Sidekicks (8 page)

“Right … no, I know … it's just … I have a lot going on right now.”

“Like?”

“Nothing … it's …”

“OK, then let's just—”

“Everything sucks right now, OK?” I blurt out. “The only time I feel halfway normal is when I'm in this costume. And look at it. It's ridiculous.”

“I don't—”

“It is. It's ridiculous! Kids at school call me a pervert. Not me … like Scott me … Bright Boy me. They think I'm a pervert!”

“The evil in this city festers like an open sore, and you're worried about some petty insults. Just ignore them.”

“I try! But they're everywhere! The whole school is laughing at me! Even the kindergartners!”

“Those kids make fun of you because they're jealous. Most of them would trade places with you in a heartbeat.”

“That's nice, but it doesn't make things any easier.”

“So, is that why you do this? To be admired and loved?” he asks.

“No … But I don't do it to be constantly ridiculed, either.”

He turns away from me. I can see his jaw tightening under his mask. “I need you to focus on the task at hand,” he says, going back to his scary whisper. “Otherwise, you'll have to go home.”

“Fine,” I say. “I'll focus.”

He looks at me and squints in his trademark “Don't lie to me because I can see the evil in your soul!” way, but I've seen it way too many times for it to be effective. Plus, if he could REALLY see the “evil in my soul,” like what I was planning to do to Monkeywrench's face, he wouldn't have let me out of the house in the first place.

“Let's go,” he snarls. And with a dramatic turn of his cape, he continues forward, toward the warehouse.

I roll my eyes and follow.

Three minutes later, we arrive at the industrial park
full of warehouses where we traced the alarm. Everything is quiet.

“Where are the police?” I ask.

“They're probably on their way. Do you want to wait for them,” he asks with a mischievous grin, “or are you up for a little action?”

“You have to ask?” I respond. I only hope it's Dr. Chaotic and Monkeywrench. The thought of beating on someone other than them would be a total letdown.

We go through two warehouses; on the third, we hit pay dirt.

Dr. Chaotic and Monkeywrench are standing in front of a huge pile of crates, each one labeled with an IGO logo. We play the shadows and try to sneak up on them. Apparently, we're not as good at it as we think we are.

“You boys are late,” Dr. Chaotic says as he turns to us. “We almost left without you. Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

“You're going back to prison, Chaotic,” Phantom growls. “It's up to you whether you go in one piece … or several.”

“Ooooh! Such tough talk! Is that to compensate for the fact that you run around with an adolescent boy in tights? Hm?”

My scalp starts to tingle, and I feel my face get hot.
“You see?” I whisper to Phantom. He makes a “take it easy” motion with his hand. No, he doesn't see.

“What are you up to, Chaotic?” Phantom asks.

“What, you think I'm just going to tell you? Huh? What fun would that be?”

“This is all a big game to you, isn't it?”

The two of them continue, back and forth, as if there's a big cliché contest and they're both determined to win. I've stopped listening. I can't stop staring at Monkeywrench. The voices of Dr. Chaotic and Phantom Justice become distant drones. The only things that exist in the world right now are Monkeywrench and my hatred for him … and he hasn't even noticed yet. He's watching the exchange between Chaotic and Phantom, because that's what we sidekicks usually do: We stand around and wait for the main event to start, and then we fight. I mean, that's why we're called sidekicks; if we were supposed to start the fighting, we'd probably be called
frontkicks
or something.

He seems fidgety … restless. He shoots me a couple of quick glances, but he doesn't really “see” me. He couldn't have … because if he did, he'd see the way I'm looking at him. He'd see the anger written all over my face.

He glances over at me again, but this time, something about me catches his eye. And so this time, he takes a
really long look … and he sees that I'm staring at him … more like glaring at him … trying to break his legs by sheer force of will. And he sees this. He sees how angry I am at him … and he smiles. The little jerk smiles! My teeth grind together. He smiles wider, and then he blows me a kiss!

The next thing I hear is my own yell as I start sprinting for Monkeywrench.

His eyes go wide. He wasn't expecting this. To be fair, neither was I.

“What are you—ooof!” is all Monkey can get out before I ram into him.

We break through the outside wall of the warehouse, slamming into the side of a news van parked there. It leaves a large, Monkeywrench-size dent in it. Reporters scatter … some scream. Then they see the hole in the side of the building, and realize that we're just the sidekicks, and the main event is inside. They forget their fear and rush past us, jockeying for position. I look through the hole I just created, and for a moment, before the hole is filled with press, I can see Phantom Justice and Dr. Chaotic looking back at me. They look confused. I may have jumped the gun a little.

“What is your problem?” Monkeywrench yells at me. I turn my attention to him.

“You blew me a kiss. I wanted to return the favor.”

“Return this,” he says, and shoves his hand into my chin. I lift my right knee and catch him in the stomach, slamming the back of his head into the van again. I fall butt-first onto the ground. Before I have a chance to hit him again, he turns, leaps, flips, and lands on top of the van. Then he sprints off, leaping from van rooftop to van rooftop. He's heading for the nearest warehouse roof.

I sprint after him, staying to the ground. There's a van parked close to the warehouse where Monkey is heading. I leap on top of it, then leap from the van onto the warehouse roof. He's six feet away from me and sprinting for the next warehouse. “Stop!” I yell.

“No!” he yells, and keeps sprinting, but maybe he's a little rusty from his years away, or maybe I'm just faster than he is. I make up the ground between us and grab his arm. He tries to flip me, but I block him, flipping him instead. From the ground, he sweeps my legs out from under me. I fall hard on my back. He comes at me with an elbow, but I block and throw off. I flip up to a fighting position. He does the same. We're both breathing hard. The roof feels a little squishy under my feet, like all it's had to deal with are raindrops for
the past thirty years … and we're a little bigger than raindrops.

“All right, perv … what else—”

“Shut up,” I say. “Shut your freakin' mouth. You say one more word, and I swear you'll be trying to pick up your teeth with broken fingers.”

“Ha! Next time you try to steal a tough-guy line from a movie, you might want to consider changing your tigh—”

I tackle him. We land on his back. The roof protests, making a loud, angry groan.

“Get off of me!”

“No time,” I say.

“What?”

The roof gives way. I guesstimate that the fall is about thirty-five feet, because it hurts—a lot—but we're both still alive.

I roll over slowly, onto my knees and elbows. I take a few deep breaths. They hurt. I spit a couple of times. No blood. I wait to see if I go into shock. Nope. Just shaken up.

I can hear Monkeywrench wheezing beside me, and I don't feel so much like pummeling him anymore. Even if I wanted to, I'm not sure I could raise my arms. I get
to my feet, slowly … I'm not sure my legs will hold me. “Are you OK?” I ask.

“No!” he says, and his voice sounds different … less screechy than normal.

“Don't try to get up,” I say, and start to walk over to him.

“Stop!” he yells.

“I'm not going to hurt—”

“STOP!”

But I don't. I walk over to him. He's trying to pick himself off the ground as quickly as possible, but he's too shaken up.

I grab his arm to help him. “It's o—”

And that's when I notice Monkeywrench's mask is gone … and that Monkeywrench isn't a “he.”

“Allison? Mendes?”

She screams, as if her real name is the filthiest insult I could ever call her. Suddenly, she's on me, all hands and elbows and nails. She's coming at me with a ferocity I've never seen. By the time I realize what she's up to, it's too late; she's already ripped my mask off.

I freeze. I put my hands up against my face, to try to cover it, but it's too late. She's already seen me.

“Uhh … you!” she shouts, then looks away.

My expression changes from fear to annoyance.

“You don't know who I am, do you?”

“Yes, I do. You go to my school.”

“OK, great. So what's my name?”

She pauses, scrunches up her face, starts looking around the room, as if she's hoping that some friendly and helpful psychic might've predicted this moment and written my name on one of the walls.

“You don't know?! Seriously?” I shout.

“I'm sorry!” she says. “We must not have any classes together.”

“We have five together!” I yell. “Five! And I sit right behind you in three of them!”

“Sorry! I said I'm sorry!”

“You and your friend Olivia came up and talked to me today! Today!”

She snaps her fingers. “Steve!” she says triumphantly.

“No!”

“Yes! Olivia called you Steve!”

“Yeah, she called me Steve, but that's not my name.”

“Then why didn't you correct her?”

“Well … I … look …” I stammer. “Don't you think we have something a little more important to deal with right now?”

“Yeah … you're right,” she says. She points at my tights. “You really need to cover up, Steve. It's obscene …”

“I get it! You can see my—! I'm wearing tights! I know! But you're not allowed to be mean to me until you figure out my real name.”

“I'm not allowed to be mean to you? Aren't we like mortal enemies or something?” she asks.

“I don't know! Yes?”

“Why are you yelling?!”

“I DON”T KNOW! Wait … stop … just stop!” I say. “This is just … You're a girl from school.”

“Yeah.”

“You don't think this is weird?”

She shrugs. “Maybe if I knew your real name,” she says, but there's a sly little smile on her face.

I smile back. I can't help it. This whole thing just got surreal.

“Of course, this is weird,” she says. “Duh. The kid who sits behind me in pre-algebra is my archenemy.”

“And whose name is …”

“Charlie?”

“Ugh. Charlie?”

“I don't know. Listen, the main battle is moving this way, so—”

“So, I'll just hold you here until Phantom Justice gets here. Then he and I will—stop laughing—he and I
will—come on. Stop laughing.”

“I can't help it,” she says. “What makes you think I'm going to stick around?”

“You don't have a choice.”

She laughs again, then starts scaling some boxes, heading for the hole in the roof we fell through.

“Wait!” I yell. “Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“No, you're not. You were committing a crime. You're going to the police.”

“No.
I
am going home to finish some homework, take a nice hot bath, and figure out how to keep you from freaking out at school tomorrow.”

“Wha—you think you can just waltz out of here?”

“‘Waltz out of here?' OK, Grandpa. Listen, here's the thing. You may have seen my face, but I've also seen yours. It's called ‘mutually assured destruction.' As long as you don't tell who I am, I won't tell who you are. Got it?”

“Wait—!”

She drops my mask on the ground at my feet. “See you in school tomorrow, Bright Boy.” She leaps out the hole in the ceiling. Just as I'm about to go after her, Dr. Chaotic and Phantom Justice crash through the wall.
I pick my mask up and slap it on my face. The sticky stuff has dirt on it, so it won't stay without me keeping a finger on each side.

Dr. Chaotic, using one of his jet-propelled boots, flies out the same hole that Allison … uh … Monkeywrench flew out. “So long, Phantom! See you around! HA-HA-HA-HA!”

“Are you all right, Bright Boy?” Phantom Justice asks.

“Yeah … Monkeywrench rabbited, though.” I take my fingers off my mask, but it starts to fall off, so I quickly slap it back on.

“Is there something wrong with your mask?”

“Uhh …” Oh boy. My mind feels like its been wiped clean. I stand there with my mouth open, not sure how to even begin to explain. Before I have a chance to try, reporters start streaming into the warehouse.

“Come on,” Phantom says, then leaps up the boxes and out the hole in the ceiling. I follow, still holding my mask in place.