The Superhero Who Needed a Nap

Blaze woke up at seven o'clock on a Tuesday morning, and she could already tell it was going to be a big day.

Her super-suit was hanging on the back of her door — bright orange with a golden lightning bolt across the chest. She pulled it on, zipped it up, and checked herself in the mirror. Her cape swished behind her. Her boots sparkled.

"Ready," she said to her reflection, and her reflection looked ready too.

Blaze wasn't just any kid on Maple Street. She was the neighborhood's one and only superhero. She could run faster than a bicycle, jump higher than the swings, and she once carried Mrs. Peralta's entire grocery haul in a single trip — even the watermelon.

By eight o'clock, she was already on patrol.

She zoomed past the bakery, where Mr. Kim waved a flour-covered hand. She leaped over the fence by the park, just to stay sharp. She practiced her superhero landing — thump — on the sidewalk outside the library.

"Looking good, Blaze!" called Officer Daniels from his crossing guard post.

"Just keeping the neighborhood safe!" Blaze called back.

Then, at exactly nine o'clock, it happened.

A tremendous CRASH came from the direction of Elm Avenue. Blaze's ears perked up. She took off running — her feet barely touching the ground — and skidded to a stop in front of the biggest mess she had ever seen.

The town's old oak tree — the really, really enormous one that everyone called Big Gerald — had toppled right over in the night. Its trunk lay across the road like a sleeping giant. Branches blocked the sidewalk, the bike lane, and the entrance to the community garden. Cars were honking. People were standing around looking worried. A little dog named Biscuit was trapped on the other side, barking his head off.

"Don't worry!" Blaze shouted. "I'm here!"

And she got to work.

First, she rescued Biscuit. She climbed over the tangle of branches, scooped him up, and jumped back to safety. Biscuit licked her nose eleven times.

Then she started hauling branches. Big ones. Heavy ones. Branches with leaves still clinging on, branches thick as her whole body. She dragged them one by one to the side of the road. She lifted. She pulled. She pushed.

Mr. Kim came out with water. "Take a break, Blaze?"

"No time!" said Blaze, wiping her forehead. "Almost done!"

She was NOT almost done.

She cleared the bike lane. She cleared the sidewalk. She hauled away a branch that was crushing Mrs. Peralta's prize tomato plants — well, most of them anyway. She even managed to roll part of the trunk to the side of the road so that cars could squeeze through again, one at a time.

By ten o'clock, people were cheering. By ten-thirty, traffic was moving. By eleven, the community garden was saved, Biscuit was home, and Blaze had moved more wood than a lumberjack.

"Blaze! You're amazing!" said a kid named Oliver, who had watched the whole thing from his front steps.

"All in a day's work," said Blaze, flexing one arm.

But here's the thing.

By noon, Blaze was sitting on a bench outside the library, and she could not get up.

Her arms felt like cooked spaghetti. Her legs felt like two bags of sand. Her eyes kept doing this thing where they would slowly... slowly... close — and then she'd jerk her head up and pretend she was just looking at the sky.

Her cape drooped.

Then came the call.

"BLAZE! BLAZE!" It was Oliver, running toward her, completely out of breath. "There's a cat — stuck in a tree — on Birch Street — you gotta come!"

Blaze stood up. The world wobbled a little.

"On my way," she said.

She ran to Birch Street. Well — she jogged. Okay, she walked quickly. Her boots felt like they were filled with cement.

When she got there, she looked up. A small orange cat sat on a high branch, meowing pitifully.

"I got this," Blaze said.

She jumped.

She made it about two inches off the ground.

She tried again. Three inches. Maybe.

Her legs had absolutely nothing left. She grabbed the lowest branch and tried to pull herself up, but her arms wobbled and shook, and she slid right back down, landing on her bottom in the grass.

Oliver stared.

Blaze stared at the tree.

The cat meowed.

"I..." Blaze said slowly, "I can't do it."

Those words felt so heavy. Heavier than Big Gerald. Heavier than all those branches combined. Blaze's chin wobbled, just a tiny bit, and she looked down at her sparkly boots.

"I used up all my energy this morning," she said quietly. "I don't have any strength left. I'm just... really, really tired."

Oliver sat down next to her in the grass. He was quiet for a second.

"So what do you need?" he asked.

Blaze thought about it. She thought really hard, which was also difficult because her brain felt foggy and slow.

"I think," she said, "I need a nap."

"Okay," said Oliver, like she had just said the most normal thing in the world. "So, nap."

"But — the cat," said Blaze.

"I'll watch the cat," said Oliver. "The cat's not going anywhere. Cats are pretty good at trees, actually."

Blaze looked at him. "But superheroes don't just... nap. In the middle of the day. While someone needs help."

Oliver shrugged. "Why not?"

Blaze didn't have a good answer for that.

Oliver ran home and came back with a blanket and a pillow. He set them down right there, under the tree, in a patch of warm sunshine. Blaze looked at the little setup and felt her eyes go heavy again.

"Just for a few minutes," she mumbled, lying down.

"Sure," said Oliver, sitting cross-legged next to her like a guard.

Blaze pulled the blanket up to her chin. The sun was warm on her face. She could hear birds. She could hear the orange cat softly purring up in the branches — because, as Oliver had pointed out, cats are pretty good at trees.

She closed her eyes.

And she slept.

Not for a few minutes. She slept for one whole hour. A deep, full, wonderful hour — the kind of sleep where you don't even dream because your body is too busy filling back up with everything it used.

When Blaze opened her eyes, the sky was still blue. Oliver was still there, reading a comic book.

"Hey," he said. "Welcome back."

Blaze sat up. She stretched her arms. She stretched her legs. She wiggled her fingers.

Everything felt different. Her arms felt like arms again. Her legs felt like legs that could actually jump. Her brain felt clear and bright, like someone had wiped a foggy window clean.

She stood up and looked at the tree.

The cat looked down at her.

Blaze bent her knees, took a breath, and jumped.

She sailed up — past the first branch, past the second branch — and caught hold of the third with strong, steady hands. She pulled herself up easily, scooped the orange cat under one arm, and dropped back down to earth with a perfect superhero landing.

Thump.

The cat purred. Oliver cheered.

"That," said Blaze, handing the cat to Oliver, "was the best nap I've ever had."

"You look like a whole new superhero," Oliver said, grinning.

Blaze straightened her cape. She looked down at her boots, which were sparkling in the afternoon sun. She felt strong. She felt rested. She felt like she could save the whole neighborhood all over again.

But maybe — after dinner.

"Same time tomorrow?" asked Oliver.

Blaze smiled. "Same time tomorrow."

And she zoomed off down Birch Street, her cape flying behind her, her boots barely touching the ground — faster than a bicycle, higher than the swings, and completely, wonderfully, ready for whatever came next.