ITS ACTUAL NAME was Amazing Fred’s Comix & More, but everyone called it the comics store. The green-and-black building stood just off Main Street, sandwiched between a real estate office and one of those shops that sell fruity-smelly soaps to moms.

As soon as the last school bell rang, Benny and I practically ran to the store. Yes, it would’ve been awesomely cool if our teacher really was becoming a superhero. Super-Chu—he grades twenty tests with a single stroke! No PTA can withstand his might!

But I wasn’t sure.

Mr. Chu had been acting so strange all day, it had me worried. I thought he might have a freaky brain tumor or some exotic disease. (Okay, I hadn’t worked out how a disease could give you superfast reactions, but still.) Or if he was turning into something, it might be something a lot less…super. Like an alien pod person, for example.

We just had to know. And a comics store was a good place to start.

When Benny and I opened the door, the first two bars of Darth Vader’s theme music played from a speaker deep inside the store, like always. Amazing Fred’s was long, low, and rectangular, kinda like a shoe box. Murals along each wall mixed popular superheroes like Spider-Man and Batman with vampires, zombies, and a wide assortment of monsters.

Games, cards, collectibles, and magic books jammed every space not filled by rows of bins holding comics and graphic novels. I wouldn’t say the comics store is our home away from home. But I will say that Benny and I have blown more allowance money there than in all the candy shops in town, combined.

As we entered, three high school students were thumbing through graphic novels in the back, snickering and talking together in low voices. The rich smell of expensive coffee drifted through the air. On the wall, the painted image of Predator caught my eye, and my stomach tightened.

What if Mr. Chu was becoming something like that?

“Howzit, boys? Help you with something?”

Back behind the glass cases where they keep all the really pricey stuff, I spotted the owner, Mrs. Tamasese. She’d bought the place from Amazing Fred a few years ago but liked the name so much she’d kept it.

“No, thanks,” said Benny. “We’re good.”

“We are?” I said. “We don’t even know where to start.”

Benny cocked his head. “Sure we do. Follow me!” And he plunged into the bins of comics the way he plunges into most things—blindly and without a second thought.

Me, I like second, third, and sometimes even fourth thoughts. A guy can’t be too careful.

Heading straight to the Incredible Hulk section, Benny pulled out the first volume of collected comics. He swatted it with the back of a hand. “Origin story.”

“Yeah,” I said. “So?”

Benny gave me his man-are-you-slow look. “It tells how radiation changed Bruce Banner into the Hulk. Duh. If we look up all superheroes created by radiation, we can see if Mr. Chu’s symptoms match.”

“You mean, like Spider-Man, Fantastic Four, and those guys?”

“Exactly.”

I frowned, and my eyes strayed to the bookshelves where Mrs. Tamasese keeps the magic and supernatural books. “But how would someone in Monterrosa get zapped by radiation?”

Benny shrugged impatiently. “Drinking contaminated water, getting bit by a spider, eating a nuclear muffin—the usual.”

“But what if there was no radiation?” I said. “What if Mr. Chu’s sick?”

“Don’t be morbid,” Benny scoffed.

“Or what if he’s not becoming a superhero?”

“How do you mean?” he asked.

I lowered my voice. “What if it’s something worse?”

He spread his hands. “Then we check that out next. Jeez, Carlos, don’t be a worrywart. Go grab Spider-Man Volume One. Chop-chop!”

When Benny gets into his bossy mood, sometimes it’s easier to just play along. I wandered down the row, searching for the Spidey comics. Eyes on the bins, I was startled when something smacked my shoulder and spun me halfway around.

“Watch it, wetback.” One of the high school kids towered over me. He was pale and pogo-stick skinny, with greasy hair and enough zits to make a relief map of the Rockies.

“Um, sorry,” I mumbled.

What a punk. I burned to tell this too-tall dweeb that I’d been born right here in California, and that even my dad hadn’t been born in Mexico. But I couldn’t get the words out.

The puffy-eyed girl with him sneered. “Nerd alert!”

I wanted to point out that she and her friends were in the same store as me, so technically, they were nerds, too. But this didn’t seem like the wisest move.

I cut my eyes toward Benny, but he was far down the row, leaning over a bin. No help there.

The high schoolers’ chuckles grew nastier. “Aw, what’s wrong, little taco nerd?” said Pogo Stick.

“You kids lost?”

Mrs. Tamasese’s voice was low and calm, but the three jerks gave a guilty start and stepped back.

“Whaddaya mean ‘lost’?” said Puffy-Eyed Girl.

The store owner wheeled up to them. “Earlier, I heard you say comics are for babies, and that you only read graphic novels.” She pointed to the rear of the store. “Which are back there.”

Cowed, the three kids skulked away without another word. You might not think a woman in a wheelchair could be intimidating, but you would be wrong.

Mrs. Tamasese is the most famous person I’ve ever met. My dad says that years ago, she used to wrestle for WOW (Women of Wrestling, if you’ve never watched it) as the Samoan Slammer. But then she got hurt or something and she’s been rocking it from a purple wheelchair ever since.

She still looks like a superhero from the waist up.

“Doing some research?” she asked me.

“Uh, yeah,” I said. “Thanks for—”

Mrs. Tamasese brushed aside my thanks as if scaring off snotty teens was part of her job. (And maybe it was.) “What are you investigating?” she asked.

I liked that she said investigating, like I was Sherlock Holmes or something. But suddenly I felt a little silly.

“Our teacher…umm…”

From down the row, Benny cut in, waving a comic book. “Superspeed, check,” he called. “Nothing about supersmell, though.”

Patient and steady, Mrs. Tamasese kept her gaze on me.

“Our, um, teacher started acting funny today,” I said. “And we were, uh, worried.”

Her eyes slipped off my face, focusing on something behind me.

“Never mind,” I said. “It was a dumb—”

“Be right back,” said Mrs. Tamasese. She popped a wheelie and whipped along the aisle.

Turning, I saw the three high schoolers strolling toward the door. Pogo Stick’s jacket was zipped up, and one elbow seemed glued to his ribs. His innocent expression wouldn’t have fooled a kindergartner.

I picked up Volume One of The Amazing Spider-Man and started leafing through it for clues. At least Mr. Chu wasn’t shooting gunk out of his wrists. Yet.

But the real-life drama drew my attention.

“Forgetting something?” Mrs. Tamasese rolled up beside Pogo Stick. She thumped the back of her hand against his side, and it made a thonk I could hear across the store.

Busted.

The kid tensed up and gathered himself to flee. Mrs. Tamasese grabbed his wrist. “Book, please,” she said.

With a sheepish look, Pogo Stick slipped the graphic novel from under his jacket and handed it over. I recognized the pink cover from across the room.

“Babymouse?” I said before I could stop myself. “My little sister reads…”

Pogo Stick had a good glare. I shut my mouth with a snap. Stupid, stupid Carlos. This is why we think twice before speaking.

Mrs. Tamasese cleared her throat. Pogo Stick and his friends slunk out the door. If they’d had tails, they would’ve been tucked between their legs.

The store owner wheeled her way back to me. “So, your teacher,” she said. “What kind of funny behavior?”

I put down the Spider-Man and filled her in. She listened intently, her brown eyes serious. I liked that she was the kind of grown-up who actually knew how to connect with kids.

“Maybe he’s sick,” said Mrs. Tamasese at last.

I tilted my head. “I thought so, too, but what kind of sickness makes you superstrong and fast?”

She made a face. “Good point. And you say he reacted to the smell of your dog?”

“Yeah. Almost like he hated it.” A thought struck me. “Hey, is there some superhero who turns into a cat?”

The store owner shook her head. “No actual cats. Catwoman doesn’t count.”

Just then, Benny turned up at my side. “I’ve checked Hulk and Fantastic Four,” he said. “Nobody’s growing hair after getting blasted with gamma rays.”

“That’s because your teacher isn’t turning into a superhero,” said Mrs. Tamasese.

“Oh, no?” said Benny. He sounded defensive. “Then what’s wrong with him?”

“Not sure yet,” she said, crooking a finger at us. “Come on.”

Mrs. Tamasese’s shoulder muscles bunched as she expertly spun her wheelchair toward the paranormal section of the store. Ay, you wouldn’t want to get on her bad side, I thought. One punch, and—pow!—out like a light.

“I used to live in New Orleans, among other places,” said Mrs. Tamasese, scanning the book spines. “And unless I’m reading it wrong, your teacher might be turning into some supernatural creature.”

I felt my eyebrows scale my forehead like a pair of mountain-climbing caterpillars. Did the store owner really believe in that kind of stuff?

“What, like Bigfoot?” asked Benny.

“Bigfoot’s not supernatural,” I said.

“Well, he’s not real,” said Benny.

I blew out a sigh. We’d always disagreed about cryptids like Bigfoot. Benny thinks they’re fake, like unicorns or fairies; I think no one’s been able to capture them on film yet.

Mrs. Tamasese reached for a really old-looking book. “No, I’m talking about creatures like what New Orleans folk call the loup-garou.”

“The loogey-roo?” Benny’s nose wrinkled.

“What’s that?” I asked. “Some kind of snot-monster?”

She flipped through the pages. “Not quite. There should a be a picture…ah, here we go.”

Mrs. Tamasese held up the book so we could see.

“Nah,” said Benny.

“Seriously?” I asked.

The store owner looked as grim as the first school day after winter vacation. “Yes, gentlemen. There’s a chance that your teacher is becoming what’s commonly called a werewolf.”

“A werewolf?” said Benny.

I sagged against the bookshelf. “I really would’ve preferred a superhero.”