How to Be a Supervillain

by Michael Fry

  “The Smear’s secret lair,” I said. “They can’t go after Mr. Awesome until he creates the superstain.”

  Mrs. Sparkle said, “We should warn Mr. Awesome.”

  Octavia’s mom took out her cell phone, put it on speaker, and dialed.

  “Press one for English, two for Spanish,” chirped the phone.

  Mrs. Sparkle pressed one.

  “Listen carefully to the prompts, as our menu has changed,” said the phone. “Press one for emergency earthquakes, tsunamis, and alien invasions. Press two for evil-lair extermination. Press three for supermarket openings and school visits. Press four for the end of the world. Press five for a signed photo. Press six to hear this menu again. Press zero to talk to a customer service representative.”

  Mrs. Sparkle pressed zero.

  “We appreciate your call. All of our operators are busy with other customers. Your wait time is approximately…

  And they let these people operate space planes.

  “So this is the Smear’s secret lair?” said my dad.

  “Nothing says secret lair like the Willows of Forestbrook,” said Mom.

  “Which apartment is it?” asked Mr. Sparkle.

  My mom pointed. “I’m thinking that one.”

  “What’s the plan?” I asked.

  “Just follow me,” said Mrs. Sparkle as she took the scenic route to the apartment.

  “Or we could take the stairs,” said my mom.

  With that, the rest of us sensibly climbed the stairs and gathered in front of the Smear’s door. Some of us were a bit more winded than others.

  “Who’s going to break down the door?” asked Mr. Sparkle.

  “I would, but I just had shoulder surgery,” said my dad.

  “If only we had Anvil Head,” said Mom. “He’s really handy in these situations.”

  “But then he just hangs around with nothing to do,” said Mrs. Sparkle.

  “We could knock,” I offered.

  “Knock? Supervillains don’t knock,” said Mom.

  “Which is why you villains have no respect for privacy,” said Mrs. Sparkle.

  “Privacy is for wimps!” cried Dad.

  “I’m knocking,” I said.

  I knocked. The door moved. I pushed it open to reveal the aftermath of a smear-stained Armageddon. It looked like a dragon had barfed after eating a bad knight.

  “Octavia!” called Mrs. Sparkle.

  “I’ll check the bedroom and the closets,” said Mom.

  “WAIT!” I shouted. “It could be booby-trapped!”

  Everyone took a step back.

  Mrs. Sparkle pointed to Mr. Sparkle’s elbow. “Those stains never wash out.”

  “I need something to roll into the room, see if it trips anything,” I said.

  Mom reached into her cloak. “How about this?”

  “What?” she said. “You never know when you’ll need a bowling ball.”

  Mr. Sparkle pointed inside the apartment. “Wait. Look!”

  A stain-splattered cat sat staring at us. Without incident.

  “I think we’ll be fine,” said Mr. Sparkle.

  We all stepped into the apartment and began to search. There was nothing. No Smear. No Octavia and no superstain.

  “Where did they go?” asked Mrs. Sparkle.

  I hadn’t a clue until I looked up.

  “It’s the Bostocalypse all over again,” said Dad. “They destroyed the city once. Now they’re going to destroy it again. And destroy all the supers in the process.”

  “We’re doomed!” cried Mom.

  I sprinted out of the apartment. “Not if we hurry.”

  After convincing the Sparkles that ride sharing was both environmentally correct and, more importantly, cheaper, we all boarded Anvil Head’s space plane and headed to Boston.

  We were somewhere over Ohio, hitting Mach 8, when Mrs. Sparkle asked, “How are we going to find Octavia in a big city like Boston?”

  Good question. She could be anywhere, with or without the Smear and Dr. Deplorable. But I had an idea.

  I took out my phone and started searching. “We know the battle will be at that big park in the middle of the city.”

  “Boston Common,” said Dad.

  “Right,” I continued. “So it’s logical to assume they’re staying somewhere nearby. Ah, here it is.”

  Mr. Sparkle said, “What makes you think we’ll find them there?”

  “Free self-serve breakfast. The Smear loves to make his own waffles.”

  “Yeah, Phil really likes his waffles,” said my dad.

  “Who’s Phil?” I said.

  “The Smear,” said Dad. “His real name is Phil. Phil Huluwitski.”

  “I didn’t know that Phil was the Smear,” said Mom. “Why didn’t I recognize him?”

  “It’s the mask. And, you know, the weight gain,” said Dad.

  “You knew the Smear?” I asked.

  Dad said, “We grew up with him. Down the street. Who were his parents again?”

  “The Malevolent Horde. Ray and Liz,” said Mom.

  “Ah, that’s right. You wouldn’t think two could make a horde, but Ray and Liz made it work,” said Dad.

  “Phil was a strange child,” said Mom. “So polite and helpful. Used to drive his parents nuts. Kind of like…

  Wait. Phil was like me? No, it couldn’t be. The Smear was a treacherous liar who’d betrayed my trust (and stolen my tears). He was nothing like me!

  “That means there’s hope for Victor,” said Mom.

  Dad said, “How so?”

  “Well, Phil was a good kid who grew up to be the evil Smear. Sure, he had a rocky start, but now look at him! He’s on his way to take down Mr. Awesome and take over the world.”

  “Hey, you’re right,” said Dad, nodding.

  “No, you’re not right,” I said. “We’ve been over this. The Smear and Dr. Deplorable are putting all of us at risk of being Purged with their stupid takedown of Mr. Awesome. It doesn’t matter if he was a good or bad kid. All that matters is what he’s doing right now!”

  “Oh, right,” said Mom. “I keep forgetting.”

  “You have to admit the good-bad/bad-good thing is a bit confusing,” added Dad. “And unsettling. I mean, look at us cooperating and sharing a ride with you know who.”

  “Superheroes,” Mom whispered.

  Mom smiled. “No offense.”

  Mrs. Sparkle smiled. “Tons taken.”

  This whole plan was doomed. What was I thinking, trying to team up heroes and villains to do something positive, something proactive, something useful? I wasn’t good. Or bad. I was nuts!

  I answered, “Hello?”

  A very familiar voice on the other end said, “Hey, um, Victor? Hey, it’s me, Octavia. I… um…

  “You’re not supposed to be using a cell phone on a plane. It messes with the electronics,” said Mrs. Sparkle.

  “That’s a myth,” said my dad. “They tell you that so you won’t spend all your time on the phone instead of paying $9.99 to watch the in-flight movie: Fatman Versus Überman.”

  “What a stupid premise,” said my mom. “I mean, seriously, Überman is made of carbon fiber and hate, and Fatman is made of, you know, fat.”

  “QUIET!” I yelled. Then back to the phone. “Octavia, is that you?”

  “Octavia!” screamed Mrs. Sparkle. “My baby!”

  Octavia said, “Tell my mother I’m not a baby.”

  I turned to Mrs. Sparkle. “She says she’s not a baby.”

  “Okay, dear,” said Mrs. Sparkle. “You’re a confused tween who’s in completely over her head.”

  “Let’s stick with baby,” said Octavia.

  “Where are you? We’re coming to get you,” I said.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “They blindfolded me. All I can tell you is it smells like waffles.”

  I smiled. “I know exactly where you are.”

  “I’m scared,” said Octavia.

  “I know,” I said. “We’ll
be there soon.”

  She whispered, “Someone’s coming. Gotta go.”

  And she hung up.

  “Is she okay? Where is she? Why didn’t she want to talk to us?” asked Mrs. Sparkle.

  I said, “She had to go. She’s fine. She’s exactly where I thought she would be.”

  “Where did she get a phone?” said my dad.

  “Super question,” I said.

  Mom said, “Maybe they let her call us so we’d come and they could ambush us.”

  “Or,” said Mr. Sparkle, “they forced Octavia to make the call and put a trace on the phone to find out exactly where we are.”

  “Someone’s firing at us!” I yelled.

  I rushed to the cockpit to see Dr. Deplorable’s shark-cloud space plane blasting lasers our way.

  Anvil Head took evasive action, but the laser fire was relentless.

  Anvil Head shouted, “The shields! They can’t take much more!”

  “We’re going down,” I said softly.

  “What?” yelled Mrs. Sparkle.

  I screamed, “We’re going down!”

  “No! That is completely unacceptable,” she said. “Out of my way. I’m taking over the controls!”

  Mrs. Sparkle pushed past me to the cockpit. “This is my plane now,” she barked. “Watch and learn.”

  Anvil Head let go of the stick, and Mrs. Sparkle took a seat and put the space plane into a steep dive.

  Mrs. Sparkle said, “We have to fly low, where they’ll be forced to think about collateral damage.”

  “You can’t use civilians for cover,” said Mr. Sparkle.

  My mom rolled her eyes. “Superheroes and their rules.”

  “No worries,” said Mrs. Sparkle. “Where we’re going, there are no civilians.”

  We were flying at treetop level now over a heavily wooded area. No towns. No roads. No civilians. Any second now Dr. Deplorable was going to realize he could fire at will.

  “Where is it? Where is it? Bingo! There it is,” cried Mrs. Sparkle.

  I pointed. “Um, that’s a waterfall. And we’re headed straight toward it.”

  Mrs. Sparkle nodded. “Uh-huh. Now be a good dear and brace for impact.”

  We were alive. But I couldn’t see a thing. “Where are we?” I asked.

  “I didn’t know heroes had secret lairs,” said Mom.

  Mr. Sparkle said, “If you knew, then it wouldn’t be a secret lair, would it?”

  “It’s just I always thought your type masqueraded as civilians,” said Mom. “You know, reporters, billionaires, Norse gods, golf pros.”

  “Don’t believe everything you read,” said Mrs. Sparkle. “But you’re right about the golf pros.”

  “I knew it,” said Mom.

  As secret lairs went, it was pretty cool. It checked off all your basic secret-lair furnishings. There were stacks of ammunition (sparklers), spare costumes, a lot of really old blinking and buzzing computers, a doomsday clock (no secret lair is complete without a doomsday clock), and a surprisingly not-too-lame Sparklemobile.

  Something’s missing,” said my mom.

  “No minions,” said Dad.

  Mr. Sparkle sighed. “We call them superspecial helpers.”

  Dad said, “That could explain why they’re all gone.”

  “We had to lay them off after the Truce,” said Mrs. Sparkle. “Poor dears. A lot of them ended up in day care. I don’t know why.”

  “Now what?” I said. “We’re still not in Boston.”

  “Aerial robot recon,” said Mrs. Sparkle as she went over to a computer monitor and started typing.

  After a few seconds an invisible door slid open and a flying blender emerged.

  It started to rap. “Whip is my name. Betta than James. I got me some game. So don’t be all lame. When you shower me with fame.”

  “We got it on sBay,” explained Mrs. Sparkle. “It has three vocal settings: hip-hop, middle school vice principal, and heartless British villain.”

  “Not a lot of good choices there,” I remarked.

  Mrs. Sparkle continued poking at the keyboard. “Since they now know we’re coming, we’re going to need Whip to fly into Boston, scope out the terrain, and put eyes on Octavia.”

  “How long is that going to take?” I asked.

  Dad asked, “Where’s the little villains’ room?”

  “Down the hall, right past the Wall of Shame,” said Mr. Sparkle.

  Mrs. Sparkle said, “So, Victor, you’re sure they’re at the Vacation Inn Express?”

  “Follow the waffles,” I said.

  “Gotcha. We now have live video from Boston Common,” said Mrs. Sparkle.

  We watched on the monitor as Whip entered a hotel.

  “There he is!” I shouted.

  Mrs. Sparkle punched at the keyboard, and Whip responded by ducking down under a chair. Meanwhile, the Smear gave up with the desk clerk and headed toward the elevator. Whip followed at a safe distance. We watched the Smear get into the elevator. As the doors closed, Whip tilted up. The elevator stopped at the fourth floor.

  “How’s Whip going to get up there?” I asked.

  “The stairs?” said Mr. Sparkle.

  Whip moved to the stairwell. But there was a door blocking his way.

  I said, “Now what—”

  I nodded. “That works.”

  Whip zoomed up the stairs and blasted through the door to the fourth floor. He turned down the hall just as a door was closing.

  “Octavia has to be in there,” said Mr. Sparkle.

  “We’ll find out in a second,” said Mrs. Sparkle.

  Whip flew down the hall to where the door had closed. He tilted up. There was an air-conditioning vent.

  Whip blasted through the vent and into the air duct. He flew slowly, looking for a vent to the room.

  “Oops, upside down,” said Mrs. Sparkle as she flipped the image.

  “There she is!” cried Mr. and Mrs. Sparkle.

  “She’s not tied up,” I said.

  “She doesn’t look like a hostage,” said Mom.

  “She looks… um…

  We arrived at the hotel in the Sparklemobile. We covered up the detailing so we’d be more inconspicuous.

  We staked out the hotel and waited. In the meantime, the parents argued.

  After what seemed (and was) hours, we finally saw the Smear and Dr. Deplorable exit the hotel.

  “There they are!” said Mom.

  “They’re certainly chummy,” noted Mrs. Sparkle.

  They weren’t just chummy—they were pals, besties, friends!

  Stupid superjerks.

  We watched them walk down the street and enter a Starbucks. I knew they’d be in there a while, because coffee makes the Smear go and he likes a clean restroom.

  “Okay, let’s go,” said Dad. “I’ll be the lookout while the rest of you go get Octavia.”

  Mrs. Sparkle’s eyes narrowed. “How can we trust you?”

  “Hello, you’ll have my son,” said Dad.

  I gave Mrs. Sparkle a little wave.

  Mrs. Sparkle said, “So you hold us hostage and we hold you hostage.”

  “Right. It’s called trust,” said Mom.

  “Trust you?” said Mr. Sparkle.

  “Look, you and us, we’re not that different,” said Dad. “Sure, we’re villains. We like to conquer, enslave, and destroy. You’re heroes. You like to serve, protect, and give your reconobot a stupid name. But at the end of the day we’re just two sides of the same—”

  “Coin,” I said.

  “Right,” said Dad. “A coin that’s made of loyalty, trust, and super-high-quality butt-kicking.”

  “I get it,” said Mrs. Sparkle. “We’re heads and you’re tails.”

  “No,” said Mom. “We’re heads and you’re tails.”

  I’d had enough. While the parents bickered, I slipped out of the van and ran into the hotel. I entered the elevator and punched the button for the fourth floor. The doors opened, and I turned and walked
down the hall. I stopped in front of Octavia’s room and…

  “Octavia, are you okay?” I asked.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” she said.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Gee, you’re hanging out with two world-destroying superlosers and you just arranged an attack on your own parents.”

  “What?”

  “Your phone call. It was traced to our space plane. Dr. Deplorable sent one of his goons to shoot us down.”

  Octavia was incredulous. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not. We had to ditch in your parents’ secret lair.”

  “Joe and Phil would never do that. We’re teammates. They need me.”

  “I see you’re on a first-name basis.”

  “They’re good bad guys. I’m like them. They’re like me. I can’t help that I was born to good parents. For once in my life I feel like I belong. No. You’re not going to take that away from me with your lies. That phone call was just a joke.”

  “They’re using you, Octavia. They’re using you to lure us in and get rid of us so they can superstain Mr. Awesome, break the Truce, destroy the Authority, and take over the world!”

  “It’s not true!” yelled Octavia.

  “It is true,” said a voice behind us.

  We spun around.

  “It can’t be!” said Octavia.

  “Of course it is,” laughed the Smear. “You were just a means to an end. You don’t think we actually needed you.”