I’ve always admired superheroes. That’s why I became one. Of course, in a town as small as mine, there aren’t many super villains. That’s why I fight the one evil that affects all kids: teachers.

It all started one rainy Wednesday afternoon. I was in the hall, getting my fifth drink of lukewarm water from the fountain, when I heard yelling coming from the gym. I peeked around the corner and saw Mr. Skillings, the PE teacher, forcing a class of innocent first-graders to run around the gym. The poor kids were running their hardest, but Skillings wasn’t satisfied. “If we were outside, you’d be running faster than this!” he bellowed. “Get it in gear!”

Something had to be done! Putting my life in great danger (Skillings could crush you just by shaking your hand), I ran into the gym and snatched Skillings’s stopwatch. As I tried to make my escape, I tripped over one of the first-graders. Skillings grabbed me by the collar. “Scott, what do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “Get to the office. Now!”

Reluctantly, I trudged down the hall to the office. The secretary wasn’t surprised to see me. “Mr. Lambert will be with you in a minute,” she informed me. “Have a seat.”

I had barely gotten to the chair when Lambert came to get me. He wasn’t surprised, either. “Now what have you done, Scott?” he wanted to know.

“Nothing,” I replied.

“You never get sent to me for nothing,” Lambert pointed out. “I’ve already heard from Mr. Skillings.”

I could just imagine what Skillings had said about me. “If he told you what happened, why do I have to?”

“I’m giving you a chance to defend yourself.” Lambert was bending a paper clip back and forth. He went through a lot of paper clips when I was in his office. “So are you going to tell me your side?”

“I was just getting a drink,” I replied.

Lambert sighed. “Fine. You did nothing, Mr. Skillings is making it all up. Is that your story?” He didn’t give me a chance to answer. “During recess tomorrow and the next day, you’ll be in the gym, helping Mr. Skillings put away equipment. Understood?”

I stopped myself from saluting. “Understood,” I said.

“Good. Go back to class. And stay away from the gym for the rest of the day.”

That afternoon, on the way home from school, I thought about my punishment. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of spending my next two recesses with Skillings. I had succeeded in saving the first graders from his running torture, but I had been caught. There had to be a way that I could safely defend other students. Then it came to me. Superheroes never got in trouble for saving people. If I wanted to keep helping other kids, I had to become a superhero! And the first thing I needed was a super suit.

When I got home, no one else was there. Mom was working, and my big sister had cheering practice, or dance class, or something. Perfect. I wouldn’t have to answer any questions about what I was doing. I started looking for something to make my super suit from.

Mom had plenty of fabric in her room, left over from a time when she decided she was going to make all of our clothes. I was looking through the fabric when it hit me: I couldn’t sew! How could I possibly make a super suit if I couldn’t sew? But I couldn’t give up. My fellow students needed someone to defend them! I sat down on a pile of fabric to think. Maybe I didn’t need a whole suit. I would need a cape; all superheroes have capes. But I wouldn’t have to sew to make that. The only other thing I really needed was a mask, so teachers wouldn’t recognize me. I didn’t have to sew that, either. I just needed the right material to cut up. None of Mom’s fabric looked right, so I went to my sister’s room to see what she had. There, I found the perfect material, just hanging at her windows.

By the time Mom and my sister got home, I had a slightly crooked cape and a mask with different-sized eyeholes hidden in my backpack. Ignoring me, the two of them went to their rooms to change. At the same moment, they both screamed and ran back to the living room. “Scott, why did you throw my fabric around!” Mom demanded.

“Where are my curtains?” my sister shrieked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied.

“Someone got into my fabric,” cried Mom. “It’s all over my room!”

“My curtains are missing!” added my sister.

“So what makes you think it’s my fault?” I asked.

“It’s always your fault, Scott!” Mom and my sister said at the same time.

I tried to convince them that I’d had nothing to do with their problems, but I failed. The rest of my evening was spent in my room. At least I was ready to face the next day, with my new super identity- wait! I had forgotten to think of a name!

Flipping through my stash of comic books, I tried to find a superhero name. I found plenty that I liked, but did I really want to use someone else’s idea? I should come up with something myself. It should start with “super”, but super what? “Boy” was taken. “Superstudent” sounded like someone who spent their time studying; definitely not me! As I struggled to think of something, my sister shoved my door open. “I want my curtains back,” she announced.

“Good luck,” I replied. “I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Why do you have to be such a nuisance?” She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

A nuisance? That was it! I knew most of the teachers at school thought of me that way. Supernuisance was the perfect name for a superhero who battled against teachers.

The next day, I began my life of heroism. When I arrived at school, I took my cape and mask out of my backpack and crammed them into my pocket. It looked kind of bulgy, but no one else seemed to notice. During my first two trips to the drinking fountain, I located the janitors’ closets. I would need somewhere to change from Scott to Supernuisance.

It looked like I might never get a chance, though. Every time I left my classroom, I listened carefully for signs of students in trouble. Nothing. I had finally found something useful to do with my life, and I wasn’t getting to do it.

Shortly before lunch, my luck changed. During my fourth trip to the boys’ room, I overheard Mrs. Obermeier, one of the other fifth grade teachers. She was forcing her class to listen to an explanation of the difference between a noun and a pronoun. What terrible torture! I ducked into the nearest janitors’ closet and tied on my cape and mask. When I came out, I was no longer Scott, the kid who was always in trouble. I was Supernuisance, fighter for justice for all students! I ran into the fifth grade room, snatched the book from Mrs. O, and slammed it shut, killing all the evil little nouns and pronouns. The class cheered. “Give me back my book!” Mrs. O shouted, making a grab for me.

I ducked away from her just in time. As she chased me around her desk, the class started laughing. Finally, I tossed Mrs. O’s book out the window and escaped from the room. By the time Mrs. O made it to the hallway, I had removed my cape and mask, and was getting a drink. She didn’t even give me a second look. Supernuisance had saved the day!

At recess, everyone was talking about the kid who had stolen Mrs. Obermeier’s grammar book. No one had a clue who it was. “Gee, Scott, that sounds like something you’d do,” one of my classmates said. “But you’d get caught if you tried it.” Showed how much he knew!

“He was like a superhero or something,” one of Mrs. Obermeier’s students said. “He had a cape and a mask on. It was so cool!”

“Mrs. O’s face was so red, I thought she was going to blow up!” another kid added. “She made me go out and get her book, but when I gave it back to her, she locked it in her filing cabinet. I don’t think we’ll ever have to study nouns and pronouns again!”

“I wish I knew who that kid was,” said Missy Trueworthy, the cutest girl in fifth grade. “I’d give him a big hug to thank him.”

I almost gave myself away, but bit my tongue. Even a hug from Missy Trueworthy wasn’t worth giving up my secret.

Ever since that day, whenever kids are threatened by the evilness of teachers, Supernuisance is there. I’ve had a few close calls. One time, one of the janitors opened the closet just as I finished tying my cape. Another time, a third-grade teacher managed to yank off my mask as I fled her room with the math book she had been using to torment her students. Both times, I escaped without being recognized. I did have to make a new mask, though.

Right now, I’m walking toward the boys’ room when I hear Mr. Manning, a sixth grade teacher. He is forcing his class to identify the inner organs of a frog. (Yuck!) I rush into the room, seize the frog poster from his startled hands (actually, all of him is pretty startled), and fly out the open window.

Wait a minute. Fly? But I can’t fly! Oh, no! Someone get me down from here! Hey, help! CRASH.

Lucky the classroom was on the first floor.

The End

Kimberly Ramsey lives in Poland, Maine, with her husband and two daughters. She has previously published the Stories from Somerville phonics-based reading program, which consists of 75 short stories with comprehension questions (Oxton House Publishers, LLC, 2002), and the Say Read Spell phonics worksheet packets (Oxton House Publishers, LLC, 2003).

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