A Division of Whampa, LLC
P.O. Box 2160
Reston, VA 20195
Tel/Fax: 800-998-2509
http://curiosityquills.com
© 2014 Richard Roberts
http://frankensteinbeck.blogspot.com
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information about Subsidiary Rights, Bulk Purchases, Live Events, or any other questions - please contact Curiosity Quills Press at [email protected], or visit http://curiosityquills.com
ISBN 978-1-62007-814-3 (ebook)
ISBN 978-1-62007-815-0 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-62007-816-7 (hardcover)
Start Reading
About the Author
More Books from Curiosity Quills Press
Full Table of Contents
To Dana and Nikki, whose relationship inspired Penny and Remmy.
Dana, I can tell that we are going to be friends.
Nicole, standard contract: Immortality in print in exchange for squeeing over every word as I write it.
was in the middle of history class when it hit me. I needed a cloning tank.
History is my favorite subject, although I would never tell my dad that. I love how weird the great events of the past really were. America was discovered by a crazy Italian who convinced the Queen of Germany who had switched places with the Queen of Spain that he could get to India by sailing west, because everybody else was wrong and the world was really shaped like a burrito.
He believed he had superpowers, too. It was in his letters. He knew he was right because he could hear Indians talking across the ocean. If he’d sailed a little farther South, he could have tried his powers against Huitzilopochtli. Now, there was a supervillain.
Yeah, I love this stuff. I love it a little too much. I’d already read the whole chapter in my textbook, and now I had to fight off waves of boredom listening to a lecture I already knew.
My best friends weren’t any better off. Ray had fallen asleep sitting up. Our teachers never knew what to do about a kid who paid no attention in class, but got ‘A+’s on every test. Claire, at least, was able to fake paying attention, but I knew she was actually writing out lists of adult superheroes and how teenage supervillains like us could make friends. Writing in code, no less. Who can think like that? Well, Claire, obviously.
We took Advanced English together, so I had time to tell them what I needed on the way.
“Do cloning tanks even exist?” Claire asked doubtfully.
Part of my frustration was that I could only try to translate the inhumanly complicated pictures my superpower gave me. “Not a cloning tank, exactly. Bioengineering tools.”
Ray scowled thoughtfully for half a second. That was as serious as he got. “Regular bioengineers use test tubes and freezers and centrifuges. I’m guessing you need something a little more sophisticated.”
“Yeah.” My power could make me put together a sentient alien robot with my bare hands, but had finally met its match with this idea. At least, that’s what I thought this nagging need for cloning tools meant.
Ray kept giving me a skeptical stare, and said, “This is dangerous stuff. What do you want to build?”
I winced. Just the question caused a little jab of pain in the back of my head. “I don’t know. If I think about it too hard before I’m ready to build, I get brutal headaches. A weapon. Chimera broke all of mine. The German grenade’s not a big help.” I couldn’t even cheat with it. It spoke lousy German. Not that I would cheat, and I wasn’t taking German anymore, thank Tesla.
Claire raised her eyebrows and her voice in surprise. “I thought you had an idea for fixing the candy tank?”
I growled and looked up at the tiled ceiling. “Oh, no. It suckered me good. I finished working, and instead I had a black hole in a jar that sucks in sugar and nothing else.”
Frustration warred with resignation. I was pretty sure now that I would never be able to fully control my power. My puny normal human brain could never understand my omniscient inventing brain. The inventing part didn’t think. It just ran with whatever inspiration struck, and I had to hope it would wait to hear what I wanted. Oh, and no dice trying to build my own bioengineering tools until I cleared this inspiration.
Claire’s voice turned airy and encouraging, and she gave my wrist a squeeze. “We’ll just have to pick something up from another supervillain. I bet we won’t even have to steal anything. We can buy what we need.” We had more money than God, that’s for sure, and not much to spend it on without tipping off my parents.
Ray adjusted his book bag with one arm, and looked across me at Claire. “All the bio-inventing villains die, or give it up after transforming themselves.”
Claire’s eyes lit up. They both had that look. It was superpower geek out time. I grinned despite myself as Claire started chattering out a list. “True. Judgment killed Plague, and blew up his lab. Cnidaria’s transformation left her too stupid to keep experimenting. Mourning Dove has the Bad Doctor’s equipment.”
I put my foot down on that one. “She’s also got his head in a display box. We are not stealing from her.”
Ray picked up Claire’s list where she left off, but with a more distant, thoughtful tone. “There’s a continent and half an ocean between us and Moreau’s lab. It’s been a hundred years, and no one’s found Red Panacea Clinic’s headquarters.”
Claire lifted her chin, looked smug, and sounded smugger. “I’ll take a meeting with the Expert. He’ll know something.”
I gave her a raised eyebrow, and wrinkled up my nose. “Do you know how creepy it is when you go to dinner with a forty year old man?”
Shame was an emotion Claire Lutra did not experience. She made a dismissive ‘pfft’ noise and rolled her eyes. “The Expert is one hundred percent professional. Even if he wasn’t, my power would shut him down.”
True enough. Claire’s greatest regret was that her power made her cheek-pinchingly adorable, not sexy.
Little Miss Shameless gave me a sudden, wicked grin and added, “I’m not the one who’s in danger.”
Criminy. Could they see my cheeks burning? Yes, Ray and I were kinda-sorta dating. We hadn’t worked it out before Christmas break ended. He would never mean to hurt me, but I got real nervous, real fast with a boyfriend stronger than a weightlifter, faster than a martial artist, and more lecherous than Casanova.
Grinning just as slyly as Claire didn’t help, Ray.
Worse, it looked good on him. The black clothes, rail-thin frame, and fluffy, sandy hair blended into evil geek charm. On top of that, I liked him. A lot. Like, as a person, a friend. He laughed so much, was so smart, and had gotten me into so much fun supervillain trouble. Why he preferred mousy brown-haired pigtailed me instead of platinum blond goddess Claire I could not fathom and wasn’t going to complain about.
With great relief, I got to duck the whole topic. We had arrived at English class.
Advanced English was a daily reminder of how weird it felt coming back to school after a month spent as a supervillain. We’d hardly been back a week, and I couldn’t focus on Song of Roland at all.
Yes, Song of Roland is the most stupefyingly boring book ever inflicted on children, teenagers, or the entire human race. Animal Farm had been anything but boring, and I had barely gotten a B on that. The book wasn’t the problem.
Sitting in a quiet classroom full of kids with superpowers all pretending to be normal humans just felt weird. Ray, Claire, and I were all here, although Mrs. Harpy had been smart enough to split us up. So was Marcia, AKA Miss A, sidekick to the Original, who wasn’t or
iginal in any way I could tell. The kind of tanned blonde with a nasty, shallow personality that LA is supposedly full of, Miss A had gotten me into this supervillain mess. She still shot me, Claire, and especially Ray nasty looks every time our paths crossed. I was pretty sure she’d figured out our secret identities, but she couldn’t tell anybody. Even a vicious little… dog like her knew better than to get personal.
Anyway, we could squash her like a bug if she made trouble, and she knew it. Marcia didn’t have any powers. She just was pretty good at martial arts. Not good enough. She was too vain and angry to have real discipline. I’d met the martial arts big boys, and they liked fast thinkers and fast movers. Master Scorpion wouldn’t have given her a second glance.
Two chairs away from me sat Claudia, who had enough superpowers for the entire school. Now that I knew, she’d gone from the sad girl people like Marcia picked on to a mystery I couldn’t leave alone. With her dark skin and black hair, Claudia couldn’t look more Central American if she tried, but she actually had a faint Irish accent. She had super strength, and not like Ray’s, but serious ‘lift a building’ super strength, but she never stuck up for herself. She also had super speed, could fly, and probably more besides. So, why was she always miserable?
Claudia looked up from her book, and caught me staring. She stared back for about two seconds, cold and disapproving, and then went back to her book. That was all I’d gotten out of her since we got back to school. Did she hate me for being a supervillain? She took heroing real, real seriously.
And that boy with the messy red hair in the back row. I was almost positive he was the kid who’d tried to steal my helmet in Chinatown. That made him the son of some supervillain.
A flicker of light caught my eye. Had I just seen a spark of electricity when―what was her name, Cassie―picked up her pen?
I’d always known that Northeast West Hollywood Middle and Upper High were the schools most superheroes in Los Angeles sent their kids to. Now that I’d had to fight for a place as a real supervillain, suddenly that mattered. Any kid in this class could have superpowers, or all of them. How would I know?
I wouldn’t, that’s the problem. Marcia and Claudia wouldn’t get personal and rat me out. The urge to find out who my classmates really were gnawed at me, but we all kept our secret identities because we all turned a blind eye. So… suck it up, Penny.
I was still staring at Cassie, probably looking like an idiot with a crush. She hadn’t noticed me. Instead, she’d turned her head to watch someone else. So had everyone else. What had I missed while stewing in boredom?
A flicker of anxiety tugged at me, but too late. I looked.
Claire sat at her desk with her phone out, texting away. Or maybe she wasn’t texting. Nobody looked that intense just sending messages. She had her face scrunched up, and her thumbs tapped away at high speed. She must have been playing a game instead, because she twisted the phone from side to side, pouting, then grinning, then raising one eyebrow in confusion, then grinning again.
She reached a save point. The typing stopped. Mrs. Harpy was watching Claire with the same bemused grin as everyone else. Raising her voice, too entertained by Claire’s chutzpah to be mad, Mrs. Harpy called out, “Miss Lutra, Charlemagne is waiting.”
Claire gave her a not-actually-guilty grin, and tucked her phone away. “Sorry, Mrs. Harpy.”
Everyone went back to their books. I made myself look at the clock.
The whole class had just spent twenty-five minutes watching Claire type. This was what it felt like to have your mind clouded. Claire had hit us all with her power, and gotten away with it. I only noticed because I knew what to expect, and in a few minutes, I would forget like everyone else.
Note to Penny: At least try to remember to ask Claire what she’d pulled in English class while we all gaped and drooled like bludgeoned sheep.
With a sigh, I turned back to Song of Roland. I’d lost twenty-five minutes, and this book was already a crawl. Another Moorish commander’s name, another description of hide coats and bronze spears and funny ponies, and how many men he had. Then another commander, his equipment, and his troops. And again. And again.
They covered the page. I flipped to the next page. That one, too. And the next. And the next.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I raised my hand.
Mrs. Harpy put down her own book. “Penelope Akk?”
If I was jumping, I might as well swan dive. “Is half this book nothing but a list of Moorish troops?” I demanded, and I could hear the impatient sarcasm in my own voice
Oh, ho. Mrs. Harpy smiled. I hadn’t belly flopped. I’d scored big. Unconvincingly casual, she answered, “That’s correct.”
Surrounded by twenty frustrated faces wishing they’d been brave enough to do this themselves, I said what we were all thinking. “Why would anyone want to read this? Why would anyone want to write it?”
Mrs. Harpy put down her book, and stood up. “Let me tell you about oral tradition.”
She did. There wasn’t much time left in the class, but she kept us interested enough I never drifted off into wondering who my classmates were.
Lunch didn’t feel any more natural. The weight of my homemade lunchbox was a vivid reminder that school hadn’t changed, but I had. By homemade, I meant I had made it myself. Me. The lunchbox was one of my few inventions I could show off to my parents, all brass gears and copper plates. I set it down on our table opposite Ray, and it unfolded to reveal my meal.
There, at least, I might as well still be buying from the cafeteria. Mom might be encouraging the superpowered genius that built this box by making me lunches now, but the food she made was so exactly as bland as cafeteria food, she might have made measurements. Actually, knowing my mom, she probably had. The box kept the hamburger perfectly at its original lukewarm, rubbery temperature, and the julienne fries as limp as when they came off the stove. Only the broccoli steamed, perfectly crisp. Not subtle, Mom. Not subtle!
Ray had a cafeteria tray, but doubled up on everything. Supervillainy paid well, and his physical powers kept his metabolism in overdrive. That was just fine by me. I liked him thin and wiry.
Oh, criminy. Was I as obvious looking him over as he was eying me? Behind his fake glasses (his powers had fixed his vision, too), his light eyes were all too focused. Leaning way forward, hands clasped below his chin, he gave me a grin that would put a jackal to shame. “Aren’t you sitting on the wrong side of the table?”
Uh. My face hurt. Uh. What was I supposed to say to that?
Claire always knew. She breezed up to the table, set her vintage lunchbox down, and sat beside me, hip to hip. She gave Ray just as serenely sly a smile, and answered for me. “No, Penny’s sitting next to me, same as always.”
“Cuuuurseeeees…” Ray held up a hand curled theatrically into a claw.
I snorted. So did Ray. Claire giggled, so much sweeter and more demure than any actual girl should be. Tension broken!
Well, the tension of being hit on was broken. I poked at a squishy fry and sighed. Sympathetically, Claire passed me a packet of crisp, spicy potato wedges. Even their red-brown color radiated deliciousness. When Misty ‘the Minx’ Lutra had found time to become a cooking goddess, I still had no idea.
Claire looked less pleased. “Sorry about the selection. Mom’s keeping all the good stuff locked up. She’ll only let me have it if I can sneak in and steal it. How am I supposed to stealth past the world’s greatest cat burglar?” She didn’t bother to keep her voice down. Like my parents, Claire’s mom ditched her secret identity as soon as she retired and had a child.
Miss Lutra had also managed to go from super criminal to lauded hero in the process. Sweet Tesla, would I give anything to know how she pulled that off! Yeah, she stole an actual nuke back from the Cossack, but the Eye of Heaven job had to be at least as good, and instead everyone blamed me for stealing it.
No cake, no pasta, no French pastry or Thai or Mexican food or bowls of soupy stuff I could neve
r identify. Yeah, by Lutra family standards, this was pretty sad. Claire was reduced to eating like the rest of us, just much better quality and lots more of it.
She still handed Ray a bowl of beans that teased me with a sharp smelling barbecue sauce as they passed. He tried to pay her back with a suggestion. “How about an unexpected angle? Go out your window, over the roof, and sneak in from the other side of the house.”
Claire pouted, poking one of her remaining fries at the pile of crisp vegetables between her fat hamburger patty and the sesame seed bun. “If she’ll accept that. She wants me to learn the basics. She thinks I rely on my power too much. Since she’s immune, I have to sneak past her the hard way.”
Ray finished inhaling the beans. His hamburgers were already gone. Claire’s super metabolism didn’t match his, but she managed to wolf down a good half of her giant hamburger as Ray argued, “Sneaking over the roof is the basics for a cat burglar. It’s not like your mom waltzed past people like a ghost. She stayed where there was nobody to see her anyway, right?”
Claire turned to me suddenly, her fists on her hips. “When are we pulling our next job? I need to show my mother I don’t just stand around like a lump and let you two do the work.”
She’d had the decency to whisper it, but I still flinched. I lowered my face, and kept my own voice to a hiss. “I don’t know. School makes it kind of hard to schedule anything.” My shoulders slumped. It was time to admit it. “I’m going nuts here, pretending everything’s normal.”
Claire slumped back into place, poking at the remains of her burger. “Yeah.”
Ray swallowed his last fry, and stared at his empty tray hungrily. “Tell me about it.”
After lunch, Ray and I crossed the street to Upper High for Geometry. That kept me busy, at least. Mrs. Stakes liked making us do problems in class more than homework, which admittedly was fine by me. Even here, surrounded by older kids, I found myself staring at Mrs. Stakes. Sure, she was old, but lean and fit, and she had an unflappable stare. Nothing ever got her excited. Mad, maybe, in a really controlled way. She always, always looked like she knew what she was doing, like there was nothing she couldn’t handle.
Please Don't Tell My Parents I Blew Up the Moon Page 1
