The Superhero's Son (Book 1): The Superhero's Test by Lucas Flint Page B

relieved that I had to go to school. Dad said we'd take weekdays off, although he did tell me to be home before dinner so we could review my practice sessions for improvements (which he always recorded on his gauntlets that could apparently do everything).
    Because I lived in such a small town, the school was only about fifteen minutes away by foot. So I always walked there, which was kind of weird, because I was used to taking the subway to my old school back in New York. Not that I was complaining, though, because the subway was always too loud and crowded and dirty for my tastes.
    But it was also very boring, because I was apparently the only kid in the entire town who walked to school. Everyone else either took the small school bus, were driven there by their parents, or drove themselves. I had a driver's license, but I didn't have a car of my own yet, mostly because I didn't need one back in New York, although now that I thought about it, I figured I would need to buy one at some point (unless I learned how to fly, that is).
    The morning air was nice and cool, but I knew it would get hot soon, which is why I walked quickly. I hoped to get to the school, which was several streets away, before the heat hit, because I had learned very quickly that Texas fall was nowhere near as cold as New York fall.
    Still, I hadn't had a very good breakfast this morning due to the fact that I had tried to leave in a hurry to make sure I got to school on time, so I decided to take a quick detour to the convenience store to grab a burrito or something.
    So I made my way to the convenience store, which was only a little bit out of my main path to school. I had only been in it a few times before, when my family first moved to Silvers before school started, but I already had its location memorized because I liked the place.
    The convenience store parking lot was almost empty, which didn't surprise me, because it was still early in the morning. But through the glass walls, I saw someone standing at the counter, a big guy wearing a ski mask for some reason. He seemed to be talking with the cashier, but I didn't sense any danger until the big guy pulled out a gun and pointed it at the cashier.
    I froze. I was watching a robbery in progress. I immediately reached for my phone to call the police, just as Mom had always taught me, but then I caught myself and looked at the suit-up watch strapped to my wrist.
    Could I use my powers to defeat this criminal and save that cashier's life? I know Dad said that I shouldn't try to stop criminals, but that robber didn't look like he was going to let the cashier go even if that cashier followed his every command. Even if that guy didn't kill the cashier, by the time the police got here, he might be long gone, along with all of the money and everything else he stole from the store. Besides, I was a neohero, which meant I was probably stronger than that guy and could take him in a fight.
    But I couldn't suit up in public, so I sneaked around to the back side of the building until I was between the back of the store and the dumpster. It was a stinky, smelly place, but it was also the perfect place to suit up without being seen by others.
    Tapping the button on the side of the watch, my suit popped out and wrapped around my whole body. In an instant, I was completely suited up, so I stood up and ran over to the store's back door, which was thankfully unlocked.
    Sneaking through the convenience store's back room, I peered through the door to the main part of the store and saw that the robber was still pointing the gun at the cashier. The cashier was busily stuffing a large burlap sack full of what looked like the contents of the register and packets of cigarettes.
    “Hurry, hurry,” said the robber, whose hoarse, raspy voice told me why he was having the cashier fill his bag with cigarettes. “Can you move any slower? You know what I said I'd do to you if you don't fill that bag fast.”
    The cashier didn't say