Attack of the Valley Girls

by Greg Trine

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  Copyright Page

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  To my sister Teri

  —G. T.

  For my superfriends: Poochie,

  Thunder Nerd, and Spork

  —R. M.

  1

  FIRST LAIR ON THE LEFT

  “Up, up, and away.”

  Crash!

  “Up, up, and away.”

  Splat!

  “Up, up, and away.”

  Thud!

  “Up, up, and away.”

  Kabonk!

  This was how superhero Melvin Beederman always started his day—by trying to get off the ground and not doing a very good job of it. Actually, he started his day like everyone else in the world did—by waking up. Then he had a pretzel or two with his pet rat Hugo while watching a rerun of their favorite TV show, The Adventures of Thunderman.

  But when he went to work it was fall-on-his-face time. It was crash-splat-thud-kabonk time.

  Pretty embarrassing for a graduate of the Superhero Academy!

  Melvin was up and flying on the fifth try and waved good-bye to Hugo. “Hold down the fort, big guy. I’m off to save the world.”

  “Squeak,” replied the rat. This either meant “As long as I have pretzels I’ll do anything you say.” Or maybe it was “Don’t take any wooden Fig Newtons.”

  Melvin was never really sure what Hugo was saying. He was just glad to have somebody to watch cartoons with.

  “Leave some pretzels for me,” Melvin said as he zoomed away from his tree house hideout toward downtown Los Angeles. He was the superhero in charge of the city, along with his partner in uncrime, Candace Brinkwater.

  Candace was not a graduate of the Superhero Academy. She lived in a normal house with a normal family and went to a normal school. But she was anything but normal. After all, she had once scored 500 points in a single game of basketball. She could run the hundred-yard dash in three and a half seconds. She was the only third-grader who could fly.

  Melvin and Candace combined forces every day after she got out of school. Until then he was on his own.

  * * *

  Melvin flew over the city. It was a fine day for flying and a fine day for catching bad guys. It was not a fine day for seeing everyone’s underwear. But that is what Melvin saw. He couldn’t turn off his x-ray vision, so as he zoomed across the city and looked down he saw underwear—all sizes, all colors. And not all of it was clean. Some even had holes!

  “Holy underwear!” Melvin said, trying to look away. “That’s disgusting.”

  Holy underwear, indeed! It was disgusting. Even to the narrator.

  “Now to catch a few bad guys,” Melvin said to himself. Catching bad guys always made him feel better. He could almost forget about his x-ray vision problems. Almost.

  But there were no bad guys to be found. No crimes were being committed. No bank robberies. No car thefts. Everyone seemed to be behaving. And as Melvin raced between the tall buildings of downtown, he thought only one thing—Bo-ring! How could he save the world if there was nothing to save it from?

  Melvin saw a man walking his dog and dropped from the sky to ask him a question. “Sir, do you know of any criminals who need catching?”

  “Criminals?” the man asked.

  “Yes, you know, bad guys—bank robbers, car thieves, drug dealers, folks who use bad language.”

  The man scratched his chin and thought. “My neighbor is a mad scientist. Does that count?”

  Here was the break Melvin needed. Maybe this was someone planning on taking over the world, and Melvin would have to stop him! “Where does this mad scientist live?”

  “Up the hill.” The man pointed. “First lair on the left.”

  “Thanks.” Melvin took off running. He decided to stay on the ground. He hated trying to launch himself in public.

  2

  THE MAD SCIENTIST’S SON

  It was a big lair, as lairs go. “This mad scientist must be pretty successful,” Melvin said to himself. And successful mad scientists were smart mad scientists. There might be booby traps designed to catch unsuspecting superheroes. Melvin had to be careful.

  He crept up to the entrance of the lair. So far, so good. Melvin knocked on the door.

  A young man opened it. He didn’t look like a mad scientist at all. His hair was combed. His shirt was tucked in. He didn’t wear glasses. The question was, Did he have an evil laugh? You could fake clothing and hygiene. But an evil laugh was a dead giveaway.

  Melvin had to find out. “Hi. I’m from Jokemasters. What’s black and white and red all over?”

  “A newspaper?” the young man said.

  “No, a zebra with a sunburn.”

  The young man laughed in a non-evil way. He didn’t seem MAD at all. Bo-ring.

  “Are you sure you’re really from Jokemasters?” the young man asked. “You look a lot like Melvin Beederman, the superhero.”

  “Yes, I am Melvin Beederman,” Melvin said. “I was just testing your sense of humor.”

  “Did I pass? After all, that was a pretty rotten joke.”

  “You passed.”

  “I’m Mike, Mr. Beederman. Would you like some tea? I have some brewing on the stove.”

  Melvin would have been way more interested if trouble had been brewing. But since there was no trouble to be found, tea would have to do.

  Actually, trouble was always brewing … that’s just how the world worked. The question was, Was it brewed yet? If it was brewed, then you had to watch out. If it was just brewing, you had time to prepare. One of the things that was brewing was that evil aliens were on their way to Earth. But they were very far away and hadn’t kicked into Gamma Drive yet. Most likely, they wouldn’t arrive until book seven or eight. And if they took a wrong turn at Alphacentory, they wouldn’t make it at all!

  But back to Melvin Beederman.

  “Thanks,” he said. “Tea would be great.”

  And so Melvin Beederman had tea with Mike, who didn’t seem like a mad scientist at all. In fact, he was a pretty nice guy. If he had a cape, he’d make a great partner in uncrime, Melvin thought.

  “Well, I’m off to save the world,” Melvin said after a third cup of tea. He went outside and waited for the young man to close the door before trying to launch himself.

  “Up, up, and away.”

  Crash!

  Three more tries.

  Splat!

  Thud!

  Kabonk!

  Melvin was up and flying on the fifth try. Hopefully there was a bad guy nearby who needed catching. More important, hopefully there was a bathroom nearby!

  * * *

  While Melvin was busy looking for bad guys … uh … a bathroom, things were really brewing at the mad scientist’s lair he’d just left. And not just tea.

  After the young man closed the front door, someone yelled, “Who was at the door, Mike?” It was his father, the real mad scientist i
n the family.

  “Melvin Beederman. I invited him in for tea.”

  “You what?” His father couldn’t believe his ears. And ears never lie! “He’s a superhero! What kind of mad scientist are you?”

  “I’m not a mad scientist,” Mike said. “I’m just related to one.”

  This was their problem, of course. Mad scientist father had raised his son to follow in his evil footsteps, but the training didn’t work. The son was about as evil as, well, Melvin Beederman.

  “Something has to be done,” the mad scientist father said to himself. He went into his evil laboratory and slammed the door. He began pouring things into a blender. He’d make his son more evil, one way or another.

  “I’ll make my son more evil—”

  Ahem! The mad scientist knew he wasn’t supposed to repeat what the narrator says. The mad scientist stopped pouring. “Oh, sorry.”

  3

  THE MAD SCIENTIST’S EVIL POTION

  Is it possible to make my son more evil with a special potion? thought the mad scientist. He worked all night, testing and retesting his mixtures. He was alone, except for his dog Schnitzel, who had come into the laboratory through the doggy door, looking for a snack. This is the number one rule of the Dog’s Code: Beg for Food at all Times. The second rule is Steal Food if Begging Doesn’t Work.

  Schnitzel, who was a wiener dog, was using all his best moves—the sad puppy eyes, the whimper, the suck-it-in-and-look-skinny look—but nothing was working. The mad scientist was too busy concocting a make-my-son-more-evil potion to pay attention to his dog.

  It was this same potion that Schnitzel was now eyeing. It looked like a milk shake. Something he’d enjoy. And after all, begging wasn’t working. Didn’t rule number two tell him what to do? As soon as the mad scientist turned his back, the dog jumped onto the workbench, grabbed the cup holding the milk shake … uh … potion, and ran out of the laboratory.

  The mad scientist whirled around. “Come back here, you evil mutt!” Suddenly, he had a thought. Why couldn’t his son be more like his dog? But he shook it off. “Schnitzel, get back here.”

  Schnitzel wasn’t coming back. He had a milk shake to drink. And as soon as he got himself to a safe place, he planned to do just that. He tore down the hall, ran through the kitchen, and dove for the doggy door. Just in time. Just in the nick of time, to be exact.

  He was free. At least that’s what was going through his tiny doggy brain.

  Little did he know that high above him a hawk was circling and his tiny hawk brain was saying something like LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THAT RAT! Wiener dog, rat—this hawk didn’t know the difference.

  “Holy lunchtime,” said the hawk. Actually, he said, “Caw!” or whatever sound hawks make. But he meant holy lunchtime. He swooped from the sky.

  Holy lunchtime, indeed! Schnitzel never saw it coming. He was too busy thinking of the milk shake. That is, until he felt the hawk’s talons sink into his fur. Before he could say “Excuse me, big guy, but would you mind removing your claws from my flesh?” he was flying high over Los Angeles and headed toward the Valley.

  The hawk was soon joined by his best friend, who asked, “What’s with the wiener dog?” Actually, what he said was “Caw!” But he meant what’s with the wiener dog?

  “Wiener dog? I thought it was a rat.”

  The second hawk shook his head. “Nope. Wiener dog.”

  That’s when the hawk holding Schnitzel let go. And that’s when Schnitzel let the milk shake go. And that’s when the cup holding the potion landed in the chicken feed of Fester’s Fine Chicken Farm and Tractor Repair. Luckily, Schnitzel landed in a nearby tree, which broke his fall. But the chicken feed was now contaminated with the mad scientist’s evil potion. This contaminated the chickens, who started swearing a lot and picking fights. Some of them wanted to start wearing leather jackets and riding motorcycles.

  Worst of all, the potion contaminated the eggs that the chickens laid. And these eggs were used to make chocolate chip cookies. Cookies eaten by local teenagers. Don’t ask how, but it went very fast, from potion to eggs to cookies to teenagers.

  Two Valley girls in particular. Their names were Chantelle and Brittany, and they were sitting in the cafeteria of East Valley High School. Not only were they friends, but they also lived in the same foster home, since both of them did not have parents.

  “Hey, like, do you want half of this cookie?” Chantelle asked her friend.

  “Like, totally,” Brittany replied.

  This was part of the Valley Girl’s Code—say “like” and “totally” a lot. There were other parts to the code, such as Hang Out at the Mall a Lot and Flick Your Hair as Often as Possible, but we’ll get to that later.

  The two girls bit into the cookie made with the eggs contaminated by the mad scientist’s evil potion. The change was immediate. Their eyes clouded over. Devious and sinister thoughts hit them all at once.

  “How about we, like, take over the city?” Brittany said.

  “That would be, like, totally cool!”

  After school they headed to the mall to make plans. Neither of them had ever taken over a whole city before. This was exciting stuff!

  4

  SINISTER SISTERS

  While Chantelle and Brittany were plotting to take over Los Angeles, Melvin Beederman was meeting with his partner in uncrime Candace Brinkwater. They met in the library every day after school so that Melvin could help her with math. This was their agreement. After doing her math homework, the two of them would set off to save the world.

  “How did it go today, Melvin?” Candace asked.

  “Not much happening. I didn’t see one bad guy all day.” Melvin was feeling kind of low. Catching bad guys was what he did best. What did you do when there weren’t any to catch?

  “What about those evil aliens coming to take over the planet?”

  “What evil aliens?” Melvin asked. The librarian walked by, and he tried not to look at her underwear, which wasn’t easy. “Candace, have you been talking to the narrator again?”

  “Oops.”

  When they finished math, they went outside and launched themselves. At least, Candace did.

  “Up, up, and away.”

  Crash!

  “Up, up, and away.”

  Splat!

  On the fifth try Melvin was up and flying. “Now to find some bad guys,” he said. “I wish those aliens would get here already.” Melvin had never battled aliens before. Neither had Candace. But they were always open to new experiences. “I just wish trouble was brewing someplace besides outer space. I don’t want to have to wait until book seven or eight to catch a bad guy.”

  * * *

  Trouble was brewing, of course. It was brewing just north of Los Angeles, in the Valley. Chantelle and Brittany were at the mall, planning on taking over the city. But first things first. They needed a lair.

  “I know, like, the perfect place for our lair,” Brittany said.

  “Where?” asked Chantelle.

  “How about, like, the girl’s dressing room at Macy’s?”

  “Perfect. You grab some jeans and I’ll grab some sweaters and I’ll meet you there.” As long as they were going to make their lair inside a dressing room, they might as well try on clothes.

  They found an empty dressing room and went in, closing the door behind them.

  “Okay,” Chantelle said, “like, what’s the plan?”

  Brittany was looking at herself in the mirror, checking out the sweater she’d just put on.

  “Would you, like, pay attention, Brittany? If we’re going to take over the city, we need a plan.”

  Brittany flicked her hair. “Hmmm.… there’s only one thing to do.”

  “What?” Chantelle had put on some jeans and was now turning from side to side. “Is my butt too big?”

  Totally, Brittany thought, but she didn’t say it. “We wait until dark, then go to the narrator’s house and sneak a peek at the manuscript. Then we’ll know for sure wha
t we’re supposed to do.”

  “Brilliant!” Chantelle high-fived her partner in crime. “Do you know, like, where the narrator lives?”

  “For sure! About an hour north, in Blah Blah City, on Blah Blah Street.”

  Chantelle looked at her friend. “Blah Blah City? Blah Blah Street?”

  “That’s code. If I say the real town and street, the readers will totally start calling up the narrator and asking him to read their manuscripts.”

  Hmmm, that isn’t such a bad idea, thought Chantelle. Manuscripts.

  It was way past midnight when the two girls headed north to Blah Blah Street, which is in East Blah Blah City.

  5

  MEANWHILE …

  While Chantelle and Brittany were headed north to Blah Blah, Schnitzel the dog was still trying to get down from the tree he’d fallen into when the hawk let go of him. It wasn’t easy. He’d been stuck in the tree for days. Finally, he decided to jump and take his chances.

  He landed with a thud—a very loud thud. A thud so loud that two owls, who were perched on top of Farmer Fester’s barn, looked over.

  One owl nudged his buddy. “Hey, is that a rat?”

  “No, it’s a wiener dog.”

  Actually what they said was “hoo-hoo” and “hoo-hoo,” but it meant “Hey, is that a rat? No, it’s a wiener dog.”

  After all he’d been through, Schnitzel was now very cautious. He’d already been plucked by a hawk, and he wasn’t going to let that happen again. He walked along singing “I Am a Wiener Dog, Not a Rat” just in case any birds of prey had different thoughts on the subject.

  The question was how to make it back to the mad scientist’s lair. He hadn’t been paying attention when the hawk had snatched him. Where was he, exactly? Fester’s Fine Chicken Farm and Tractor Repair, but where was that? And which way should he go?