When I pushed them across the table, he picked one up, turning it over and over, examining the mechanisms. I followed up with my linking rings, and Dad's boxing glove gun just to be sure.
One of Mom's hands settled on my head, and the other my shoulder, her thumb massaging the back of my neck. “You can sit down, Penny,” she said. The tone was still blank, but the use of my name, the comforting touch… all calculated to let me know I was in trouble, deep trouble, but not 'yelling and disowning' trouble. Under the circumstances, that was a relief.
“This thing is spring powered. I'm not kidding,” Dad mumbled to Mom. I'd impressed and amused him.
But not her. She sat down in the remaining chair, folded her hands, and looked me straight in the eyes. “You have never attended a football game before, or even expressed interest. You went armed, with brand new weapons you made yourself. How did you know there would be trouble?”
I pulled out the crumpled sheet of paper with the challenge on it, and slid it over. What did those dark blue eyes see, when she looked it over? The phrasing, the condition of the paper, the handwriting – what did Mom know just by glancing at it? I was not stupid enough to ask.
Dad was still trying to find a way to pry open my rotor and peer into the workings, but his real attention was on us. Mom asked the next impersonal, businesslike question. “Why would someone challenge you to a duel?”
My mouth opened to answer, but I swerved away from Cassie's name. Too personal. “She left a trap in the computer lab last month. Not bad enough to hurt anyone. She didn't say who it was for, but I… I got mad she burned out my computer, and deactivated the trap.”
“It's not her fault the school didn't tell us, Beebee,” Dad said, his tone quiet and gentle. My eyes stung. Now I was on the edge of crying just from relief.
Especially when Mom agreed, “No, it's not.” I still wasn't out of the woods. She leaned forward, and in that blank, watching face there was still no path to safety. “Why didn't you tell an adult?”
My mind went blank. I had no answer to that.
When my silence made that clear, she tried again. “Why didn't you refuse?”
Excuses ran through my fingers like water. They would all be lies. It hadn't occurred to me. I'd leaped on the opportunity like a cat on a mouse.
Dad spoke next, laying my flying invention back on the table. “By accepting that first challenge, you told anyone paying attention that you were a superhero, fair game for anything they wanted to try. When you accepted this second challenge, you confirmed it.”
“You're not ready for that. Even though you think you are,” Mom added.
What she didn't know, thank Tesla, was that I had two months’ worth of highly successful experience as a supervillain, defeating adults, not kids. I was smart enough not to argue, and smart enough to know she could read those hints of defiance.
Dad let out a very heavy sigh, collapsing back into his creaking chair. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, under his glasses. “What are we going to do about this, Beebee? If Penny… apologizes, or something, will this go away?”
The interrogation was over. Even Mom relaxed, a little, and my panic inched down because she sounded worried, not mad. “No, and that's not her fault. Copycat syndrome is very strong. After the Inscrutable Machine went public, the odds of another child trying to be a villain were eighty-seven percent. After Charlie Kamachi failed, they went down to fifty-fifty. We lost that roll when Cassie Patter blew up the computer lab.”
My back went stiff at the sound of their real names, and of course Mom saw it. I got a serious look again. “They don't have a secret identity to protect now, Penelope. Their names don't count as getting personal anymore. They forfeited that safety.”
I found my voice. “That's what they wanted. Nobody likes pretending we don't have powers. It's like…” I withered again under that stare, not angry, just solemn.
Dad stood up and walked around the table. His hands slipped under my arms, and he lifted up to squeeze me against him in a tight hug. I didn't sob or anything, but I was definitely dripping tears onto his shoulder. The worst was over. I'd messed up, but they weren't mad, not really mad.
A little bit of resentment tickled my stomach. How could replacing my supervillain identity with a superhero identity have been a bad thing? This wasn't fair!
Whatever. I would accept anything to avoid my mother's cold, dissecting questions.
“That's their problem, Penny. Ours is keeping you safe. There will be time enough to be a hero when you're out of school,” Dad said, not quite whispering.
Mom raised an eyebrow. “Must I play Bad Cop, Brian?”
Dad turned me sideways in his arms, grunting a bit. I guess I was getting a little heavy for this. His serious expression was a lot less scary than Mom's, because he could never hide his worry, even when he tried to look stern. “Whatever happens now, Penny, you stay out of it. We won't forbid you to use your powers, but you will not fight anyone. If you do, you lose your allowance for the week.”
That hurt. I had over a hundred thousand dollars in a fake business bank account, but I couldn't spend it. Now that my parents would be watching, I couldn't even sneak a few bucks here and there. Technically rich, all my money in my civilian life still came from my parents.
Mom frowned, thoughtfully. “The incentive structure there is unhealthy. A more immediate, emotionally direct punishment would be better. No computer or phone access for the rest of the day after any fight.”
I winced. That would be miserable. Even if I went to bed early, it would mean hours of boredom.
Then, to my horror, Dad said, “Both,” and Mom nodded.
I just stared up at him, open-mouthed.
To no effect. He kissed my bangs, but there wasn't a flicker of doubt in his voice or expression. “That is how important this is, Penny. Should that include tonight, Beebee?”
Panic had time to squeeze my heart and throat again before Mom shook her head. “No. She didn't know about the rules. For something this important, consistency is a must. If she disobeys, she gets the punishment we laid down. Period.”
Whole vistas of horrible possibilities started to open up in my imagination, and I blurted out the first one. “But what if they attack me? Am I not supposed to defend myself?”
“Do you know what deescalation means, Penny?” Dad asked.
“Calming things down, instead of letting them get worse,” I supplied from the depths of my vocabulary. I couldn't recall ever actually using the word.
His eyes centered on mine, only inches away. It was unnerving. Dad didn't give me hard looks very often. At least his voice still held that trace of worry. “I suggest you get very good at it. Apologize, surrender, tell an adult, walk away, run away, whatever you have to do. If you want to be a superhero someday, the best heroes do more than just yell at people to give up.”
Not from what I'd seen, but maybe that was part of Dad's point. I still fumed. Even if I could pull off deescalation, it would be humiliating.
Mom finally stood too, and joined us in that hug. That extra bit of relief helped, as did her friendly, helpful tone, the kind I usually got when I had a problem. “If you want my advice, complain. Complain loudly, to your friends, as soon and as often as possible. Blame us. When everyone knows how unfair we're being, all professional supervillains will consider you a civilian again. The challenges you receive should drop by two thirds, and your odds of being attacked without your agreeing to fight drop to single digits.”
“I watched the video, by the way,” Dad said, his mood suddenly warm and amused. “It was like watching someone with my powers and your mother's deviousness. You'll be a world class superhero in a few years, but right now your mean, unfair parents will drop the hammer on you if you don't stick to the sidelines, even if it's not your fault.”
They let me slide to the ground, and because I really do have great parents, they didn't object when I threw my hands up in the air, growled in frustration, and scooped my
inventions off the table to stomp back to my bedroom.
he stares in history class didn't surprise me. They were par for the course, any time I used my powers publicly. Monday's stares weren't any more or less suspicious, jealous, or thoughtful than if I'd just had a fit and built something by accident. That would help me with my parent-decreed mission to reverse all my hard-won successes, but it was still kinda disappointing.
History class always soothed my spirits. We were up to the early colonization of North America, and today was one of those great history stories, the Lost Colony of Roanoke. One of those dinky little British villages set up on an island off the coast of North Carolina, in 1590 a ship arrived to find every single inhabitant turned to stone.
There were no signs of panic. People were caught in the middle of whatever they'd been doing, which made for a bunch of pretty hilarious statues, and one or two sad or disturbing ones. When the first one broke, patterns of blood vessels and organs inside confirmed these weren't just statues, but actual people turned to stone.
Nobody knew why. Nobody knew how. Nobody knew how to turn them back.
Several statues were missing from the group photographs in our textbooks. I got the hint they'd been turned to stone doing intimate things you don't show middle schoolers photographs of.
Standing next to his blackboard-sketched map of North Carolina, Mr. Beanpole held up a picture of a boarded up building. “The statues were last reported seen in 2011, in the Historical Society of Roanoke Posterity Museum. Most likely they're still there, but the museum closed in 2009, and no one claimed them.”
That woke Ray from his mid-class doze. “What, no one?”
Mr. Beanpole smirked. We had a lot of teachers with a sense of drama, and he was one of them. “No one. That brings us to the other mystery of the Lost Colony. No one wants the statues. No one likes being near them. They've been taken to laboratories for study seven times, and always returned. P. T. Barnum owned the statues for a week before finding a way to sucker the county government to buy them back. No one would pay to see them. Every museum they've been in goes out of business.”
“Magic?” asked Ray.
That smirk. We were walking right into Mr. Beanpole's trap. “Not that any hero has ever been able to detect. The statues aren't cursed, and people don't report feeling uncomfortable around them. No one knows how they happened, no one knows why they drive people away, and no one really knows what happened to the Lost Colony of Roanoke.”
So, good class, and right after history is the first really good chance for me and Ray and Claire to get together in the morning, while we walk to English.
They descended on me with the eagerness of vultures, and for obvious reasons. Ray nudged me with his elbow from one side. “Congratulations on your first successful superhero battle.”
Claire nudged me from the other side. “Congratulations on distracting me with Grimoire of Nursey Rhymes so that I wouldn't figure out what you were up to.”
“I didn't mean to hide anything. My hero career has to be solo!” Seriously, I just hadn't wanted to rub Ray and Claire's faces in their not being able to take part.
My answer did not fly. “Now that I've finished the game, you won't be able to leave me out next time.”
I couldn't tell if she didn't believe me, or was just faking it. Platinum blonde middle school goddess Claire Lutra faced life with the sultry, serene smile she'd inherited from her mother, whose villainous name The Minx said it all. Big, round glasses were just a fashion statement that magnified her mischievous eyes. Ray, thin and dressed in black, had a more feral, gleeful smile he wore almost every minute of the day. They weren't mad, at least!
So, of course, I had to bring them down. “There is no next time.”
Claire half-turned towards me in shock. Well, maybe quarter-turned. We were walking down a crowded school hall, after all. “But you won! There are three different videos on the web!”
“It… it's too complicated. I'll tell you about it at lunch.”
Ray was giving me a look, too. I'd been squeezed between book-ends, now they were facing me. His tone was way quieter and more understanding. “So, that's where you both were yesterday.”
I nodded, starting to pout. “Yeah, it took-”
“Hey, Penny Akk!” yelled a girl's voice.
Up until now, the hall had been background, getting just enough attention for me to not trip over someone and fall on my face. Now I looked up, just in time to see Cassie, beaming with glee and holding up her hand as she stepped up to me.
I didn't get a lot of high-fives, but her grin was infectious. I slapped my hand against hers, and she grabbed it and gave it a shake before letting go.
“No hard feelings, I take it?” Claire asked Cassie.
“Are you kidding? Penelope Akk is my hero! I just wish I was good enough to be her rival!” Cassie barked back. Her raised voice complimented a straight back and a strutting walk. We were the center of attention now, and Cassie wanted it that way.
We'd arrived at English class. Probably no one but me noticed Cassie's hands shaking. Pulling open the door to the classroom, she stopped to run her fingers back through her hair. As she did, electricity sparked, and in a wave her hair turned frosty blue, sticking out in crazy static-charged spikes.
Just loudly enough for the three of us to hear, she said, “I've been waiting for this moment all my life,” and stepped into class, the real color of her hair proclaiming at a glance that she had super powers.
The two words I would use to describe that day's English class were 'surreal' and 'relaxing', at least for me. Nobody paid me any attention, despite my heroics this weekend. This was Cassie's moment, and I was glad for her.
She basked in the not-very-covert stares all period, smiling like the sun, with an occasional spark skittering over her hair. Mrs. Harpy didn't like it. She didn't object, but Mrs. Harpy is usually pretty jovial. A detached, serious tone didn't suit her. She never actually objected, because Cassie paid more attention to the lesson than anyone else. When Mrs. Harpy asked Cassie a question, she got an immediate, correct, and well-thought-out answer.
Uh… I think. I wasn't actually paying all that much attention myself. I didn't need to gawk at Cassie, but I was fascinated by the reaction of the class. A good ninety percent of the time they seemed to be looking at and listening to Mrs. Harpy, but in a stiff, too-intent way. Whenever she wasn't looking at them, glances were stolen at Cassie, and at Cassie's spiky blue hair.
Quite a few kids grinned the whole class through, and they were the ones who did the least gawking. The red haired boy who I thought maybe I'd seen at the supervillain meet-up in Chinatown was one of the smilers. The others I mostly hadn't pegged as having super powers, but how could you tell?
The exceptions were even more interesting. Marcia's desk was empty, and the brown haired cheerleader who sat next to her spent the whole lesson staring at her copy of The Scarlet Letter with a haunted expression.
Eesh. I hoped Marcia was okay.
Claire stared at Cassie more than anybody. No surprise there. Getting their own powers hadn't stopped her or Ray from being huge superhero/supervillain geeks. Ray just seemed to like The Scarlet Letter.
Claudia, dark skinned, black haired, awkwardly plain and dressed as always in not-quite-fitting earth tone clothing, hadn't been at the game. If she had, she could have flattened Charlie, Cassie, me, Marcia, Cassie's mysterious giant monster, any angry super powered parents in the stands, a brigade of tanks, an invasion of eldritch monstrosities, and at least a squad of alien Conqueror Orbs backed by the Orb of the Heavens itself.
Okay, I was probably exaggerating there, but knowing that depressed loner Claudia Catherine Cuddihy was one of the most powerful superhumans on the planet made me constantly aware of her mood. When I wasn't nervous about being on the wrong side of her superheroing, I itched with curiosity and a desire to make friends.
Today, Claudia just slouched and stared at her book with empty eyes, like usual.
After English, Ray and Claire and I had to split up to hit our lockers, but we would meet again in the cafeteria.
Claire was usually breezily late. Today, she and Ray were already at the table, watching me like civet cats ready to pounce on a coffee bean. Like a coffee bean, I couldn't run away. I had to give them the bad news.
It was a considerable surprise when I opened my mouth, and Claire spoke over me. “Before you make me forget, I finished Grimoire of Nursery Rhymes last night. It was so good!”
The game had looked a little violent for my tastes, and for Claire's, but I'd figured the dark-but-adorable theme would please her. I hadn't thought it would please her so much that she'd rather talk about it than superheroing!
Ray leaned across the table, Claire's enthusiasm sucking him forward. “Was the main character a boy or a girl? I couldn't tell from the trailer.”
Bouncing in her seat with enthusiasm, golden curls jiggling, Claire waved her hands at us and unleashed the squee. “That was one of the great things. You never find out! The story is full of flashbacks, but they all have that same mechanical demon voice, and what you see of yourself wears the same sorcerer's gloves and armor, even the ones where you're a small child.”
We both stared at her, too overwhelmed by her energy to say anything.
She giggled, and dipped her head down between her shoulders in a bashful shrug. “Whoops. Sorry. I'll turn it down.”
Golden curls. Oh. Claire had lost control of her powers, and sucked us in. Her hair had gone back to its jealousy-causing silken ivory, so I could rest easy that my mind was my own again.
Ray, always eager to see Claire as a different kind of cute, caught up faster than I did, saying, “That's a lot of story for a first person shooter. All the trailers talked about was how creepy evil stuffed animals were, and the customizable spell system.”
Claire nodded eagerly again. “I know. I was totally surprised, but the game is bulging with story. The gameplay's actually kind of easy, but designing chaos spells is a hoot. I added corruption to everything, and turned my enemies into all sorts of stuff. You two have got to play this game.”
Please Don't Tell My Parents I've Got Henchmen Page 2