Sidekicks Page 9

  I raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “Guess you’ll have to wait for your next turn.”

  “Fine. You still haven’t answered my original question yet.”

  “All right … look, think about all the ‘crimes’ my father has committed. How many people have actually gotten hurt? Hm? And I’m not talking big businessmen getting financially hit. I’m talking actual people, getting physically hurt. How many?”

  I think about it, but I really don’t have to. I know the point she’s making. “I’m guessing none.”

  “One. An old security guard had a heart attack a few years ago on that secret soda recipe thing. Remember that?”

  I nodded. It was a long time ago, but I remembered. Can-do Cola had some secret, new-flavor formula they were trying to protect. They said it was going to revolutionize the entire soda industry. “Yeah, your dad was trying to steal that soda recipe so he could sell it on the black market.”

  “What?! Where’d you hear that?”

  “Oh, come on! What else would he want it for?”

  “Uhh, hello? Disgustingly unhealthy new soda, destined to create a whole new generation of morbidly obese children, and a corporation that only cared about the money it was going to make them. He was going to destroy it.”

  “Bull. He did it for the money!”

  She laughs dismissively. “Yeah, I don’t think so. My dad’s a plus intelligence. You know how many patents he has? A ton. Trust me, money is not a problem.”

  “OK … if you say so.”

  “I can tell you don’t believe me, but I don’t care. I’m continuing my story. So … anyway … the poor, old security guard was only a couple of days from retirement when he had his heart attack, of course,” she says. “So what did the company do? They fired him! The big jerks slashed his pension in half! They said that because of his incompetence, we almost got away with that stupid secret formula.”

  I laugh. “They made such a big deal about that garbage.”

  “I know! Did you try it?”

  “Yeah. It was horrible. Tasted like melted cherry lollipops.”

  “Right? Bleh … soooo sweet,” she says. “Anyway, when my dad found out the guard couldn’t work again, he ended up paying the guy’s hospital bills. Then he stuck a couple mil in his bank account … anonymously, of course.”

  “Bull.”

  “I have the bank statement at home to prove it. Trust me, if I didn’t see that statement, I wouldn’t believe it, either.”

  “All right … even if your dad did give money to a guy who had a heart attack because of him, that still doesn’t excuse the fact that he’s a criminal. He steals stuff. He destroys stuff that isn’t his. He threatens the safety of every person in this city.”

  “No, he doesn’t. He threatens the safety of every corporation in the city. Big difference.”

  “No, there isn’t. Corporations are legal. Even if your dad is stealing stuff from them just to destroy it, it’s still illegal.”

  “You are so naive! Corporations are the ones that are evil and greedy and don’t care who they hurt! They use their money and power to bully people, and people don’t even realize it! They get away with murder! Literally! And people don’t care! My dad tries to make them care. Or at least open their eyes to what’s going on.”

  “Look … even if that is true—and I don’t think it is—there are LEGAL ways to do that.”

  She laughs. “Puh-leeeze. The law is a joke. It’s bought and sold every day on the open market. And who does the buying? The guys with all the money. And what do they buy? Their ability to do whatever they want without anyone bothering them.”

  “Then go after them with the law! Use your powers to expose them legally!”

  “They’re too powerful and crafty!”

  “Then try harder!”

  Somehow, we’re standing face-to-face, our faces an inch apart. When she yells at me, I can smell her gum: cinnamon, spicy. My stomach does a little flip, like the first time I jumped off a building. I take a step back. I have to remember my mission … stay close to her. This may be a little too close.

  “Sorry I was yelling,” I say.

  Her eyes have dropped away from me, and she’s looking at the gargoyle. Maybe I’m imagining things, but she looks nervous all of a sudden. “It’s OK. Bound to happen sooner or later. We are archenemies, y’know.” She looks at me and smiles. My stomach flips again, and I realize I’m holding my breath. I let it go and smile back at her. What is my problem? “OK, mortal enemy … my turn. Do you ever feel lonely?”

  “What?!” I start laughing. “No.”

  “Really … because every time I see you, you look lonely.”

  “Um, excuse me, but aren’t you the girl who didn’t even recognize me last night?”

  “I recognized you. I just didn’t know your name.”

  “Isn’t knowing someone’s name the definition of recognizing someone?”

  “Shut up.” She laughs. “You know what I mean. I knew you. My friends and I called you That Lonely Kid … when we weren’t calling you Steve, that is.”

  “Awesome. That makes me feel much better.”

  “So … answer the question.”

  “Yeah, I guess. But doesn’t everyone?”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Not an ‘Oh, my friends aren’t here, so I’m a little lonely today,’ kinda way. More of an ‘I don’t connect with people at all ever’ kinda way.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s a yes.”

  “No, that’s an ‘I don’t know.’”

  “If it was a no, you’d know it. Since you don’t know, it’s a yes.”

  “What are you, an evil supershrink?” I ask.

  “HA! I love it! Maybe I’ll transition from Monkey-wrench to Evil Supershrink over the next couple of years. Now THAT’S going to be a hard costume to design.”

  “Well, wait … what about you? Aren’t you lonely?”

  “There’s your turn.”

  “Fine, it’s my turn. Answer the question.”

  “No, I’m not. Not anymore. Unlike you, I actually made an effort to make friends.”

  “Yeah, but they don’t know you. I mean they know you, Allison Mendes, but they don’t know you, Monkeywrench, evil sidekick.”

  “OK, first, you need to put the brakes on the whole ‘evil’ thing. We settled that. It’s dead. Got it, Bright Buns?”

  “Well, I thought we settled the costume thing, yet there you go with the whole Bright Buns thing again …”

  “We did. I just had to get one last one in. Mm-kay?”

  “Whatever.”

  “OK, on to your yet another completely naive point. No, my friends don’t know that I’m Monkeywrench. I mean, God, can you imagine?” She changes her posture ever so slightly, and her face scrunches, like she just ate a whole lemon. “Come on, girls,” she says in her screechy, Monkeywrench voice, “let’s go see a movie this weekend! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

  I cringe. “Gahh. I hear that voice in my nightmares. And is that what your face looks like under the mask when you’re doing it?”

  “Shut up! You are the last person that should be poking fun at someone’s superhero appearance.”

  “Careful …”

  “Or what?”

  “Evil!” I yell.

  “Buns!” she yells.

  We’re both laughing hard now. “I always knew you were a big jerk,” she says.

  “No, you always knew Bright Boy was a big jerk. Me, you had no idea.”

  “Fine … my point is that you’re the only person who knows completely who you are. Everyone else sees a side of you. My dad sees me one way, my teachers see me another, my friends—”

  “Me.”

  She pauses. “You … see me another way.”

  “It’s funny,” I say, “but out of everyone we know, we’re the ones who sees the most sides of each other.” It was meant to be an offhand comment, but the minute I said it, we both felt it. It had t
he weight of truth.

  “Everyone has different sides to their personality,” she says, trying to lighten the moment. “Except Jake Berkshire.”

  “Ugh, what an idiot.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that guy’s only operating on one level.”

  “Barely,” I say. “You know it’s a constant struggle for me to not kick the ever-lovin’ snot out of him? Every day, I have to tell myself it’s a no-win situation. But, man, would it feel good to just unleash on him.”

  She gives me a sly, sideways smile.

  “What?” I ask her.

  “Nothing. It’s just … I guess I always thought you were going to be this huge weenie… not you ‘you’, Bright Boy, you …”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “It’s a pleasant surprise.”

  “What is?”

  “That you’re more of a dork than a weenie.”

  “You give the worst compliments, you know that?”

  “Is that your question?”

  “Yes, it was,” I say, “and you asking if that was my question was yours.”

  “Argh!”

  “My turn! My question is why are you angry at your dad, apart from him being a villain and all?”

  She gives me a playful slap on the arm.

  “Ow!” I say, rubbing my arm.

  “You’re actually not completely wrong. I am mad because of the whole villain thing, but not the way you think.” She takes a deep breath. “I spent my whole childhood friendless, missing out on all the stuff that normal kids do, all because my dad wanted to take down some evil corporations, which I still respect, you know? No, you don’t know,” she says before I can respond. “It’s just … I have a normal life now … somewhat … and he has to pop up out of nowhere and dredge all this stuff up again. I agree with his message—I just wish he could deliver it without the tights.”

  “Well, you know—”

  “If you’re about to say, ‘Then why don’t you go straight?’ you might as well save it, OK? Not going to happen.”

  “Fine. I guess we’ll just have to remain mortal enemies.”

  “Fine.” She grabs my arm in excitement. “OK, my turn!”

  “Shoot.”

  There’s that sly smile again, the one that gives my stomach a workout … the one I have a hard time looking away from. “Want me to help you pick out a new outfit?”

  she calls from outside the dressing room.

  I’m in the only dressing room in the back of Jimmy’s Army/Navy Surplus Store, looking into a mirror at a kid I don’t recognize. He looks like a much cooler version of me.

  “Come on!!” she yells.

  “You pick this stuff out just to set me up?” I ask. “So you can knock me around a little easier?”

  “Oh, puh-leeeze. I don’t need any help knocking you around. Now step out here before I prove it.”

  I step out. Allison stares at me.

  “Are you OK?” I ask.

  “Huh?”

  “I think it looks all right,” I say tentatively.

  “You idiot. You look AMAZING.”

  It’s all navy blue, formfitting, but not in a prima ballerina way, more like a really cool woven leather–type outfit. But it doesn’t look like a jumpsuit or a pair of tights anymore; it looks more like a combat outfit. There are a few bright yellow and orange highlights … just enough to justify the Bright Boy name, but not enough to be too tacky. It’s worlds away from the deranged circus outfit I’m used to wearing.

  “So … do you like it?” she asks.

  “It’s perfect.” I run my hands across the sleeves. “What is this stuff?”

  “I call it python scales. My own design,” Jimmy says, coming out of his office. He’s a short guy with REALLY hairy arms. He looks like he’s been through a few wars. “Leather over ceramic plates, plus a fabric of my own design.”

  “It’s amazing,” I say. “It’s so light. I hardly feel it at all. Will it stand up to … uhh …”

  “Martial arts practicing. That is what you’re using it for, right?” he says.

  “Right.”

  “Yeah, it should stand up to that. It’ll stop a .44 Magnum hollow-point from about ten feet away. You’ll have a heck of a bruise, but you’ll make it. If you’re practicing martial arts in a really bad neighborhood, that is.”

  “Right.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t sell that to just anyone off the street, you know. That’s special stock. You’re a friend of Allison’s, so …”

  “Thanks.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Jimmy,” Allison says, giving him a small kiss on the cheek. “You’re a genius. I owe you.”

  “Not if you pay for it, you don’t,” he says. He gives her a little smile and wink, then slips back into his office and closes the door.

  I lean in to Allison. “Does he know we’re—?”

  “Yeah, probably, but he never says. He’ll make a comment or two, but then just goes back into his office. Jimmy really is a genius, though, so I’m pretty sure we’re not the first plus/pluses to come around looking for costumes.”

  “Yeah … hey, what do you think happened to all the other plus/pluses?” I ask.

  “Don’t know.”

  “I mean, supposedly before we were born, the city was full of them. According to a couple of things I read, you couldn’t fall off a building without three supers fighting over who was going to save you. Even when I was just starting out, there were still plenty around. Now it’s just Phantom and me, and like a handful of villains.”

  She raises her hand to slap my arm, but I literally beat her to the punch. “And you and your dad, who aren’t villains, just misunderstood people that the public calls villains because they’re lazy,” I say, all in one breath.

  “Nicely done,” she says.

  “So, don’t you think it’s weird that the plus/plus population basically disappeared?”

  Allison shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe they all just got sick of living their lives for other people.”

  “Yeah … maybe some of the drop-off was because some of them got old, or went to jail, or just decided to go do something else … but what happened to all the pluses around our age?” I ask. “They never showed up.”

  “Maybe they don’t have your ‘strong sense of justice,’” she says in a slightly mocking voice.

  “I guess. Still think it’s weird.” I feel a little distance between us starting to form, so I let it drop. I look at myself in the mirror again. “You sure I look OK?”

  “Fishing for compliments?”

  “No, it’s just … I think I look OK, but I see people dressed like idiots all the time, and I assume that they think they look OK, too, so …”

  “You don’t have anything to worry about. Turn around,” she says.

  I do as instructed, giving her a little wiggle. She laughs. “Careful. Don’t let it go to your head.” She looks me up and down. “Much better. Hot, but tasteful. You leave a little to the imagination, now. So how do you feel?”

  “Amazing. Like I’m tough … a good guy, still, but … you know …” I do a few jumps. My head almost hits the ceiling.

  “Whoa,” Allison says. “Take it easy.”

  “I can move. It breathes.”

  “Yeah. I get all my stuff here. My dad has no idea and it drives him nuts. He wants me to wear the costumes he makes for me.” She stops, as if something new just occurred to her. “In fact, come on.”

  She drags me toward the register and pulls out her credit card. She pulls the tags off my new outfit and hands them to the middle-aged cashier, who looks like she’s barely functioning. “Here’s the tags. He’s going to wear the clothes out of the store,” she says. “Cool?”

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Sshh … I love the idea of Dr. Chaotic buying Bright Boy’s new costume,” she whispers in my ear. Goose bumps run up the back of my neck. She pulls back and smiles at me. My mind is racing to try to figure out what to say so that she’ll have t
o whisper in my ear again, but all I can do is grin at her like an idiot.

  The cashier hands Allison the receipt, as if ringing us up was the only thing keeping her awake. I grab Allison by the shoulders and present her to the cashier. “You know, this girl is Monkeywrench.”

  “You jerk!” Allison yells, but she’s laughing. “Well, this is Bright Boy, and thanks to me, he doesn’t look like a pervert anymore.”

  “Hey!”

  The cashier looks at us without saying a word. Her expression doesn’t change. This causes us to laugh even harder. Allison punches my arm and runs for the door.

  “Come on, Bright Boy!”

  “Coming, Monkeywrench!” We run out the door, laughing.

  It’s evening now. We run three blocks at regular human speed. Suddenly, Allison turns on her plus speed and darts into an alley.

  “Costume stash,” she says. “Turn around.”

  “I look like an idiot, standing in front of an alley like this.” I start to turn to look at her.

  “Hey! I’m half-dressed here!”

  “Sorry,” I turn back. I can feel the blood rushing to my face.

  “OK. You can turn around now.”

  I do. She’s dressed in her Monkeywrench costume, but a different version of it, one that isn’t designed to hide the fact that she’s a girl. She looks sleek and beautiful, and I can’t believe someone who looks like that is actually talking to me. “What do you think?” she asks. “I’ve been working on it for the past couple of weeks.”

  “You look like a girl.”

  “Yeah. That’s the point. My dad has been against it, but I’m tired of hiding it.”

  “You—” I stop. I’m blushing; I can feel it. I look down at my shoes. I can’t look her in the eyes and say it. “You look amazing.”

  “Thanks,” she says. I look up to see that she’s now blushing, too. “I figured since you were taking a chance with a new outfit, maybe I should … you know … give it a run … see how it feels.”

  “This is—”

  “Crazy? I agree,” she says. “You need a mask. I always keep a couple around. Here.” She flips me one. I put it on. “You ready, Bright Boy?”