Sidekicks

by Dan Danko

The first thing you did once you became a sidekick was to get a sponsor. All the new sidekicks who had met the rigorous admission standards of the Sidekick Clubhouse — and by “rigorous standards” I mean the check cleared — lined up in a row facing the handful of superheroes who, for reasons that most of us didn’t want to know and the insurance company wouldn’t let them tell, didn’t have a sidekick.

  Then, and this is where the real scientific part came in, they picked us like they were picking players for their basketball team.

  “Uh... that tall guy.”

  “I pick ... the one in glasses.”

  “Let’s see? Do you complain? Whine? No? I’ll take you.”

  “Would you be willing to sacrifice your life to save mine?” Pumpkin Pete had asked me as he walked down the line.

  “Uh...I guess,” I replied, not really sure.

  “I get this one!” Pete shouted.

  Pete is about six-foot-five, with long arms and a thin, lanky body. And, in case you couldn’t guess by the name, his head is a pumpkin.

  “I’ve got all the powers of a pumpkin,” he proudly bragged to me just moments after he picked me.

  I’m still trying to figure out what that means.

  I sit in algebra class next to Prudence Cane.

  Don’tcha just love that name? I do. And her eyes, her smile, her hair, her smell, and even the way she pretends not to know I exist.

  If super beauty were a power, Prudence would be the Titanic of gorgeousness. Wait. The Titanic sank, didn’t it? Okay, she’s the Titanic before it sank. But thinner. And without the smokestacks.

  “Hey, Prudence,” I said as I leaned over her desk.

  She blew a bubble with her gum and stared at me over the pink edge. “Hey, Gary.”

  “Guy.”

  “Whatever.” She turned her back to me.

  Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! I should’ve just said my name was Gary! I mean it’s just a name, not like I was attached to that “Guy” name anyway.

  “Guy? Guy?” Miles asked. “What are you doing?”

  “Shut up. My name’s Gary.”

  This is what really kills me about keeping my powers secret. If I just told her the truth, just once, that I could win every track event, be the best basketball player in the school, score a touchdown every time I touch a football, she’d love me. She’d think I was as awesome as I thought she was.

  Instead, I was sitting in algebra class wishing my name was Gary.

  Maybe if I used my powers a little and stuff. Y’know, nothing really big, but just enough to be more popular. Would that be such a bad thing? I once read that with great power comes great responsibility. My power’s not that great, so do I really have to be that responsible?

  The good thing was, now that I’d totally embarrassed myself in front of Prudence, I didn’t think my life could get any worse.

  “Class,” Mr. Lang, the algebra teacher, said, “I’d like to introduce a new student to you. He’s just transferred from Crystal City Junior High School and will be with us for the rest of the year. Everybody say hello to...”

  No. Please. Not him. Not now. Did I say my life couldn’t get any worse? I was right. It couldn’t get worse, but it could get terribly, terribly worse by, like, a hundred times.

  “. . . Mandrake Steel.”

  There he stood in front of the class. Tall. Handsome. Muscles. Great hair. And all the power and confidence of a really great smile.

  “Do you know who that is?” I asked Miles.

  “Yeah, Gary. The teacher just said his name was Manbake Style or something. Who cares?”

  I looked around the classroom. The girls were already writing love notes.

  I leaned closer to Miles and whispered into his ear, “Also known as Charisma Kid.”

  “No way!” Miles erupted.

  I smacked his shoulder and pulled him back down into his chair.

  “Dude, I just violated every rule, bylaw, dictum, regulation, promise, and suggestion of being a sidekick. I don’t need you blabbing it to the world. There’s a reason they’re called secret identities!”

  “Apparently, not to you,” Miles said sarcastically.

  “. . . and I just want you all to know how excited I am to call Clearwater High my new home!” Charisma Kid finished.

  Sure, no one else in the room knew he was Charisma Kid, but they didn’t need to. I mean, they call him Charisma Kid for a reason.

  I heard some girl titter. I turned around to see who the unfortunate soul was. Prudence Cane not only tittered but practically swooned when Charisma Kid flashed a toothy grin her way and winked.

  Charisma Kid made his way down the aisle and as he passed me, he cracked a small smile. “Good to see you again, Spuddy.”

  “His name is Gary,” Miles defended.

  Charisma Kid sat behind Prudence.

  “This is so cool,” Miles said, leaning closer to me. “Maybe he’ll let me sit at the same table at lunch. Or maybe even sit next to him! I’ve always wanted to meet a sidekick!”

  “I’m a sidekick!” I whispered in a sharp tone.

  “Yeah. To a pumpkin.”

  “Didn’t you listen to anything I said? Haven’t you been paying attention?” I hissed under my breath.

  “What? What?” Miles defended. “I told him to call you Gary.”

  I dropped my head onto my desk with a defeated thud.

  “Okay, class,” Mr. Lang began, “let’s review the Pythagorean theorem — yes, Mandrake?”

  Charisma Kid raised his hand and waved it over his head. “I don’t mean to interrupt, sir, but I just wanted to tell you what a striking tie you’re wearing.”

  “Do you really think?” Mr. Lang asked, looking down at his tie. “I wasn’t really sure...I mean when I picked it out at the store...Do you really think?”

  “Absolutely. In fact, if you teach half as well as you pick ties, I’m in for quite an amazing learning experience.”

  Mr. Lang stopped for a moment, possibly feeling more handsome than he ever had in his life, and popped open his algebra book with renewed zeal.

  “Was that the sweetest thing, or what?” Prudence Cane said to no one in particular.

  With those eight words, no, wait. Seven. Uh... yeah... seven words, I realized I was in for the fight of my life. One where I was helpless to use my powers, and at stake was something more precious to me than the safety of the world.

  Prudence Cane.

  Chapter Three

  Evil Is Bad

  “Sssh!” Earlobe Lad hissed at me and covered his enormous ears.

  “I didn’t say anything,” I whispered back.

  “No. But the blinking. The blinking is driving...me...insane!”

  I sat in my chair doing my best to not blink. It was always like this when I was on monitor duty with Earlobe Lad. His oversized ears and super-hearing made him hypersensitive to even the tiniest noises. The fact he had short hair only seemed to make his ears that much larger. His costume was green with a large ear on the chest.

  My eyes started to water. Earlobe Lad glared at me. My lids quivered. Earlobe Lad clenched his teeth. I squinted, doing my best to relieve the burning pain that shot through my eyeballs. After, oh, one minute, I finally cracked like a cheap vase.

  Blink-blink.

  “Gah!” Earlobe Lad shouted at me, clutching his ears. “You did that on purpose!”

  “I have to blink.”

  “Do you? Do you!?” he cried, standing from his sidekick chair, an accusing finger jabbing at my face.

  “Calm down,” Spice Girl said in a hushed voice. “He didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “You’re all against me,” Earlobe Lad said as he slumped in his chair and slid beneath the table, “because I have giant ears!” The final words fell out of his mouth wrapped in despair — the despair that went hand-in-hand with giant ears.

  I guess, anyway. My ears are normal.

  The three of us sat at the Sidekick Super Table of Meetingness. Spice Girl had short blond
hair. Her outfit was entirely pink with a purple “Girl Power” patch stuck on the front. I could smell the scent of Chamomile wafting up from her.

  “It’s good for headaches,” she whispered to me.

  It’s usually about now — when Earlobe Lad is sobbing or Exact Change Kid is handing out two quarters, three dimes, two nickels, and ten pennies for a dollar, or I’m buffing the second coat of wax on the Pumpkinmobile — that I ask myself, “What was I thinking?”

  I’ll tell you what I was thinking. Imagine being a hero. Imagine saving people and being on the cover of magazines and stuff. Like, what if people looked up to you and wanted to be like you because you were so cool. That’s what I was thinking. Smash evil and be popular. I had no idea I’d be doing laundry and listening to people whine all the time.

  These are the battles TV never tells you about.

  “What’s with Elephant Boy?” Boom Boy asked as he entered the Clubhouse.

  “I hate when you call me that,” Earlobe Lad whimpered from under the table. “And stop breathing so loud.”

  Boom Boy had a cool power: he could blow up. The only problem was, if he blew up, he really blew up, so he could only do it once, if you know what I mean. His costume was pretty cool, too. Red and black Spandex. On his chest was a picture of himself blowing up.

  “You guys ready for another boomtastic day of monitor duty? I get the front chair!” Boom Boy said, sniffing at Spice Girl.

  “How do we know you even have the power to blow up?” Earlobe Lad whispered from under the table.

  “What? What? Because if I couldn’t blow up, I’d call myself ‘I-Can’t-Blow-Up Boy,’” Boom Boy sneered. “Or, if I had a really stupid power, I’d call myself Earlobe Lad.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Spice Girl commented.

  “Yeah, but I mean, we’ve never actually seen you blow up,” Earlobe Lad whimpered. “No one has. You tell us you can blow up. Sometimes you even threaten that you’ll blow up, but no one’s ever actually seen you blow up.”

  “Stop messing with me or I swear I’ll blow up,” Boom Boy threatened.

  “See.”

  “Okay! Okay! So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? Well, don’t blame me when they’re picking pieces of you off the ceiling,” Boom Boy called back.

  “Won’t they be picking pieces of you off the ceiling, too?” Earlobe Lad pointed out.

  “Yeah. But I’ll have the satisfaction of being right.”

  Boom Boy stepped back from the table and balled his fists. His face grew redder and redder as he clenched his eyes.

  “Maybe we should stop him,” Spice Girl whispered nervously.

  “No way,” I responded. “I wanna see this.”

  “But what if someone . . . gets hurt?” Spice Girl warned.

  “Of course someone’s gonna get hurt! Boom Boy’s about to blow himself up!”

  Earlobe Lad crept out from under the table in time to see Boom Boy’s face turn stop-sign red.

  “Wow. He’s really going to do it this time,” Earlobe Lad whispered in a nearly inaudible voice.

  “Wait!” Boom Boy said and opened his eyes. “I get it now. I get it. You want me to blow up don’t you? Yeah. ’Cause once I do, I’ll be gone and then there’ll be no more Boom Boy to push around.”

  “But no one pushes you around,” Earlobe Lad murmured.

  “And that’s how it better stay, because if they do, I swear I’ll blow myself up!”

  “I think I’m going to blow up,” I said and smacked my palm against my forehead.

  “You have that power, too?” Spice Girl asked.

  Before I could answer, Boy-in-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy rolled into the Sidekick Super Clubhouse in his Giant Hamster Ball of Justice.

  “Mmmph pah mm mm!” Boy-in-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy shouted from inside his protective ball, whose thick walls muffled his shouts like he had a sock in his mouth.

  “What?” I yelled back.

  “Ahh! You’re killing me!” Earlobe Lad moaned.

  Boy-in-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy pointed wildly toward the door. “Mmm! Mmmph! Mmm!”

  “I dunno,” Boom Boy said, scratching his chin. “I think he’s trying to tell us something.”

  Boy-in-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy’s face flushed red. In a fit of frustration, he began beating his head against the inside of his Giant Hamster Ball of Justice.

  “Oh! Oh! I know this!” Spice Girl enthused. “It’s Morse code! He’s trying to tell us something about cheese.”

  Something was wrong and it was something more terrible than Boy-in-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy needing to use the bathroom. But before Boy-in the-Plastic-Bubble Boy could shout one more word of nonsense, a huge explosion shook the Sidekick Clubhouse and would have rattled the Sidekick Clubhouse windows — if we had some.

  “Don’t look at me,” Boom Boy said as the echo died. He checked himself over to make sure his arms and legs were still attached.

  Exact Change Kid ran out from the Sidekick Super Bunk Room. “What the heck was that? It knocked over all my change piles. I’ve got pennies mixed with dimes mixed with nickels! It’s madness!”

  “Come on!” I shouted.

  “Wait,” Exact Change Kid called out, shuffling four dimes, two nickels, and a penny in his hand. He had a crew cut, was thin, wore bottle-thick glasses, and was decked out in white Spandex with red boots. “Don’t you think we should have some rally cry before we run into battle?”

  “How about, ‘Let’s go!’” I offered and turned to run.

  “That’s not very catchy,” Spice Girl replied.

  “Let’s vote on Speedy’s suggestion.” Exact Change Kid raised his hand. “All those against, raise your hands.”

  Everybody but me raised their hands.

  “Okay... that’s four against.”

  “Look, I don’t care what our rally cry is! I’m just saying let’s go!”

  “We just voted out ‘Let’s go,’ Speedy. Please don’t try to push your ideas on the rest of us,” Exact Change Kid whined.

  “How about, ‘Sidekick Summons!’” Spice Girl cheered.

  “I don’t know,” Exact Change Kid said. “It has a ring, certainly, but there’s just something...I don’t know . . .”

  “Mmmph Mmpah?” Boy-in-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy offered.

  “Could be. Could be,” Exact Change Kid replied, considering the suggestion.

  “Look,” I interrupted impatiently, “you guys vote and I’ll check out the explosion. Someone may need help!”

  I raced out of the room at 50 miles per hour and dodged left to avoid smacking into the wall.

  “You should fill out the absentee ballot first!” Exact Change Kid called out after me, waving a blank form in the air.

  I raced across the field and to the front of the League of Big Justice Headquarters of Big Justice. And then I saw it. I never thought this could happen. I never thought this would happen.

  The League of Big Justice Headquarters of Big Justice was destroyed. This was what Boyin-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy was trying to tell us.

  I raced inside. Rubble was everywhere.

  “Pumpkin Pete? King Justice? Lady Bug?” I called out. “Captain Haggis? Librarian? Ms.

  Mime? Is anybody here?”

  Then I realized that if Ms. Mime were here, she wouldn’t answer anyway.

  “I am, worm,” a voice growled behind me.

  A man stepped out from the shadows of the rubble. I recognized him immediately from the League of Big Justice’s Big Justice Super Crime Files.

  The Professor.

  Dressed in a black cap and gown, wire-rimmed glasses, and holding a pointer stick, The Professor looked nothing like that guy from “Gilligan’s Island.” And I’m sure he was nowhere as smart.

  Plus, he was evil.

  “Pop quiz,” The Professor said. “What’s faster? The fastest man alive or a laser?”

  “Actually, I’m faster than the Fastest Man Alive Man. In fact, he changed his name to —”

  “Idiot!
I was using the phrase as a noun-modifier, not a proper noun,” The Professor sighed.

  I snickered. “Whoa! Hold on there, egghead. Save that grammar stuff for Spelling Beatrice.”

  “Oh, shut up!” The Professor snarled. His pointer stick glowed red for a brief moment and in a flash, a laser shot from the tip.

  I dove to the right and narrowly avoided becoming a melted slag heap. The Professor blasted again. I raced behind a wall of what used to be the League of Big Justice’s Super Kitchen.

  This was bad. There was no way this guy could’ve taken out the entire League of Big Justice alone. Were the other bad guys still here? There’s no way I was ready for something this intense.

  “Pop quiz,” The Professor called out from the other side of the wall. “What’s dressed in blue and yellow and will soon be quite a dead fellow?”

  Dressed in blue and yellow? Duh.

  “That’s an easy one! Me!”

  Me!?

  I dove away as The Professor’s graduation cap flew through the wall, blasting it to pieces.

  Now I knew why they called it a mortar board.

  Think, Guy! Think! This is bad. He’s long-range. I’ve got no room to get speed. I can’t dodge him forever. Gotta lure him outside. But how?

  “What do you want from me?” I yelled out from my cover.

  “I want you to die.”

  Well, at least he was honest.

  “If you surrender now, I promise you a quick death,” The Professor called out as his mortarboard cap flew back into his hand like a boomerang.

  A distraction? Then run outside?

  I took a rock and tossed it from my hiding place. The Professor spun and, without a moment’s hesitation, blasted the rock into nothingness.

  That’s it! I got it. And this’ll work, if he doesn’t kill me first.

  I ran out from my cover and raced across the large hall, weaving in and out of rubble while dodging The Professor’s laser blasts. I finally dove for cover behind another shattered wall.

  That’s when The Professor went for his mortarboard again. He flung it like a Frisbee. I watched it zip through the air directly at my shelter.

  I had to time this perfectly.

  At the last second, I mustered all my speed and raced from cover. One great thing about being the fastest person in the world is that it means everyone else in the world is slower than you. I snatched the mortarboard from mid-air, spun like Michael Jordan, and flung it back toward The Professor.