No. 602

“I’ll do it tomorrow,” said Aurora, fully intending to not do it tomorrow. She slammed her bedroom door, and pulled back the sheet covering an oddly-shaped lump on the floor. Putting her arms carefully through each strap, she lifted a small jetpack onto her back.

She tugged her goggles down and pushed open the window. She was more than halfway out before her mom grabbed her and dragged her back inside.

“Trying to run away, again?” Mom asked. “You won’t get very far with that pack. It’s only got fuel for three minutes. Give it here.”

Aurora sighed and shrugged off her means of escape. The jetpack fell to the ground with a thump. Aurora pushed it toward her mom with her foot. “Fine,” she muttered.

“Now do your homework,” said Mom. “If you apply as much effort as you do into your attempts to skip school, maybe this semester you can get your mark up in Advanced Superheroics.” Mom took the pack and closed the door as she left.

Aurora sat down on the edge of her bed and sprawled across to grab her textbook. “Maybe I’d try harder if we learned about death rays,” she told nobody in particular.