So, here's the thing about Thunder Bay.

You tell people that you live there, and they're all 'Oh man, that place sounds awesome!'. A few seconds later, they ask 'Where is that?'. Largest city in northwest Ontario, population of a hundred and eight thousand or so, and the only thing even remotely cool about it is the name.

Okay so sure, I've lived in worse places. There's a lot of green around, the people are mostly all Canadians which means they're really friendly and stuff, and the fact that you can take your allowance for the month and then walk to Lake Superior to rent a jet ski for the afternoon is, well, okay so that's pretty awesome.

But who the hell wants to live in the 46th most populous city in Canada? Famous people certainly don't. Celebrity TV show type people certainly don't. Hell, Thunder Bay sucks so bad that they don't even have a proper hockey team. What's the point of living in Canada if you don't get to go watch dudes on ice skates beat the crap out of each other and try to smack around a little slidey rock thingie?

Sometimes though, stuff happens in Thunder Bay. Like, we're talking seriously rare here. It'd probably be once in a blue moon, if I actually knew what the hell one of those things was. Whatever, it's not very often. But today? Whoa man, today is something special.

Today's the day when she finally agrees to go out on a date with me.

Okay, so maybe I'm getting ahead of myself a bit. Maybe I should explain things a little better. See, there's this girl. Not just a girl, but The Girl, the way that Irene Adler from Sherlock Holmes is The Woman. She is an unholy blend of pretty and popular with smart and actually, genuinely nice. Like, okay, so the school kinda made her hang out with me when I first moved here, but she didn't just do her time and then abandon me. She's like, actually my friend, and that's of her own free will rather than me having to inflict myself on unwilling victims like I do with just about everyone else.

There in lies the problem, though. She wants to be friends, and like, I have no idea if that's all. Sure, I could ask, but if she's not interested, or worse if she gets freaked out? I can't just charge in all claws-out like Ronan. I need to actually have a plan, a strategy. I need to do what Arges would do.

Except, you know. Not the being a total douchebag part.

So, the plan basically is to score enough bonus points that no matter how grievously I embarrass myself, it's still gonna be overshadowed by how awesome the stuff I've done was. Yeah, so I just humiliated myself in front of you, but it doesn't matter because I'm still the guy who did the thing.

Finding the thing though, that's been the hard part. This isn't the sort of girl you can win over by baking cookies, even if she did think my coconut slice was the most amazing thing she had ever tasted. You can't win her over with flowers or mix tapes or buying exactly the perfect present because you have an eidetic memory for everything she's ever said she likes or wanted. Trust me, I have already tried that, and besides: this isn't some girl you can just buy off. You need something so awesome there isn't even a price tag.

So, when Morgan shot me a text to brag that Eugene Beckett, celebrity Canadian astronaut had just walked into the bar, I knew that it wasn't the first line of some cheesy joke: more like the first line of perfection. Which is why I started running; and when I start running, I don't screw around.

I should probably have mentioned that. I kind of have this mutation thingy that means I have superspeed. Like, perceive the world in slow motion, reflexes so fast I can dodge bullets, speed so fast I can run up walls a little bit kind of superspeed. Which is both awesome, and a secret. Because if she ever found out what I am -

Yeah. I'd need more than just an autograph from one of her heroes for that.

Hi, by the way. Should probably have said that already. I'm Ryan Paisley, and I'm a mutant.