Internet Stalking, Kinda

There's pretty much no info on St. Elmo yet. I keep replaying the clip. I don't know what I'm looking for. There's no way to definitively tell who it is from a few seconds of grainy nighttime footage, and it's not like he's stupid enough to display any obvious mannerisms that could link him to his civilian identity. Not that I could tell, since I don't know him well enough from school to pick him out of a crowd. Maybe if St. Elmo sat at a desk and looked bored, I could recognize him.
This is voyeuristic and wrong, I know. I shouldn't be sitting here poised like a vulture, ready for him to slip up and kill someone or display poor taste in music or something so I can conclude that he's a failure as a (super)human being. What kind of music does he listen to, anyway? I'm not going to provide any identifying details here, but he seems like the type to have cool taste in music. That's something.
God, I hope he's a nice person. You have to be a nice person to rescue ships, right? I mean, he could have stayed home and kept warm and dry and rested instead of patrolling the coast. Even though he probably wasn't risking his life, he definitely went way the hell out of his way to help perfect strangers. The poor guy looked like a drowned rat in that cloak. I don't think he's going to be wearing that silky material the next time he goes out. Satin and silk are great for static electricity effects when dry, but such a pain to care for.

Rising Star

The Internet is a great place to confess things. Nobody knows your name or face. You can say what you want and nobody knows it's true. And if you say something stupid, or don't want to admit something, you never have to face it again. The Internet is very easy to avoid.
I haven't even started up my computer for close to a week. It started off with a crummy little cold (no extra special symptoms, but it looks like I don't have any super resistance to disease) and then there was a family movie night and then stuff. It's easy to find excuses to not log on. But I might as well say this, since I need to think it out and there's no way I'm writing it in a diary people could find. This is as close as I can get to anonymity to protect everyone involved.
There's a new super in Key Largo. He's going by St. Elmo, and he got a sliver of air time in the local news for leading a couple boats to shore during a storm. So far, it looks like he can fly and make green fire. Crackly, electric green fire that doesn't melt things. You see where I'm going with this. I know who he is. There is an awfully short list of suspects who attend my school, live in the room directly above mine, and come from Key Largo. I'm not friends with this guy or anything. But I know his name.
This puts me in a peculiar position. I can bust this guy. If he ever does something stupid while wearing his green cloak, I can make him answer for it in the real world. It would be wrong to out him, of course. It would piss him off, make the super community see me as a dangerous snitch, and put the media microscope on supers attending my school. He's nobody important. His powers don't look awfully dangerous. There is absolutely no reason to share his identity with anybody at all. But I could. I don't want to be someone's watchdog. I don't want to judge him; I don't think I have the right to. What do you do when you've stumbled onto another person's secret? This might be how Dani feels. If she knows. I don't know if she knows, and it's really awful to depend on someone's goodwill or obliviousness to keep a very important secret.
Do I let him know that he got caught? He was being awfully sloppy, letting the green fire reach all the way to my room. But I've made messes with my powers practice before. The guy's gotta learn how to deal with it on his own. Besides, he might see it as a threat. Blackmail or something.
Do I pretend it never happened? That might be for the best. But if he starts getting twitchy around me, I might have to tell him that I know. Besides, I might be missing out on a great resource. We could help each other out. Alibis, tips, costume help. But what if he wants to blackmail me? I need to talk to his friends and the people he's dated. No way am I going to risk this without knowing more about him.

Elementary Deduction

Hey, remember that part about me questioning whether I should tell Mycroft about me being a cryogenetic? It turns out that when you borrow Myke's internet, he gets all Big Brother on you. I wiped the browser history, but he poked around and kinda put two and two together. I've already threatened him in person, but since I know you're reading this Myke, if you tell ANYONE, I will distribute your naked baby photos to the entire state of Florida and a couple choice parts of Oregon via snail mail. That will be all.
So, to the rest of my readers, here's how my day went. Despite my heartwrenching sick puppy impression, I got dragged out fishing. Because fresh air is good for me. And there were pierced worms and flopping fish and inconvenient sprays of water. And muggy weather, and bright sun, and so many bugs. I was sulking behind a slightly damp book when Myke dropped down beside me and said, "You might as well power up. Nobody's going to notice except the mosquitos."
As you can imagine, my razor sharp wit came up with an appropriate reply. About thirty seconds later. I smacked him over the head and told him to keep his voice down, because my sister was like ten feet away. But I upped the frost aura a bit more. The bugs left, and Myke stopped sweating. We talked. I'm halfway terrified at my secret being out to a real live person (besides maybe Dani), and a bit annoyed that he snooped, and a bit thrilled to have someone to actually talk to. I know Myke's been following the news (I don't think he can NOT follow it, actually) but he wasn't scared. I cooled his soda for him. I actually like drinking mine warm, but it's kind of impossible to do that anymore, because it starts cooling down the moment I touch it. I didn't dare do any more, or even sneak Myke an ice chip, since the parental units were kind of watching me to make sure I didn't steal a vehicle and flee the premises.
But he knows. And it's okay. Out of all this horrible weekend, after hearing everyone talk about Killer Frost, after putting up with fishing and camping and car rides, I have someone who understands. I'm typing this on his computer, because he's got my laptop wired into something and the screen is displaying things that aren't my desktop. The computer is actually working for him, and I think he might be debugging it and downloading stuff while he looks for green fire residue, since he's making disapproving noises at me. Like I'm some sort of idiot who doesn't take the lint out of the dryer and then it bursts into flame. Whatever. If he keeps doing that, I'm going to make a sheet of ice down his back.
Wait, are you reading this, Myke? I haven't even posted it.
Myke is a slobbering troll.
You ARE reading it. Quit it. At least be polite and look over my shoulder or something because that's really creepy that you're reading it off a different computer while I'm writing it on the other side of the room. Don't you dare sign into my account and edit this. And stop mocking my typing speed, you jerk.

Family Matters

I have glitter in my TEETH. There is glitter on my toothbrush, and in my hair, and on my floor, and on my doorknob. It's like a nanovirus that is multiplying and trying to take over the world. It should be illegal to own this much glitter. She uses it in every possible part of her makeup, and leaves a sparkly trail around the house. I'm fairly sure that my sister has ingested so much glitter that she just naturally excretes it now. I never lend her books, because they always come back with the pages crusted with glitter. Actually, that's not true. I don't lend her books because we have vastly different tastes in literature. She likes sparkly vampires. 'Nuff said.
Now to the big question. Have I told my family that I'm superhuman?
Uh, no. No I haven't. Since my cryogenesis is not hereditary, they don't know about it. And I don't think I'm going to tell them. They don't really need to know, do they? Some things are private. Some things you don't tell your parents. I don't tell them about my sex life. I don't tell them about the times I'm up way too late color-coding my closet. I don't tell them about the trashy magazines I buy sometimes. I didn't tell them about that one time I drank beer at a party and threw up. So I don't see a reason to tell them about an unusual new talent and a private hobby. I haven't told them about this blog either. I just want to keep this to myself. I don't have an awful lot of secrets, and I want this to be all mine. I don't want my dad offering me suggestions and instituting training sessions, I don't want my mom asking me to make ice cubes when we run out, and I don't want my sister telling everyone in the world that I have powers. I don't want them to control this. To limit and regiment and monitor what I do. This is mine.
Okay, that came off a little harsh. I would probably tell them if I started being a vigilante or something. If it put them in danger, or stood a chance of getting me seriously hurt. They have a right to know why and how I'm affecting the family. I'd better come up with a few principles or a mission statement before I go pro, since my parents would put me through the wringer making sure I'm doing it for the right reasons before they would support me in something that risky. But as long as there are no consequences, this will be my secret.

Carpet Crisis

I tried shampooing the carpet today. Not that I think I can salvage it and spare my housing deposit, but I don't think it's healthy to keep breathing mildew. I guess it smells a bit nicer now, and the splotches have changed color. There's really nothing that can make that particular shade of carpet look worse, really. This might even be an improvement. I am so tired of damp socks and squishy wall-to-wall carpeting. At home I have ugly tile floors that I don't care about, and I can use a mop or towel on them, problem solved. Gasp! Did I just reveal a scrap of information about my private life that people can use to track me down? How many college girls in Florida have tile floors? Quick, to the Brotherhood of Evil Real Estate Agents!
Sometimes you just have to mock these things, or you wind up driving yourself crazy. There's only so much second-guessing I'm going to do. I have tile floors. Alert the press. Whatever.
Gotta get some sleep now, or I won't wake up on schedule tomorrow. I've set my own deadlines for my finals, and I am a harsh mistress. I'm waking up early to get the maximum amount of library time (yes the library's open on Sunday, but not for long), because I seriously want to get this done early and then slack off and lounge around the common room in my pajamas and play video games while Dani frantically flips through her chem notes and chants the names of molecules or whatever.
Yeah, I'm a jerk.

Blogging My Secrets Away

What are the odds that this blog will inadvertantly reveal my identity to the internet at large? Pretty slim, actually. I fudge dates, names and locations. You really think there's a place called Coral Pines? I'm not linking this site to any personal business, I'm not posting pictures of my cats or my room, and I'm definitely not sticking my real name up here.
I don't think anybody's really invested in figuring out my secrets. If the creepy green flash was some sort of a data download, then I don't have any more secrets, and if it wasn't then I think I'm still under the radar. Either way, this hasn't touched my public life yet. I make a point of not befriending budding investigative journalists, and not blithely confiding in my roommates. If Dani knows or suspects I'm a superhuman, she's polite enough to keep it to herself. I haven't really done anything worth watching yet, and I'm just a low-level cryogenetic who can barely make icicles on her fingers. If I had a valuable/dangerous talent, I would censor myself a bit more carefully, but the odds of anyone ever tracing this back to me are vanishingly small.
Regardless, if I ever make it to the big times, I'm deleting everything I ever wrote here. Celebrity comes with its disadvantages and dangers, and I don't want the media trawling through my posts to find something to throw in my face. Worst case scenario, I wind up important enough to score a tech-savvy nemesis who uses internet mumbo-jumbo to figure out who I am. If I can't get Myke to shut him up/shut him down, I guess I go public then. There are public supers in my town. I could do it. Suck it up, beat the living daylights out of whoever outed me, be a role model to all the little cryogenetics out there (and damn do they need one), do whatever hero business I can do without being bulletproof, and possibly shoot myself in the face after a week of constant public scrutiny, losing friends, worrying about my citizenship and possible military service, hearing classmates whispering about me behind my back, the government sniffing at my public records, media vultures shrieking about supers invading their precious little schools, and my family ... I don't want to think about my family. No, going public is not an option for a long, long time. I don't have as much to lose as some people, but I still want to be in control of my life. I don't want cryogenesis to be the first thing people think of when they hear my name. I don't want to live in a little gated community of supers, I don't want this to change my career, I don't want Killer Frost knocking on my door to cut down the competition. I almost understand why Mind Master tried to erase the memories of everyone in Stockport. Just to live a normal life for a little bit longer.

It's Not The Black Death, People

According to the major news sites, nothing improves a crisis more than a colored map. Florida is orange, whatever that means. Geez, you'd think this is the Ebola Virus the way people are reacting. Nobody's puking blood. This isn't the end of the world or the end of superheroes. Granted, poor Velocity's going to be in traction for about a year, but she'll probably be okay. It could have been a lot worse. Nobody in that building died either, thankfully. I'd send Velocity a get-well card, except she's probably already got a pile of them big enough to wallpaper the hospital three times over, and she probably won't be able to read them until they take her off the morphine anyway. So I'll just send good wishes in her direction, and hope there's a telepath out there who can pass them on. I hope she's going to be okay.
My campus is in full-on panic mode. Which isn't too different from your average Saturday night. I don't think anyone here's gone to the hospital from the flu yet, except for Lydia, and she's a hypochondriac anyway. She's fine. This isn't much worse than the time the dining hall served the beanbird-contaminated snow peas last year and took out half the campus. I have never been more grateful that I don't eat my veggies. People were throwing up things that chirped, for crying out loud.
The president of our school has issued an email, which basically boils down to "This is not a zombie outbreak! Don't shoot infected people on sight! Wash your hands! Take some vitamins!" Wow, really helpful. Every single person I've encountered today told me to stay hydrated and get some rest. Except for Dani, who just breaks into impromptu renditions of Monty Python's 'bring out your dead' skit every time she sees me. Which is every five minutes, since she's my roommate. I'm about to strangle her.
Nobody on my campus has been power-outed that I know of. Except maybe me. I don't know if Dani knows. The ice chips on the carpet were melted by the time she helped me flip the mattress, and I put the sheets through the dryer before she saw them, so maybe I got away with it. But my hair was still wet in the morning, and I'm not sure if there was a noticeable amount of ice left on me by the time I made it to the couch, or if she could even see it in the dark, even though she had to have been really close to put a blanket over me. She doesn't act like she knows. She hasn't made any ice puns or blackmailed me or anything. How can I ask her if she knows without revealing everything if she doesn't? Today I casually mentioned something about trying to break the fever with ice cubes. Yeah, that's plausible. God, I suck at this secret identity thing.

Countdown

I'm in the library, pretending to study, and wondering which of the people here could be superheroes or supervillains. Nadine might be. She's got that mysterious silence and classical profile. It's funny; the 'strong, silent' stoic character is fascinating in literature, but pretty boring in person. I feel like she's kind of cheating in the class we have together - when the professor asks her questions, she's always got a succinct, snappy answer. But it's like pulling teeth to get her to participate, and it feels like she's not pulling her weight in class, just coasting and doing the bare minimum. That's not a typical flying-below-the-radar hero tactic, more like a distracted-by-nefarious-plots attitude. Meh, maybe I'm just paranoid. She sits next to me, and I'm kinda hoping she hasn't noticed my temperature problems. I've more or less solved the issue by wearing more clothing. If someone notices the long-sleeves-in-blistering-heat thing, I'll just say I'm anemic or something (and it might even be true). I can warm my hands up to a normal temperature by wearing gloves or putting them between my knees or under my arms for a while, like I used to do on cold days. So I'm guessing (yay pseudoscience!) that I've got some sort of atmospheric effect around me, since my internal body temperature is perfectly normal. There's no freeze machine in my guts, so I've been visualizing it as a kind of minty fresh aura.
None of the others in my classes strike me as the super type. I know there's no 'type' to have powers, but there is certainly a type that uses them, and I doubt my classmates would ever go active in the super community. Even if Amie has world-ending godlike powers, I'm not sure exactly what she could accomplish with them. Especially if they rely on willpower. She only ever speaks in questions, and only uses about half her voice, so it's always soft and kittenish. She can't answer a single question decisively. I almost wish I had x-ray vision, just so I could stare through her skull and see it is, in fact, packed with cotton candy. I'm betting it's pink.