I am NOT a superhero.
This was the only thought I could muster when a cupcake with fangs launched itself at my head.
“Evie, duck!” The voice rang out through the sugar-laced air. “And whatever you do, don’t stop filming!”
“I’m on it, boss!” I yelped. I bobbed out of the cupcake’s path and flung myself behind a counter, my tailbone colliding with the floor of previously pristine bakery Cake My Day. That floor had been a spotless expanse of ivory up ’til about fifteen minutes ago, when a posse of demons leapt through their portal of choice, assumed pastry form, and started acting like a bunch of assholes.
“Dad got me a … guinea pig?”
“For breakfast,” Zack said. “That’s why I named her Toast. You aren’t going to eat her, are you?”
“Woot!” Zack hugged the cage to his chest, carrying it off in the direction of his bedroom. “I hope you don’t want to eat Marmalade or Sugar Puff either!”
“Marma– oh, never mind.”
He seemed reassured, foolishly, by my silence. “Seriously, though, what drew you to read law?”
I hesitated, then said, truthfully, “I wanted to fight for justice for the oppressed. Like Batman. Or you know, like Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird.”
Suresh sipped at his tea. “What area of law did your originally want to practice in?”
“International humanitarian law. You?”
We both fell silent as we reflected on how far we’d deviated from our ideals.