Sidekicks

by Jack D. Ferraiolo

  “Not necessarily,” Louis says. “I’m just not sure it’ll make you less happy than you already are.”

  “Well, that’s depressing.”

  “Come on, kid … just between you and me, how do you feel about going to school today? About seeing her?”

  “Freaked out.”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yes and no … I’m excited, OK? Is that what you want to hear?”

  “Yeah. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

  “Don’t you think that’s bizarre?” I ask. “This whole thing has the possibility to ruin my whole life, and I’m excited.”

  “Our feelings don’t always make sense. They’re not supposed to.”

  “It would be a heck of a lot easier if they did.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Louis says, “but it would also make life a heck of a lot less interesting.”

  “Oh man … I didn’t think you were going to turn this into a life lesson.”

  “Yeah well, if you didn’t screw up, I wouldn’ta had to,” he said with a wry smile on his face.

  “You know, I’m not as upset about putting your life in danger anymore.”

  “The only thing that surprises me, kid, is that it took you this long.”

  “Ouch … OK, I surrender,” I say. “So what do I say to her? Sorry for knocking you through a wall just doesn’t sound right, especially since I’m not really sorry.”

  “Well, in my opinion, I think you gotta wait to see what she says first. Let her start the conversation; that way you got something to respond to. Don’t think about it so much. See what she says first.”

  “So let her come to me. That’s exactly what Trent said.”

  “He’s right. You’re already overthinking things. Any attempt to approach her on your part is going to feel forced, by her and you. Sincerity is your friend in this situation.”

  “Even if I’m lying?”

  “Especially if you’re lying.”

  Louis pulls the car in front of the school, and I have a weird rush of adrenaline, one that feels out of place when I’m in my Scott identity.

  “Wish me luck,” I say.

  “Good luck, kid. Try to put up a better fight with her than you did with me.”

  “Had to get one last shot in, didn’t you?”

  Louis looks back at me and winks. “I’m from Brooklyn. ‘One Last Shot’ is our motto.”

  I get out of the car. As I watch Louis drive away, I’m full of the weirdest mixture of feelings: dread, hope, excitement, anger, fear. Half of me can’t wait to get inside the school; the other half wants to run away, screaming.

  The welcome chime rings. I take a deep breath, then walk up the stairs and into school.

  When I get inside, it seems like just a normal day. Kids are all over the place, talking, laughing; some trying to gather their stuff quickly and get to class, others trying to milk every last second of hanging out in the hallway. I feel like I have a big sign on my back that says I’m Bright Boy! But as I walk to my locker, it starts to sink in that there’s still only two people who can see it: me and Allison.

  I’m trying to figure out what to say to her if I happen to run into her in the hallway. I run through my options: fake laugh and a cool “Hey”; fake laugh and a “Crazy night last night, huh?”; fake laugh and a “What’s shakin’, bacon?” Ugh … those all suck. Should I drop the fake laugh? But how else can I appear like I’m cool and unaffected? Maybe, a finger snap? Or a double finger snap? Man, I am not good at this. Maybe I’ll just let her kick me in the face …

  When I get to my locker without seeing her, I’m a little disappointed, but mostly relieved. I go through my normal morning routine, but it takes me a little longer since I stop every forty-five seconds to scan the hallway around me.

  I’m a muttering-to-myself mess by the time I get to first period. Allison, on the other hand, strolls into the room as if she just had the best night of sleep in her life. She’s giggling and chattering away with Olivia and Charlene. Olivia sees me looking at them and gives me a big smile. “Hi, Steve,” she says. Charlene giggles. Allison smiles but doesn’t look at me, even when she takes her seat … in the desk directly in front of mine.

  She sits through the whole class without turning back once. Twice Mr. Privet calls on me, and twice I just stare at him blankly. The only thing I can concentrate on is the back of Allison’s head. Meanwhile, she’s answering questions like she’s a winning contestant on a game show.

  When the bell rings, she gets up and heads for the door, again without looking back. Olivia and Charlene wait for her. They all leave together and resume their chattering and giggling.

  “Unimpressive performance today, Mr. Hutchinson,” Mr. Privet says as I’m leaving. “Let’s get it together, OK?”

  Allison doesn’t look at me once, all day. Not in the three classes we have together in the morning. Not at lunch. Not in the two classes we have after lunch. Not a glance, or a wink, or double snap and a “What’s shakin’, bacon?” Nothing.

  I’m starting to get antsy. Trent and Louis aren’t always right about everything. The day’s almost over. I’ve got to go up to her. I have to talk to her. I can’t go through a whole night like this. What is her problem? How can this not be bothering her? I stand up to go talk to her. Unfortunately, I’m in the middle of Dr. White’s Spanish class.

  “Mr. Hutchinson? May I help you?”

  The class giggles. Allison doesn’t even turn around.

  “No, Dr. White … just adjusting my pants.”

  This gets a laugh from the class.

  “Thank you for sharing, Mr. Hutchinson, but can you please adjust your pants on your own time?”

  “Yes, Dr. White.”

  “That means you should sit down now.”

  The class laughs again. I sit down. Well, that went well.

  Allison sits closer to the door, so when class finishes, she’s one of the first ones out. I hurry to catch up to her.

  “Mr. Hutchinson.” It’s Dr. White.

  I stop. The rest of the kids stream past me as I walk back into the classroom. “Yes, Dr. White.”

  “Something troubling you?” She’s looking at me over the top of her half-rim glasses.

  “No, Dr. White. My … uhh … pants were riding up a bit … you know how that goes,” I say, then immediately have the urge to slap myself in the forehead. Did I really just try to start a conversation about wedgies with Dr. White? What is my problem? And what is with my sudden obsession with pants?

  She sits there and looks at me without saying anything. “Is there something else that you wanted to talk to me about?” I ask.

  “Possibly,” she says. “But not yet. Good day, Mr. Hutchinson. Try to keep your pants on straight.” She starts correcting the tests on her desk, as if I’m no longer there. I walk out of her room, feeling like I’m on shaky ground. I feel like I have that I’m Bright Boy! sign on again, only this time I’m not sure that only Allison and I can see it.

  When I get out into the hallway, Allison is long gone. I have to find her. I’m through waiting for her to make the first move. I’m—

  Someone grabs me by the back of the shirt and yanks. I’m pulled backward into a dark room. The door slams. I throw a punch, more out of instinct than fear. The light clicks on.

  “Whoa!” Allison says, and ducks my punch. “Watch it!”

  I go on guard, waiting for a retaliatory punch, but she doesn’t throw one.

  “Put your guard down, hot shot,” she says. “If I wanted to beat you up, I wouldn’t drag you into a closet to do it.”

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  “I want to stop you before you do something stupid, like cause a scene.”

  “Cause a scene? Why would I cause a scene?”

  “I don’t know. Then again, why would you repeat the phrase ‘cause a scene’ twice in two sentences? Maybe because you were thinking about—oh, I don’t know—causing a scene?”

  “No, I wasn’t
!” I shout.

  “You’re causing a scene right now, Bright Buns.”

  “Stop calling me Bright Buns, or I’ll start calling you Monkey Face.”

  She looks at me for a second. “Well, well, well … look who has a snarky side. Deal. So you’ve finally gotten my attention. What do you want?”

  “Oh, come on … this doesn’t bother you?” I ask.

  “What, standing in a closet? I’ve been in worse places.”

  “No … this! Us! We’re archenemies!”

  “Yeah. I know,” she says. “Try to keep it down, would you?”

  “That doesn’t freak you out?”

  “Yeah. It freaks me out plenty. I’m just a lot better at hiding it. Which isn’t exactly a challenge. Man, you’re high-strung! No wonder you don’t have any friends.”

  “No,” I say. “I don’t have any friends because I spend most of my time putting people like you in jail.”

  “Ugh. Well, at least you answered the question: If a hero faces a villain and there’s no one there to hear, does he still make a speech?”

  “You’re the one who pulled me in here … what do you want?”

  “I want you to calm down so you don’t blow this for the both of us.”

  “Fine. I’m calm.”

  “You don’t sound calm.”

  “I’m not!” I yell. “I just don’t get it … I mean this is bizarre, OK? You’re like the biggest goody-goody in school, and it’s all an act?”

  “Well, kinda,” she says. “I mean, I think I’m a good person.”

  “You’re a sidekick to a sociopath!”

  “My dad is not a sociopath.”

  “OK, then, what would you call him?”

  “Hmm … focused. Unconventional. Not a great dancer.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” I say.

  “Do what?” she asks in a peevish tone.

  “Be a criminal. I can help you.”

  She starts laughing. “Help me? Help ME?! HA! You’re the one exposing yourself every time you go out. Seriously, you’re traumatizing half the city.”

  “All right … I get it … I wear tight pants. You’ve driven that point firmly into the ground. Now stop avoiding the question.”

  “You didn’t ask me a question.”

  “I thought it was implied. How can you be Dr. Chaotic’s sidekick? I know he’s your father, but he’s a villain!”

  “Define ‘villain,’” she says.

  “Wha—? Villain! Someone who steals stuff, hurts people … you know, someone evil.”

  “Define evil.”

  “Oh, come on,” I say. “Stop avoiding the question.”

  “I’m not,” she says. “You’re avoiding the answers.”

  “What?”

  She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Come with me.” She opens the door, grabs my wrist, and pulls me down the hall.

  She drags me to the science lab that we’re supposed to be in at the moment. Mr. Jacobs sees me first and looks annoyed, but when he spies Allison, his expression softens. “Allison … I’m sure you have a good explanation for being late.” He says it not as a challenge, but as if he already knows it’s true.

  “Yes, I just saw the most interesting bees’ nest outside, and since you’re a big believer in independent study, and since we have a big project due in a couple of weeks …”

  “You were wondering if you could skip class to study and observe it.”

  “Only if you think it’s OK.”

  “Why do you need … ?”

  “Scott,” I say when his pause stretches a little too long.

  “Scott,” he repeats.

  “I was thinking that he and I could partner up. He’s a HUGE bee freak.”

  Allison hits me with an elbow, too fast for the naked eye to catch. “I like bees,” I say. It comes out so stiff and awkward that Allison looks at me and almost cracks up.

  “Well, bees’ nests are fascinating. And I do applaud your initiative …” He thinks about it for a moment, then says. “Go ahead. But be careful! And I expect a full report on this.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Jacobs!” She grabs my hand and drags me off. I manage to get a quick look at the class before we leave. There are more than a few envious male faces.

  “How did you do that?” I ask.

  “Just have to lay the groundwork,” she says. “I’ve spent years being a Goody Two-shoes. Years. So now, when I want to do something, I ALWAYS get the benefit of the doubt. Once you have that good girl label, you’re set.”

  “Oh.”

  “Plus, all these teachers believe in unconventional teaching methods, otherwise they wouldn’t be here; they’d teach at public school.”

  We head out the front door. I stop at the bottom of the stairs, not sure where to go next. Allison keeps walking. “Shouldn’t we stay close to the building?” I ask.

  She stops and turns to me. “How fast can you get back here if you needed to?”

  “As Scott or—” I look around, then whisper, “Bright Boy?”

  Allison looks amused. “There’s no difference, dummy.”

  “Yeah, there is. I don’t use my—powers—when I’m out of—costume.”

  “OK, first of all, stop whispering. And second of all, we’ve been going to school together for how long? Did you ever see me use my powers?”

  “No, but that’s because you never—”

  She’s smiling at me.

  “You use your powers all the time, don’t you?”

  “ALL the time. My God, I’m zipping around these halls like fifty times a day.”

  “How come I never saw you?”

  She shrugs. “Maybe you’re just not that observant.”

  I try to laugh her comment off, but it seems that there’s more than a little truth to it.

  “Come on,” she says, and grabs my wrist again.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “I’m not taking you anywhere. You’re a big boy with super-strength. If you don’t want to go, no one’s going to force you.” She lets go of my wrist and starts walking.

  I catch up to her, walking in stride. I think about taking her hand, but I don’t. She sees me looking at her hand, and she smiles. I smile back at her. “Try to keep up,” she says, and sprints ahead of me.

  I sprint after her. I’m breaking one of my rules … and it feels amazing. She looks back at me to see if I’m still behind her; she smiles when she sees that I am.

  This is only a job … this is only a job … this is only a job …

  a mile underground, trying to correct the trigger mechanism to his latest deadly invention. The pull is still too light, making it too easy to fire off an accidental shot … and you don’t get to be Dr. Chaotic, Phantom Justice’s most dangerous enemy, by firing off accidental shots. He starts to dismantle the trigger mechanism when the screwdriver slips from his hands. He snaps it out of the air quickly and with little fuss.

  “I believe you were about to say ‘Nice catch,’ yes?” Edward says to what appears to be an empty room.

  There’s a pause, then a voice comes from one of the darkened corners. “It was a nice catch.”

  “How many times must I tell you that sneaking up on me is not possible?” Edward says. “The thrill you got from trying … it gave me a little tickle, right here.” He points to a spot on his head, directly behind his right ear.

  “Well, at least I circumvented your alarms.”

  “I turned them off. I had a feeling you were coming.”

  “Oh.”

  Edward quickly turns and pulls the trigger on the weapon he’s holding, aiming it at the spot where the voice came from. The air is suddenly full of laser sound and ozone smell. Several large crates go flying, as if an invisible giant swatted them away.

  “Still too light,” he says, putting the weapon back on the table. He picks up his screwdriver again and starts tinkering.

  “What the hell was that?” the voice asks, now from a different shadowy corner of the room.<
br />
  “Weapons testing. And please stop the dramatics. I’m guessing you avoided that blast by about ten feet.”

  “Twelve.”

  “My mistake. Now … how about coming over here and taking a seat? I have no interest in speaking to the room for the next forty minutes,” Edward says.

  “Fine.” Trent Clancy steps out of the shadows and laughs. “You’re always so cranky when you can’t get a trigger right.”

  “They’re always the hardest part,” Edward says. “I can build a damn laser that knocks over two-ton boxes, but I still have trouble making a simple trigger.”

  “You always figure it out.” Trent sits on the arm of the worn leather armchair that’s positioned like an afterthought in the middle of the room; he has a metal briefcase in his hand and a big grin on his face. “God, it’s good to be working with a professional again! It’s been strictly amateur hour around here since you took a break.”

  “Yes, so I’ve been reading. Not a whole lot of staying power to the new guys.”

  “Yeah. They have the speed and strength, but, man, are they dumb! They usually only last a couple of jobs before they quit.”

  “Or get fired,” Edward says, and now he and Trent are staring at each other.

  Trent is still grinning, but his eyes are cautious, watchful. “Accidents happen. Things … explode sometimes,” Trent says in his Phantom Justice whisper-growl. “That’s the risk you run when you deal with people who don’t know what they’re doing.”

  “Mm-hm.” The two men stare at each other, their expressions inscrutable. “You know,” Edward says, “I got that chair specifically for you to sit in, not on.”

  Trent laughs, and the moment is gone. “Whoa … Looks like you’ve got a case of the COMS today, Doc.”

  “What is—wait … COMS … Cranky Old Man Syndrome.”

  “Good guess.”

  “I never ‘guess,’” Edward says. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of this midafternoon visit?”

  “I come bearing gifts,” Trent says, holding up the metal briefcase. He walks over to Edward, puts it on the table and clicks it open. It’s full of neat stacks of hundred-dollar bills. “First installment. Do you want to count it?”

  Edward smiles. “No need.”

  Trent smiles back. “Nice to know that we’re still on the same page after all these years.”