is all very exciting.”


(Continue reading as the plot thickens....)

Status updates

Brooklyn Haupenstaat got the extra-good internship! Happy early birthday to me‼!


(Check out Brook's blog.)

Status updates

Chelsea Haupenstaat’s got blue skies, smiling at me….


(Read an update from crazyland.)

Receipt for the Argentine Grille

Argentinean Grille
31 August 10:03 pm
Your server tonight: Ryan

Fruits du mer 12
Fruits du mer 12
Mntnpk Villa Malbec, bot. 74
Shirley Temple 3
Kobe tartar 39
Filet mignon 32
Garden variety 18
Crème brulée 8
Lemongrass cheesecake 9
Tea 3

Subtotal: 210
Tax (@ 6%): 12.60
Total: 222.60

Tip:_____________________________
Total:____________________________
________________________________
Signature: Kristi Anders
Customer copy


(Story continues with Brook)

Status updates

Brooklyn Haupenstaat – Mom just came back from 3 straight weeks oot. You know what that means… steak night‼!


(Continue to Deena's email.)