Moira

When Jack opened the door, there stood a young lady: George's childhood friend, Moira Dusk. From top to bottom, she was a caucasian cutie.

Her long auburn hair was styled, a side Dutch braid over her left shoulder (Just like Elsa from Disney's 'Frozen' when she let her ponytail down). Her slim, oval glasses really seemed to compliment her heart-shaped face, her cute contoured nose, and the exposed top pearly whites in the front. Her lilac t-shirt was mostly covered by her magenta sweater, a cardigan, save for the top two buttons. Her bosom were like two little hills underneath it all, almost noticeable. Her brown denim jeans reached from her waist to above her ankles, where her sandals completed the ensemble. Open-toed with two loops to hold them down, meeting from either side to between her second and third digits.

Moira was wearing a red backpack with grey zippers all over, shuffling it to fit more comfortably on her shoulders. "Hi, Mister A," she greeted pleasantly. "Can I come in?"

"Sure, you can." Jack opened the door wider and gestured her inside. She thanked him for the invitation and saw George eating, rather quickly.

"Georgie!" Jack called. "Your friend's here." His son groaned softly, slumping in his chair after gently clinking the spoon in the cereal-and-milk bowl. There have been times, often enough when his dad would embarrass him. Whether he meant to our not... Announcing his best friend like he was still a little kid was one of those times.

"Jack..." Mira said with a slanted grin. "He's not a kid anymore." But almost contradictory to her statement, she kissed the side of George's forehead.

"Mom..." he complained. But he was just joking with her. His demeanor changed almost instantly when his best friend came in. "Hi, Moira."

"Hey, G," she replied casually. Moira stood in the kitchen doorway, smiling at Mrs. Anthony.

"Would you like anything to drink, honey?"

"Thanks, Mrs. A," said Moira. "Orange juice, if you have any." So as Mira went to the fridge, Moira said to George,

"Guess what?" She didn't give George a chance to even ask. "I was on my way over here and I'm sure I spotted the Commander and Jetstream overhead, heading for downtown." George just gave a polite yet weak smile, but he just went back to finishing his breakfast as he chugged his juice from the glass. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," said Jack. "Everyone knows what great heroes they are, a great team." He gazed at his son with affection, knowing the problem.

"George has often asked us why we're not as famous as them," Mira finished. She handed Moira a tall glass of O.J. before continuing, "We've told him that not all heroes are put in the spotlight." She patted her son on the shoulder. "And we've said that real heroes don't do it for the recognition, but for what is right."

Somehow... That didn't lift George's spirits. "Thanks, mom," he mumbled. At the moment, the phone rang. Mira answered it.

"Dr. Anthony speaking." After seconds of silence, her face steeled. Jack knew that look: there was trouble. "I'm on my way. Goodbye." She hung up and her expression was more apologetic. "Sorry, guys. A little boy broke his leg, and the tibial fracture isn't staying in place." She gathered her keys while Jack came to her and tapped on her shoulder, gaining her attention to kiss her briefly. "I wanted to see my boy off to Sky High today," she complained.

"Don't sweat it, mom," said George. "You can't be everywhere at once. Moira can walk with me to the bus." Mira smiled sadly as she nodded.