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serious, Princess. The bad news is, you’ll have a flash like this every few months, not as impressive, but you shouldn’t expect your power to emerge for at least a year, maybe three or four.” His voice was low and smooth as he laid it out. Not comforting, exactly. Professionally respectful, one superhuman to another.
    Then he turned me in his trembling arms, as much as he wanted to pretend I was still eight and he could do this easily, and he leaned his head down until his glasses tapped mine. “The good news is, your powers are on their way and they’re amazing. Maybe you’re not a superhero now, but you will be one day. You proved that today. The only question is where we go out to eat to celebrate.”
    “Pizza Place!” I answered instantly. The prospect of the best pizza in the world soothed my disappointment considerably. I wrapped my arms around Dad and hugged him, and our glasses clinked again. His were way more complicated and high tech, but you know what? Now it was only a matter of time.

    “The Audit! Run for it! Everybody run for it!” the owner yelled. Cooks and deliverymen scrambled around like scared ants.
    “This must be the twentieth time you’ve made that joke,” Mom told him as everybody smirked.
    “Twenty? Really?” he asked her. Everyone settled down and got back to cooking.
    “Contrary to rumor, I don’t count everything, Mr. Grigoryan,” Mom informed him. Her hands at her side flashed me seven fingers.
    It was easy to enjoy the humor as I climbed into my seat. The tables and chairs in Pizza Place are really high. I’ve never asked why. It’s Los Feliz, so I’m not sure there has to be a reason. The smell of cooking cheese hung thick in the air, and I just couldn’t wait.
    A meal at Pizza Place really eases the disappointment. Of all the tiny little restaurants that litter Los Feliz and serve amazing food, this is my favorite. It’s small—two tables inside and one outside small—but the pizza is so good. So good.
    Forget cafeteria pizza. They brought ours to the table, with the fluffy, dark brown crust and the pepperoni slices curling up on top of the cheese, and I grabbed the first slice and stuffed it in my face. It was greasy, but not grease. Hot cheese, greasy, full of flavor, with a sharply spicy sauce.
    “I’m really proud of you, Pumpkin,” Dad told me after a couple of measly bites. I reached for my second slice.
    I glanced up at Mom.
    “Three Pumpkins, two Princesses,” she recited.
    And that was just since I got out of school. Once I made a deposit in my bank account, I’d be buying the Candy Chainsaw expansion pack to Teddy Bears and Machine Guns this weekend. That was a pretty good bonus reward.
    “I’m serious, Penny,” Dad went on, all stubborn. “Every parent in the community wonders whether they do or don’t want their children inheriting their powers. It’s a dangerous, crazy life, sometimes.” I shot a glance up at Mom. Yeah, she had that wistful look too. “I’ve asked myself that question more than once in the last year, but, when I looked at the mechanisms in your little creation there, I felt so proud I thought I would explode. I know it’s going to hurt waiting four years for your power to really emerge, but when it does it’s going to be something else.”
    “Until then, you’ll have to be patient. Like the other Birds And Bees speech, you can’t rush this. It will happen in its own time,” Mom added. They’d switched roles, and now she was the designated Bad Cop.
    I bit into another slice of pizza. So good! So good! Was it any wonder this little hole-in-the-wall restaurant was where superheroes went for their pizza?
    Speaking of which, I gaped as a suit of shiny brown armor hit the sidewalk. I wasn’t alone. Yeah, the superheroes ate here, but in costume?
    And Mech himself?
    Mr. Grigoryan had to slap his workers around to get them moving again. I could have used a slap myself as Mech entered the store, walked right up to our