Sidekicked Read Online Free PDF

them until he pinches my nose. Once at lunch he caught a fly between his fingers, Mr. Miagi style. I found one in my cheese dip last week, but it was already dead.
    I try to make up a sign showing a person dangling from a rope and then plummeting to his death, using my first two fingers as little legs kicking. Then I strangle myself. Eric laughs and flashes a sign that I think means something like moron or doofus . Or maybe that’s just how I feel about having to be rescued by someone else’s Super.
    â€œHey,” Gavin says, giving Jenna a smile that is irritating in ways I can’t really describe. “I heard you got stung yesterday?”
    â€œWe really shouldn’t talk about it here,” Jenna says, though she returns Gavin’s smile easily enough. He looks at me with that one cocked eyebrow of his, and I just glare back at him. It’s this little game we play where we pretend not to like each other to hide the fact that we really don’t like each other.
    Gavin McAllister is my antithesis. I think that’s the best way to describe our relationship, at least if I’m keeping it PG. He came here from Chicago at the start of the school year, at Mr. Masters’s request. I guess he thought we could use a little more muscle in our group. Or less brains.
    Gavin’s taller than me—by quite a few inches—and better looking, I guess, if you believe in that whole blond hair, creamy complexion, straight white teeth thing. He looks like the kind of person who plays six sports and kicks puppies, though I think he really only plays two and I’m making the puppy thing up. He does lick his lips a lot, which I guess means something—maybe they taste better than other people’s lips or something, I don’t know. It’s still annoying.
    Oh, then there’s the fact that he can secrete a substance from his pores that causes his skin to turn to granite, making him nearly invulnerable. At first I thought it was a pretty stupid power, but the truth of the matter is that it is way better than mine and I am just insanely jealous.
    â€œThey got a great shot of the Fox on the news last night. It was wicked cool how she managed to break your . . . I mean, break those chains, blast that missile, and cut off that dude’s wings, all in, like, one move.”
    â€œYeah. She’s pretty good,” I say, trying to remember the last time I had heard anyone say “wicked cool” and not get beat up for it. But Gavin is on the football team, which means he has bully immunity, even without the turning-his-skin-to-stone thing.
    â€œShe certainly saved your butt,” Gavin says. “By the time Hotshot got there, there was nothing left to do.”
    Hotshot is Gavin’s mentor and one of Justicia’s regulars. He’s a flamer—one of those guys who shoot fire from whatever body part is most convenient. A common sight on the vigilante scene, he was considered by many to be Justicia’s most powerful Super until the Fox came to town. He still looks cool shooting through the sky, though, and thinking about him and Gavin working out on the weekends just makes me even more irritable.
    I start to say something not nice about Gavin’s butt and how it probably bears an uncanny resemblance to his face when I catch a look from Eric telling us to shut up as Mr. Masters appears behind us, watch already in hand.
    â€œTalking about the latest vampire movie, I hope?” The stripes on today’s vest zigzag and hurt your eyes if you stare at them too long. We all look down at our feet. We aren’t supposed to talk H.E.R.O. business in the halls.
    â€œIt’s time,” he says, his eyebrows arched in disapproval. He puts a hand on Jenna’s shoulder, and the rest of us stand close enough together so that at least a part of us is touching the next person. Like a lot of things in the hero business, it only works if you are