Cameron wasn’t late. Not technically. But he was running down the street with a half-eaten cream puff in one hand and his diploma clutched in the other, leaving a pink blur in his wake. Pedestrians screamed as their hair flew in the sudden gusts. One poor businessman’s tie flipped up over his head as Cameron zipped past, shouting, “Sorry! Hero business! Also breakfast business!”

A moment later he screeched to a stop in front of Town Hall. His boots skidding across the stone path just shy of the steps. He blinked, cheeks puffed from the bite of pastry still in his mouth. Seeing the gardener stare at him, Cameron sheepishly raised his half eaten cream puff like it was a peace offering. “Um. Good morning! The flowers are pretty!”

Straightening up, he brushed powdered sugar from his costume, only to smear it worse across the pink fabric. He laughed nervously, struck a pose, and held up his diploma in the other hand. “Ta-da! Dynamo reporting for duty!”

He marched up the steps toward the big double doors, but not without waving dramatically at the trash-can robots as if they were his adoring fans.