Blaze

by Laurie Boyle Crompton

  Finally, I’m ready for step three of my plan. The part where vengeance kicks in. While getting attention for my pink hair and my pink flame job and basically turning into a female version of Comic Book Guy, I’ve also been working overtime on a new set of sketches. Quentin doesn’t fully understand their purpose, but when he first sees my artwork, KaPow! I pretty much blow his mind.

  “Blaze.” His brown eyes flick over the page. “These. Are. Amazing.” He starts rattling off a detailed critique that’s so positive it’s embarrassing. “Your lines are so bold and yet clearly show a feminine point of view.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you trying to say girls can’t draw like boys?” I ready myself for a rousing debate, but this time he just puts his hand on mine and looks me in the eye. “No, Blaze. I’m saying that your style and voice are fresh and unique. And important.”

  I blush and look away, wishing I could share the meaning behind this particular project. But I’d be mortified if he ever found out. “When you’re ready for a manager, I’m your guy.” He smiles. I wonder for a moment whether or not I should see this thing through. I look over and catch Stan Lee watching the two of us with a slight smile. I take a step back.

  I can’t let myself get distracted by a messy-haired boy with a teasing dimple and great taste in comics. I have to see my plan through. It’s what Ghost Rider would want me to do.

  Finally, I’m satisfied with the results of all my hard work and ready to show Mark that he messed with the wrong former blonde. I upload my scanned images to Kinkles Kopies at the mall and feel deeply empowered as I flip through the pages of the finished product. It’s a comic titled The Blazing Goddess vs. Mark the Shark. It’s an origin story.

  The adventure begins with Blaze as an ordinary girl whose father just so happens to be a mad scientist. Let’s face it, what origin story is complete without some form of crazy genius pseudo-science, right? So, anyway, Blaze’s dad asks her to drive to his laboratory to deliver a bunch of chemicals but warns her to be careful. If combined, the chemicals could become fatally toxic. The next page shows boring, blonde Blaze loading a bunch of glass beakers filled with rainbow-colored fluids into the back of her black Mustang. Because, cool flame job or not, there is no way my origin story is featuring a turd-brown minivan.

  Blaze speeds happily along until she comes upon a handsome boy wearing soccer shorts who’s hitchhiking. She debates, but decides that the road is so long and deserted she might be the boy’s only hope of rescue. He’s thankful when she stops to pick him up and explains that his truck broke down a few miles back when he made a wrong turn into a cornfield. The boy is a bit awkward and makes Blaze uneasy as they drive along. Suddenly, he leans over and announces he’s going to kiss her. Blaze is so shocked, she slams directly into a cow that has wandered onto the road.

  The glass vials in the back seat shatter, showering the pair in a dangerous cocktail of noxious chemicals. Everything goes dark for a few panels, and then we see a close-up of Blaze’s eye opening. When the scene draws out slowly, panel by panel, it shows that she has transformed into the Blazing Goddess, complete with pink, flaming hair and suddenly exposed cleavage. The hitchhiker has transformed as well, into a horrible man-shark. With his words muffled through layers of teeth, he announces his new name: Mark the Shark! And an epic battle between the two of them ensues.

  The panels with them going at it were the most fun to draw. Blaze puts up the fight I wish I had when Mark the Shark tries to bite her again and again. In the end, she wins of course, with the Shark left in the middle of a mown field, tangled in a large soccer net—squirming like a caught fish.

  Blaze soars away in her mustang, which has been completely transformed with pink flames shooting out all around it. The epilogue explains how the combination of chemicals created a serum that always reveals a person’s true inner nature. Blaze’s father is able to recreate the formula and concocts a new batch so Blaze can carry around a spray-canister of the serum. So now she can turn back into the Blazing Goddess whenever she wants. Plus, with a simple squirt she can reveal the inner nature of others and thwart all the evil genius plans to destroy the earth and all that good superhero stuff.

  Okay, so maybe the random chemical combination is a little lame, but hey, it’s tough to come up with an origin story while taking out real-world revenge on a boy you wish you hadn’t had sex with. I’m sticking it to him good too, since anybody who knows Mark or even knows of Mark will know right away he’s the shark guy. Going public with this comic is seriously going to hurt his game, and I’m not talking about soccer either.

  It’s a vengeance so absolute, Ghost Rider himself would surely be proud.

  • • •

  My Blazing Goddess comic book starts out as an intimate little mailing. A copy goes to the vapid blonde junior Mark’s been pursuing as well as a few other girls he’s dated. I also upload the files and post scans of all the pages on a web address I bought for ten bucks: http://blazing-goddess.com. And Quentin absolutely insists on selling physical copies at the store under the talk bubble sign “Up-and-Coming Artists.”

  Amanda can’t believe I actually did all this, and Terri thinks it’s the most spectacular thing she’s ever seen. “Way better than primping and stalking,” she says. It feels really good to shock people who’ve known you most of your life.

  Before I know it, things take off and people I didn’t send the comic to are stopping me in the hallway to tell me how much they like it. I didn’t bother to put a hit counter on the web page, but I know it has gone big when I catch glimpses of printed-out sheets getting passed around the school. It makes me kind of wonder how people got revenge before the Internet came along.

  Finally, the reaction I’ve looked forward to the most lands directly in my path. I just re-applied more Kool-Aid last night, so I’m particularly pink when Mark walks up to me. He’s holding a copy of The Blazing Goddess vs. Mark the Shark.

  “This is supposed to be funny?” He shakes the comic in my face, and I have to suppress a laugh. I was nervous that Mark might feel flattered in some way when he’s supposed to be humiliated. “What the hell, Blaze!”

  Or, okay. So anger works too. “What?” I give him my most innocent look. “You don’t like my artwork?”

  “Why would you make me look like such an idiot?”

  “Look like an idiot?” I savor his delicious rage. “I thought I went easy on you.”

  “Wha—? Easy?”

  “I could’ve made reference to your little guppy guy there.” I nod toward his crotch in a direct hit to his ego. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all the time spent with the boys, knocking the size of a guy’s genitalia is the ultimate in low blows.

  Mark’s jaw drops as he looks around at the gathering gawkers. “Blaze!” He covers his crotch with my comic.

  “Oh, come on, I’m kidding,” I say. “It’s not like I even have anything to compare it to, now do I?”

  “I’ll have you know I’m above average in that department.”

  “I’m sure that you believe that you are.” I pat the side of his handsome face. “Oh, and Mark?” He still looks bewildered over the way his confrontation is failing. “You really shouldn’t fuck with people who helped you out when you needed a ride. It’s not very sportsmanlike.”

  I spin on my heel and stride away. Perfect exit.

  I can’t believe I actually gave it to Mark that hard core. Well, I think, maybe that will teach him to be nicer to the girls he sees as Shark Bait.

  I’m grateful to be done with any and all association with him.

  • • •

  “Blaze, what the hell is going on between you and my coach?”

  Josh waves a copy of my comic in front of my face as we get into The Flaming Superturd after school. Oops.

  “Hey there, little brother,” I say cheerfully. “How was your day?”

  “Do not change the subject, Blaze.” Josh grabs my arm and asks earnestly, “Did you actually sleep with him? You only wen
t out, like, one time!”

  “Josh!” I can’t believe he’d ask me such a thing. Besides, there was no sleeping involved. “We had two dates, for your information.”

  “You see, that’s why I’m waiting till I’m married to have sex.” Josh shakes his head and slumps into his seat.

  “What the heck do you know about sex?” I ask.

  “Nothing.” He shrugs. “Except that Ajay’s older cousin had a girl totally stalking him after they did it. She slashed his tires and everything.”

  “Well, now, that’s crazy.”

  “Yeah.” Josh waves the comic pointedly. “And so is distributing a very well done yet embarrassing comic that features you beating up the guy you slept with.”

  “Mark and I did not sleep together. And the comic is just a Blazing Goddess origins story. I’ve been meaning to write her one.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “Well, Mema will be proud of you.” I grin. “If you’re really waiting for marriage to have sex.”

  Josh gives me a serious look. “Really, sis. Are you honestly okay?”

  I turn my attention back to the road, “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

  “You want me to kick Coach Mark in the balls for you?”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Well, are you about finished turning things pink?”

  I reach over and give Josh a shove. “I’m done,” I promise. And I am.

  • • •

  Looking at my website, I’m smacked with a wave of happiness that it looks even cooler than I remember. I wonder how many other folks are looking at my work at this very moment. It feels good to think I’m providing such a valuable public health service. I mean, just think of all the innocent virgins who can avoid being harpooned by Mark because of my little exposé!

  The phone rings. I have a fleeting fear it’s him, calling to ream me out some more, but I can tell by the way Mom’s mouth tenses when she checks the caller ID that it’s our dad. Mom holds the phone toward me, and I take it into the kitchen so she won’t have to hear me talk to “that man.”

  “Hey, Dad,” I say happily.

  “Hey, kiddo!” His voice is upbeat. “How goes it?”

  “Good! I’m almost done making that comics list for you.”

  “That’s great, Sweetie!”

  “Have you ever read any recent Ghost Riders? ’Cause I just took a look at a few issues from Volume 5 and I have to say the artwork is…”

  “Hey, that’s super, Blaze. Listen, I don’t have a lot of time to talk, but I wanted to see if I could get you to go ahead and ship those boxes of comics to me here in the city.”

  What!? “Oh, I, um…”

  “I know it’ll be expensive, but don’t worry. Your mom can lay out the funds, and let her know I’ll be getting that right back to her. Save the receipt.”

  “So you’re not coming here to pick them up?”

  “Coming there? No, no. I’ve got lots of stuff happening here. Great stuff. Really big stuff.”

  I glance at Josh and can tell he’s trying to listen in without seeming like he’s listening. I tell Dad, “So, I’ll just try to get that out to you next week. Um, what’s the address?”

  “It’s the same. One-sixty-two West Sixty-Fourth Street. Apartment four F.”

  “Right, I remember, like the Fantastic Four,” I joke as I wonder again about Ice Girl’s fate. It strikes me as funny that her boobs seemed like her source of power, and my boobs were the source of my demise, in a way. Or at least, Virgin Girl!’s demise.

  “I really need to have them here A-sap.” Dad says. “Do you think you can get them to the post office by early this week?”

  “Sure, Dad. And I drew a new comic that’s—”

  “That’s great, Sweetie. You be sure to keep that up. You never know where things might lead. I’d better get going, thanks again for sending those along.”

  I pause and brace myself. “Do you want to say hi to Josh?”

  “Sorry, honey, I’m on my way out, but do give him a hug from me, will you?”

  I look over to where Josh is watching me expectantly. I mentally kick myself for asking right in front of him.

  “Right, sure. I’ll get that out, and we’ll talk soon.”

  I watch Josh’s face crumple ever so slightly before he recomposes and we roll our eyes at each other. I hang up with Dad and Josh says, “Yeah, I didn’t really want to talk to him either.”

  We laugh, and Mom looks up from her paperwork. “So, what’s going on with your father?” She doesn’t sound like she honestly cares.

  “Oh, nothing,” I say. And because I’m annoyed that Dad made me hurt Josh’s feelings, I add, “He wants me to ship him the boxes of comics. He said you’ll be okay with laying out the money.”

  “The hell I am.” Mom stands up and storms out of the room, presumably to call Dad and tell him off.

  “He is super-busy,” I tell Josh. “I feel like I just caught a minute of The Dad Show. You okay?”

  “Well, I’m not about to go dye my hair pink, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” Josh laughs. When I continue with my patented worried-big-sister look, he adds, “Seriously! I’m fine. But if you want to take me and the guys to the mall, that would totally make up for my shitty relationship with our father.”

  “Yeah, right,” I laugh. Then, because Quentin has been texting me to come hang out, I add, “You can let the guys know Superturd will be leaving in oh-minus-half-an-hour to shuttle your stinky asses to the mall.”

  Josh lets out a whoop and scrambles to alert the cretins of their good fortune.

  • • •

  Once I’ve steered the boys away from Lucy’s Lucky Lingerie I set them free and head toward Sector Comics! It’s strange, but I can’t seem to shake the odd sense I’m forgetting something really important. Something lingering just outside my conscious thoughts, yet somehow weighing me down. I’ve tried to focus on what it might be a couple of times, but—

  “You left your headlights on.”

  I blink dumbly at the red-haired girl standing in front of me. I have no idea who she is, and I’m so thrown off that I actually look down to make sure my nipples aren’t showing through my T-shirt.

  “It’s okay.” She’s smiling. “I turned them off for you. The door was unlocked.”

  “Wha… ?” I say, “Um, do I know you?”

  “You drive the minivan with the pink flame job, right?” She grins.

  “Yes?” I glance around, looking for the boys, wondering if they’re setting me up in some way.

  “Well, I saw your headlights were on, so I tried the driver’s side door.” She shrugs. “I turned them off for you. Didn’t want you to drain the battery.”

  “Uh, thanks?” I say, and the girl spins and disappears as quickly as she showed up. Okay, that is weir—

  “Oh, and by the way.” She reappears suddenly. “I love your hair.”

  This time, when she turns to go, I stop her. “Hey, hang on,” I say. “Do you even go to my school?”

  It turns out she doesn’t, which means my hair and my minivan have achieved Small Town Infamy. Wow, I think, I have an honest-to-goodness fan! Who would’ve thought putting soft drink mix in my hair would put me and my turd-brown minivan on the A-list? After talking to my fan for a while, I give her the web address for The Blazing Goddess vs. Mark the Shark.

  “Check it out, you’ll like it,” I tell her. The girl looks wide-eyed, like she can’t wait to take a look at my pages. She’ll probably share them, and then Mark won’t be able to sucker innocent girls from her school either.

  Not that I think he’s a total rapist or anything. It’s just that I would’ve appreciated a heads up before canoodling with him in the back of Superturd. Like, maybe seeing a comic drawn by one of his post-canoodling ex-blondes would’ve helped. So you can just see how important my work to raise Male Slut Awareness is to the community.

  “Just sold out of your comic,” Quentin greets me at the s
tore.

  “That’s awesome.”

  “No, your comic is awesome, and you need to work on your next installment.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I scrunch my nose at him. “Who should the villain be?”

  “How about a new ally?” He scrunches his nose back at me. “A certain geeky comic book guy?”

  I grin happily. “I thought of you as Comic Book Guy before I knew your name!”

  We’re interrupted by a man rapping on the glass counter with his keys. He’s wearing a gray business suit, and we didn’t notice him come in.

  Suit Guy is giving off a vibe. He is not one of us.

  Quentin shifts back into Comic Book Guy, turns to Suit Guy and gives a sneer. “Can I help you?”

  “Actually, I believe I can help you,” says Suit Guy. He opens his briefcase with a flourish and produces a comic that I recognize the moment I see it. “I’ve been sitting on this for a long time, and I am now ready to part with it. That is,” he pulls it away as if we’d just lunged for it, “only if you make a decent offer.”

  Comic Book Guy and I look at each other and burst out laughing.

  After a full minute of laughter, I ask, “May I?” Quentin gestures toward the very confused-looking Suit Guy as if to say “have at him.”

  “Well, sir,” I start with mock-politeness, “what you have there is a Superman number seventy-five from 1992, otherwise known as ‘Death of Superman.’” The man clutches the comic, still sealed in its original black polybag with the red S insignia dripping with blood.

  “Yes,” he says, “And I’m not some stupid kid, so don’t think you can rip me off. I never opened it. Preserved its value. Thing must be worth a fortune by now.”

  I glance at Quentin and smile evilly. “Problem is, those polybags were actually made with cheap, acidic plastic that by now has turned the comic inside an ugly brown. But that doesn’t really matter anyway, since so many folks invested in this publicity stunt and also never opened their bags. What you’re left with is a rather unremarkable item worth about twenty bucks, if you’re lucky.”