The secret identity of Sam Mullins: no one believes in superheroes. Or do they? Megan's not so sure. But new kid Sam Mullins may just be the real thing

Girls' Life, August-Sept, 2004 by Sarah Grace McCandless

Four days before the sophomore Fall Fling, Sam Mullins admits he's a superhero. "Megan!" my BFF Rachel leans over and asks in her not so-quiet whisper. "What'd he say?" It's third-period English comp. Mr. Shapiro has busted us six times since school started and warned that next time he catches us talking in class, we're gonna be separated forever.

I shoot Rachel a reminder stare.

We'd started the week discussing each other's short stories. Sam did his different from the rest, making it like a comic book, titled Chameleon Boy.

Sam explains his story like this: Chameleon Boy is really a kid named Chris Cryson who, while walking his dog in the woods one night, stumbles across a condemned government site that's been used to make poisonous gas for warfare. The dog runs off and while he's chasing him, Chris knocks into a leftover tank and is doused with the gas. Instead of killing him, the gas has an unusual reaction with his DNA, giving him the supernatural ability to blend in with his surroundings.

That's when Sam says it.

"It's not so much his choice as his destiny. At that moment, Chris Cryson disappears and becomes Chameleon Boy, a superhero. Just like me."

His announcement sends a shock-wave of silence through the classroom. In the distance, I hear leaf-blowers on the south lawn and the marching band practicing for Saturday's football game.

Mr. Shapiro seems as confused as we are and tries to move on like nothing happened. "That's interesting, Sam."

Sam shrugs. "Most people don't believe in superheroes." I'm staring at Sam. His syrupy brown bangs are in need of a trim but, for the first time, I notice his eyes are almost navy blue.

"Do you believe in superheroes, Sam?" asks Mr. Shapiro.

"Well you sort of have to believe when you are one."

There it is, again.

Rachel can't contain herself, grabs her gel pen and scribbles furiously on the back of her notebook. She taps twice to get my attention.

"Is he INSANE?" it reads in her curly, cursive writing. I grab the book from her. My written response comes quickly, but not quick enough.

"Megan, something you want to share with the rest of the class?" My hand freezes mid-return delivery.

Everyone turns their amused gazes from Superhero Sam to me.

"Not really," I mumble.

My eyes lock with Jenny Carlisle's. She smirks and nudges one of her disciples. Her loyal servant whispers something and they snort, but Mr. Shapiro says nothing. Guess the rules he's set for me and Rachel don't apply to them.

When Mr. Shapiro stands close enough, you can detect traces of breakfast on him. Today, I sniff out two espressos on his breath and, when he grabs Rachel's notebook from my hands, his fingers leave smears from what was possibly a cheese Danish.

Mr. Shapiro scans our scribbled note exchange. I get ready for him to read it out loud as usual but, this time, he just sighs and says, "Megan, pay attention."

For the next 32 minutes, I keep my hand strategically placed on Rachel's notebook to hide what I wrote: "I don't think Sam's insane. I just think he's sad."

In sixth-period biology, we watch an oceanology video that seems to have been made like two decades ago. Plankton, fish, sharks, whales, amphibia--I've seen much better on the Discovery Channel. Sunday afternoons, it's the station of choice for me and my dad. My mom's a flight attendant so, when she goes to work, it's usually for a few days. Dad runs a staffing agency and works normal hours. We rack up a lot of secret TV time when Mom's gone.

Biology is my toughest class but not because I can't learn the food chain. I'm actually pretty decent at science. My problem with bio is Rachel's not in it. Neither is anyone from our crew. But, for the first time since school started, I notice Sam is in my bio class, three seats up and one row over.

I flip back to the notes I made about his book in English class, adding doodles of a boy with a lizard tail and dark eyes. And bangs.

Rachel and I miss our bus, again. She has a crush on Tom McBride, and her game plan is to wait casually at her locker until he walks by. There are a few problems with this strategy.

One, Tom sometimes doesn't show up for a good 15 minutes after the last bell rings--hence the missed bus rides.

Two, Rachel never actually says anything to him. When he gets close, she buries her head in her backpack like she's lost a contact lens.

Three, and most important as far as I'm concerned, Tom hangs out with my ex Adam Glisan. Seeing Adam is only slightly less torturous than getting my teeth cleaned. It started with texting each other during the day, then phone calls at night. After a month, we moved on to making out on weekends when we were supposed to be watching DVDs in his basement. All that led to a full-blown dump one Monday in the lunchroom ... no explanation.

Lately, I hear he's hanging out with one of Jenny Carlisle's sidekicks. I've been traded for a higher-ranking model. Despite this, I never complain during Rachel's stakeouts. It isn't her fault he's friends with Adam and, besides, that's what you do for your BFF.