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had to go searching for him. And oh yeah, the old man had nearly gotten hit by a car.
    Marianne shrieked, “What?”
    Billy frantically shhhhhed her, then ducked out to do a quick check on the old man. All was well—his grandfather was snoozing in front of the television—so Billy quietly came back to his room and half closed the door. Then he told Marianne how he’d run for blocks, calling for Gramps. He sounded steady enough as he recalled what had happened, but his heartbeat throbbed in his ears and his throat constricted as he remembered the sheer panic of not knowing where his grandfather was.
    “You must’ve been terrified,” Marianne said breathlessly.
    Shame flooded him as, for one brief moment, he wished that he hadn’t found Gramps. “Yeah.”
    He skipped over his encounter with the street musician—he was having trouble remembering that part properly, sort of like chasing a dream—and instead he explained that he’d spotted his grandfather walking in the middle of the street. And then came the part about the oncoming car. He matter-of-factly described how he’d tackled Gramps to get him out of the way. Marianne oohed and ahhed at all the right points, and Billy felt his cheeks heat up when she commented how brave he’d been.
    “Brave?” He let out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s me. Brave. Right now, I’m in my mild-mannered disguise.”
    She glared at him. No one could glare like Marianne Bixby. It was a thing of lasers and fury. “Shut up ,” she said. “You were too brave!”
    Billy shut up.
    “Most people wouldn’t throw themselves in front of a car to save anyone, family or not,” she said. “If it was my family, I’d let them get run over.”
    “Yeah, well,” he mumbled, embarrassed. “Your family has issues.”
    She rolled her eyes. “Billy, don’t you get it? You saved your grandpa! You could’ve died!”
    For some reason, that made Billy think fleetingly of the street musician. Not a musician, he told himself. A Rider.
    Whatever that meant.
    “Look,” he said, “it’s not a big deal. No one died. Gramps is fine. I’m fine. He was so mad at me for slamming into him, he punched me in the jaw.” He pointed to the spot where his grandfather had slugged him.
    She shook her head. “Billy Ballard, you were a hero today. You hear me?” Softer, she repeated, “You were a hero .”
    Now Billy’s whole face was on fire, and his heart was beating too fast, and he couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.
    Marianne laughed quietly, a simple, musical laugh that went straight to Billy’s heart. She said, “I made you blush.”
    “You’re evil like that,” he said, thinking seriously about taking a chance and kissing her. But in the end, he decided to play it safe. Heroes got the girls, but despite what Marianne said, Billy Ballard was no hero.
    Later, after he’d checked on Gramps a half-dozen times but well before his mom came home, Billy walked Marianne to the front door. They kept their voices low so that the old man wouldn’t be bothered.
    “Want me to walk you home?” he offered. “We’d have to wait for my mom, because I can’t leave Gramps alone, but once she’s here I could take you back.”
    “Chivalry!” she chirped. “That’s sweet, but I think I can make it the five blocks without getting mugged or raped or whatever.”
    Of course she’d say that. Marianne didn’t believe in monsters. When she saw shadows, she assumed that’s all they were: shadows. Not Billy. He knew enough to be afraid of what crouched in the dark. They said their goodbyes, and Billy watched from the doorway as Marianne walked down the block and aimed for home.
    When she was out of sight, he started to close the front door—and then he swung it open wide. Frowning, he scanned the front yard, trying to find whatever it was that had made his internal radar ping. Despite Marianne’s insistence of Billy’s heroism, he was a coward through and through, and after years of getting jumped by