My Brother is a Superhero

by David Solomons

  Everyone who worked at Crystal Comics wore the same uniform: a red jumpsuit crisscrossed with zips and pockets; a black peaked cap with CC picked out in gold; shiny black boots; and a gold belt with pouches containing useful things like price-sticker guns and credit-card scanners.

  A red-uniformed security man studied Serge and me closely as we passed through the body scanner at Spaceport Check-in. The machine made a humming noise and a bright-blue light moved slowly from our heads to our feet. On top of the scanner a green light flashed, indicating that we were cleared to enter. It was all pretend, of course, but it gave every visit to the shop a sense of occasion, like you really were arriving aboard a far-flung moonbase.

  Across the room something caught Serge’s attention. “Ah, this is what I came for!” he announced excitedly, and bounced off to a corner of the shop where eager readers clustered round a long table manned by Crystal Comics employees.

  It was the launch of a new title, always a big day in the comic fan’s world, but particularly significant today. A poster above the table advertised The Adventures of Star Lad.

  Perhaps I was still seeing things after the bright scanner light. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. It was true. While I’d been busy with the real Star Lad I hadn’t noticed that someone else had created a comic book version to cash in on his fame. I pushed my way to the front of the queue.

  “You can’t do this!” I fumed to the nearest Crystal Comics sales assistant, a wobbly ball of a man with a red jumpsuit that bulged like a windsock full of watermelons. He just shrugged and kept on selling the debut issue. There were stacks of them and they were going fast. I grabbed one and slammed it down on the table. “You’re not allowed to sell stories about Star Lad.”

  “Says who?” said the wobbly sales assistant.

  “Says me,” I snapped.

  He raised one eyebrow. “Oh yeah, and who are you?”

  “I’m … I’m…” Oh, I so wanted to tell him who I really was. That would shut him up double quick, but the words wouldn’t come out.

  “You’re who?” he pressed. “No, wait. Don’t tell me. You’re … Star Lad!” he sniggered, his chins quivering like acne-flavoured jelly. The other sales assistants and most of the queue joined in. They were all laughing at me.

  “Right,” he said, tired of the joke. “Either buy the comic or shove off and make way for someone who wants one.”

  Open-mouthed with indignation, but powerless to do anything, I slunk off. Serge joined me a few moments later, clutching a copy of the comic. I couldn’t believe he’d actually bought it, not after witnessing my outburst. “How could you?” I asked.

  He puffed out. “It is a comic. I am Star Lad’s number one fan. How could I resist such a combination?”

  Before I could object there was a wail from the front of the shop. A red light flashed on top of the scanner. Something had set off the Alien Detection Warning System.

  Standing in the unearthly glow was a figure in jeans, trainers and a white T-shirt with the line “Don’t make me angry” picked out in green letters.

  It was Lara Lee.

  “What’s she doing here?” I asked Serge.

  He shrugged. “Who can truly say? Women, they are mysterious. Even more mysterious than Mysterio.”

  Lara carried a battered leather satchel looped over one shoulder. The pretend security man signalled to her to hand it over. Reluctantly, she passed it to him for an inspection. As he rooted inside she shifted uneasily from foot to foot. He pulled out a World War Two gas mask.

  “What’s this for?” He waved it in Lara’s face.

  “A gas attack,” she said curtly.

  “You expecting one of those?”

  “Better safe than sorry.”

  He scowled and dug deeper into the satchel, this time producing a glass test tube stopped with a cork. Inside was a disgusting purple liquid. He peered at it with great suspicion.

  “Is this a stink bomb?”

  “What a preposterous suggestion,” replied Lara.

  “Then you won’t mind if I have a quick sniff, will you?” His nose wrinkled in preparation. He reached for the cork.

  “No!” Lara put her hand in the way. “You really don’t want to do that.”

  “Didn’t think so,” said the security man smugly. “I think I’d better hang on to these items while you shop. Madam.”

  Lara started to object, but when she saw that it would do no good she sloped off, muttering darkly about human rights abuses. Then she caught sight of me and something strange happened.

  “Hi, Luke,” she said with a friendly smile.

  You see? Weird. It was the first time in more than a year that she’d greeted me with anything other than a question about the whereabouts of her Uni-ball Gelstick Pen with 0.4mm tip.

  Serge coughed politely to remind me he was standing there too.

  “You know Serge, don’t you?”

  “Hi,” said Lara.

  Serge leaned casually against the nearest counter and took a pull on his inhaler. “Nice T-shirt,” he said. “It brings out the colour of your startling eyes.”

  Serge always knew what to say to girls. It was like a superpower. It seemed everyone had them, except me.

  Lara looked hard at each of us in turn. I felt like I was being scanned all over again.

  “I need your help,” she said at last.

  That was unexpected. “You do?” I asked. “What for?”

  She smiled slowly. “We’re going to unmask Star Lad.”

  11

  PLAN F

  My mouth went dry. Lara Lee wanted me, of all people, to help her reveal Star Lad’s true identity. I could just have told her. Zack Parker. My big brother.

  “Technically,” said Serge, “you cannot unmask Star Lad, since he does not wear le mask.”

  She tutted. “I was using it metaforestry.”

  I was pretty sure that wasn’t the right word, but this wasn’t the moment to point it out.

  “Don’t you want to know who he really is?” she asked, studying our reactions.

  “Uh … I … guess,” I stuttered.

  “You guess?” She looked offended.

  Serge stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Personally, I am conflicted. On the one hand, oui, I should very much like to know the secret. But, on the other hand, to know would spoil, how do you say, the mystery.”

  Lara scowled. “What about you, Luke? Worried you’ll spoil the mystery?”

  I was more worried what would happen if Zack found out I’d helped unmask him. And why was Lara so interested? Surely she couldn’t be Nemesis. For one thing I’d heard her laugh plenty of times and she honked like a goose. I sized her up. Sometimes in stories the villain is the very last person you expect, but this would be ridiculous.

  “Why do you care who he is?” I quizzed her.

  “It’s what reporters do – investigate stuff.”

  Of course. Lara worked on the school newspaper. It was called The Globe and it had been shut down four times for spreading scurrilous rumours about various teachers. I didn’t know what “scurrilous rumours” were exactly, but I guessed they were worse than regular rumours. And now Lara was sniffing out a story on Star Lad. She wasn’t Nemesis, but this was bad enough.

  “It’ll be the scoop of the term,” she breathed. “Even bigger than last year when Jill Jameson revealed the shocking truth about the local dog show.”

  “But why do you need us?” I asked.

  “Because I had a brilliant plan, but thanks to Checkpoint Charlie over there,” she thumbed at the security man on the front door, “that plan is a bust.”

  “What exactly was your plan?” asked Serge.

  “Well, first of all, it was called Plan A,” she said proudly.

  “I like it,” he said.

  “And Plan A involved clearing the shop using a home-made stink bomb and my great-grandpa’s World War Two gas mask.” On a hook next to the security man hung her confiscated bag. “But now Plan A is in
that satchel.”

  Serge nodded. “So we are Plan B.”

  She took a long look at us and bunched her lip. I’d seen that look before, during PE class, whenever they picked teams and it was just me and Serge left. And then she said, “Let’s call it Plan … F.”

  She motioned us to a quiet corner of the shop where we huddled behind a life-sized cardboard cut-out of three jetpack-wearing ninjas to discuss our next move. “Have you seen the footage on the Internet of Star Lad?” she asked.

  “I might have glanced at it,” I said casually. I wasn’t going to tell her I was in it.

  “Did you notice Star Lad flying in to stop the bus?”

  Flying? Perhaps she wasn’t as smart as she thought. “No, of course not. Star Lad can’t fly.”

  “Exactly!” She snapped her fingers. “Which means he must already have been close by when the bus lost control.” She formed her fingers into a camera lens and closed one eye. “Judging by the angle from which the video was taken I estimate that when he first saw the 227 coming down the High Street he was standing at the bus stop outside this very comic book store.”

  She was right. Not that I was about to confirm it for her.

  “And that’s not all,” she continued. “In the video you can see that Star Lad has something poking out of his back pocket. I’ve examined the footage carefully and identified what it is.” She grabbed a comic from the nearest shelf and pointed at the cover. It was an issue of Savage Wolverine.

  Serge looked confused. “Wolverine was in Star Lad’s back pocket?”

  I felt a prickle of unease. I knew what Lara was hinting at. “Star Lad had a comic in his pocket.”

  “Bingo!” She clapped me on the shoulder. It was an unexpectedly hard clap and could easily have left a bruise. “Which means he must have been in this shop right before he saved the day.”

  She was right again.

  “They don’t let you in here wearing a hoodie,” she continued. Crystal Comics’ policy was no hoodies, no helmets, no masks. Which I’d always thought was a bit off, given that most of the characters in their comics wore disguises of some sort.

  Lara pointed to the ceiling where a small black electronic eyeball swivelled at the end of a short stalk. “So my guess is he was filmed by one of these security cameras, without his hoodie.” She concluded her brilliant deduction and I noticed that her elf-like ears were pink at the tips with excitement. “All we have to do is watch the video from that day and we’ll see Star Lad’s face.”

  This was a disaster. A catastrophe. A disastrophe! Zack and I had been in here, just as she’d said. And I had little doubt we’d been caught on video by one of the many cameras dotted throughout the shop.

  I had to stop her from getting that footage.

  “You have to help me get that footage,” said Lara, looking right at me. “In fact, you’re the key to my new plan,” she declared.

  Oh no, this was getting worse by the second. “Me?” I shook my head vigorously. “No, I’m no key. Keyless, that’s me. I’m not even allowed my own front door key. If I get locked out or it’s an emergency, Mrs Wilson next door has a spare, but I wouldn’t like to ask her, not after dropping a hammer on her cat. Though it was an accident. And it’s just a little limp.”

  Lara looked at me questioningly. “What are you talking about?”

  “Keys,” I said. “And you started it.”

  She gave a sigh and grabbed my arm. The sore one. “Come with me.”

  “I … I can’t,” I stuttered. “I’m busy. I have homework.”

  “It’ll keep,” she said. “Anyway, you owe me.”

  “Do not.”

  “Do so. One word.” She held up a finger. “Uni-ball Gelstick Pen with 0.4mm tip.”

  “That’s not one word,” I complained, but she simply smiled. She had me. If only I’d returned her stupid pen I wouldn’t be in this mess. I felt sure that in the great scheme of things a pen – even a Uni-ball Gelstick – was not worth the same as a superhero’s secret identity.

  The three of us took the lift to the basement. As the doors slid shut and the theme from the ancient TV series of Batman – played for some reason on panpipes – filled the small compartment, I began to sweat. How had I ended up here, helping Lara to expose Star Lad? This was a nightmare. Superheroes needed secrecy. It was a well-documented fact. The only superheroes that managed to live in public were those like Iron Man, and he could only manage because he was a billionaire. Zack got pocket money, but you can’t maintain a secure superhero lifestyle on four pounds fifty a week.

  My T-shirt was sticky with perspiration and I could feel a fat drop roll down my forehead and tickle the end of my nose. I clung to one calming thought like it was a doughnut in shark-infested custard: there was no way the people who owned Crystal Comics were going to let some cub reporter like Lara look through their CCTV footage.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Lara. “There’s no way the people who own Crystal Comics are going to let some cub reporter like me look through their CCTV footage. Right?”

  What was it with this girl – could she read my mind? Another one with superpowers. “I … I wasn’t thinking anything of the sort,” I lied.

  “Well, it’s true. That’s why we’re not going to ask their permission.”

  And I thought her sister was the rebel. “Isn’t that … breaking the law?”

  “Absolutely not,” said Lara. “What we’re doing is called ‘in the public interest’. That’s what reporters say when they break the law, and that makes it OK.”

  It didn’t sound OK. It sounded exactly like breaking the law to me.

  “I have always wanted to take part in un heist,” said Serge, seemingly unaware that Lara was leading us into the sort of trouble that ends up with phone calls to parents from stony-faced policemen.

  Lara was as eager to go through with this as Serge. “And when you get your story and it’s better than anyone else’s in the world – which this is – you win an award that you can put on your shelf. I’ve already cleared a space on the one in my bedroom. And from that day on you get your picture in the paper next to all the stories you write.” She drew an imaginary byline in the air. “Lara Lee, award-winning girl reporter.”

  Serge nodded enthusiastically and the two of them chattered on about prizes and fame and bedroom shelving.

  Earlier that day I’d wanted so much to tell Serge the secret of Star Lad’s identity. I wanted to get it off my chest. I wanted people to be impressed by what I knew. If I’m honest, a little part of me wanted to get back at Zack for being a superhero when I was not. But this was different. Lara wanted to plaster his face all over The Globe and at that moment all I knew was that I had to stop her.

  I had an idea. I would pretend to help, but what I’d really do was sabotage her efforts. I was a double agent. If I had anything to do with it, Plan F was toast. Burnt toast. With Marmite. Which I hate.

  The lift grumbled to a halt and the doors slid open on the familiar alien landscape bathed in a sickly-green glow. There was a smell of toilets.

  With most people upstairs at the launch of the new Star Lad comic, there were just a handful of shoppers and even fewer red-uniformed employees down here. We made our way in single file across the mist-shrouded floor, past the pretend booby traps, skirting the fake lava pits. The scarily calm computer voice that counted down the self-destruct sequence reached forty. I knew that when she reached zero she’d just start again at a hundred, like she always did, but right at that moment it felt as if we really were running out of time.

  “Get down!” hissed Lara.

  We ducked behind a large plastic boulder. I looked at Lara. It’s not as if I’m a goody two-shoes, but she was something else. She was wild and fearless, rushing headlong into danger like a videogame character who knows that even if she slips off the edge of the cliff, it’ll be OK because she’ll respawn, good as new. If I’d known how much trouble she’d get me into when I borrowed her Uni-ball Gelstick
Pen with 0.4mm tip, I’d have borrowed Rupashi Singh’s pencil instead.

  Slowly we raised our heads above the boulder.

  “There,” said Lara, pointing at the door marked “Airlock”. “That’s our target.”

  “The staff toilet?” I said, somewhat surprised.

  “That’s what they want you to think,” she said, tapping a finger against the side of her nose. “But look.”

  I peered into the shadows off to one side of the door. There stood a figure in red, perfectly still.

  “He’s a watchman,” said Lara. “He watches the security cameras.”

  “So why’s he standing outside a toilet?”

  “It’s not a toilet,” she snapped. “And he must be on a break.”

  “I think he is armed,” said Serge, squinting into the gloom. “Oh no, wait, it is not a semi-automatic machine-gun with night-vision laser-sight. It is a sausage roll.”

  Easy mistake to make, I thought.

  “See,” said Lara, “he’s on his lunch break. Now, follow me.”

  She pressed her back against the wall and we copied her, edging our way inch by inch towards the door marked Airlock, keeping out of sight of the guard gobbling down his lunch. As we crept closer there was a loud rumble from Serge. He held a hand to his stomach and made an apologetic face.

  “Pardon,” he whispered. “It is the thought of that delicious sausage roll. It is making me hungry.” His stomach gave a growl. “I cannot go on.”

  “Of course you can,” I said. “We’re not leaving you behind.”

  “You must. You have to.” He rumbled again. “Leave me. You two must complete the mission. Do it for me. Do it for Fra—I mean Grand Britain.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oui. I will be all right.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “I think I saw a Supasnax vending machine back there.”

  We shook hands. Serge does that a lot – it’s a French thing – and then he kissed Lara on both cheeks. That’s another French thing. He straightened, raised one hand in a stiff salute and then melted away in search of a Twix. And probably a Mars bar too, if I knew Serge.