Sidekicks (17 page)

“That's better,” Phantom says.

I look at Allison/Monkeywrench. She mouths the word
sorry
.

My eyes go wide. I mouth,
You told him?
That's why he was staring at me.

She makes some faces that indicate no, she did not tell him, you idiot (meaning me), that the video was, in fact, ALL OVER THE INTERNET, and he happened to stumble across it.

Oh. I nod my head in the direction of Phantom Justice, admitting that he kind of did the same thing. She sticks her tongue out at me. I start laughing.

I stop laughing when I notice that Phantom Justice and Dr. Chaotic are no longer talking to each other and are now staring at us.

It's a little awkward.

“Uhh … OK …” Allison says. “So, the deal is that
we have this prototype of a super computer thingee!” She tries to ramp it up again so that we can get back on script, so to speak.

“You don't even know what you're stealing?” I ask.

“Yeah, I do!” she says, annoyed. “It's that thingee.” She points to a box in Dr. Chaotic's hand. He does not look happy.

“Well!” I shout, trying to pick up on Allison's cue. “We are here to stop you! Ha-HA!”

Allison looks at me as like “What are you doing?”

“What?”

She laughs and rolls her eyes, then springs forward and tackles me. “Hey!” I shout. Phantom and Chaotic look like they're about to break us up when a news helicopter comes out of nowhere. They hesitate, but then they start to fight.

I can't watch them, though, because Allison is coming at me with a barrage of kicks and punches. “Hey!” I shout again. “What are you doing?”

“Returning the favor!” she says. “See? Getting attacked when you don't expect it really sucks, doesn't it?”

“It's not so bad,” I say, and start countering her moves. Soon, we're right where we left off last night.

She takes a step back and gets into a boxer's pose, then starts doing a little fancy footwork, à la Muhammad Ali. She comes at me with a left jab, left jab—pause—right roundhouse, quick left jab. The last left jab catches me in the mouth, but the impact gives me an extra half second where her hand is still out there. I grab her fist before she can pull it back. I use a little aikido to turn her arm at a painful angle. She bends over, going where I direct her arm, but then she kicks out with her left leg, catching me in the stomach, hard enough to make me break my grip.

We reset, both of us breathing heavy, but only just warmed up.

“How bad was it with Phantom?” she asks.

“Bad,” I say, then do a couple of roundhouse kicks. She ducks under and comes into my space. When she pops up, we're chest to chest. My heart kicks into high gear. We stop. Then she pushes me back, laughing.

“He doesn't like the new you?” she asks.

“I'm not different. The outfit is.”

“You're wearing the outfit when he doesn't want you to. You're different, all right.”

“How was your dad?” I ask after a quick scissor kick.

Feint with the left, right elbow/block, left elbow/block, right elbow, right elbow, left hook—block, block, block.

“He hasn't talked to me.”

“I'm sorry.” Left jab, left jab, right jab, right hook.

“I'm not! Are you kidding?! I love when he leaves me alone.” Roundhouse kick. “I never understood the whole silent treatment punishment. ‘You're not talking to me' … ooooo … big deal.”

I throw a left jab that catches her in the nose. I stop for a second. “Are you OK?” I ask.

“Please? That little tap?”

“No … the reason that tap connected.” Her head turns away from me. My first reaction is to go to her, but my second reaction proves to be the correct one. I take a step back, and just miss getting clocked in the head with a back kick.

“My dad never stopped talking to me,” she says as she squats and spins into a low roundhouse kick. I jump over it. “Even when he went away, we still talked.”

“You mean when he went to prison?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “No, when he went to Aruba. Yes, when he went to prison.” She's annoyed, so
her jabs get a little sloppy. I bat the first couple away, then grab the last two, pull her arms across her body, and wrap her up.

“Well,” she says, “somehow, I think this was your plan all along.” I blush, but I don't let go. She pulls her arms in an attempt to escape, but the pulls are halfhearted … not even … more like quarter-hearted … more for show than an actual attempt to escape. After a couple of those, she stops even that. She takes a deep breath and leans her head forward onto my shoulder, and I'm afraid to move, because I don't want this moment to end. I don't want to be a superhero anymore. I don't want her to be my enemy. I just want to stand there … or wherever … and have Allison rest her head on my shoulder. That's it.

“Do you hear that?” she asks, looking up at me.

“Sorry,” I say. “It's beating a little fast. I can't help it.”

“Not that,” she says, smiling. And is she blushing a little? “It sounds like … cheering?”

We turn our heads. Without our even realizing it, the fight took us to the edge of the building, and standing on the building directly across from us, a crowd of people has formed … and they're watching us … and
cheering. One of them is holding a sign that says “Kiss!”

“How did they find us?” I ask.

“Look up, dummy.”

I do. There's the news helicopter, circling overhead. “They must be doing a live feed,” she says.

“Of us? But even Phantom never gets a live feed anymore.” I start laughing. It doesn't seem real.

Allison starts laughing, too. “Well, we probably shouldn't waste it then. Come on. I'm sick of moping. Let's give 'em a show.”

“As you wish, milady.” I push her away and twirl her. There's a disappointed groan from the audience, which turns into a gasp of disbelief as Allison does an amazing set of flips, then turns to face me. She does a little of the Ali footwork, gets into her fighting stance, then gives me a little “come hither” wave … I laugh and get into my fighter stance, and now the crowd roars its approval and starts cheering. She starts running toward me, so I start running toward her. She leaps. I leap. We clash in midair, ten feet above the ground, throwing and countering a few punches before our momentum carries us away from each other. I roll on the ground and pop back up, just in time to see her do an awesome foot
slide into a one-handed handstand, twist her body, then come back down on her feet … back into her original fighting stance.

“Show off!” I yell.

“Jealous!” she yells back. “Come on, Bright Boy! Try to keep up!” She runs and leaps over the edge of the building. I dive after her.

She's already using her grappling hook to swing onto the roof of another building. When she lets go of the rope, she leaves the hook in place. The rope swings back up to me. It's an easy grab, but somehow, I miss. Stupid. I was too busy trying to think of a cool landing move that I took the swing for granted, and now I'm falling. The crowd gasps, but this isn't even the hardest fall I've had off a building this week. I twist into a dive. FP-154 is coming up in twenty-four seconds …

“You are such a klutz,” Allison says, suddenly right beside me.

I smile. She came back for me. “You realize we're—”

“Falling off a building? Yeah … I got that.”

“Uh … duh. No. I was going to say that we're twelve seconds from FP-154.”

“FP wha—”

“Flagpole 154. Trent and I have labeled every grabable, swingable thing on the side of every building in the city.”

“Nuh-uh! That's so—”

“Amazing? Impressive?”

“Dorky.”

I roll my eyes, then grab her, reach up and grab the FP-154 (right on time). I flip her up in the air. She does a quick double somersault, falls past me, and grabs the flag on the flagpole that I'm on, just to the right of me. She swings around. I drop in front of her, timed perfectly so that I can grab her legs as she comes back around. She lets go of the flag. We sail through the air. It feels like we're moving in slow-motion. I let go of her legs just before landing on the ground, feet first; she lands a split-second after. We're facing each other, three inches apart.

Allison and I look at each other in disbelief. “I've never—” she says, in between gasps for air.

“Neither have I—”

We grab each other in a hug that would break the ribs of a normal person. The crowd surrounding us on the ground erupts. The crowd peering over the edge of
the building above us is going nuts. I look around in disbelief. Allison just rests her head against my chest.

“Wow,” I say.

She laughs. “Which part?”

“All of it.”

She lifts her head off of my chest. “How about this?” she asks, then pulls my face close to hers and kisses me. The crowd roars. At least I think they do. All I can hear is the blood rushing to my head. When she pulls away, I see the tiny lights in front of my eyes that come with any head rush … dancing like sparks off a bonfire.

Suddenly, there's a spotlight on us. Or maybe it was there the whole time, and we didn't notice it. “Kiss him again!” someone shouts over a bullhorn from the deck of the news chopper hovering above us. “Come on! We missed it the first time!” Allison starts laughing.

Then, suddenly, the sky explodes. It's one of Dr. Chaotic's weapons. The helicopter veers off. People scream and scatter. Allison and I look up to see Phantom Justice and Dr. Chaotic heading right toward us.

“What do we do?” I ask her. “Start fighting each other?”

She shrugs. “Maybe?”

Neither of us moves. Dr. Chaotic swoops down on
a pair of propulsion boots, grabs Monkeywrench, and zooms off. Allison looks back at me and mouths the words,
See you at school tomorrow
. I wave.

Phantom grabs my arm, midwave. “What do think you're doing?!” Phantom yells into my face.

“Waving good-bye?”

The crowd is still there watching, but now they've started to boo … and it's obvious I'm not the one they're unhappy with. Phantom looks at them, then looks back at me. “Come on!” he yells, then yanks my arm. After a few quick flips, we find a deserted alley. He's pacing, so fast that the asphalt under his feet is starting to heat up and get a little goopy.

“Can't … too many people … just calm,” he's muttering.

“Uhh, Phantom? Trent?”

“Don't! Talk!” he says through gritted teeth. “I can't … not … yet.”

I stand there and watch him as he goes through the meditation techniques he learned from a Tibetan monk or something. After a few deep breaths, he opens his eyes.

“You're suspended. Effective immediately,” he says calmly.

“What? Why?”

“Why?! WHY?! WH—?!” He stops himself and goes back into meditation mode.

“Trent, liste—”

He holds up his hand to stop me, then takes a couple more deep breaths. He opens his eyes. “Go home,” he says.

“OK … I get it … I shouldn't kiss our archenemy's sidekick/daughter in the middle of your big battle, but suspension? Come o—”

In a flash, he's got me by the front of my costume. He lifts me in the air. His eyes look calm, as if he and I were just having a nice conversation.

“Not yet,” he says. “This no. I not. Can't.”

“What?” I'm trying to make sense of what he just said, but his words seem all jumbled.

“This is not yet,” he says. “Go home, or it will be.”

He calmly puts me down, straightens out my shirt, then slowly backs away from me. He stands there looking at me, the same stony calmness in his eyes.

“OK,” I say. “I'm going.” Creeped out would be a bit of an understatement. I leap on the nearby fire escape and zip up to the roof, then skulk back to sneak a
peek. Phantom is still standing there, staring at the spot I just vacated. I lie down on the roof, out of sight. I look up at the stars, and wonder if anyone in the history of the planet has ever had as bizarre a night as I've just had.

takes a bite of her apple.