Please Don't Tell My Parents (Book 3): I've Got Henchmen

by Richard Roberts

  Infuriated, Marcia balled her fists at her sides, stretching up onto her tip-toes to scream, “Oh, please! You're going to walk away? What would your father think? The real Sharky had the guts to die-”

  That was as far as she got. Charlie's shirt exploded into scraps as his body ballooned. Huge, grotesque, and muscle-bound, he hit her just like she asked. He was so much bigger than her that he had to punch up from his waist, and the blow sent her flying through the air. Airborne, she looked tiny, spindly, like Barbara's rag doll.

  I was standing at the corner of the school, and Marcia's body hit the wall just a couple of yards away from me. The meaty thwack and the crackle were bad, but the wet red stain she left as she slid to the ground was worse.

  Marcia was-

  Marcia wasn't dead. A gurgling noise became a growl. She writhed, flopped, and climbed to her feet. I swear her torso went from flat to round as I watched, and while I was still registering that she'd gone from corpse to healthy her lurch upright became a lunge forward, a run, a sprint, and in a harshly screaming blur she charged across the asphalt, fist-first, to punch Charlie in the gut.

  Shadow and silence, the opposite of the bright flash I would have expected, hid the impact. Nobody needed to see it. We got to watch Charlie tumble through the air like Marcia had, hit the ground, and scrape along it all the way to the fence.

  He wheezed, holding his stomach. Gross domed eyes watched in fear as Marcia ran towards him, but he couldn't breathe well enough to get out of the way.

  She didn't hit him again. Her waving arms wrapped around his pyramidal neck, helping pull him to a sitting position as she hugged him tight. “Thank you! Thank you so much. That was better than I imagined.” Letting him go, she turned around, raised both fists, and yelled at us all, “Did you see my super powers?!”

  Myself, I leaped a foot in the air as a harsh voice behind me said, “Getting in another fight on school grounds when you were just suspended from the first one is nothing to brag about, Marcia Bradley.”

  Mrs. Stakes, my geometry teacher, stood behind me. Thin and stiff, she looked like she was put together out of wrinkly broomsticks.

  Her scowl held no fear whatsoever. All doubt disappeared in my mind. There were superheroes in our school faculty, alright.

  Marcia wasn't intimidated, either. She laughed, staggering a couple of steps to the left, but then getting her balance back. “That wasn't a fight. That was like a boxing match. Like ring sparring. Please, are you kidding? Charlie just jumped up to my new best friend!”

  “Mr. Kamachi?” My teacher's question hung in the air, as sharp and threatening as a meat hook.

  Marcia offered Charlie her hand, and he took it, shrinking back into human form as she helped him to his feet. He was still wincing, rubbing his stomach, and he definitely looked confused, but he nodded. “Yeah. She had me going for a minute, but… yeah. We're friends?” He looked down at Marcia, still a good six inches taller than her, his bewilderment turning into a smile.

  She held up a fist to bump against his. “We so are. But maybe not best friends. Sue stuck with me, and that's important, but you can be number two. Want me to teach you to box, Chuck? With your strength, you'd be dynamite.”

  Mrs. Stakes' scowl turned down to me. “Miss Akk? Can you honestly say this was just sparring?”

  Criminy. On the spot, Penny. A chill rolled down my back, but disappeared just as fast. The answer was surprisingly easy and obvious. “Yes, ma'am. She was a little crazy about it at first, but we all are when we first get our powers.”

  That seemed to end my role in the interrogation. The old woman shouted one more suspicious observation. “Miss Bradley, you are covered in blood.”

  “I know. It's mine! It hurt more than anything I've ever imagined, and it was beautiful! Look at me now!” She gave a quick cartwheel, and then a standing backflip. Well, she was a head cheerleader. Or had been two weeks ago.

  With a heavy sigh and a shrug of her shoulders, Mrs. Stakes gave up and walked away.

  My ordeal was not over. Hands grabbed me by the shoulder, and spun me around. Shaking me with glee, Cassie squealed, “Did you just see what I saw, Penny?”

  “I did! I did!” declared Teddy.

  “Marcia stole some super powers, and they look unhealthy?”

  Cassie tilted her head down, glowering at me in scornful disappointment. Teddy grabbed our arms, and filled in for my mistake. “Sparring doesn't count as fighting! We can hold matches!”

  “We can test our powers the fun way!” Cupping her hands around her mouth, Cassie shouted at the scattered club members, “Who wants to go first?”

  “NOBODY!” I shouted, sweeping my hands out to either side. “Not yet, not today, and not while there's a teacher right over there who's still not totally sure she made the right decision.”

  That cooled down Cassie and Teddy. Slightly. After a couple of seconds, Cassie nodded. “You're right. We have to make this look like an official club thing. They don't stop kids in martial arts clubs from sparring, right? We'll do practice sessions. Maybe start Friday. See who wants in.”

  Laughing, Marcia staggered up to us. She didn't look hurt, just tired and drunk from emotion. “I want in, because I'm in the club now. Finally, I have super powers, and they're everything I dreamed they would be!”

  t took until Friday for the other shoe to drop. By then, I thought Marcia really had gotten away with it and everything was fine. I walked into English class like a chump, absorbed in thoughts of lair renovation, with a little left over mentally counting the contents of the Pumpkin Jar. Claire had drifted off into talking about Grimoire of Nursey Rhymes during so many lunchtimes, I had to have it.

  “Reach for the skies, Penny Akk!”

  Cassie's weird greeting didn't alarm me, especially with her off to my side and out of sight. No, it was the crackle and pop of electricity that got my attention, and sent all the other kids yelling and scattering for the edges of the classroom.

  I turned to find her raising her hands, blue and white crawling over her, popping out in little arcs to the wall and nearby desks.

  “What?”

  Her dramatic pose sagged a few inches, and she snapped at me, “Go for your guns! I'm calling you out! Prepare to battle!”

  “My parents-” I started to say, taking a step backwards. A shake of Cassie's hand sent sparks flying between me and the door, sending me jumping the other way instead.

  “It's just a club competition. If the school accepts that, your parents will have to knuckle under!” Criminy. She was way too into this, rubbing her hands together and grinning like a maniac. Cassie wanted a rematch so bad, she'd ignored all the stupid things about what she was doing.

  She'd been smart about one thing. If she challenged me in the open, I could just run away. Now my choices were to talk my way out of a fight with someone who'd gone over to the Stupid Side, or throw in, try not to become an exhibit in arc welding, and take my medicine from my parents.

  With that thought in mind, I instantly recognized my mother's hand when it laid on my shoulder. It was the last sensation I'd been expecting, but I let her gently push me aside. She put herself between me and Cassie, fiddling with a pencil she must have pulled out of my backpack.

  “Who are-” Cassie started to ask as an adult – and not our teacher, even – suddenly intervened. It only took her a second to get it. Instead of quailing, Cassie puffed up defiantly, glowing from built-up electrical power. “So, the legend shows her face at last. I was ready to face your daughter. I'm not afraid to duel an old woman with only half her powers!”

  At that point, my mother finished wiggling the eraser tip out of my pencil, and flicked the little pink blob right into Cassie's eye.

  I had to hand it to Cassie. She had good reflexes, but the storm of sparks she threw up did nothing to a little piece of flying rubber. When it hit her in the eye, she let out a yelp, took two steps backwards, and hit the edge of a desk. Cassie and the desk both went down to the floor in a cl
attering heap.

  Mom waited about two seconds, staring down at the dazed, anxious Cassie, before saying, “You are a very lucky young woman, Cassie Pater. Mourning Dove chose to give this presentation at Upper High.”

  With that, Mom abandoned her fallen adversary, although I wasn't sure Cassie had lasted long enough to earn even that title. My mother walked up to Mrs. Harpy's desk, and told our teacher, “I would be grateful if you overlook Miss Pater's actions this morning. Letting her focus on the lesson she has just learned, rather than the impersonal nature of school discipline, will reduce recidivism by two thirds.”

  My Mom Filters revved into action. The actual two-thirds odds were that my Mom saying that all out loud would intimidate Cassie, the class, and maybe me with how cold and knowing she seemed.

  It worked. When Mom turned to face the class, everybody, even Cassie, even Marcia and Claudia, hurried back into their seats. I was actually last.

  “My name is Beatrice Akk. Professionally, I used to be known as the Audit. I have arranged these presentations to cover as many new students as possible per period, but it is possible that some of you will hear this speech twice.” She was cool, not quite ramrod straight, holding my eraserless pencil in one hand and laying its tip in her other hand's palm. She looked so much like Mrs. Stakes in a bad mood, a creepy chill went up my spine. But… no. There was no way my geometry teacher was my mother in disguise. Mom was just copying 'no nonsense teacher' body language. Definitely.

  “Over the last month and a half, many of the children with super powers in this school have decided to wear those powers openly, rather than cultivate a secret identity. That decision is between each child and their parents, and has nothing to do with the school district. It is not against the school rules to openly display powers in class, as long as you obey all other school rules. Starting a fire with pyrokinesis or a match is against the rules in exactly the same way. Fighting, damaging property, and interrupting class are not allowed.”

  For one carefully calculated second, my mother paused to give Cassie a look, but everyone shrank back the same inch. At the end of that second, Mom braced her hands on the desk behind her, and pulled herself up to sit on it. Her sharply pressed grey suit would never look casual, but with her knees folded and her hands clasped, she at least no longer looked like she was about to order an execution.

  Her tone got lighter too, but not by much. “None of that is why I am really here. Two days ago, one of your classmates identified some super powered individuals related to another student. It was enough information that a listener could guess at their secret identities. In the super powered community, we call that 'getting personal,' and it is the real reason I am here. Now, can anyone tell me who Deadly Flame was?”

  Ray and Claire's hands both shot up. Mom ignored them, and nodded to Cassie, who had hers shyly half-raised.

  All bluster gone, Cassie asked, “Is… that the guy… who went nuts back in the seventies? Who killed about a hundred people?”

  Mom's approving nod let bygones be bygones. “Whether or not Deadly Flame was insane is up for debate. Despite his name, and the dangerous nature of heat powers, murder was one crime he was not wanted for when the Chicago Police Department got his real identity from an informant in nineteen-seventy-six. They attempted to arrest him in his own home. He panicked, and six police officers died.”

  The class started to stir, until Mom's voice cut through their nervous mumble. “That was just the beginning. Desperate, his true identity revealed and with nowhere to hide, he decided that the only way to be safe would be to go on the attack. Deadly Flame's powers were strong. He burned down the nearest police station, killing everyone inside. Then he went to the next police station and burned it down. He had just started his attack on a third station when he was shot in the head by a man calling himself Judgment. Over a hundred people, police and bystanders, died in the rampage, including the informant who gave Deadly Flame's name to the police.”

  That last little touch sank in particularly hard. Mom slid off the desk again, her face hardening, going back to 'tough teacher' mode.

  “I have no sympathy for Deadly Flame, but he is one example of why super humans are very careful to keep each other's personal and professional lives separate. Many of you will learn or guess the identity of active superheroes and villains as your friends come out about their powers. Lives depend on you keeping those secrets, including your own. For those of you with super powers, respecting secret identities is just the beginning of not getting personal, and you will be surprised by how many rules even hardened criminals obey. If you don't, it won't be Mourning Dove you have to fear. Your teammates, your friends, even your family, will feed you to her themselves.”

  She laid my eraser-less pencil down on the desk. Its 'click' echoed like a bell ringing as she finished. “You have the rest of the period free to think about this lesson. Some of you already know enough to help your friends understand its importance.”

  With that, Mom attempted to walk out, only to be intercepted by Cassie. This time, Cassie obstructed her with reverence, not challenge, hands clasped together and hair almost back to blonde. “Did you know I would trip?”

  Back in her hands like magic, the eraserless pencil pointed first at Cassie’s head, then at her feet, then drew an invisible line up. Clipped and businesslike, Mom answered, “You have had a growth spurt in the last six months, and your kinesthetic sense is not yet used to your longer legs and changed center of gravity. There was a two percent chance of concussion or worse trauma. That would combine observational and operant conditioning to reduce the chance of more in-class incidents by other students by sixty-nine percent. If I had taken a step forward before throwing, you would have hit the desk at a different angle, falling head-first and increasing the likelihood of injury to fifty-fifty. Despite the usefulness as a lesson, I decided that was morally unacceptable.”

  Open-mouthed, Cassie made a noise like ‘uguah.' Ray and Claire, having drifted up to join the conversation, both snickered.

  “Yes, she has numbers for everything,” I confirmed.

  Ray gave Mom a sly grin. You know, his normal expression. “Penny said once that you have a second favorite statistic.”

  That coaxed a faint smile from Mom's lips. Compared to her severe clothes and straight posture, it came across like a belly laugh. “That the demographics of hair color in people with super powers matches how non-powered people dye their hair?”

  Ray turned his grin to me, throwing in some fake awkwardness as he fibbed, “I guess I owe you five bucks.”

  Claire turned her head a little, raising one eyebrow. “Then what's your favorite statistic?”

  This time, Mom didn't keep her happiness in check at all. She inhaled deeply, puffing up with delight and a beaming grin. She laid one hand on top of my head, and answered, “One hundred percent of superheroes who publicly retired to raise a family describe their lives as 'happy.'”

  “What's your least favorite statistic?” asked Cassie.

  Mom hesitated. That got my attention. I'd hardly ever seen her do that. Come to think of it, I didn't know the answer to this question. Had I asked it?

  A little growl of frustration turned into a sneer. The fingers on my head tightened, and Mom brushed her hair back with her other hand. “If you must know, seventy-four percent of super humans with a certain combination of hair style and color have powers with a 'possession' mechanic.”

  Cassie and Ray's mouths opened, but Mom was already there, holding her hand out to warn them off. “No, I won't tell you what. That statistic exemplifies everything wrong with how people misuse numbers. Correlation is not causation. Margarine consumption and divorce rates have an almost perfect correlation, but are completely unconnected. There is no reason to suspect anything but coincidence, and that's if you take the numbers at face value. Sample size is ridiculously small, a mere nineteen individuals, too small to be meaningful. And how do you even define 'possession mechanic?' The statistic is
a bad joke.”

  They repeated the opening their mouths to talk, and Mom repeated cutting them off. “No, that's all I'm going to say about it. Attention!” She clapped her hands, and everybody looked at her. “The club for super powered children is canceled this afternoon. It is not being closed permanently, and I expect it to reopen within the week.”

  Lowering her voice, Mom looked down at me and said, “Which means I'll see you in three hours.” Her smile and a squeeze of my shoulder assured me this was not a prophecy of doom.

  She walked out the door, leaving me, Ray, Claire, and Cassie in a little group.

  Cassie ran the fingers of both hands back through her hair, and blew out a long, puffy-cheeked breath. Electricity made little crinkly noises from both gestures. “There goes the wind out of my sails. I guess adults play on a whole other level after all. It makes me realize just how tough the Inscrutable Machine must be.”

  As the leader of the adult-defeating Inscrutable Machine, I tried to restrain my urge to look smug. It helped to remember that half my victories were because the adults were overconfident and barely tried.

  Everyone else gathered into huddles, discussing Mom's warning about getting personal. The kids who weren't afraid of being suspected of super-powered relatives, like Will, had their own audiences. Marcia and her friend Sue were telling stories to some kids, Marcia confident and Sue awkward, but still doing most of the talking. Only Claudia sat alone.

  Criminy. Claudia. Marcia. Ray. Claire. Will. So many kids could have stepped in and interrupted Cassie's challenge. But there were half a dozen more kids from the club in this class. It was the class most packed with super powers that I had. That could have turned into a pitched battle and wrecked the school.

  What were the odds I'd get so lucky that my Mom would show up at that exact moment? Well, like she said, coincidences do happen.

  hree hours later, I sat at the dining room table at home. My feet dangled, since I was sitting in the really high chair that didn't match the rest of the furniture. Dad poured sticky black goo over a slab of beef in a pan, and Mom talked on the phone. Lines like “They took it well,” made me suspect she was talking about her visit to my school, especially since “No, of course she didn't kill anybody. The odds of that were lower than if I sent you,” and “She would know. She has a limited form of telepathy, based on how her power attaches itself to the human nervous system,” had to references to Mourning Dove.