I pull at him with my eyes. Willing him to lean out and start kissing me.
“Hey, Blaze, listen, I’m really sorry.” Mark touches my arm, and his window starts climbing slowly, making me leap back. “I’ve gotta go, but I’ll be sure to catch you later.”
POP! I stand, absolutely stunned by the same words I just tossed at Ryan. To get rid of him. My face twitches. The flirty look I’ve been channeling freezes into a sneer.
Mark backs his truck away as I stay paralyzed like I’ve been hit with a bitter freeze-ray.
For some reason, my mind flashes back to a long-ago summer when I got a job picking strawberries in a field down the road from our house. Instead of enjoying a beautiful summer day playing like every other eleven-year-old, I spent five long hours bent over rows of plants as the sun scorched the back of my neck. When I finally brought my large bucketful of strawberries to the barn, the big boss-man weighed my labor and announced that I’d earned a grand total of $3.45.
The quick, friendly wave Mark turns to give me as he pulls away does nothing to release that haunting sense of regret.
• • •
I lie on my back, my body molded to the bottom of the tub, as the shower pummels my chest. I focus on my toes, propped up on the tub wall over the spigot as the hot, pulsing water from the shower numbs my stomach and breasts.
I feel warm on the outside, yet my core remains frozen.
And then all at once my outside is frozen as well.
I scream and jump up from the tub shouting “JOSH!!” I hear him laughing from outside, where he’s squirted the icy hose water right through the window-vent. It’s an old trick we used to play on each other. “I’m going to murder you!!” I shout, and mean it, although that declaration is actually a regular part of the game. Throwing a towel around my numb midriff, I hear Josh outside, still laughing, and vow revenge.
I move my damaged self-pity-party to my bedroom and sit on my bed, surrounded by my dripping hair. I’m so much worse off than I was before that boy climbed into my minivan. Then I’d just been an invisible nothing. Now Mark’s alias makes painful clear sense. I feel like my insides have been attacked by a shark.
I pull my towel closer around my body and try to stop thinking.
Josh knocks on my doorjamb calling, “Hey, sis. Sorry, the hose slipped.”
“Very funny.”
“It’s time to drive me and Ajay to see a movie over by the mall.”
“And what makes you think I’m driving you after you just froze me with the hose?”
There’s a pause as he gives me time to remember our deal.
Damn!
“Are you forgetting our little…”
“Shut up!” I shoot. “I’ll drive you in a little while, okay?”
“T-minus ten minutes and counting,” Josh sings. “We have a movie to catch, and a deal’s a deal.”
And don’t I have a brilliant gift for entering deals I didn’t bargain for.
One thing’s sure—I don’t want Josh to know how upset I am over the whole Mark incident. His being right is bad enough, no need for him to know he was right. I’ll just erase the whole thing, like the old Superman movie when Superman flies against the earth’s rotation so he can save Lois. My dad hated that ending, thought it was an insult to comic fans everywhere. But in my imagination, The Blazing Goddess is already firing up her flaming Mustang so she can speed through the air against the rotation of the earth.
Twisting my defeated hair into a damp bun, I slap my cheeks a few times and start applying concealer under my dark-rimmed eyes. My memory spins backward, erasing every trace of my episode with Mark. Winding back to before he set a single soccer-cleated foot in my van.
• • •
“Are you okay, Blaze?” Josh eyes me as I focus on the twilit road covered with dead leaves.
“Great,” I snap. “I’m doing just… great.”
“Is this about my coach?” Josh asks.
“This has nothing to do with him being an asshat; this is about you being annoying.”
“Gosh, first you flip out on Mom, and now you’re snapping at me.” Josh pushes his feet onto the dashboard. “Next you’ll be cursing out poor Mema and knocking her tarted-up Virgin Mary in the head with a shovel.”
I uncork my wrath. “You froze me with the hose, and then forced me to drive you to the mall. And Mom and I are getting along fine.” I turn on the radio to end the debate. But I do it angrily enough to prove Josh is right. I’m a bit on edge.
“Don’t mind Blaze, she’s just seething,” Josh tells Ajay as he climbs into the van. “Actually, I think I’ll just join you back there.” He ducks between the seats to escape my burning death look.
“You okay?” Ajay leans forward, cupping my shoulder in his palm.
I think of the over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder comment and remember the moldy sandwich. I turn to launch into him about it, but the look of concern he gives me shuts me up. Without answering I turn up the music and redirect my attention to getting the both of them to the movies. And out of my head.
After dropping them off, I wander aimlessly through the mall. My heart really isn’t in it. Everything just feels so pointless. Listlessly, I hit the drugstore to pick up tampons. I won’t need them for a few weeks still, but I ran out during my last cycle and had to resort to wadding up toilet paper in my underwear. Not my favorite scenario. As I stand in the checkout line holding a giant box of tampons, I get a one-word text from Terri saying: ‘Well???’
My brain is so fogged in, I actually have to think a full minute before figuring out what she’s even talking about. I send a text back: “Mission Aborted. I repeat: Mission Aborted.”
It had been a stupid plan. I can’t believe I honestly thought Mark was only blowing me off to honor Josh’s wishes. Like he was suppressing his love for me in order to make my little brother happy. I’m an idiot. After paying for the embarrassing economy-sized blue box of tampons that the poor kid behind the counter seems afraid to touch, I zombie-walk through the mall.
A group of kids wearing blue and gold band jackets from the only other high school in our area are gathered around the pretzel counter. I feel a sad sense of being excluded, even though I don’t play a band instrument or even go to their stupid school. I duck past them, careful to avoid eye contact and consumed by the awareness that I’m holding a bag containing tampons.
As I head toward Sector Comics! I quickly stuff the big box of tampons into my messenger bag. They don’t quite fit, but I’m determined to avoid a “most embarrassing moment” with Comic Book Guy.
When I walk through the archway, there’s a Stan Lee look-alike standing behind the counter. I’m more disappointed than I mean to be when I see Quentin isn’t here. When I ask if he’s working tonight, Stan’s twin tells me, “No,” as he eyes the buttons on my bag. “Hey, you’re not Blaze, by any chance?”
“Um, yes?”
The older man gives me a huge grin. “Quentin told me all about you. Says you might be looking for a bit of part-time work?”
I nod and shrug.
“Well, he gave me his full recommendation. Said you’re a total wiz with the oldies, and I can tell you,” he leans in close, “I’ve known Quentin a long time, and it takes a lot to make an impression on him. You, my dear, have made an impression.”
I smile and blush. “He’ll be mad he missed you.” Stan-alike picks up his phone. Before I know what’s happening, he barks, “Got Blaze here for ya,” into the receiver and thrusts the phone in my face.
“Um, hello?” I say hesitantly.
“So, you met Stan, huh?”
I give the old man a closer look and falter, “He’s not really…”
“Ha, no.” Quentin laughs. “We just call him that. What’re you doing at the mall?”
I smile quickly at “Stan” and walk away from the counter. “Oh, just dropped my little brother off to see a movie. Thought I’d swing by.”
“Sorry I missed you. Copy my number from
Stan so you can text me next time. I’m working now, but I would’ve met you if I’d known.”
“Where are you working?” My mood starts picking up as Quentin explains he does a nice side business selling comics online. “I do a lot of trade shows, actually. You’ll have to come sometime.”
“I’d love to,” I say honestly.
“I’ve stayed pretty local so far. The one in Pittsburgh is the furthest con I’ve made. San Diego has the biggest, coolest one of all, but I’ll be happy to make it to the one in New York sometime. Google Comic-Con, and you’ll see how awesome they are.”
The two of us talk for a while until Stan gives me a knowing smile, and I start to feel self-conscious and hyper-aware that I’m packing a giant box of tampons. Before saying good-bye, Quentin asks if I’ve read the Ghost Riders yet. “Um, gotta go.” I laugh. “But I promise I’ll get to them.”
“What is wrong with you, girl?” Quentin teases. “He’s your frickin’ badass namesake! I’d kill to have your coolness factor.”
“I know, I know. I’m awesome,” I say. “To be honest I’ve been going through a rough patch. Haven’t really been in the mood for comics.”
“Blaze, that’s when you need them more than ever.”
I laugh. “You just might be right, Quentin.”
“Of course I’m right. Give it a shot. And text me when you’re done. Don’t leave me hanging.”
I can’t help but return Stan’s warm smile as I hand him his phone.
“We’ll be seeing you around, I hope,” Stan Lee says as he writes down Quentin’s number. And he makes my whole week when he adds, “’Nuff said.”
• • •
I nestle into the quiet protection of Superturd as I click on the dome light and start rooting around for the Ghost Riders. Finally, I find them under the passenger seat, still in the bag. Putting them in order, I see I have a few in the teens and then issues 19 through 22 in the 2007 series. Looking at the covers, it’s obvious they made some creative changes as the series progressed, which is usually not a great sign. At least this series features Johnny Blaze, since over the years other guys, like Danny Ketch, have become Ghost Rider. All I can say is, thank goodness Dad didn’t name me Ketch.
I start with the earliest issue in my stack, which is number four. The cover has Ghost Rider standing in the midst of what appear to be corpses with horns as his burning skull pleads toward the heavens.
The first page has the usual recap of what is going on with the story, which is good since, as I said, I’m looking at issue number four. It starts out…
Motorcycle stuntman Johnny Blaze has always had his heart in the right place… and made all the wrong decisions.
It goes on to explain how Blaze made a deal with the devil and ended up as the Ghost Rider, a spirit of vengeance who hunts down the guilty. And distributes bloody justice.
The truth of all that pierces my chest. It’s me. The heart in the right place. The wrong decisions. I even feel like I made a deal with the devil. In the form of a certain shark. Of course, I already know the origin story of Ghost Rider. It’s just that having it written out like that makes it seem so real. So much like a prophecy for a girl named Blaze.
I flip the page to see Ghost Rider in a graveyard, trying to revive some guy he accidentally killed with his penance stare.
As Ghost Rider tries to get the dead guy to “Breathe, dammit, breathe!” a bright light suddenly fills an entire panel. “You have more power than you know, Johnny Blaze!” says a woman with flowing pink hair and white eyes. She actually sort of resembles my sketches of The Blazing Goddess, except for the missing pupils. Her name is Numecet. The rest of the comic is just a lot of Numecet telling Johnny about Lucifer’s evil plan to escape Hell and walk the earth. I’m a little disappointed in the issue overall, since there isn’t really much action, but I’m interested anyway, what with the potential divine personal message and all.
Numecet tells Johnny only Ghost Rider can stop Lucifer, and in the end Johnny Blaze takes off with a KKRRROOOOMM! on his Hell Cycle. His mission is to thwart the devil’s plans. I smile at how right Quentin is about my namesake. I mean, sure, fighting Juggernaut or Venom is tough, but my guy is taking on freaking Satan himself. How badass is that?
I go on to lose myself between the other glossy covers, each depicting some form of flames or fire. It’s strange to be reading comics created this century. I miss the ads for all the junk they have in my dad’s really old ones, like joke gum, hand buzzers, and “the insult that made a man out of Mac,” promoting Charles Atlas body-building. My favorite though has always been an old Tootsie Roll ad that ran a contest to win a “Jog-a-long Stereo,” which according to the picture is basically an enormous iPod with headphones that look like plastic earmuffs. These newer ones have things like Got Milk? ads and video games. Overall, I have to say, the parts that I read have pretty solid storytelling with some nice-looking art and escalating action.
But more than that. They’ve given me an idea.
Not only am I ready to take vengeance, but reading Blaze’s short origin story repeated at the opening of each comic gets me thinking about origins. About a good origin story for The Blazing Goddess. And maybe one for me.
It’s about time for my real story to begin.
By the time the boys get out of the movies, I’m in such a good mood I take them cruising around back roads until the Walmart closes so we can fling each and every shopping cart one-by-one into the parking lot. The carts look like ridiculous metal cattle bumping into each other and sometimes falling over on their sides.
And here’s the best part: On top of getting out any and all aggressive energy you have—no matter how terrifically awful your day has been and even if your plot to score a boyfriend has been thwarted and your life seems stuck in a Gamma Bubble—winging shopping carts into each other makes it impossible to keep from laughing hysterically.
I get to work on my super-secret three-step plan straight away. This plan makes my hairspray and stalking routine seem pathetic.
I tell Terri the whole Mark thing was just a big prank, and she pretends to believe me. And Amanda goes ahead and starts speaking to me again now that I’ve completely humiliated myself. But I don’t tell either of them my new plan.
Everything seems totally back to normal, so the first outward sign that anything is even up with me is my hair. It’s sort of hard to miss, seeing as how I dyed it pink using twelve packets of tropical punch Kool-Aid.
Amanda squeals for a straight minute when she sees it, and Terri declares me crazy. But it gets Mark’s attention. Because I know his schedule, I realize he’s come entirely out of his way when he stops me in the hallway between third and fourth periods.
“Hey, Blaze!” he says. “Cool hair.”
I tilt my head at him. “That would be Kool-Aid hair, since that’s what I used to dye it.”
He laughs. “You’re joking, right?”
I lean in. “Have a sniff.”
He bows his head to smell my hair and when I pull away he gives a few bops. “Mmm, fruity.”
“Tropical punch,” I say pantomiming a big punch in his arm. He gives a sarcastic laugh, but then, before he can say anything else, I waggle my fingers good-bye and walk away. Glancing back over my shoulder, I see he’s watching me leave. I guess maybe pink is the new blonde.
The biggest unforeseen side effect of my new pink hair is that Ryan stops stalking me entirely. I don’t get his aversion to the pink, but I take his sudden rejection as a really good sign.
• • •
“Kickass hair,” Quentin says when I walk into Sector Comics! later that day.
“Thanks!” I grin at him. “Stan’s not making another cameo?”
“He’s not around but has authorized me to officially offer you a position organizing comics after school. Two or three days a week, whenever you’re free. Pay’s not great, but come on, you belong here.”
“Well, gee, won’t that mean you and I will—”
> He nods slyly. “Yes, we will be caught in our own comic sector. Sentenced to spend time together.” I give him a geeky grin, and he goes on. “We can be like Hawk and Dove, playing good guy, bad guy with the customers.”
I pull back and wrinkle my nose. “Hawk and Dove?”
“They’re DC.” Quentin shakes his head. “You really haven’t read anything besides vintage Marvel, have you?”
I shrug. “What’ve you got to show me? These days I’m open to new things.”
• • •
Part two of my plan upsets the Soccer Cretins a bit. The season is over, and Mom has gotten much better about pitching in, but I still end up running the weekend shuttles about town and to the mall when she’s at work. When I show up at each of the boys’ houses to gather them up for a bowling party, one by one they give me the same dumbstruck reaction before climbing into Superturd. Make that the All New! Flaming Superturd of Fierceness! The boys each whisper to Josh some form of, “Dude, what’s up with your sis?” As if I’m not right there listening from the driver’s seat.
I guess I can’t blame them. The awesome flame job I hand-painted on the sides of the minivan is so cool they’d probably love it if it wasn’t hot pink. Josh just sinks down lower and lower in his seat, shooting me a look that says, “Really, Blaze? Really?” It’s the same look I got when I dyed my hair.
I wouldn’t say he’s outright worried about me anymore, but he’s definitely watching for signs of a breakdown. Mom reacted with an, “Oh, wow. Um, okay…” before hustling off to the hospital, which makes me glad all the pink is not an actual cry for help.
It takes me a few weeks to get everything set up for step three of my plan. Not that I mind. In fact, I’m enjoying my time organizing the stock at Sector Comics! and hanging out with Quentin. Even Josh gets into poking about the store now and then, although he is drawn to the strangest indie comics. I’m grateful Comic Book Guy is actually really nice to my little brother when he’s at the store despite Josh being under the age of fourteen. Of course, Quentin does tease him mercilessly for having such quirky taste, but Josh seems to enjoy the attention.
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