First Job (Minimum Wage Sidekick Book 1)

by Lucas Flint

  “Just focus on doing your best work and try not to let Peters’ bias get to you,” I said. “And if you disagree with any of his gradings, just ask Mrs. Naomi about it later. I’m sure she’d listen to you if you can show that Peters didn’t grade you fairly.”

  Frank nodded, although he still looked anxious and worried. I understood his feelings well, but I tried not to let them get to me. I turned to the next chapter of our textbook, just as Peters told the class to, but my mind, unfortunately, wasn’t on my schoolwork. Instead, I was thinking back to six months ago, on the day that I got my powers and my life changed forever.

  It had been an unusually warm day in April. So hot, in fact, that Mr. Peters had allowed us to bring drinks to class, which was a big out of character moment for him and seemed even more out of character for him now, but back then, although Mr. Peters had been a pretty stern teacher, he at least didn’t hate his students. Sometimes, he’d even let us watch a science documentary instead of doing a normal boring science lesson or he’d have an interesting science experiment to show us. I even sort of liked him; not as much as Mrs. Naomi, but more so than my other teachers.

  Anyway, when school let out for the day, Frank and I were some of the last students to leave. That was because Frank had lost his pencil case at some point during the day and asked me to help him find it, so we went to each classroom, backtracking Frank’s steps in an effort to find his pencil case. Because it had been a hot day, we got thirsty pretty quickly, but we had no drinks with us, so we tried to ignore our thirst until we could leave the school.

  We searched every classroom but couldn’t find anything until we went to Mr. Peters’ science classroom. There, we found Frank’s pencil case inside his desk, but as we left, I caught a whiff of something that smelled like orange soda coming from the cupboard where Mr. Peters usually kept his science supplies. Because I was so thirsty, I thought that maybe it was a soft drink that Mr. Peters had left unattended, so Frank and I went over and opened the cupboard, figuring that Mr. Peters would be okay if we took a drink, given how hot the day was.

  As it turned out, the orange smell had come from a beaker of some kind of weird purple liquid in one of Mr. Peters’ beakers. I’d never seen anything like it before and I would have just closed the cupboard and left it alone if Frank hadn’t dared me to drink it.

  To this day, I’m not sure why Frank dared me to drink it. Maybe it was because it was unusual for Mr. Peters to leave out his science supplies like this and we wanted to know what it was. Or maybe Frank was just being a stupid teenage boy and I was being an even stupider teenage boy for agreeing to go along with it; at least, that’s what Dad told me after I told him about it. And, with six more months of life experience under my belt now, I had to admit that Dad had a point.

  Regardless, I couldn’t back down from a dare. I never could, even when it would hurt me. So I grabbed the beaker and downed the whole thing in one gulp. I expected it to taste like orange, based on the smell and color, but instead it tasted like sand. It was the worst drink I’d ever had in my whole life and it made my stomach feel horrible, like it was being melted from the inside. I was pretty sure I was going to die, especially when I felt my eyes start to burn.

  Coincidentally, Mr. Peters walked into the classroom just then. I later learned that he’d come at that moment to grab his beaker before he went home for the day, but when he saw that I had drank it … well, let’s just say that I did not know that such a thin man could yell so loudly. Or that it was even possible for a human to shout loud enough to crack glass.

  According to Mr. Peters, he had designed that serum with the express purpose of drinking it to gain superpowers. He had said that he wanted to retire from teaching at the end of the school year so he could start his superhero business. He had put much of his time and money and effort into concocting a serum that could give him powers so he would be able to fight supervillains and criminals easier, because most superheroes had powers and he thought it would make it easier for him to succeed in business if he had powers.

  But I had ruined his entire plan by drinking that serum. Not only that, but my powers didn’t even manifest immediately, so Mr. Peters became convinced that even if he had drunk the serum, it would have done nothing except make him feel sick. He still retired from teaching at the end of the year, but he didn’t go into the superhero business. As a matter of fact, I didn’t know what he did after retirement; I never saw him around Golden City, nor did I hear anything about him from the other teachers. Part of me had thought that he might have just locked himself in his house and wasted away from anger and envy, but I guess he must have found some employment somewhere, because he certainly didn’t look that different from how he did six months ago, although he did have huge bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t gotten much sleep recently.

  Of course, Mr. Peters’ serum actually did work, but I didn’t manifest my powers until I got home that day. Then I nearly blew up Dad’s car and the rest is history. I didn’t tell Mr. Peters about my powers, however, because now that I was a sidekick, I didn’t want anyone to be able to suspect that I was a sidekick. I hadn’t even told Frank about my powers; when he’d asked me about the serum the next day, I lied and told him that I had had thrown up all night long but otherwise didn’t get any powers. Frank actually seemed relieved about it, although he told me that if he had known what it was ahead of time, he would have drunk it himself even if it made him sick, just in case it worked and gave him powers.

  For the remainder of that semester, Mr. Peters acted far more unfair not just toward us, but all of his students, than he did before. He was quicker to fail students or send them to detention over the most minor issues and he wasn’t nearly as patient as he used to be. As a result, when Mr. Peters retired from teaching at the end of the year, everyone in my class breathed a sigh of relief. It was kind of sad, because he’d started off the school year as beloved by everyone but ended it with everyone hating him and wishing they’d never see his face again. Even the other teachers didn’t like Mr. Peters all that much.

  That was all in the past now, though. Mr. Peters was standing up at the front, doing a lecture about the importance of math in science. He did not seem to be paying me any special attention; maybe he had gotten over his anger at me for drinking what he thought was going to be the ticket to riches. Or maybe he was planning to make my life a living hell later on, when I let my guard down.

  To take my mind off that, I tried to follow along by reading my textbook. I only read a few lines, however, before I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I looked up, but Mr. Peters didn’t seem to hear it, which was good, because Mr. Peters hated it whenever students used their phones in class; in fact, it was usually a good way to earn instant detention. I couldn’t afford detention now, however, because then I would have to miss work today. But I was also curious to see who had texted me, so when Mr. Peters turned his back to the class to start writing on the white board, I pulled my phone halfway out of my pocket and glanced at the message. It was from Adams; which was odd, because I didn’t think he’d text me outside of work hours.

  But that didn’t matter. What did matter was the context of the message, which, though short, was enough to shake my world:

  RUBBERMAN IS IN HOSPITAL. GO DIRECTLY TO ELASTIC CAVE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Of course, I couldn’t just run out of class and bike to the Elastic Cave that very moment. There was no way that Mr. Peters would ever let me leave early for any reason; besides, I technically wasn’t supposed to start work until after school anyway. That didn’t mean I didn’t want to go, though, but I had to text Adams that I was in school and couldn’t come right away, but would head there as soon as the bell rang.

  As a result, the day seemed to drag on forever. It was like every time I glanced at the clock in my classroom, the hands were frozen or moved maybe half an inch, if even that. I had a hard time paying attention in all of my classes; even at lunch, I barely paid a
ttention to what I ate, and as a result I probably missed loads of important things that would appear on future tests. Mr. Peters definitely noticed; he kept calling me to attention every time he thought that I wasn’t paying attention. It helped me pay attention for a couple more minutes, but then I’d go right back into worrying about Rubberman. I wished that Adams’ text had been more specific; what, exactly, happened to Rubberman that put him in the hospital? My best guess was that he fought a supervillain and got hurt, but it seemed strange to me that he’d fight two separate supervillains over a period of three days. Maybe there were more supervillains and criminals in Golden City than I thought.

  In any case, when the bell rang and school was let out for the day, I was probably the first student out of the school. Frank asked me where I was going in such a hurry, but I told him some excuse about how I needed to get home ASAP and didn’t say anything else other than that. I barely even paid attention to Greta when I ran past her on my way out, that’s how focused I was on getting to the Elastic Cave.

  As it turned out, Harold Golden High was not as close to the Elastic Cave’s entrance as my house was; still, I managed to make it there in record time, using my knowledge of the city’s layouts and shortcuts to get there about fifteen minutes after school had ended. It helped that I pedaled hard and fast, not slowing down even when there were obstacles in my path that I had to avoid.

  When I got inside the false grocery store front, I didn’t even put up my bike. I just shoved it to the ground, stepped into the elevator, and went down to Level One. Even though it was a short ride, I couldn’t help but bounce up and down on the balls of my feet, trying to will the elevator to go down faster.

  Once the elevator stopped and the doors opened, I dashed out, shouting, “Adams! What’s going on? What happened to Rubberman?”

  Adams sat in front of the Control System’s monitors. It looked like he had been watching the news while I was away, but as soon as I entered, he turned around in the chair. I caught a glimpse of a news report about an ice-themed supervillain somewhere in Golden City’s east side before Adams stood up and said, “Mr. Fry, it is good to see that you didn’t waste any time in getting here. Kids these days are just so slow sometimes even in emergencies.”

  “Yeah, I know, and you guys walked a mile to and back from school every day without shoes,” I said. “Now what happened to Rubberman? I got your text about his hospitalization.”

  “Mr. Pullman is currently in the Golden City General Hospital receiving care for wounds he received in a fight with a supervillain earlier today,” said Adams.

  “Is he dying?” I said with a gulp.

  “No, but he is in serious condition,” said Adams. “The supervillain he fought, a man named Fro-Zen, used his ice powers to almost freeze Mr. Pullman to death. It was only thanks to the timely arrival of the Golden City Police and their guns that drove Fro-Zen off before he could finish off Mr. Pullman.”

  “How long will Rubberman be in the hospital?” I said. “Can we go visit him?”

  “The doctors don’t know how long he will be there, but it will probably be several weeks at least,” said Adams, shaking his head. “As for visiting him, no, you cannot, at least not without your costume. Otherwise, people will know that you are Beams and you would have your license revoked.”

  “No one knows who Beams is, though,” I said. “It’s not like I’ve gone out in public with my sidekick identity.”

  “There are rumors on the Internet about Rubberman’s new sidekick who can shoot lasers from his eyes,” said Adams. “I don’t know where those rumor mongers got that information from, but it is out there, and if Alex Fry goes to visit Rubberman without good reason, it could raise suspicions. Besides, Rubberman asked me not to take you to the hospital. He wants you to stay here and train.”

  “Train?” I said aghast. “I should be out there hunting down that Fro-Zen guy you mentioned. He got away, didn’t he?”

  “Yes,” said Adams, nodding. “From my understanding, however, the police shot him several times, so he will likely not be a threat for a while. And anyway, you are not in any way, shape, or form ready for a supervillain as powerful as him. Mr. Pullman specifically doesn’t want you to fight Fro-Zen.”

  “Who is Fro-Zen, anyway?” I said. “I’ve never even heard of him. Where did he come from? Is he from Golden City or somewhere else?”

  Adams opened his mouth to answer, but then one of the monitors behind him from one of the local news channels showed footage of what looked like the end of the fight between Rubberman and Fro-Zen. It showed Golden City police officers firing bullets at a guy wearing a simple jacket and jeans surfing away on what appeared to be a surfboard made of ice. Although the gunshots were loud, I could distinctly hear the man shouting, “This isn’t the end, Dennis! I’ll be back, and once I am, the entire superhero industry will fall before my power!”

  All of a sudden, all of the monitors turned off. That was courtesy of Adams, who held a remote in his hands that he was pointing at the monitors. He quickly put the remote into his back pocket and said, “That is Fro-Zen. As you can tell, he is an ice-themed supervillain and a dangerous one at that.”

  “Why did he call Rubberman by his real name?” I said. “And what did he mean about the entire superhero industry falling before his power?”

  “Nothing,” said Adams. “Like most supervillains, Fro-Zen has a tendency to make grandiose statements that he can’t actually back up with actions. He only used Mr. Pullman’s real name as a psychological tactic; besides, as a registered business with the government, it isn’t like Mr. Pullman even has a secret identity, especially since he is a celebrity.”

  I wasn’t the most socially savvy guy in the world, but even I could tell that Adams was trying to avoid answering truthfully about Fro-Zen. Clearly, Fro-Zen was more than just your average psychotic supervillain; he had some kind of deeper connection to Rubberman, but I didn’t know what it was. I would find out one way or another, though, whether Adams wanted me to or not.

  For now, though, I decided that it wouldn’t be wise to push this issue with Adams. “All right, then. You said Rubberman wanted me to stay here and train, but how can I train without him? Am I supposed to teach myself?”

  Adams shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I will be your teacher today.”

  “You?” I said. “You aren’t secretly a superhero yourself, are you?”

  “Of course not,” said Adams. “As much as I respect Mr. Pullman, I would never be caught dead in those gaudy, flashy costumes you people wear. However, I do know a thing or two about training superheroes from my younger days, so Mr. Pullman delegated the duty to me until he is out of the hospital.”

  “If Rubberman is going to be in the hospital, then why bother have me come to work at all?” I said. “Why not just send me home and call me back once he’s out of the hospital?”

  “Because Mr. Pullman believes that Fro-Zen may come after you next,” said Adams. “And he wants you to be prepared to defend yourself in that case.”

  I frowned. “Why would Fro-Zen come after me? Does he even know I exist?”

  “Probably not, but Fro-Zen is dangerous, crazy, and willing to harm anyone connected to Mr. Pullman,” said Adams. “Therefore, it is imperative that your training continue. Otherwise, you will not be able to defend yourself from Fro-Zen should he choose to attack you, as unlikely as that currently is.”

  “Okay,” I said. “When do we start?”

  “As soon as you get your costume on,” said Adams. “I have already set up the Rubber Room for your training exercise. See me there in ten minutes.”

  I nodded and walked over to the other side of the Cave, intending to get my suit on as soon as I could. Still, I could not help but think about this Fro-Zen guy and his connection to Rubberman, as well as Adams’ clear and obvious avoidance of my questions. I figured that Fro-Zen was more than just another supervillain from Rubberman’s rogues gallery, but his exact relation to Rubberman was st
ill a mystery to me.

  A mystery I would solve, hopefully before Fro-Zen struck again.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  With my costume on and my helmet tied securely around my head, I stood in the Rubber Room facing Adams. Adams was not dressed in his usual suit; instead, he wore some kind of sleek red armor that made him look like a superhero. He had told me that the armor would protect him from stray energy blasts or from falling debris should I cause a mess, but I couldn’t help pointing out just how ‘gaudy’ and ‘flashy’ his armor made him look. Maybe that’s why he told me that we were going to work harder than ever before today; clearly, Adams didn’t have a very good sense of humor.

  Speaking of the Rubber Room, the blackened crater I had created in the wall was gone. It appeared to have been cleanly repaired at some point since the last time I was here. I asked Adams about it, but Adams just told me that he had had a lot of experience repairing the Rubber Room after intense training sessions and that I shouldn’t worry about it.

  “Now,” said Adams, his voice slightly muffled through his helmet, which looked kind of like a simplified version of my own helmet, “today we will focus on teaching you how to control the power of your eye beams. Currently, you can only fire them at full power, yes?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Every time I fire them, they’re at full power. I don’t know how to control it.”

  “Well, that is what I am going to teach you today,” said Adams. “And we will use one of the targets for practice.”

  Adams tapped a button on his armor and a mechanical limb lowered from the ceiling with a simple red and white target hanging from its end. The limb stopped in the same place as the first target had back on Saturday, although that didn’t make me feel any more confident about my ability not to destroy the entire Rubber Room with my powers.