Wonder Guy Read Online Free

these papers graded tonight after I go biking.” he spoke half to himself, trying the thought on for size.
    “Very well.” Serafina drank her soda, swirled the last few drops in the can and set it on the coffee table. “Just say ‘Speedo’ to call on your power and ‘Whoa Now’ when you’re ready to go back to your secret identity.”
    “Secret identity?”
    “You’ll wear a costume. For the element of mystery.” She winked. “Let me know what you think.” Her words echoed through the small apartment. She’d vanished.
    If it weren’t for the dent in the cushions of the sofa and her empty soda can on the table before him, she might never have been there.
    He considered the definite possibility he’d suffered a psychotic break. Maybe he’d sat on the sofa himself, drunk a can of Code Red, and moved to a new seat here while hallucinating this whole bizarre conversation.
    “Speedo?”
    Peculiar sensations, like a hive of bees bodysurfing his system, swept through him. He glanced down, jerked back. Bright red leotards garbed his legs. He jumped to his feet and his chair flew backward to land with a crash. “What the...” He rushed to the mirror in the bathroom and the wind of his passing set the curtains fluttering in the windows. The neat stack of the Introductory Computing class’s final papers at one end of the coffee table went flying around the room like as many huge ghostly leaves.
    But his image in the mirror drove everything else to the background. Red leotards were only the beginning. The form-fitting costume showed off the muscular benefits of his daily biking. He wore bright scarlet, from the masked hood to his gloved hands, arms, and torso where a swath of yellow flared from his belly out to his shoulders in a red lightning-bolt sigil blazoned across his chest. Derivative, but not bad.
    “Holy cow.” He wanted to laugh out loud at the sheer corniness of it. He looked like a refugee from a comic book convention. At least he didn’t have a cape. “This is ridiculous.”
    If Gloria saw him dressed like this, she’d laugh herself silly. Except, with the mask, he might be anybody. Anybody with sculpted marble calves and six-pack abs, chiseled jaw and impressively wide shoulders. Maybe she wouldn’t laugh.
    He’d never looked at himself as if at a stranger. Biking was a healthy hobby, but he did it because he liked to move–it helped him think–not because he wanted to look good in tights.
    He was a man of science. His world had been turned upside down, tossed in the air and given a good shake. The universe was supposed to behave in logical, predictable ways. Now it seemed like quicksand might lurk at any step. This was all impossible, from the first appearance of the little old lady who claimed to be a fairy godmother to this. This figment of an over-active imagination staring at him from the mirror.
    Or his existing models of reality were inadequate. Examine the facts. If something happens, it’s not impossible, it’s new data, calling for new theories and new models to better understand how it’s possible.
    Before he formed any new theories, he needed to make a few tests, figure out whatever new rules might be at work. First, check out this speed thing. See how fast he could go. How far. How long he’d be able to keep it up. Since he didn’t want to risk his expensive Trek bike, he’d better conduct his experiment on foot.
    Greg moved with exaggerated caution, wary of slamming headfirst into the apartment door or tumbling down the stairs in a headlong rush. Clutching the banister all the way, he made it safely downstairs and peered around the corner of the door out to the yard. What would people think if they saw the red-costumed “hero” exit his mother’s garage? He’d never hear the end of it, let alone losing the advantage of a secret identity.
    Finding the coast clear, he took off in such a burst of speed no one would have seen him if they’d been there. A wake of flying dust