Enough About Me

by S. G. Wilson

  He almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself. But I had to believe him. The alternative was just too hard to face.

  “The rules say Mes don’t come on this side!” said Eardrum. “You Mes are supposed to follow the rules!”

  “How do you know about Mes?” I asked.

  “Duh!” Slime tilted his petals toward a nearby poster on the wall.

  My own face stared back at me.

  I remembered those clothes and the look of terror on my face. This picture must have been taken from a surveillance camera at Me Con while I was on the run. Wanted! read the title. If seen, contact authorities!

  Below my face floated a picture of Meticulous. No surprise there. What I hadn’t expected was the Me at the bottom. A black hood covered most of his face in darkness, but you could still tell he was one of us.

  “Funny, I didn’t realize we were in league with None of Me,” Meticulous said as four daisies in biker-gang duds overpowered him.

  I looked around for help, but Pooplaski and O’Fartly just plopped themselves on their dung beetle butts to watch the show.

  Apparently, the more things changed from Earth to Earth, the more they stayed the same.

  Meticulous tried to break free of the daisy dryads holding him, but all he got for the effort was a bunch of pollen up his nose. Face red, eyes fluttering, Meticulous went limp in their arms.

  I got halfway through yelling out his name before Eardrum clocked me right in the face. The fizz poured into me until I was near to bursting. In a rage, I broke free of Slime and tossed him to the ground like some spindly weed. Eardrum took another swing at me, but I grabbed his arm before he connected. I tried to flip him over me.

  Instead, I tore off his arm. It came free with a sickening rip. Green goo flew everywhere.

  “This is not a good deed!” said the MeMinder. For once, I agreed with the stupid watch. What kind of monster was I?

  Cursing up a storm, Eardrum picked up his arm and shoved it back on. Roots shot out from his shoulder and latched to his bicep, yanking it back into place. In moments, it looked good as new. Maybe a little too good. Eardrum punched his restored fist into his palm. “Hold him tighter than I did, boys. This won’t take long.”

  Slime and some other dryads grabbed me again. This time, I didn’t fight back. Just because Eardrum had fixed his arm, that didn’t make me any better as a person. How could I live with myself after hurting someone like that?

  Before Eardrum could take his swing, a lasso fell around his arms and cinched them in place. At the same moment, a volley of acupuncture needles whizzed through the air, hitting Slime and turning his shoulders into a living pincushion. The needles struck him in the same pressure points Meticulous used to paralyze people. In seconds, my attackers had been hogtied and frozen in place.

  I followed the rope back to the hands that had thrown it. Cowboy Me stood a few feet away in his ten-gallon hat, holding the rope steady. Acupuncture Me, the familiar man-bun atop his head, paced the ground beside him with more needles ready to throw. The duo wore matching black suits and ties, sunglasses, and coiled wires drooping from their ears.

  I didn’t get why they’d ditched their usual clothes for this Secret Service agent look, but it seemed to help scare the dryads away. Not that they went far. The plant kids sank down into the ground below, going feet-first, deeper and deeper until only their giant flower heads poked out. The minute Cowboy loosened his lasso and Acupuncture plucked out his needles, Eardrum and Slime joined their friends in the dirt. The court had transformed into a quiet plot of oversize plants. Pooplaski and O’Fartly scurried away on their insect legs.

  Without the dryads to hold him up, Meticulous keeled over, face-first. Cowboy and Acupuncture didn’t lift a finger to help.

  “Howdy, hombre,” said Cowboy, no trace of a smile on his face. “What brings you back to these here parts?”

  “And how did you break into this facility?” Acupuncture looked just as serious as Cowboy, like they were playing cops.

  “Well, first of all, thanks,” I told them, making my way over to Meticulous. “Second of all, we got zapped here by the Rip.” I didn’t trust Cowboy and hardly knew Acupuncture, so I figured the full truth could wait.

  “What was Meticulous doing on your Earth?” asked Acupuncture.

  “And how did that galoot get to your Earth in the first place?” said Cowboy.

  I checked Meticulous’s breathing. Seemed steady enough. “It’s all a blur,” I said. “One minute Meticulous got zapped to my Earth, and then we got zapped here together. Other people got zapped too. Mom and Dad. And Twig and Nash. Plus others. Have you seen them? Did they end up here too?”

  “We ask the questions round these parts, partner,” said Cowboy.

  Acupuncture started murmuring into his cuff mic.

  “Seriously?” I asked Cowboy. “Why are you treating me like some criminal? And who’s Acupuncture even talking to?”

  “Don’t mind these cats,” said another Me who stepped around them. He wore a leather jacket with the collar up, blue jeans, and vintage 1950s sunglasses.

  “Juvenile Hall Me!” I yelled, happy to see a friendly face. This Me had helped me out of a few jams. He’d even once held back Cowboy to let me escape Me Con. I could tell by the way Cowboy scowled at him that they hadn’t exactly patched things up.

  Juvenile Hall gave me a thumbs-up and a big smile. “Is Meticulous okay?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t worry about him. He’s just Meticulous.”

  Grinning, Juvenile Hall tossed me a bandana from his back pocket. “No offense, but you may wanna wipe up. Dung ball can be a stinky game.”

  “Thanks,” I said, wiping my face. “What’s with those plant people, anyway?”

  “They’re nothing but trouble, you dig?” said Juvenile Hall. “And believe me, I know all about trouble.”

  “And what’s the story with the bug version of Pooplaski and O’Fartly?”

  Juvenile Hall looked surprised. “You know them squares?”

  “They’re guards at the juvie on my Earth too, though they’re in a slightly more human form. Ever so slightly.”

  Juvenile Hall laughed. “Sounds about right! Crazy, man! This place is juvie on my Earth too! So, does your juvie have a Lil Battleship?”

  “Totally!” I said. “We were, uh, are good friends.” I felt a stab of guilt thinking about the way Lil Battleship had saved me from the sloth before getting zapped. He had to be out there somewhere, and so did the rest of them.

  Juvenile Hall must have sensed he’d hit a sore spot. “Listen, I heard what you said about your peeps back home, and I’m sorry, but they ain’t made it here. Not that we’ve seen.”

  I held back a surge of tears. “I lost track of other people too. Motor and Resist and Hollywood. Plus the Virals.”

  “We ain’t seen them neither,” said Juvenile Hall. “But how did all this go down? When did you lose track of those cats?”

  I gave him and the Secret Service Mes a rundown of the elevator explosion and the weeks that followed, keeping vague about Meticulous. Revealing that the most-hated Me had invented a new way of making portals and a potential fix for the Rip might open a can of worms I didn’t know how to close.

  “I can dig your crazy story, daddy-o,” said Juvenile Hall. “In some ways, us Mes have gone through something similar.” He waved his thumb at the youth center behind him. “We’re stuck here too, though it’s not as much of a downer as you might think.”

  “You mean all the other Mes are here?!” I said. “Is everybody okay?”

  “We’d better show this hombre,” said Cowboy, taking my arm. He squeezed harder than he had to.

  “Is that really necessary?” I asked Cowboy. I could have fizzed myself free, but after what had happened with Eardrum, the fight had gone out of me.

 
; “Not cool, man,” said Juvenile Hall as Acupuncture yanked Meticulous to his feet. My partner in crime could stand with help but still wasn’t fully awake.

  “We’re all just thirteen-year-old cats!” Juvenile Hall continued. “Why you gotta be so square?!”

  Acupuncture shook his head. “These two are wanted by the authorities and are considered dangerous.” As he said this, Meticulous’s head drooped and his tongue flopped out of his mouth.

  “Yeah, real dangerous,” said Juvenile Hall, snorting with disgust. He ran a comb through his hair.

  “This is a mistake!” I said. “We didn’t do anything! We only just got here!”

  Meticulous lifted his head and opened his eyes to half-mast. “In a way, though, we never left! We’re still prisoners!” He cackled like he’d had one too many liquid lollipops.

  Acupuncture grabbed Meticulous by the chin and inspected his bleary eyes. “How have you moved between Earths? And why did you come to this facility?”

  Meticulous giggled like this was all a joke. “Who’s actually running things around here? I’ll only answer to them, thank you very much.”

  Acupuncture straightened his tie. “You’ll answer to me.”

  “Sir yes sir!” Meticulous gave him a sloppy salute. “Our orders are to put up with Agent Party Pooper until the real boss gets here. Sir yes sir!”

  Juvenile Hall and I snickered. I even saw Cowboy’s mouth curl with the hint of a smile. It was nice to remember that no matter what side we were on, most Mes found the same things funny.

  “Come on, let’s show you around,” grumbled Acupuncture.

  “Where are you taking us exactly?” I said as they led us to the door that, on my Earth mere moments ago, we’d blocked with a pipe organ.

  Juvenile Hall gave me one of his slickest smiles. “Daddy-o, welcome to Me Con Two!”

  The moment we stepped into the recreation lounge and saw a bunch of Mes stuffing marshmallows into their mouths while running through every word from our fifth-grade spelling bee, I knew this was going to be a different sort of Me Con.

  These Mes were laughing their way through the Me Spelling Bee Challenge, according to a sign hanging over their heads. The Mes across from them were having just as much fun failing at the Me Frozen Yogurt Challenge, which had them kicking jumbo cartons of vanilla fudge swirl with sprinkles (most every Me’s favorite flavor) to keep them from splatting on the floor.

  All around the room, Mes from the first Me Con hooted and laughed as they tried and mostly failed at other challenges based on our shared past. It was like the internet had personalized a batch of viral stunts just for us. Whirling Dervish Me nearly barfed up everything he’d eaten for the Fourth-Grade School Cafeteria Thanksgiving Lunch Challenge. Kabuki Theater Me and Pool Hustler Me had a whole audience of Mes in stitches with their moves for the Awkward Grooves Sixth-Grade Graduation Dance Challenge.

  Watching it all from the lounge entrance, where Acupuncture still held me by my arm, I realized I’d never seen so many of my counterparts having so much fun. At the same time, I felt more apart from them than ever before. I’d promised to rescue these Mes and failed to deliver. Yet another of my screwups. How would they ever forgive me, or even accept me?

  “Pretty slick, huh?” asked Juvenile Hall, standing beside me. “A lot more hip than that first Me Con. All we ever did was gab, gab, gab.”

  I shook off my self-pity and mustered a smile. “I’d call it an improvement for sure.”

  “An improvement?!” said Meticulous, still too weak to break free of Cowboy. “Where are the panel discussions? The dinner parties?”

  “It was boring as watchin’ cow patties dry in the sun!” said Cowboy. “Meticulous, your Me Con was more like a prison camp.”

  “Here at Me HQ, it’s all about fun, you dig?” said Juvenile Hall. “We’re free to do whatever we want.”

  “Within reason,” said Acupuncture.

  What struck me most about these Mes wasn’t the good time they were all having, but the way they mingled. Mes had stuck to their cliques at the last Me Con, but here, those divisions didn’t seem to matter. Money Mes laughed alongside Fit Mes. Play Mes goofed around with Alterna Mes. Nobody even seemed especially annoyed with the Silly Mes or the Chill Mes.

  “Everybody’s getting along so well too,” I said.

  “You can bet your saddle on that, hoss,” said Cowboy. “We done buried the hatchet, by and large. Like the boss says, being divided don’t do a lick of good. We’re all Mes, after all.”

  “But you’re stuck here,” said Meticulous. “What if a Me tried to do a bunk?”

  “What if a Me tried to escape?” I translated.

  “No Me would get ten muskrats away from this place without the Earth Zero authorities picking him up,” said Acupuncture.

  “Muskrats?” Meticulous moaned. “Don’t tell me you come from one of those Earths that measure things in units of animals! This is preposterous!” Meticulous tried to shake free again. He failed. “I demand to see this boss of yours!”

  The other Mes in the lounge noticed Meticulous and me for the first time. They glared back at us with the same furious face, like we were watching them through compound bug eyes.

  “So this is your idea of coming back to save us, Average?” cried Escape Me. “By bringing Meticulous with you?”

  Meticulous waved his free hand to the crowd with the swagger of a grand marshal at a parade. That only made the Mes angrier. They shouted out the worst alternate-Earth insults I’d ever heard: “Leprechaun breath!” “Vase face!” “Bologna snatcher!”

  I could have told them I’d been stuck on Earth Ninety-Nine and had no way of coming back, but they wouldn’t have believed me. I deserved their hate anyway.

  But did I deserve the beating they had to be planning for us? These same Mes had been quick to fight before, and as they started crowding around us, I fully expected things to come to blows again. The fizz came rushing in, and as I plotted my attack, I forgot all about what I’d done to Eardrum the dryad. I could fizz the fighting skills of Resist Me, or the strength of Mobster Me, or the insult comedy of Troll Me.

  Pumped up on transdimensional adrenaline, I yanked myself free of Acupuncture and turned to Meticulous, who busted loose from Cowboy.

  “Whatever these Mes have to dish out, I’m ready for it!” I said.

  “Quite!” said Meticulous, sliding up his sleeves.

  “This is not a good deed!” said the MeMinder X.

  “Shove it!” Meticulous and I said at the same time.

  Then some sort of goo splatted the back of my head. It dribbled down my neck and oozed across my shoulders. Meticulous got hit by the same gunk. We’d been covered in glowing purple slime.

  All the Mes started laughing. Even Military School Me and Eagle Scout Me joined in, and they barely had a sense of humor. I turned around to see that Ultimate Mixed Martial Arts Me and Restless Leg Me had snuck up from behind to douse us with buckets labeled Godzilla Snot Bucket Challenge.

  As the fizz died down in me, I felt like an idiot. I’d expected the worst of the Mes, and all they’d had in mind was a prank. A pretty good prank, though Meticulous didn’t see it that way.

  Scraping the goo off his coat, he looked madder than ever. “This will never come out!”

  “Don’t get bent out of shape,” said Pool Hustler Me. “We’ve been using this stuff as a cleaner.”

  “It might even clear up the smell of whatever Average fell into,” said Aqua Aerobics Me.

  Everybody laughed. Even I had to admit that was a good one. Meticulous still wasn’t amused. He might have taken a swipe at Ultimate Mixed Martial Arts Me if a new Me hadn’t stepped into the room.

  He had to be the boss we’d heard about. It wasn’t just the suit and expensive haircut that made him look like a leader. It was the way he carried himself:
commanding and confident yet warm and approachable, the way a president can go straight from ordering a bombing strike on another country to overseeing the White House Easter Egg Roll.

  At the sight of him, every Me in the place burst into applause. They even started chanting, “Prez! Prez!”

  So he was some sort of president. Or at least, a very presidential sort of Me.

  Meticulous looked annoyed to be upstaged by this new arrival. “Oh, great, it’s him,” he said.

  “You know him?” I whispered.

  “I know of him,” said Meticulous. “We’ve never talked. It might be a touch awkward, seeing as how I more or less ruined his Earth.”

  “You mean…” I trailed off, piecing together the truth.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” said Meticulous. “He’s the Me whose face is carved on the side of the mountain. He’s the native Me of Earth Zero. He’s the elected leader of this barmy place. He’s President Me.”

  Like some charming male model in a clothing ad, President Me slid back the sleeve of his jacket to reveal a sleek MeMinder that made the MeMinder X look like a sundial in comparison. Prez tapped the face of the watch, and a cone of blinding green light shot out, beaming a sheet of holographic paper in front of him. He snatched it from the air and folded it with the quickest origami hands I’d ever seen. In moments, he shaped the glowing paper into a microphone. After a few seconds, the glow went away and he held a solid mic in his hand.

  “A portable three-D origami printer,” whispered Meticulous. “How lush.”

  “Where’d he get a MeMinder that does that?!” I whispered back. “Mine just nags me when I eat too many potato chips.”

  Prez made the universal sign for quiet down to the crowd of adoring Mes. “Come on, guys,” he said into the mic, which boosted his voice from some internal speaker. “That’s hardly necessary. You Mes are the real stars! I mean, look at how well you’re mastering your Me challenges!”