Please Don't Tell My Parents I Blew Up the Moon

by Richard Roberts

  Was she a retired superhero?

  Calculating volumes of cones gave me no time to think about that.

  At least I had already satisfied my PE and Health requirements. My last class of the day was Computer Science. Mr. Geisser was starting us off with a version of C++ that must have been made in the Stone Age, so we could get used to defining variables. Now I had to sit typing away, occasionally closing helpful popup windows. On the very first day, I’d had a mad science episode, and typed up a program that proceeded to program every assignment for the rest of the year. I hadn’t known whether to be smug or embarrassed. Mr. Geisser was making me do all the assignments the hard way anyway.

  So, that was my school day. That was pretty much how my school days had been going since Winter Break ended. I felt itchy and discontent, so when Mom pulled up in front of the school exactly as I stepped out the door, I made no effort to hang around and talk to Ray and Claire, and got in.

  We rode home in silence, and when I walked in the kitchen door, Dad called out from his office, “How was your day, Pumpkin?”

  I couldn’t tell him that I missed delivering maniacal speeches as my army of zombie ragdolls swarmed all over those fools who dared to oppose me. I especially couldn’t tell him that while he sat in front of his floating blue holographic screens updating what looked like schematics for one of Mech’s beam weapons. I pointed at the Pumpkin Jar, and as he dropped a dollar into it, I kept walking and hedged, “It was okay.”

  Dad was going to say something, but from right behind me, Mom told him, “She has something personal to think through, hon. If we can help at all, let us know, Penny.”

  He accepted that, turning back to his computer. Mom stayed where she was as I walked down the hall to my bedroom. And you know, I smiled. I had pretty great parents.

  That thought buoyed me as I did my homework, writing out which Hapsburgs did what to each other. When I finished the last History question, I sat back in my chair, opened a desk drawer, and pulled out the Machine. It felt right snapping the metal centipede-looking thing around my wrist. Maybe I’d feel better if I stopped leaving it at home? I’d been debating back and forth what to do with the Machine, because it was the one civilian invention everyone knew about that I just couldn’t bear to leave behind while Supervillaining. Maybe there was a way to balance everything and like school again, if I could just figure it out.

  Twittering interrupted my thoughts. That was my phone, and the ringtone I used for strangers. I flipped it open. Local LA area code, but I didn’t know it. Well, even a wrong number would be entertaining!

  I pushed the green button, and asked, “Hello?”

  “It’s meeeeeee!”

  I knew that giddy, girly voice. I hunkered down and answered in a whisper, “Lucyfar, what are you doing calling me?”

  “I’m going to do you a favor! Two favors! No, three favors!” She sounded even happier and crazier than usual. High bar, there.

  “I…” I sat there, hearing only the squeak of my chair when I slumped against it. As Tesla is my witness, I had absolutely no idea what to say.

  Lucyfar, of course, can’t be shut up by anything less than an asteroid strike. “Favor el firsto! You are hereby reminded to smack your little buddy E-Claire upside her head a few times and tell her never to give out your civilian phone number, Penelope.”

  I snorted, despite myself. “Yeah, definitely going to do that.”

  “Second!” Lucyfar continued, with a grand pause for effect. “An indiscreet little birdy tells me that you are in need of bioengineering gear, of the kind that is illegal, unethical, and most importantly unbuildable by mortal science.”

  I jumped to my feet, like my leaping heart had just pulled me out of my chair. “YES.” It was so hard to keep my voice low!

  “Third, I am placing an expert―and no one can be more expert―wager that you’re tearing your adorable braided pigtails out with a hunger for mayhem.”

  She had me, and she had me so bad that it took a lot of swallowing my instincts and reminding myself not to be stupid to answer, “Yeah, but I’m out of weapons. I’m not going into any superpowered anything unarmed.”

  That argument didn’t phase Lucyfar for a second. “You won’t be unarmed, my tiny titan. Saturday, Bad Penny and the Inscrutable Machine will hit Happy Days Durable Medical Goods armed with the most terrifying weapon in Los Angeles. Me!”

  What? That was so weird I gave the phone a skeptical stare. “Happy Days Durable Medical Goods? Seriously?”

  Lucyfar’s laugh echoed out of the phone. “Oh, are you in for a surprise. I’ll meet you there at eleven thirty. We are going to have such a morally ambiguous good time.”

  And with that, she hung up.

  …

  HA! Happy days were here again!

  riday had to be the most boring day of my life, but at the same time, it flashed by. I sat in every class counting the minutes, just wanting to get the day over and get to Saturday, and it worked. The day disappeared in a haze of meaninglessness.

  Only one thing stuck with me, and penetrated my impatience. Lunchtime.

  Even then, I got to my table in a blur of dreaming-up villainous monologues, until Claire sat down next to me. Then the memory clicked.

  “You spent the whole class tex-” I clasped my hands over my mouth, and Claire slapped hers over top of mine. We looked into each other’s eyes, and then leaned back and laughed.

  Yeah, probably best not to yell to the entire school that Claire was friends with notorious supervillain (or hero, when she felt like it) Lucyfar.

  Ray watched the two of us over steepled fingers. Just goes to show how distracted I was that I noticed Claire before him. He looked more interested than amused. Probably wanted the same answers I did.

  Claire, of course, didn’t feel the slightest guilt or awkwardness over anything. She threw back her wavy blond hair with one hand, and gaily snapped open her lunchbox. She kept her voice low as she filled us in, because ‘shameless’ didn’t mean ‘stupid.’ “Not the whole time. I had to ask around before I found out she was interested in Happy Days.”

  Which led me straight to my real question. “Why are we interested in Happy Days?”

  Claire delicately sprinkled sharp-smelling oregano on a cup of lasagna, smiling like the Minx that ate the canary. She might have practiced it from her mother’s newspaper clippings, the smile was so perfect. “Because Happy Days Durable Medical Supplies is owned by Quality Holdings, Incorporated.”

  That, at least, meant something to Ray. He sat up straighter, and his grin lit up even brighter than Claire’s. His voice went husky too, although it squeaked a few times. “I heard the FBI had a new investigation going.”

  Claire waved her fork like a wand, or a princess’s scepter. They were both getting into this. “Nothing’s proven. The three companies who own Happy Days stock are child corporations of so on and so forth. But when the FBI got a warrant and fifty lawyers showed up to protest, the community knew.”

  “And we are interested why…?” I tried again.

  Ray stopped grinning and gave me his best wounded geek look. Those baby blue eyes burned into me. “I know for a fact your dad thwarted their subliminal boombox scheme, and your mom took down their cyber hover board commandos.”

  I crossed my arms. “Before I was born, sure, and a hundred other weird villains. Who is Quality Holdings?”

  Since Ray and I were giving each other stubborn looks, Claire filled me in, leaning way forward over the table and keeping her voice low. “Nobody’s sure. Quality Holdings was their name when your parents exposed them. They wrote the book on using accounting tricks to hide which companies they own, then sold the book under an assumed name. Their specialty is meddling with superhero affairs, especially salvaging and recovering mad science. The government thinks they’re a front for Organism One.”

  …who was such a good mad scientist himself, he’d made some really convincing bids at conquering the world. I wasn’t a walking encyc
lopedia of supervillain info like Ray and Claire, but I knew that name.

  The surprised look I gave Claire broke my staring contest with Ray, and he leaned in to correct her. “I heard they were bought out by the Council of Seven and a Half.”

  A smile finally spread over my face. “But whoever the shadowy figure behind Happy Days Durable Medical Supplies may be, we can be sure that those medical supplies are of the ‘breed an army of fire breathing ants’ variety?”

  Claire nodded, her huge smug grin back. “Uh huh.”

  Oh, I liked the sound of this.

  Ray brought the party crashing down. “Ladies, we are running out of time to eat.”

  He was right. I went back to stuffing my face, and back to stewing in impatience for Saturday.

  I woke up on Saturday morning, and everything snapped back into focus.

  I was a supervillain again!

  My feet thudded on the carpet as I leapt out of bed. I grabbed the Machine off my bedside bookshelf and listened to the click as he snapped around my wrist. Oh, that felt good. Then I ran for the bathroom.

  Brush teeth, shower, discover the Machine can suck up shower spray and hose it back. I dried off as fast as possible, blew my hair half dry, and then approached the braiding machine.

  Dad had upgraded it. Again. Somehow, just making it work never satisfied him. Of course, Dad didn’t have hair long enough to properly test his upgrades, so we never knew one didn’t work until my head looked like a bird’s nest.

  Okay, superpower. What do you think?

  Ha! Nothing. A vague picture of tissue layers lurked in the back of my head, and that was it. Yeah, I knew my power wouldn’t bite.

  I took the plunge. I pulled the switch, turned around, and leaned my head back into the mechanical hands.

  Tug, tug, twist, tug, twist, tug, tug. It let go. I looked in the mirror.

  Two perfectly braided, if completely unexciting, brown pigtails. Ah, but this version was a big improvement, because it tied the ends of my braids in huge, pink bows! Just like the hair braider three versions ago. I looked at least six fifths as girly as usual, but I wasn’t going to school today and nobody could see the pinksplosion under a helmet. I just had to get to my lair and pick up said helmet.

  I ran back to my room, threw on some clothes, and merely trotted out to the kitchen. Dad sat in his office, his monitors covered in oscilloscope readings, because his job was his hobby was his life. Mom stood behind him holding a tape measure that, in her days as the Audit, she was rumored to have once used to cut a man’s head off.

  I totally didn’t believe that, mostly.

  Nobody made a move to fix their poor starving daughter breakfast, so I grabbed some eggs, a block of cheese, and a couple of slices of bread and stuffed them into Dad’s most brilliant invention. Actually, I was pretty sure Dad hadn’t invented it at all. He just claimed it as spoils from some other mad scientist’s lair. I could have asked a million times, but I only thought about it when I was hungry, and then forgot because I had a delicious egg and cheese sandwich to eat.

  The machine dinged, and the million-and-first time arrived as the sandwich launched out of the machine and into the air. I blithely caught it on a plate, poured myself a glass of orange juice, and tried to imitate a human vacuum cleaner.

  Mom’s shadow fell over me, and her hands settled on the back of my chair. “Someone’s in a hurry, isn’t she?”

  I used the tried and true method of dealing with my dangerously perceptive mother. I told most of the truth. “Oh, yeah. Me and Ray and Claire have been going nuts, cooped up in school all week.”

  If the conversation was going anywhere, I didn’t get to find out. My phone roared on my belt. Claire was calling me?

  Fortunately, my parents knew a healthy teenage girl needed her space. I ducked into the hallway knowing I didn’t look suspicious doing so, and set the phone to my ear. “I was about to head out. What’s up?”

  Claire did not sound so cheerful. “Penny, we’re late!”

  Not that Claire could see, but I gave the phone a skeptical stare anyway. “What? It’s only eleven!”

  “The store is in Studio City!”

  Oops. That was on the other side of Griffith Park. There was no straight shot over the hills, either.

  “Where are you at?” I asked, much faster than before.

  “Our lair.”

  “On my way!” I snapped my phone shut, ran back to my room, shoved my teleport bracelets on under my blouse, and grabbed Dad’s goofy but dangerously effective boxing glove gun. I had the bracelets, I had the Machine… there just wasn’t much to take, and there wouldn’t be until I got to a cloning laboratory.

  It would have to do. I ran through the house, and as Dad leaned over his chair and started to speak, I held up the gun. It was sweet of him to make sure I started carrying protection since I started spending more time out of the house. He didn’t know I didn’t need it.

  I was in the garage reaching for my bike when it occurred to me. I’d left the German Grenade in my room. Yes, it was stupid and ridiculous, but I couldn’t use a weapon Dad gave me in my supervillainy, and the Grenade was the closest to an offensive weapon I had. I ran back to the door.

  As I reached for the handle, Dad said something I couldn’t hear. Mom, on the other hand, had a clear, perfect, and penetrating voice even when she spoke calmly. “Of course she is, Brian. She and Ray are dating.”

  Uh.

  Dad must have had the same reaction. Mom seemed amused. “You didn’t know? Why did you think Ray suddenly started dressing better?”

  I caught the words “…outlook on grooming…” in Dad’s reply.

  Mom was still amused. “Right. It can be a life changing moment for a socially awkward boy. Penny was concerned Claire would take him away at the beginning, but in some capacity, Penny and Ray have been dating for a month.”

  I couldn’t make anything about what Dad next. His voice had gotten real quiet. Was he angry?

  Mom did sound more serious, but still pretty lighthearted. “Not yet. Watch their body language when they’re together. They stand close together, but don’t touch. They get tense and nervous, and don’t even hold hands. Penny’s taking things slow, and as long as she does, I think we should trust her and wait for her to tell us.”

  I felt cold. Stiff. Listening to my mother dissect my behavior was chilling. The rest of me might feel cold, but my cheeks burned. My parents knew about me and Ray already? I barely knew about me and Ray!

  I was late. I needed to get moving, but it took some effort. Before I managed a single step, Dad’s chair squeaked. When Mom spoke next, it was a lot softer. “Yes. I’m―I’m still worried about them and the Inscrutable Machine, Brian.”

  Dad’s voice got firm. I caught the word “personal.” Yes, Mom, the last thing I wanted was the Audit getting personal!

  Her voice picked up. She sounded closer, too. Was I going to have to hide? We had curtains on the kitchen door window, so she probably couldn’t see me. Probably. No, she couldn’t see me, because she wouldn’t keep talking in such a haunted, vulnerable tone. “It’s not that. I know the Inscrutable Machine have declared they’re going to act like professionals, but between them and Penny, this is personal. Not personal in the way the community means, but really personal.”

  I had no idea where this was going anymore. I stood there, listening to the deeper squeak of Dad settling into a kitchen chair. Now I could hear him. Well, just barely. “Alright. Lay it out for me, Beebee.”

  He might have said Mom’s name, but she was speaking as the Audit, and we both knew it. She swore no superpower was involved, but even fifteen years retired, my mother’s ability to calculate and predict felt supernatural every time she let it show.

  Her voice turned even, emotionless, and professional. “The similarities between the Inscrutable Machine and our kids are stark. Their first appearance was in Penny’s school, and the second close by. There’s enough travel time for them to be from another midd
le school, but the odds are overwhelming that they’re Penny’s schoolmates, and Reviled’s costume similarity to Ray and E-Claire’s choice of name and theme are deliberate.”

  Criminy. Was I about to be unmasked? No. No, Mom would have said so. I had to let her talk, and find out where this was going.

  She obliged. “We have no link between Ray and Reviled other than general build and outfit. E-Claire has projective telepath-”

  “We don’t know what E-Claire’s powers are,” Dad cut her off.

  Mom wasn’t ruffled at all. “Correct. We only know their effect, which is as close to Claire’s as her appearance. We have clear video recordings of E-Claire. She has a rounder face than Claire Lutra, and darker hair, but they look similar enough-”

  “To look similar, yes,” Dad finished for her.

  I knew that when she turned on her power, Claire did subtly change shape, but her power recolored her hair? Really? I… it was so hard to remember anything but the sense of ‘Awww!’ when Claire had her power turned up. Framing those sparkly blue eyes were… wavy, golden yellow locks, yes. The kind you’d find on an expensive doll. Not Claire’s normal pale, almost white ‘How do you get that color without bleach?’ shade.

  Immune to her own power, Claire knew how different she looked. No wonder she avoided masks and showed off for cameras. She didn’t have to worry about exposure.

  Mom kept talking right over my thoughts. “Similar enough to draw comments. ‘You look like Claire Lutra, but not as pretty’ stings for a thirteen year old girl, Brian. Between superhero demographics and our best guess of the number of superpowered parents, there should be eleven natural blondes with superpowers in Penny’s school. The odds of at least one having mind control related powers is over forty percent. Thirty two percent of supervillains were motivated by jealousy at the start of their career. Another forty percent had jealousy as a major secondary motivation. Claire’s mother is famous. Claire’s version of her mother’s power got a lot of attention. E-Claire’s name and bear costume were chosen to mock Claire Lutra. All the other possibilities are statistically remote.”