"Hello?" the voice asked for the third time.

And for the third time, Americana hung up.

She stared at the cheap plastic phone in her hand, her gloved finger poised over the redial button.

The screen was showing the correct number, all right – so who was that on the other end?

Did he purposely give her a made-up number? Didn't seem like him…

After a moment's hesitation, she jabbed the tiny white button and put the phone to her ear. I rang once… twice…

"Hello?"

The voice sounded just a little annoyed this time, Americana thought.

"Yes. Hello. I'm… trying to reach someone…"

Hence, the telephone, she sighed to herself.

"We met in Los Angeles, New Year's."

"Sorry, lady. I mean, we coulda met in LA, you know, but I wasn't there for…"

The phone went silent for a moment.

"Oh, yeah. I think you want my roommate," the voice said excitedly. "You met on board a ship, right?"

"Um, actually, a ship was involved, but we met… hello?"

There was a flurry of activity followed by a very loud bang.

Followed by…

"Hi."

This was it. That was his voice!

"Hi. It's Americana. Got a moment?"

"Sure. What's up?"

Americana paused. "Um, your friend… is he…?"

"Ah, it's okay. He knows."

"He knows who you are?!"

Windjammer sighed and ticked off on his fingers. "Him, my family, a judge…"

"Wow," the heroine breathed. "I haven't even told my folks."

"Oh. That's… well, that's up to you, you know, whether to tell them or not."

"Yeah." If that was so, how come she felt so guilty?

"Um, listen, the reason I called is… well, I need your help. Advice. I need your advice."

"Sure, Americana," he said, putting down the board that had swept into his hand moments earlier. "What's up?"

"Well, it's flying. I'm having trouble with flying."

"O-o-kay. That, I know a little something about," he said cheerfully. "What kind of trouble?"

"I'm not comfortable flying."

"Really? Seems the most natural thing in the world."

"No. Running, leaping, those are natural things. Running faster than a car is still running. Punching someone, doing acrobatics – they're all real. It's only flying that's not normal."

There was long pause, followed by a "hm".

Oh, jeez, she insulted him. He's the master of wind, dummy! He flies around on his board all day and –

"Where are you?"

"Come again?" Americana said.

"Where are you?" he repeated. "You have room to try something?"

"Yeah. I'm perched on top of a bridge in a park. I'm on one of those new disposable cell phones."

"So you won't get traced, huh?" Windjammer laughed. "Good thinking!"

"Uh, thanks," Americana smiled. He was sweet, she thought – some girl was going to be very lucky indeed.

"Okay, just go up about twenty feet of so. Just float there a minute."

"All right. I've done that…"

"Do you feel it?"

"Um. Feel… what?"

"The wind around you. Lifting you. Holding you. Close your eyes – can you feel the air move with you?"

Americana closed her eyes, and held out her arms, trying to feel the wind.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Are you sure?"

She closed her eyes again, and reached out…

"There is no wind," she said, her voice laden with disappointment. "I'm floating here, but there's no wind at all."

"All right. So, you fly differently. You don't manipulate air currents. No biggie."

Americana landed atop the bridge once more. "There's more to it than that. I don't know about you but I just stumbled into this. I didn't set out to be a comic-book character."

"Heh. Costume and all."

She grinned. "Yeah, well, if you're going to be running around fighting crooks, you know…"

"…Americana?"

She bit her lip. "You're a guy. You might think this is silly."

"No, I won't."

"I don't really like fighting. The hitting people and getting hit. I mean, I know that sometimes it's necessary, and all, but it's not something I enjoy. I love rescuing people, I'd do that all the time if it wasn't for the crooks.

"Jeez, I must sound like a wimp."

"No, you sound pretty wise, actually," Windjammer said. "Tell the truth, I'd be really worried about you if you enjoyed fighting. It's good to know there's a thinking woman behind the world's most powerful left hook."

Americana laughed.

"So what are you thinking right now?"

She paused for a moment. "That I don't see an end to this, an exit point. Other than getting killed or having my identity exposed, and there are plenty of people trying to do both… I don't know. It seems that I'm Americana so often now, it's… I don't know, it seems out of my hands now."

"Hadn't really thought much about retirement," Windjammer said thoughtfully. "Seems like I'm just getting started. This is still so new – there's no real laws covering what we do. We're among the first, and people are going to be watching us like hawks. Some hoping we make it, some hoping we mess up."

"Guess we can't mess up, then," Americana smiled.

"No-o-o, we can't."

"…Thanks, Jammer. Thanks a lot."

"Not sure what I did, but you're welcome. Any time you want to talk with someone 'in the business' just call me."

"I will. Thanks. Bye."

Americana held the phone up and memorized the number – then she crushed the phone to powder.

Next time, she grinned, she'd buy more minutes.

She watched the sun set over the horizon, it's golden beams fading in an azure sky.

Matter of fact, it was a nice evening, she thought, slowly rising into the air, for a flight home.