“EVERYONE’S A Hero in Bergeron’s America!”

That was his slogan. It was everywhere.

Have you ever watched a town change in the span of a month? I thought I’d seen every face Doolittle Falls had to show—Harpastball Mania Doolittle, Post Apocalyptic Panic Doolittle, Doom Raid paranoia Doolittle, boring Doolittle, exciting Doolittle—but alas, it still held some surprises because I was unprepared for election fever Doolittle. Bergeron signs popped-up on every lawn, the local news followed his every word, interrupting my favorite TV shows—The Real Hero Wives of Gotham, and The Heroette—for meaningless election news, every billboard was plastered with his big grinning face, speeches were broadcast in the town square, rallies were held in the park, and the Academy became a surrogate for his campaign at every chance.

Dad was starting to get sick of it. PeriGenomics was one hundred and ten percent for Bergeron and they made it known to their staff. There was no distraction. Freedom Boy was away, but Freedom Man made frequent appearances shilling for Bergeron, causing a fuss anytime he was in Doolittle Falls.

Johnny, Alice, and Rosa were focusing on their band to distract them. They had a show scheduled in November and they’d gone from disorganized weekly practices to daily sessions, right after school, which were intense. Betty and Butters had disappeared into karaoke-land and I never saw them again. When I spoke to Betty she seems really nervous about things but never told me what was going on. And Butters had become kind of intense in a weird way I couldn’t put my finger on. He mumbled to himself and nervously tapped his foot all the time.

I was no closer to finding out who framed Mom, but I was starting to suspect that Freedom Man wasn’t the innocent do-gooder he’d like to present himself as. I read the entire BBS—all 2,325 printed pages—on the Djed. From what people had pieced together they were an ancient Hero guild. As old as recorded history, but rarely a part of that history. There’d been traces of their existence in every civilization that had left a trace uncovered on the earth. But often, the artifacts and records of them went missing shortly after there appearance. There were some translated scrolls in the BBS, from Sumaria, which, as to be expected, were stolen from a museum before they could all be scanned.

They were the slayers of Kings, the killers of killers, the hidden hand that policed Heroes. People had tried to wipe them out. People had tried to infiltrate them. People had even tried to hire them. No known members were reported, but there was a lot of speculation. Mom was briefly mentioned as a possible member but others on the bulletin board called that nonsense. Freedom Man was also suggested but most people agreed someone so eager for publicity would never be included. I clutched my necklace and kept my mouth shut and my hands of the keyboard. I was reminded of Freedom Boy’s amazement when he saw my necklace. How much did he know about the Djed? I guess, unless he was a member, very little. Although who knows what gossip and legends Heroes know. Maybe officially being a Hero was like being a Freemason, loaded with the weight of history.

I turned on the TV to distract myself and The Heroette was preempted by election coverage. I was never going to know which Hero Andi would pick as her one true love. Instead of romance, we got poll numbers and recent events and the upcoming debate schedule.

At least there was one competition I could get excited about. Karaoke. Regionals were tomorrow night and I wanted to make an appearance, and cheer on Butters.