Sky High and its universe belong to Disney and its affiliates. The inspiration for this story belongs to Disney Channel's decision to spring one of my favorite movies on me when I least expect it.

There are only so many ways to approach the topic of burgeoning supervillainy that aren't shouting: "Which of you plan on being evil?"

One is categorizing young heroes by power. Flight, super-strength and heart go to one side of the room; mind control, identity absorption, and planet-eating to the other. The main issue with power-based sorting is invisibility. On one hand, an invisible hero is uniquely equipped to eavesdrop on conferences of villainy. On the other, locker rooms. The super-administration of the '70s could only pay for so many therapy sessions before a change had to be made.

Another, slightly more modern method utilizes a hero with psychic abilities. In the event that one can't be reached, a lie detector is an adequate substitute. Students are asked "Have you ever dreamed of taking over the world?" and anyone who says yes – or thinks it – is shuffled off to a special seminar on why average, everyday humans don't deserve subjugation. Unfortunately, several parents brought up the issue of small-scale villainy, rendering the whole operation useless and leaving The Auger unemployed once again.

It wasn't until Sky High found itself without a suitable gym program that superbeings stumbled upon the most effective measure of good and evil the world has ever known: Save the Citizen.

This isn't to imply that the system is without its kinks. One such whoopsie came in the form of the near-undefeated champions of Save the Citizen, Jonathan McLean and Asher Attwood. Speed and Lash, to Sky High's average denizen. Three solid months of the "heroes or villains" routine – more time than it took for the approval of the pair's petition to have customized scoreboard nameplates made (Attwood and McLean just weren't cutting it) – passed before anyone stopped to think that maybe they should keep an eye on the two of them.

Of course, if their teachers had paid a little more attention to class discussions, that conclusion could have been reached when the pair's reign of terror was still in gestation.

"Supervillain name. Go."

"Superhero name," prompted Mr. Chick from the front of the classroom. Despite what the lettering on the door would lead you to believe, it was rare that Chick actually taught 'Conduct, Ethics and Morality.' Young and charming he may have been, but a qualified teacher he was not. Most of his time on the clock was spent reading his own line of comic books and occasionally nudging his classes back towards whatever topic the janitor had written on the board the night before. The janitor had yet to receive a thank you card.

Speed sighed loudly and parroted, "Superhero name."

Every student in the room, be they perched on one of the chairs circled around the day's discussion leader or cross-legged on the floor, let out a small groan. Not once had Speed been left in charge without turning the group's focus to hero names. Still, identities– secret and otherwise – were one of most important parts of being a cape, making it a rare day that anyone voiced a complaint.

"I, for one, am partial to The Flash."

"You can't be The Flash," said a thin black boy across the circle. "It's taken."

"Then I'll be Barry Allen, Mr. Know It All." Speed made a face that was probably meant to be menacing before moving on. If someone couldn't understand that he was the second coming of the Flash, that was their own problem. "Any thoughts, Lash?"

Lash pretended for a moment to think it over, then gave his standard answer: "The Whip."

"You sound like a dominatrix."

Mr. Chick turned the page of his comic. "Inappropriate, Miss Malone."

"Yeah, Miss Malone," said Lash, stretching to muss up the hair of a girl several feet away. "Inappropriate."

She swatted his hand away. "Shut up, Captain Ball Gag."

Speed crossed his legs and propped his head up on one elbow. It was a pose he took when trying to look official. With great formality and the diction of a local news anchor, he said, "Miss Malone – Farrah, if you will. Since you decided to call the group's attention to yourself, please shareyour ideas on superhero names."

She mimicked his pose as best she could, though the floor made crossing one leg over the other more difficult. Her expression was considerably less than interested. "Well, Speed, as you pointed out, my given name is Farrah Malone. Take away two letters, and ta-da: half of my powers." Catching the eye of a girl who was mouthing out the alphabet, she clarified, "Farrah Mone. Pheromone."

The black boy from earlier chimed in again. "That's definitely cheating. Bruce Wayne could've just gone with Bayne – as in, 'bane of the criminals of Gotham City' – but how dumb would that be?"

Farrah turned her chair towards him, scuffing up the shiny wooden floor. Mr. Chick either didn't notice or, more likely, didn't care. "Eric, that is both irrelevant and just plain wrong for so many reasons that I'm not willing to go into right now."

Shoulders tensed, he asked, "Like what?"

"Don't worry about it." Dark eyes boring into him, she asked, "What brilliant wordplay are you planning on using?"

"Blades." He gave a moment for his brilliance to sink in before adding, "With az."

"It's taken, dipshit," said Lash, imitating his tone almost perfectly.

"With. A. Z."

"No!" yelled Speed. "You can't just take the name of the world's most famous black superhero and add a z to it! If Farrahmone over here is cheating, you're taking the sanctity of superhero names and fucking it in the ass! Sorry, Mr. Chick."

"No problem," replied Chick. He licked his thumb and used it to unstick two particularly well-worn pages. "And Eric?"

"Yeah?"

"'Bladez' is totally cheating. Also, really dumb. I expect more from you."

Speed raised his arms in triumph.

"I might go with Nebulass," offered a freckly girl named Anne. Blank stares all around. Despite Mr. Medulla's best efforts, manipulating objects in space was outside most of the class's realm of understanding. Nevertheless, she tried to explain. "You know, like all the stuff the Hubble picks up? Because I can move it. With my brain."

"Dumb," announced Moderator Speed. As if to agree with his ruling, the bell rang.

Chick peered over the top of his lurid reading material. "Write a paragraph on why names are a crucial part of your identity for homework. Or don't. Whatever."

The class filed out the door. Most headed for the lunch room, wherein lied the temptation of hero sandwiches and unregulated thick-crust pizza. Several went for the bathrooms. Farrah, in what was less an attempt to be different and more a practical way to get the bagged lunch from her locker, went the opposite direction. She had made it less than ten feet when an arm wrapped around her waist. All the way around. She stopped short and turned inside her captor's grip. "I don't want any part in your sadomasochism, Mister Bottom."

"I like that one," Lash answered, reeling her in. She made a brief attempt at resistance, but soon gave in and walked towards him. "Because it means I can call you Miss Top."

"Inappropriate, Mr. Attwood." She pressed a hand against his chest to keep him from getting too close. It didn't do much. Even in their natural state, his arms were more than long enough to reach past hers and mess up her hair. Again. Just one more of the day-to-day downsides of a relationship with a guy who was 6'2" and still growing.

Done with ruining her braid now, he cupped one hand beneath her chin and lifted it up til he could comfortably look into her eyes. A brilliant grin flashed across his face. "If you really want, you can be Cowgirl instead."

"No." She squirmed out of his arms and straightened her bag. The braid stayed mussed. "I draw the line at Cowgirl. Old West is not my aesthetic of choice. Miss Top I liked. Why didn't you stop there?"

Before she left normal-human-reach, he grabbed her hand and spun her back around. "Because dirty Farrah is my favorite Farrah."

A smile threatened to break through her scowl. "Try again."

"Because." He tilted his head back, staring very intently at the ceiling. Tiles, vents, and water stains blurred together into one big off-white mass. "'Girl Who Lash More-Than-Likes' isn't a viable superhero name."

Staring down the bridge of his nose with slit eyes, he attempted to gauge her reaction. The almost-scowl didn't waver, but she gave his hand a soft squeeze. "Better answer. Now return to your Speed. He looks lost without you."

Speed, expression vacant, was making disoriented circles in front of the windows at the end of the hall. Lash still couldn't help but watch Farrah walk away. Not even her turning to say goodbye stopped him from staring at her ass. He managed a quick glance up at her face, but tight jeans had always been one of his greatest weaknesses.

"Hey." She snapped her fingers until he made eye contact. It took longer than either of them would have cared to admit. "I'll tell you what: you and Barry Allen win Save the Citizen today, and we can figure out a whole new name for me."

"Speed!" Lash whirled around, legs stretching wildly in his attempt to reach his partner-in-crime as fast as possible. "Speed! Get your game face on!"

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it, and stay tuned for more.