Free The OK Team 2 by Nick Place

they automatically strike dramatic poses. Then the lead girl snaps her fingers and they walk, in a pre-arranged choreographed routine using an exaggerated stride that makes their hips and hair and capes sway a half-beat off their step. A couple of metres from us, the lead girl raises a hand and twirls a finger and, as one, they stop and pose again.
    â€˜Like, the OK losers. Wassup?’
    The lead girl, the one doing the talking, is wearing a deep blue costume that looks more like a dancer uniform than Hero wear. She has a bowler hat tilted over her left eye and a shimmering sequinned T on her chest. Her face has a light dusting of glitter and she’s wearing flashy sequinned gloves.
    â€˜How’s it going, Yesterday?’ I ask.
    â€˜It’s Tomorrow Girl now, Focus. You know that, or has your brain gone fuzzy too?’ she says.
    â€˜Tomorrow Girl!’ Cannonball snorts. ‘I can’t believe you changed your name after one very debatable future vision over a year ago.’
    â€˜Not debatable. Confirmed. I can see the future,’ she says, ‘And yours isn’t pretty.’
    She clicks her fingers and the five girls synchronise their shift to a different pose.
    â€˜Man, are you pimple-heads Heroes or a girl band?’ Torch sneers.
    â€˜You can be Heroes and performers, Torch,’ she says. ‘Anyway, there are plenty of Heroes catching bad guys. We have better things to do.’
    â€˜Like Hero make-up,’ says one of the Grl-Stars.
    â€˜And Hero fingernails,’ says another.
    Tomorrow Girl flicks her hair and squints at Torch. ‘Um, like, why have you got a tattoo of a . . . you know . . . on your arm, Candle? I hope it’s one of those temporary tatts.’
    â€˜You wouldn’t understand. It’s a grown-up concept,’ says Torch.
    She leers at him. ‘Hey, I hear Switchy is pursuing individual projects. Another Hero too good for Cannonball and his loser gang.’
    â€˜You used to be one of us, Yesterday,’ I say.
    â€˜Yeah, but now I have my own crew. Right, Grl-Stars?’
    The other four nod in carefully choreographed unison.
    â€˜Totally.’
    â€˜S’right!’
    â€˜Damn straight, girlfriend!’
    â€˜Sweet.’
    â€˜Word!’
    Cannonball can barely contain himself. ‘If you weren’t my sister, Yest – sorry, Tomorrow Girl, I’d laugh you and the Grl-Stars out of town.’
    â€˜But Mum would be mad, so you won’t,’ she says sweetly. ‘Anyway, like, later, C-graders. We’re heading to Northland. Hit it, sistas!’
    As one, they break into song, while performing a choreographed dance step.
    G rl-Stars
    That’s who we are
    Girls and stars
    Yes we are!
    Her-oes!
    And we’re girls
    We like to fly
    And we like to twirl
    â€˜And the winner for worst song ever is . . .’ says Cannonball.
    Tomorrow Girl examines a finger nail. ‘Like you’d even know popular culture if it smacked you across your unfashionable black helmet, brother dearest.’
    â€˜Actually,’ says Logi-Gal, ‘pop culture, as an entity, isn’t a solid, physical being and therefore would be incapable of actually making contact with another object, per se. Plus I think this time Cannonball has got it right.’
    â€˜Whatevs, Library-Head,’ says Tomorrow Girl. And on an invisible signal all five strut past us with their synchronised swagger, staring moodily into the middle distance like catwalk models.
    â€˜They appear to be channelling their youthful insecurity into ridiculous posing,’ Logi-Gal says, nodding. ‘Ineffective against mature criminals.’
    â€˜Logi-Gal, I’ve never been happier that you’re in our Team,’ I say.
    We turn a corner and I get hit in the chest by a lemon. I see the ear of an elephant head disappear around another corner.
    â€˜Boy, is that Elephant Head a sore loser,’ I say.
    â€˜At least Mum is happy about