It wasn't Buttercup's fault she was out in the rain. Oh, sure, there were better things to do at home – like working on that essay for English – instead of risking pneumonia and hypothermia and whatnot to be out walking through the freezing sheets of water from the enormous clouds above.

But Buttercup, being Buttercup, found school to be dry and hopelessly dull. Besides, she was the adventurous type. Still, after about ten minutes of sloshing through icy, ankle-deep puddles, she began to question the wisdom of being outside. Nobody else was out on the streets of Townsville, not even the vagrants who often hid in alleys and cat burglars who crouched on fire escapes of the tallest skyscrapers.

She shrugged this off and made a beeline for the neighborhoods close to her own street. What was the point of going home, anyway? All that waited in that quiet little house was a truckload of homework (stupid ninth-grade teachers) and a bunch of empty rooms.

Blossom, superbrain, was the head of the local debate club and was now somewhere competing in Washington D.C. with other fourteen-year-olds in some kind of group debating competition. She wouldn't be back till the end of next week. Apparently, she was to argue with other kids for two weeks. It all sounded like great fun to Buttercup, until Blossom had her listen to the lists of arguments she had prepared. Bo-ring.

Bubbles, fashionista, was also travelling. She had unexpectedly been invited to tag along with her best friend, Robin Schneider, to visit Belize. Robin's parents were archeologists specializing in ancient South American civilizations. That meant long, hot hours of watching adults dig up pots and pans. Buttercup refused to go, as well. She had only three weeks of summer vacation to enjoy the air without listening to her blonde sister's endless chatter.

She had hoped to visit sports camp, but it had closed at the last second, and the Professor had a business trip to Chicago. He'd left earlier that morning. He promised to be back in a few days, though he was hesitant to leave brash and unpredictable Buttercup behind.

"Professor, I'm fourteen and I've got superpowers," Buttercup had said, rolling her eyes. "What could possibly happen to me?"

So here she was. Alone, drenched, and at risk of getting hypothermia. She sighed, adjusted her thin raincoat, and headed toward Main Street. Not that she expected anyone to be there. After all, it was too cold to be out (except for her).

So it came as a great surprise when she heard someone coughing near the front steps of the library. She froze, and her emerald green eyes flashed. Her gaze shifted to the library and its surrounding. Then she saw it.

At first she thought it was a lump of discarded trash, or a stray dog. But when the thing raised its head, she realized what it was. A boy about her age was curled up into a ball on the sodden steps, shivering. Buttercup slowly walked up to him to see what kind of moron would be out lying around in this weather.

To her shock, it was none other than her stupid counterpart, Butch Jojo. With his parted black bangs, green eyes, and stubborn attitude, he was in Buttercup's eyes the most mindless jerk on the face of the earth.

Few could mistake Butch for Buttercup. He was, after all, a boy, and he had a surly disposition that kept most at a distance. But now, he was curled up, shivering, and coughing.

"What is wrong with him?" Buttercup thought angrily. She gave him a light kick.

He shifted away, but didn't look up. "I'm not doing anything bad," he muttered, his voice all scratchy and hoarse. "Go away."

Buttercup crouched down. "Using public property as your personal I.C. Unit is bad, not to mention stupid," she snapped. "What are you doing out here?"

He looked up, and Buttercup saw that he was flushed. "Sick," he mumbled. "Brick and Boomer kicked me out."

"Serves you right," she said without missing a beat.

"That's what they said."

He looked so tired and weak. She couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Buttercup Utonium might have been tough, harsh, hotheaded, and short-tempered, but she wasn't heartless. She grabbed Butch's arm and pulled him to his feet. He almost fell over when he began coughing again.

"Let go."

She glared at him. "Do you want to die?"

"I just-"

"Then come with me." She seized him and began to drag him down the street, muttering under her breath.

"Where are we going?" Butch rubbed his watery eyes with a hand, too sick to protest.

Buttercup looked at him and rolled her eyes. "Do you really think I'm supposed to just walk by when you're about to catch your death of a cold? We're going to my house. And you'd better not make a scene, or you'll be sorry."

She sounded serious. He obeyed.