Action Figures - Issue Three: Pasts Imperfect

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Book: Action Figures - Issue Three: Pasts Imperfect Read Free
Author: Michael Bailey
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gross, Matt,” Sara
says.
    “It’s comfortable.”
    Sigh. Well, I can tell
attacking his beloved trench’s aesthetic qualities is a lost cause, so let’s
try switching tactics.
    “It’s also a dead giveaway,”
I say. “Look, if you and Captain Trenchcoat keep wearing the exact same coat,
someone is eventually going to notice. You need to separate civilian you from
super-hero you, and ditching the old coat is going to help.”
    “Hm,” Matt grunts, the
wheels in his head spinning. “Yeah. Guess you have a point.”
    Oh, well played , Sara says to me over the
brainphone, our private telepathic line of communication.
    Well played, indeed: as soon
as he’s done changing back into human clothes, Matt takes his trench coat out
of the closet. He cradles it, folds it up reverently, and takes it outside. He
returns empty-handed, and I can’t help but choke up a little. How stupid is
that? All he did is throw away an old piece of clothing.
    “Okay,” he says, “let’s get
gaming.”
     
    Many slices of pizza,
several rounds of Last Night on Earth, and four painfully goofy action
movies later, Sara and I head out. Sara’s in no mood to be around her dad, so
she follows me home. Inspired by our success with Matt’s super-hero makeover,
we spend the night brainstorming a new outfit for Sara. She thinks the long
coat and sunglasses combo isn’t cutting it anymore, now that the Hero Squad is
starting to resemble an actual super-team, and I wholeheartedly agree.
    (Maybe this is underhanded
of me, but I try to push Sara toward something less baggy and concealing.
There’s a pretty girl hiding underneath those hoodies and sweatshirts, even if
she tries to deny it, and I think showing it off a little might boost her
self-image.)
    Ironically, our best idea
involves a hooded cloak, which would obscure her face while adding a little
dramatic flair. Neither of us are artists, so our attempts to sketch it out are
positively tragic, but the concept remains intriguing.
    We continue to toss ideas
around the next morning during the walk to school. It’s the first day back
after February break, and everyone is looking rested from their respective
vacations. Color me jealous; I spent part of my week off fighting a demon lord
and his flaming undead sorcerer minions — hardly relaxing, that.
    One person in particular is
looking, as the saying goes, tanned, toned, and rested. “Hey,” Malcolm says,
ambling up to me at my locker.
    “Hey back,” I say, and on
pure impulse, I grab him in a hug and kiss him. There’s a moment of surprise on
his lips, but only a moment. “Wow, sorry, that was really forward of me.”
    Which it was, seeing as
we’ve only been out once, officially speaking.
    “Shame on you,” he says,
flushing slightly. “Don’t ever do that again.”
    “Never again,” I tease, but
out of the corner of my eye, I catch Amber Sullivan scowling at me in
disapproval. Great, ten minutes into the day and I’ve spoon-fed Amber juicy
rumor fodder. Knowing her, I’ll be pregnant with Malcolm’s third child by the
end of the day.
    “How was your week off?”
Malcolm asks.
    “Boring. Spent most of it
gaming and watching movies. Yours?”
    Malcolm gives me an
indifferent one-shoulder shrug. “It was decent. It was Disney World. Long lines
for short rides, overpriced souvenirs, people walking around in costumes, the
usual,” he says, then he breaks into a broad smile. “Sam, of course, was in
heaven the whole time.”
    “And as long as your little
brother is happy...”
    “As long as my buddy is
happy, that’s all that matters.”
    God, he’s such a sweetie.
    The warning bell rings and
we part, not to see each other again until our web design class near the end of
the day. Life can be so cruel.
    I arrive to homeroom in
plenty of time for attendance, but the minute I step through the door, Mrs.
Prescott shoves a hall pass at me and tells me to head to guidance.
    “Mrs. Zylinski would like to
speak to you,” she

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