Miguel had always been good at blending in. Not because he wanted to, but because he had to. Living in Spokane as an undocumented student, he had perfected the art of invisibility. But everything changed the day Spokane Public Schools made an announcement: “In light of recent developments, we will be enforcing stricter documentation checks. Students must provide proof of residency and citizenship status.”

The news hit Miguel like a ton of textbooks. He imagined the halls of his school transforming into a labyrinth of paperwork and security checks, like some dystopian version of high school. There was no way he was going to let that happen.

That’s when Miguel’s alter ego emerged: El Protector.

“Wait, you’re not really going to—” his best friend Sam started, but Miguel had already donned his first layer of disguise: a neon-green hoodie that he found in the lost and found. He threw a pair of oversized sunglasses on top, followed by a scarf, a baseball cap, and a large cardboard box labeled “STUDENT SUPPORT CLUB.”

“Trust me, Sam, it’s the perfect plan,” Miguel said, adjusting the box around his shoulders like a shield.

“But you are a student.”

Miguel gave him a look that was half smug, half serious. “Exactly. Who will dare question the Student Support Club?”

The next day, Miguel walked into school with all the confidence of a superhero ready for his mission. The halls seemed normal, but he was on high alert. As he approached the entrance, he noticed the school security guard, Mr. Thompson, eyeing the crowd. Miguel took a deep breath and, with a dramatic flourish, walked straight up to him, adjusting his sunglasses.

“Good morning, Mr. Thompson!” Miguel said, grinning like he had just discovered the secret to world peace.

Mr. Thompson frowned. “Do I know you?”

Miguel blinked, looking around. “Of course you do! I’m with the Student Support Club! We’re a new initiative. Very exclusive.” He tapped his “official” cardboard box like a badge of honor.

“Uh-huh,” Mr. Thompson said, squinting at the massive box, which had several “HELP US” signs drawn in Sharpie. “I’ll need to see some ID.”

Miguel blinked. “ID?” he said, struggling to keep the act up. He looked around and spotted a sticker on the vending machine that said “ID REQUIRED FOR ALL PURCHASES.” His face lit up. “I’m with the vending machine department. We, uh, don’t need IDs to help the students stay hydrated.”

Mr. Thompson raised an eyebrow but seemed momentarily distracted by a fly buzzing around. Seizing the opportunity, Miguel slipped past him, narrowly avoiding a truly epic faceplant as he tripped over the edge of his oversized box.

He made it to his first class. He was invincible! Nobody even suspected he was the same Miguel who had, just last week, forgotten to turn in his permission slip for the field trip.

But things started to unravel during second period when his plan hit an unexpected snag. The teacher, Mrs. Jenkins, handed out forms for the end-of-year trip, which also required proof of documentation. Miguel froze.

He scribbled something quickly on the form—something along the lines of “Yes, totally, super-legal, please let me go, thanks” in a suspiciously messy handwriting. But when it came time to hand it in, Mrs. Jenkins eyed him with a grin.

“Nice try, Miguel,” she said, pulling out a thick stack of papers. “But you know, I’m pretty sure the Student Support Club doesn’t need to file paperwork to get out of these things. You’re the one that needs to hand over a document.”

Miguel’s heart sank. There was no escape! He was moments away from being unmasked as the world’s most unprepared superhero. Then, without thinking, he launched into his best villainous laugh.

“Foolish teacher! You’ll never stop me! I am—”

Before he could finish, the door burst open and a student in a full-on bear costume waddled in, holding up a sign that said, “SUPPORTING STUDENTS IS FUN, BUT WHO NEEDS DOCUMENTS ANYWAY?” The class went wild. The bear jumped on the teacher’s desk, and for a moment, it seemed like Miguel wasn’t the only one trying to survive a world of paperwork.

Mrs. Jenkins, smiling a little too hard, folded her arms. “Alright, alright, El Protector. If you want to join the club, I’ll let you get away with this one.”

Miguel stared at the bear, who was now dancing to an imaginary rhythm. He had never felt more like a part of something chaotic and slightly ridiculous.

Maybe his new superhero life had its flaws, but, for today at least, he’d made it past the paperwork. And that? That was definitely a victory.