The points that she made from it . . . didn’t really matter to her. She had a single Skill Upgrade point at her disposal, and she didn’t mind having more or less; they were part of the thing causing her woes, and she decided that they could safely be ignored.

Class ended on a high note, the teacher announcing that the homework he was going to hand out would wait until next Monday.

Emily gathered her things, then patiently waited as the class emptied a bit so that she wouldn’t be bumping into anyone at the door.

One advantage of suddenly being thrust into the world of Masks and Villains and such was that her anxiety about being around people had been, partially, replaced by a multitude of new and far more terrifying anxieties.

Emily plotted her course from her English lit class to the campus cafeteria. If she arrived late enough, they might not question her taking enough food for two, and there wouldn’t be a line at the free food they served.

The rumors online said that it wasn’t exactly . . . good food, but it was free, which counted for a lot to the student body.

After that she had an afternoon history class. She would need to look at the map on her phone to know exactly where that was on the campus other than the vague idea she’d gotten from her first tour.

Emily was still plotting ahead when she slowed to a stop outside the English building.

There was a crowd. Not the kind of crowd that appeared when foot traffic jammed or when people were gathering to protest something, but the sort of crowd that came together to collectively gawk at something.

It only took looking up a bit to see what the fuss was all about.

Jezebelle Winthrop

Defender, Level 1

Emily froze, a deer in headlights. The crowds shifted, bulging out like the sea rising, and somehow Emily was the place where it broke.

The woman under the name was a shorter girl, with short brown hair that fell down to her neck, a face that Emily might have called plain, and eyes that were a bit big but shone with mirth.

She had her hands stuffed in a denim jacket over a T-shirt with Hot Stuff’s handsome face on it. Jezebelle was grinning from ear to ear, soaking in all the attention around her like a flower indulging in a heavy rain of attention.

And then she bumped into Emily.

“S-sorry!” Emily squeaked. She started to step back.

Jezebelle’s hand caught her elbow.

For a moment, Emily thought that it was all over. Defender was a Heroic morality—she was done for.

Instead, Jezebelle only grinned wider. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Emily said.

“Were you waiting here for me?” she asked. At Emily’s quick shake of the head, she chuckled. “There’s no need to be shy,” she said.