by Michael Fry
The Smear was slowly sinking into the muck. Within seconds he would be sucked under. There was nothing I or anyone could do. It was all over.
And then it wasn’t.
The Smear was saved by the bell. MegaMole surfaced. The ground firmed up, so I was able to rush over and pull him out.
“What happened?” I cried.
The Smear grinned. “Pretty cool, huh?”
Norman shrieked, “NO! Not cool! None of that was in the script!”
“Hey,” said the Smear. “I lost that round like I was supposed to.” He wiped himself off and started to walk back to his corner. “So I made a few changes to the script, big deal.”
Norman chased after him. “You’re not authorized! You don’t have clearance. This is not the way this is supposed to work!”
The Smear stopped, grabbed Norman by the throat, and not so gently lifted him to eye level.
The Smear stormed off.
I ran after him. “Um… you’re still going to lose the match, right? You’re supposed to lose. You have to lose. You don’t lose, and the Truce is in jeopardy, and I may never find out what my superpower is! Tell me you’re going to lose.”
“I’m going to lose.”
“Are you just telling me that? Or are you really going to lose?”
This was getting out of control. Surely, the Smear wasn’t going to risk breaking the Truce just to prove he was the better man in tights.
“What about the Purge?” I asked. “I can’t be catapulted into space. Space is cold. Dark. It smells like wet cats. And I’ll never find out my superpower!”
The Smear smiled. “Relax. One villain going off script in Des Moines isn’t the end of the world. No, it’ll take a lot more than that.”
The third round started and I had no idea what was going to happen. Neither did Norman.
Apparently, Norman gets chatty when he gets nervous.
The third round dispensed with the circling and the insults and got right to the action. The match was scripted to go to MegaMole, but who knew what the Smear had planned.
Everyone knows that the weakest link to any super is the thumb. Take out the thumb and it’s pretty much impossible to be a super. How would you get your tights on?
Lasso Girl and the Pollinator tried to stop the battle. But it was no use. The Smear ignored them. He had MegaMole at his mercy and he wasn’t going to let him go.
“You’re mine! All mine!” crowed the Smear.
“Stop!” I yelled.
The Smear dropped the whimpering MegaMole with a thud. Then he turned and stared right through me. I felt cold. And alone. Again.
“You’re supposed to lose,” I said. “You have to lose.”
“No. It’s been twenty years. It’s time to win. For once. For me. And you.”
“But this isn’t what I want.”
“You don’t know what you want,” said the Smear as he turned back to the moaning MegaMole. “One day you’ll understand.”
Then he pounced. MegaMole tried to dig his way out, but it was no use. The Smear had him. And if someone didn’t stop him, he was going to win the battle.
And break the Truce.
I looked around. Lasso Girl and the Pollinator were backing away. Norman was hiding behind the vegetable stains. The spectators were on their feet, leaning in to watch a fake battle suddenly become very, very real.
Maybe I didn’t know what I wanted. But I sure knew what I didn’t want. And that was to have my supervillain career end before it had even started by being Purged into space because some old guy didn’t want to be a loser.
“NO!” I screamed as I sprinted toward the Smear.
My momentum bowled him over, setting MegaMole free just as the round ended.
Saved by the bell.
Again.
“Why did you do that?” cried the Smear.
“Someone had to stop you,” I yelled. “Someone had to save you from yourself.”
The Smear looked around. He suddenly seemed to realize what had almost happened. He seemed confused. Like he’d just woken up from a bad dream.
“You?” he asked.
“I’m your apprentice! You said we were in this together!”
“Victor! What did you do?” yelled Mom as she and Dad ran up. “You stopped him!”
Dad shook his head. “Why can’t you do the wrong thing? Just once?”
Wrong? I did do the wrong thing. Because it was the right thing. I think. It’s so confusing. I mean, I saved the Smear from breaking the Truce and getting us Purged. It was Mom and Dad who were wrong—or right—about me. Why couldn’t they just let me be wrong—or right—all on my own?
See! You can’t even tell the difference!
“This is all my fault,” said the Smear calmly. “I got carried away, and Victor here pulled my butt out of the fire. I’m sorry, Victor. I apologize.”
Mom shook her head. “Supervillains never apologize.”
The Smear looked at me. “Well, this one does.”
Then he knelt down so we were at eye level, and said, “Victor, as you’re finding out, being a supervillain isn’t easy.”
“True that,” said Dad.
The Smear continued, “In this fake scripted superuniverse we’re supposed to do what we’re told. Not what we feel in our hearts is the right thing to do.”
“Wrong thing,” said Mom.
“Not helping,” said the Smear.
“You want to win, but you can’t win,” I said.
The Smear nodded. “Back there I wanted to win. But you stopped me. As you should have. This is why I need an apprentice. An apprentice like you. I need you to stop me from doing something foolish.”
I blinked. Then I blinked again. What did he say?
“You need me?” I asked.
“I sure do,” said the Smear. And then he did something really weird. He hugged me. An actual hug. No air between us!
“Hey,” said Mom. “Supervillains don’t hug. It’s in the rule book. Chapter seven, paragraph fourteen: ‘Supervillains should refrain from touching at all times. Unless they’re punching, throwing, kicking, or bowling over a superhero. Then it’s okay.’”
“I don’t like this either,” said Dad. “I think we made a mistake with Mr. Smear here. He was supposed to make you into a real supervillain, not some sort of namby-pamby, softhearted snowflake. Victor, time to come home!”
I looked at my parents. If I wanted to go back home, now was the time. I could bail. No more worrying about Truces and Purges. No more supervillain apprentice. Just lots and lots of silverware to polish. Suddenly my decision was easy. I knew exactly what I needed to do.
“No?” said Dad. “You can’t say no. Well, you could if you were a bad kid. But you’re not a bad kid. You’re a good kid.”
“Much to our disappointment,” added Mom.
There was that word again. Disappointment. I kept hearing it over and over. I’d had enough. I went full junior supervillain on my parents.
My parents looked seriously confused. Like that time I gave them a pencil holder I’d made at school.
“I think he means it,” said Dad.
“I think he does,” agreed Mom.
“He stays with me,” said the Smear.
I looked up at him. “I’m staying with him.”
“But—” said Mom.
“He’s made his decision,” said Dad.
Mom said, “But he NEVER makes decisions!”
I said, “Say good-bye to Indecisive Boy, say hello to the Decision Kid.”
“I think we need to workshop some other names,” said the Smear.
“Oh, okay,” I said.
“Come, let’s go, dear,” said Dad.
Mom started to give me another air hug, then stopped. She looked a little sad, though it was hard to tell with the mask.
They walked to the edge of the railroad yard, where Anvil Head’s space plane was waiting. Anvil Head waved at me. I waved back. Mom and Dad boarded the plane and took of
f.
Leaving me with the Smear.
My pal. My buddy.
Someone who needed me.
Now what?
I’d just sent my parents packing, and now I was stuck with a sort of cool, slightly insane, mostly messy… superish-villainish dude.
Maybe it was too late, but I decided to take inventory and list the pros and cons of my situation.
Hmm… not exactly a rousing endorsement.
The bigger problem was what exactly was going on with the Smear. Was it just about winning? Was he trying to bring on the Purge? Or was he just standing up for supervillains everywhere? And what was the deal with that superdude in the shark-cloud space plane who attacked us? Who was he and what did he want? Was he trying to stop the Smear, or did he have some other secret agenda?
Why all the secret agendas? Does anyone have an obvious agenda? Like one they could put on a sweatshirt?
Too much uncertainty. Despite the whole Decision Kid thing, I still don’t do well with uncertainty. I’m one of those where-are-we-going-when-are-we-going-to-get-there-what’s-going-to-happen-when-we-do kind of people.
“Uh-oh,” said the Smear.
We were cleaning up after the battle, bottling up the stains, putting away the weapons, feeding the mice (they only eat lasagna, go figure), when the Pollinator and Lasso Girl walked up.
The Smear said, “This can’t be good.”
They looked upset. But, as it turned out, not with us.
“Against our recommendations,” said the Pollinator, “the DSV has decided in its infinite wisdom to promote you to Supervillain First Class.”
“It seems your off-script ad-libs proved entertaining to the crowd,” added Lasso Girl.
The Pollinator said, “You got over a million views on SuperBattles.com already!”
“A million?” said the Smear.
“Wait,” I said. “This whole thing was being shown live online?”
Lasso Girl said, “Of course. All the battles are streamed. Even the minor leagues.”
“But no minor-league event has ever gotten this much attention,” said the Pollinator.
I checked my Phlitter feed. @TheRealSmear had followers. Not a lot. But it was a start.
“You’re blowing up,” I cried.
“I like to blow stuff up,” said the Smear with a smile.
“The DSV wants you to fight a series of battles leading up to a rematch with MegaMole,” said the Pollinator.
Lasso Girl added, “Battles you will win.”
“Oh? Tell me more,” said the Smear.
They told us we were going to battle in Omaha, Sioux Falls, and Fargo, then back in Des Moines. Not exactly the big time, but it was a start.
Huh. Sometimes things work out for the best. Maybe worrying about what was going to happen next was a waste of time. Maybe it was about trust. Or faith. Or something.
Whatever it was, I knew one thing: Hanging out with the Smear beat hanging out at home any day.
It was my parents. I didn’t answer.
“Who was that?” asked the Smear.
“Nobody,” I said.
Before we packed up all the gear and headed to Omaha, I decided to try on my black hat and see if anything fizzed, or sizzled, or rippled, or something.
Oh, well, maybe next time.
The trip to Omaha was uneventful. The mice didn’t end up in the front seat once.
A couple of times I thought I saw Anvil Head’s space plane following us, but it turned out to be a reflection from the mice’s sunglasses in the backseat.
There was a moment there when I was happy my parents might be following. But then I thought, No, I’m on my own now. I don’t need their help. I’m tight with the coolest supervillain of all time.
Never mind.
After several hours of unfortunate rapping, we finally arrived the next day at an abandoned racetrack in Omaha.
MegaMole and Octavia were there too. We weren’t scheduled to fight MegaMole until the rematch. In the meantime we would be fighting other superheroes.
I walked over to Octavia. “Hey,” I said.
She stared at the ground. “Hey.”
“What’s wrong?”
“What isn’t wrong?”
“Huh?”
“You and I are sidekicks to the lamest supers in the world.”
“Actually, we’re not sidekicks,” I said. “That would be a step up.”
“Not helping,” said Octavia as she pointed to the grandstand.
“Your parents?” I asked.
Octavia gave them a halfhearted wave. “How can I miss them if they never go away?”
“You could just tell them to go away.”
“Like that’ll work.”
“It worked for me.”
“Wait. Your parents are gone? How?”
“I just said, ‘Go away.’ But louder. And there may have been some fist shaking.”
“And they just left?”
“They weren’t happy about it. I think it caught them off guard. I guess they didn’t think I had it in me. But since I’ve been on the road with the Smear, I’ve changed.”
She paused and looked at me like she really wanted to know. “Changed? Changed how?”
“I’m on the verge of being decisive. I got into three arguments yesterday, I absolutely insisted on gluten-free mac ’n’ cheese…and the old me would never have worn the same pair of socks two days in a row. Now?”
“I know!” I said.
Octavia looked up at her parents again. “Please leave,” she whispered.
“They’re hopeless.”
“They’re parents.”
Say hello to the Smear’s next opponent:
Yeah. That guy.
The Smear told me Mr. Fu’s real name is Abner Reynolds. Back in the day he was thinner and hairier, and packed a mean kick. But now?
Not so much.
Meanwhile, great news! No more water-boy duty for this kid. I was promoted to big-boy apprentice. My duties included…
The cheerleading wasn’t really necessary, since the Smear absolutely destroyed Mr. Fu.
The crowd loved it, but Norman from the Authority had a different reaction. He marched up to the Smear and barked, “You were supposed to win, not embarrass the man.”
“You’re kidding. Look at him,” said the Smear. “The embarrassment train left the station a long time ago.”
The Smear stormed off. I followed and caught up with him.
“What’s going on?” I said.
The Smear stopped and turned to me. “I won.”
“Yeah, that’s good, right?”
“It doesn’t feel good. It feels fake.”
“Well, it is fake.”
He said, “I know, but I thought I could pretend it was real. I thought it didn’t matter that it was fake. But it does matter. It matters a lot.”
I stopped. “It doesn’t matter to me.”
“What?”
“None of this is about fake battles. It’s about showing that supervillains matter. That you can’t have a good guy without a bad guy. That supervillains are awesome!”
“You think I’m awesome?”
I nodded.
The Smear’s eyes popped. “Whoa.”
I continued, “I mean, when you’re not yelling at me or feeling sorry for yourself, you’re pretty cool.”
The Smear stood there for a second. Then he put his hand on my shoulder (AGAIN!) and smiled. “Thanks, kid. You’re pretty awesome yourself.”
My phone rang. It was my parents again. They wanted to FaceTime.
I didn’t answer.
“Hey,” said Octavia.
“Hey,” I said.
I was packing up the stains. Hosing down the bomber. Herding the mice. Getting ready to leave for the next gig, in Sioux Falls.
Octavia asked, “Can I help?”
“Don’t you have stuff to do for MegaMole?”
“Like what? Shave his back?”
“Gross.�
��
“MegaMole is pretty low maintenance. He doesn’t really need an apprentice. He’s probably just doing it as a favor to my parents.”
“They’re still around?”
“You want me to tell ’em to get lost?”
“Oh, please, big strong boy. Come to my rescue before I melt into a puddle of spineless goo.”
“You’re being sarcastic.”
“You think? No. I can handle my parents. But there is something you can do for me.”
“What?” I asked.
“Let’s swap places in the rematch,” said Octavia. “You apprentice for Squinty, and I’ll back up Mr. Smelly-Pants.”
“We can’t do that. It’s against the rules!”
“Who cares about the rules? Just loan me your costume. They’ll never know.”
“Wait,” I said. “You said all this super stuff was lame.”
Octavia shrugged. “I did. But at least your guy kicks major butt. He’s crazy, but in an insane way. He’s dangerlicious.”
“Is that a thing?”
“It is now. So what do you say?”
“Wait,” she said. “Aren’t you in training to be a supervillain? As in bad, terrible, untrustworthy, sneaky, and evil?”
She had a point. But then again the Smear wasn’t any of those things. Even though he was a supervillain. Sort of.
I was confused.
