I got straight to the point. “We’re here to discuss the formation of a super-secret organization dedicated to fighting crime.” I held up the logo designs. “S.C.A.R.F. is the Superhero Covert Alliance Reaction Force, and S.P.A.T.U.L.A. stands for Superhero PATrol United—”
“Is this for one of your role-playing game thingies?” Zack interrupted with a frown.
“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s real.” I could see from his expression that he wasn’t getting it.
Lara studied Serge’s expertly shaded logo. “Bold use of Enrico Caruso,” she said with a pitying smile. She was always muddling her words. Muddled or not, unlike my annoying big brother, she could tell I was miffed.
“Wait,” said Zack, realization dawning. “You want to help us fight crime?”
Now we were getting somewhere. “Exactly.”
He folded his arms. “Not a chance.”
“But you need us!”
“Do we?”
He was forgetting an important point. “Who rescued you when you were abducted by Christopher Talbot, aka the Quintessence?”
“You just won’t let it go, will you?” The muscles in his jaw clenched. “I get nabbed by a supervillain one time. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s not fair!” I burst out. “You get superpowers. She gets superpowers. And what do I get? A pair of slip-on loafers!” I was breathing heavily. “Just hear us out, Zack, please.”
My brother relented. “OK, OK, if it means so much to you.”
I turned to Serge. “Ready?”
He sat cross-legged on the floor, head slumped on his chest, snoring lightly.
I sighed. “He took the drowsy.” No matter. I could do this without him. It’d be just like my presentation to the class on wasps. Except hopefully without the mass breakout and the screaming. I jumped to my feet, clasped my hands behind my back, and began to pace. “Superheroes are in constant danger of making easily avoidable mistakes. If only Superman had had someone to tell him, ‘Kal-El, step away from the glowing green rock.’ That’s why you need someone like me.” I glanced down at the snuffling Serge. “And him.”
Zack and Lara stood in silence. I could tell they weren’t buying it. But I wasn’t finished yet. “While I admit that you have gained some experience of how to be superheroes, you’re still new to the job. On the other hand, I have years of experience. I’ve been reading comics since I was knee-high to Ant-Man.”
Zack tutted. “Comics are useless. They don’t tell you how to be a superhero.”
Was he nuts? That’s precisely what comics do. But just as I was about to say so, he cut me off. “Oh, sure, they’re full of fantastic adventures, but they don’t tell you about the reality. They don’t tell you that you need to wear a vest to keep warm when flying at altitude. Or that under certain atmospheric conditions your telepathic power picks up NPR. Or that it’s all very well to stop criminals, but you have to be very careful not to breach their civil rights or you open yourself up to accusations of unlawful restraint and wrongful arrest.”
He was right—none of that stuff was in any comic I’d read. Probably because it sounded really boring. I turned to Dark Flutter. “Lara, come on. Who stopped you from choosing a dry-clean-only costume?”
“That’s true.” She nodded. “But there’s quite a difference between reading washing instructions and fighting crime.”
This was too much. “Well, you’re a terrible superhero,” I fumed. “Your power is lame.”
“Lame?!” Lara placed her hands on her hips, raised her chin, and declared, “I have dominion over the animal kingdom.”
“You have dominion over a petting zoo! In fact, you’re not a superhero at all; you’re a Disney princess.”
She bristled with indignation, and I was glad she didn’t have a spare hedgehog on hand.
“Maybe if you were ex–Special Forces or genius-level scientists we could team up,” mused Zack.
“But, Zack—”
“Forget it. It’s too dangerous. We’ve got superpowers; all you’ve got is a swooshy logo.” I was about to protest when he clutched a hand to his forehead. “I’m picking up a disturbance on my Star Screen.”
“I came up with that name,” I muttered, but he ignored me.
“Someone’s in trouble,” he said. “Dark Flutter?”
“Right behind you, Star Guy.” She cupped a hand to her mouth and squawked. In seconds the tree house filled with birds. “See you at school,” she said to me as the birds picked her up.
I could only stand by and watch as she and Zack flew off on their next adventure.
There was a snort as Serge stirred and sat up. He looked around the tree house through bleary eyes. “Ah, zut, I missed them. So,” he asked, turning to me, “is it S.P.A.T.U.L.A.? Oh, I hope it is S.P.A.T.U.L.A.”
My Gym Teacher Is a Supervillain
“I’m not picking Luke Parker, miss. He’s terrible.”
There was a chortle from the rest of Miss Dunham’s seventh-grade gym class. I sat unhappily on the bench beside Serge as our amused classmates formed two neat lines along one edge of the field. Forget joining an ultra-secret superhero team; we couldn’t even get picked for soccer.
The October sun beat down on the Astroturf as the class divided into opposing sides. We were the last two to be chosen, as always. I found it maddening, but Serge didn’t care. He said soccer was a trawler and they were all seagulls following the trawler, or we were the trawler and they were waiting for us to throw them sardines. Or something. I think it must have made more sense in French.
A screeching whistle pierced the air. It belonged to Miss Dunham, a terrifying woman with a voice like her whistle and bulgy eyes that reminded me of a praying mantis. She swiveled her insect gaze to the boy who had called me terrible. “Joshpal Khan,” she began. “Yes, Luke and Serge might not be the most naturally gifted athletes the world has ever seen, and it’s certainly true that Luke couldn’t find the back of the goal with a GPS and a bloodhound, but that’s no reason to be rude. Now choose.”
Josh Khan thought for a moment. “Can I pick the bench?”
The rest of the class dissolved into whooping laughter. I noticed the corner of Miss Dunham’s mouth curling into a small smile. I didn’t take it personally, because I knew what this was really about.
My gym teacher was a supervillain.
• • •
“Ah, mon ami, as much as I am eager to believe, I do not think that is likely,” said Serge. It was ten minutes later, and we were huddled together on the touchline. Occasionally a pack of our classmates would rush past, loudly chasing a ball.
“But her first name is Susan,” I said.
“Uh, and how exactly does that make her the supervillain?”
“You’re not getting it. Susan Dunham. Sue Dunham. Pseudonym!”
Serge gazed at me blankly. “I do not know this word.”
For a comic book mega-fan, Serge could be surprisingly ignorant. “A pseudonym is when you give yourself a false name to protect your true identity. Y’know, like the Riddler is Edward Nygma. E. Nygma. Enigma. Or Walter E. Go, which was the alter ego of Christopher Talbot.” Figuring that out had put us on the track of the villainous comic store owner.
Mulling this fresh insight, Serge studied Miss Dunham across the field. She scuttled on spindly legs after the high-pitched pack of players, who were now streaming in the opposite direction. “Have you considered that per’aps she is a superhero, not a villain? Heroes also use sue-dunhams.”
“No chance.” I shook my head. “Let’s examine the evidence,” I said. “Number one: last week, when she was demonstrating her basketball speed dribble, she knocked Oliver Johnson to the ground.” Serge gave me a puzzled look. “To accomplish her objectives she is willing to harm innocent bystanders,” I explained. “That’s classic supervillain behavior. Number two: she app
eared mysteriously on the first day of the semester—”
“I believe she appeared in a Volkswagen Bug.”
“And she promptly stole Miss McCann’s parking spot. See—she will stop at nothing!” I could tell that Serge wasn’t entirely swayed, but I had yet to hit him with the big one. “And number three, the most conclusive proof of all: you, Serge. You.”
“Moi?”
“You have a note from your maman, correct?”
“Yes, I am not supposed to exert myself,” he said.
“And what did Miss Dunham do when you presented it to her?”
“Miss Dunham ripped it up.”
“She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about your note.”
Serge paused. “She is evil.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
He shielded his eyes from the low sun. “So, what then is Miss Dunham’s fiendish master plan?”
“I’m glad you asked me that.” We watched her use a supervillain’s lightning reflexes to duck Ed Stansfield’s pinpoint free kick. “Well, at first I thought she might be attempting to unleash some ancient brooding evil buried for millennia beneath the school. That would explain the dark, horrible atmosphere I feel when I walk down the corridors and sit in the classrooms. But then I realized . . . that might just be me.”
Serge laid a consoling hand on my shoulder. The first semester of junior high had been harder than I’d expected. I may have helped save the planet from certain destruction during summer vacation, but no one knew. And even when I’d dropped a few hints about my involvement with Star Guy, instead of being impressed, the other kids gave me odd looks and whispered things like “pathetic” and “weirdo” behind my back in the lunch line. It felt as if everyone else at school knew exactly what they were doing, had somewhere to go, and had someone to go there with. Of course, I had Serge, but apart from PE we didn’t share any classes, so I only saw him at recess. And even if I hadn’t annoyed Lara, she was too busy being Dark Flutter to hang out.
I’d been hoping for a break, and it looked like I was about to get one. The school’s janitor had found some weird mold infesting the gym. Even though it was unlikely to be anything interesting, like an invading alien spore, the principal was taking no chances. School would be closed all through next week while the fumigators nuked it. For me that meant one blissful week without Josh Khan and the hooting laughter of my classmates.
Miss Dunham furiously waved a yellow card in Parminder Chaudry’s face.
“Per’aps she is one of those villains who seek to create the perfect world,” suggested Serge. “She has looked around her at the chaos and misunderstanding, and it displeases her. So she plans to bring about order and discipline by making everyone do laps around the playing field and climb the rope.” He shook his head slowly at this terrible vision of the future. “I do not want to live in a world like that.”
But Serge was wrong. I knew her plan, and it was even worse than his grim prediction. “She’s targeting Star Guy.”
“Non. But how do you know?” said Serge.
“There is a list on the wall in her office. It is headed ‘Most Wanted.’ Can you guess the name at the very top of that list? Zack Parker. Somehow she’s discovered his secret identity.”
Serge flinched. “Ah no, she has spotted us.”
From the right back position deep in the other side of the field, Miss Dunham’s insect vision latched on to us like a frog’s sticky tongue on a fly. “Quick,” I muttered, “pretend you’re offside.”
“Too late,” cried Serge.
Miss Dunham’s whistle shrilled across the field. She raised one tracksuited arm and yelled, “Hey, you two, get in the game. What are you afraid of?” A cruel smile flashed on her lips. “If you mess up your hair, it won’t be the end of the world.”
Serge and I exchanged looks. The end of the world? Could this be even worse than I’d feared? Perhaps we weren’t dealing with just any low-level supervillain. Perhaps the greatest threat to our existence since the Nemesis asteroid was wearing a light-blue tracksuit and wielding an Acme Thunderer silver-plated whistle.
“Well, what do you say now?” I asked, walking onto the field to the jeers and slow clapping of our classmates.
At my side, Serge stared straight ahead, stone-faced. “She must be stopped.”
• • •
“Well, the good news is that Miss Dunham’s ankle is not broken,” said the principal. It was later that same afternoon, and Serge and I sat opposite him in his office. He had a head like a tomato, and his name was Hines—an unfortunate combination. He loomed behind a desk the size of an Imperial Star Destroyer, his gaze like a tractor beam. “However, you two boys are in a great deal of trouble.”
“But she has a ‘Most Wanted’ list,” I blurted. “It’s on her wall, with my brother’s name circled in blood.”
Mr. Hines frowned. “I would hazard a guess it’s ballpoint, Luke, and I believe Miss Dunham wants your brother for the track team. He’s her number one target.”
“Oh, come on, sir.” I scoffed. “Are we really supposed to believe that?”
He leaned in, his big ripe head filling my vision. “What do you believe, Luke?”
That our gym teacher has been hiding her true, hideous form behind the human mask of Sue Dunham and is actually an insectoid supervillain with plans for global domination. I shrugged. “Don’t know, sir.”
Mr. Hines sighed. “You don’t know. Of course not.”
It began to appear that my suspicions about Miss Dunham had been misplaced. Unfortunately, I was only coming to this realization after catching her in the swiftly devised and brilliantly executed Operation Venus Flytrap. Over lunch Serge and I had set a cunning trap in her natural habitat: the school gym. The trap involved a pair of portable basketball hoops, a large net, a ball cage, a scoreboard, and a lot of mini-trampolines. It had worked beautifully. Miss Dunham had ended up wrapped in the net, squished into the ball cage. She made a lot of fuss in a high-pitched squeal that sounded to me like just the sort of thing you’d hear from an insect-based supervillain. Phase two of our plan was simple. We waited for her to shed her human skin and reveal her true pincer-snapping, hairy-legged form.
We were still waiting when her next class arrived for volleyball.
Now, Mr. Hines sat back. His leather chair creaked like my grandpa’s knees.
“You’d do well to take a page from your big brother’s book. Zack Parker is a shining example of responsibility, diligence, and academic excellence.”
I wanted to scream. Instead I wriggled in my chair and seethed like a bubbling volcano.
“Now, I don’t believe that either of you boys meant to hurt Miss Dunham. However, that doesn’t excuse your behavior. Miss Dunham herself has suggested your punishment.”
Banished to the Phantom Zone? Locked up in Arkham Asylum?
“When school resumes, in addition to your regular PE schedule, you will both be required to run twenty laps around the playing field and climb the rope, twice a week.”
Serge went pale, mumbled something in French, and took a quick suck from his asthma inhaler. Mr. Hines said some more stuff about responsibility and conduct and top buttons on shirts, then sent us back to class.
“Sue Dunham.” Out in the corridor I shook my head, mystified at my error of judgment. “But I was so sure. . . .”
“Face it, Luke—she is not the supervillain. Not even a regular villain.” Serge sighed. “I bet her name is not even Susan.”
“But all the evidence . . .”
He pursed his lips and blew out. “It was wishful thinking. We have been so desperate to experience a new adventure that we see evil everywhere.” He looked at me. “Per’aps it is time for us to put those wishes behind us. My maman says now that I have commenced junior high, I am poised on the edge of a bigger world.”
I frowned
. “Middle-earth?”
“Yes, I asked that too. But it is not what she meant,” said Serge. “She explained that the world she refers to is strange and yet familiar, full of opportunity and disappointment, love and heartache. And now that it is before us, there is no turning back.” He stopped at a classroom door. “I have drama.” Without saying another word, he went inside for an hour of mime and improv. I shrugged off a creeping sense of unease. I was confident he’d get over his maman’s frankly bonkers statement and we’d be back to rooting out supervillains in no time.
As I went off to math class, I turned the corner and collided with Lara. We hadn’t spoken since my outburst in the tree house, when I’d accused her of being a souped-up Snow White, so I was relieved when she saw me and smiled.
“Hi, Luke,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had! Three airplanes suffered catastrophic electrical faults, all at the same time.” She put out a hand and glided it downward, making a jet sound. “But you should’ve seen Zack. Whoosh, bosh, zap! I barely needed to use my pigeons at all. I’ll tell you all about it later. Don’t want to be late for class.”
“Sure,” I said dismally.
“What’s wrong?” She paused, lifting a hand to search her hair. “I don’t have a hedgehog in there again, do I?”
“No. No hedgehog.”
“Luke, are you OK?”
“I’m fine. Firing on all thrusters,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry for calling you a lame superhero.”
“That’s OK,” she said. “I know you didn’t mean it.”
The truth was, I kind of did. A part of me was relieved that I had missed Zorbon’s latest visit, when he had given her such a silly superpower.
Lara shuffled her feet and smiled at me shyly. “Luke, I want to tell you something. It’s kind of . . . awkward. It’s not something I expected to say to you, but—”
Just then, two kids from her English class swung past, and Lara looked alarmed. Her tone changed. “Oh, I’m going to be late. Gotta shoot,” she said, hurrying off. “We should do lunch,” she called over her shoulder. “It’s veggie lasagna in the cafeteria tomorrow.” And with that she turned the corner and was gone.
My Gym Teacher Is an Alien Overlord Page 2