Geeks, Girls, and Secret Identities

by Mike Jung

  The street was full of people getting back into their cars, or trying to find their cars, but a lot of other people were just going back into whatever building they came from. We ran to my house—Spud’s is on Bendis Avenue, six blocks east of my house and fourteen blocks from the bird-turd-stained apartment building where Max lives with his crazy grandmother and alcoholic father.

  When we got to my house we ran behind it to the garage, aka club headquarters, went inside, and turned on the news. Patty Suarez, daredevil helicopter journalist and Stupendous tracker extraordinaire, was reporting from downtown Copperplate City, where Captain Stupendous was … nowhere in sight?

  “The question on everybody’s mind is this: Where is Captain Stupendous? Authorities say that this so-called Professor Mayhem may very well be an entirely new supervillain, but Captain Stupendous clearly had the giant robot on the defensive—it was only by hurling a bystander into the air that the robot was able to escape.”

  The camera cut to a clip of the robot blasting off from the battle site, taking another chunk out of the SuperSuites Hotel on its way.

  Huh. Where was Stupendous?

  “Where did he go?” I said in a high-pitched voice.

  We all slumped down in our chairs. The camera went back to Patty Suarez.

  “It’s highly unusual that Captain Stupendous hasn’t reappeared to make a statement about the incident. When we return: Nora Fischer is at city hall, reporting on the Copperplate Police Department’s response to the incident….”

  George hit the mute button. We’re the kind of guys who don’t talk in school, or in crowds, or at parties. Not that we ever go to parties. But around each other we never shut up. So it was a lot quieter than usual.

  “This is different,” George finally said. “Where did he go?”

  Fan club headquarters used to be at George’s house, but George’s mom is … well, weird. She’s into meditation and folk dancing, and music that’s performed with trash can lids and all this other bizarre stuff, and she always tried to hang out with us. Who wants to hang out with their friend’s mom all the time?

  That was when I convinced my mom to let us use our garage as club headquarters. It’s totally separate from the house, so it’s harder for Mom to bust in on us (she still does it, though). It used to be Dad’s home office, so it has its own bathroom and Internet and cable TV and everything. It also has one couch, one set of bunk beds, three overstuffed chairs, one round table, two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a huge collection of die-cast metal figurines, and another huge collection of action figures, including the fourteen-inch Captain Stupendous Statue with Kung-fu Grip.

  “I guess they didn’t find your girlfriend yet,” Max said.

  “They probably did, but you know they never show rescued kids on TV,” I said. “And she’s not my girlfriend.”

  “He totally disappeared,” Max said.

  “HE DID NOT DISAPPEAR!” I said. “He … he did….”

  “Relax, man,” Max said. “There’s gotta be an explanation.”

  That was a dumb suggestion. How could I relax after Stupendous disappeared like that?

  I got up and went to the bookshelves, grabbed my gyroscope off the top shelf and brought it to the table.

  “Dreidel time,” Max said.

  “It’s not a dreidel,” I said. “It’s a gyroscope.” I wound a string around the gyroscope’s axle, pulled hard, and put it on the table to spin.

  “It’s more like a security blanket,” George said.

  “Dude, it just helps me feel calm. Don’t be a hater.”

  “If you want a dreidel, I have a bunch at home,” Max said.

  “Why would I want one of your leftover dreidels?” I said.

  “They’re not leftovers, they’re just extras. I don’t need ’em, it’s not like we actually celebrate holidays at my house.”

  “Oh, so they’re sad, depressing dreidels. Even worse.”

  “It could be worse,” George said. “My mom made hummus and pita bread for Thanksgiving last year. There was no turkey in sight anywhere.”

  “No, it couldn’t be worse.” Max shook his head. “Why do you think I hang out with you guys all the time?”

  “Hey, there’s your dad,” George said, pointing at the TV.

  “Yeah, that’s him,” I said. “Turn the sound back on.” As the gyroscope slowed down it fell over with a rattle. I slapped my hand on it to stop the noise.

  “Geez, I wish my dad was on TV.” George had his lost-puppy-dog expression on—big, wide eyes, eyebrows turned down at the outside corners, and mouth in a straight line.

  “—thank my colleagues for their unwavering support,” my dad said. “Receiving the Kobayashi Genius Grant is a singular honor—”

  As usual, it was both cool and bizarre to see my dad on TV. That’s my dad, you know? My dad’s on TV and your dad’s not!

  My dad is Raymond Wu—big-shot scientist, college professor, and adviser to the president. And I, the son of the big-shot scientist, am way into role-playing games, science fiction, and Captain Stupendous.

  “Remember that time Mr. Grossman found out who your dad was and asked me if you were adopted?” George said.

  “Which was not even a little funny,” Max said.

  “They should fire teachers for saying crap like that,” I said. “Fire them, then maybe kick them in the shins.”

  My mom and dad got divorced when I was two, so I don’t remember ever living in the same house with him. Every time Dad comes to pick me up for a weekend or holiday, he and Mom cross their arms a lot, snort, and say things like “accountability” and “outcomes.” I’m never exactly sure what they’re talking about.

  “It’s pretty cool that he invented superstrong fishing line,” George said. “Or whatever it’s actually called.”

  “Carbon nanotube monofilaments,” I said.

  “Superstrong fishing line,” George said again.

  “Basically, yeah,” I said. “Dude, Stupendous always talks to the reporters when a new villain shows up! Where did he go?”

  “Why don’t we ask your girlfriend?” Max said.

  “SHE’S NOT—she’s—wait, that might actually work.”

  “If Stupendous actually rescued her.” George used a fake vampire voice, so he actually sounded like “Eef Stoo-PEN-dos AH-chewully RRRES-kyood her.”

  “He rescued her,” I said.

  “If he didn’t, she’d be on the news,” George said. “They don’t care about showing dead kids on TV.”

  “I think my blood just ran cold.” Max showed George his arm. “Look, I actually have goose bumps.”

  “Guys, SHE GOES TO OUR SCHOOL,” I said. “Aren’t you, I don’t know … worried or whatever?”

  That part came out a little louder than I thought it would, and the room went quiet for a few seconds while George and Max looked at me.

  “Vincent, I didn’t …” George spread his hands apart and looked at Max with his eyes wide open. “I was just kidding around, right?”

  “Seriously, Vincent,” Max said. “You know George….” He held up his hand and flapped it open and shut like a bird beak.

  “Yeah, I know, it’s just, you know, a little bit creepy.” I suddenly felt embarrassed. I coughed a couple of times, loudly, and looked down at my hands, which made my hair flop into my eyes. Max and George started pushing around their chairs and coughing too.

  “Anyway, I guess we’ll find out soon enough, huh?” Max held out his hand, stuck his thumb out sideways, then slowly twisted his arm until the thumb pointed down.

  “Oh right, I had, like, eight seconds of happiness where I forgot,” I said. “We have school tomorrow.”

  The earth didn’t fall into the sun, so, yep, we did have to go to school the next day. As usual, King Kirby Middle School was like a jungle full of man-eating tigers, only the tigers are other kids who’re bigger and meaner than you are.

  “Hey, Vincent, she’s alive—and in school!” George said. He tried to be all
secret about it by not looking, but he totally gave it away by pointing over his shoulder, right in the direction he wasn’t looking.

  “Stop pointing, you pinhead!” Max smacked George’s hand. “She might see you!”

  “Don’t call me pinhead, man.” George smacked Max’s hand back. For just a second I felt, I don’t know, like I wanted to be smacked too, but then I saw Polly and forgot about it.

  Captain Stupendous has rescued a ton of people, but this was the first time he’d rescued someone at Kirby since I’d been there, and people rescued by Captain Stupendous automatically become a little bit famous themselves. That made me want to have Polly be my girlfriend even more, actually.

  “Uh-oh, Official Boy is talking to her,” Max said. “You want me to take him out, Vincent?”

  Max likes offering to beat people up for me, which would be nice if it wasn’t so annoying. In first grade Max got his underwear caught in the zipper of his pants without knowing it and walked around like that all day. I was the only one who told him about it; everybody else just made fun of him behind his back. Max has considered himself my bodyguard ever since then, which always reminds me that as we got older, he got taller and more muscle-bound, while I actually got more runty.

  “You never offer to beat people up for me,” George said.

  “That’s because I think you can do it yourself,” Max said.

  “Oh thanks,” I said.

  “Vincent, look at George! He’s, like, eight feet taller than you!”

  “Meaning what?”

  Polly came walking down the hall, with Scott the Annoying Kid next to her.

  “… so if you need any advice or anything, I’ve totally helped out other people who’ve been rescued by Stupendous. It’s just part of being the president of the Official Captain …”

  “Boy, it’s just our luck that he goes to school here.” I scratched my head.

  “Who cares?” Max said.

  “Not us,” George said.

  “Oh, I don’t care either,” I said hastily. “I’m just saying….”

  What a bunch of liars, right?

  I tried not to look directly at Polly or Scott or anybody, but I sneaked a look out of the corner of my eye. Max was right, Polly wasn’t even looking at Official Boy. She passed us (without looking over at me like I secretly hoped she would) and stopped about twenty lockers down from us.

  “So yeah, I was thinking it’d be cool if you came by club headquarters and told the full membership about your experience,” Scott babbled in Polly’s direction. “It’d be fun, right? And—”

  “No,” Polly cut him off.

  “Oh, come on, you know you want to.”

  Aaagh, I hate it when people say that.

  “Sorry, I don’t,” Polly snapped. “I have … other stuff to do.” She pulled a book out of her locker, looked at it, and tossed it back in.

  “Seriously, it’ll be awesome!” Geez, he just wouldn’t give up. “I think you totally need to come hang out with us.”

  “Totally not.” Polly kicked her locker shut. “Look, do you mind not—”

  “POLLY WINNICOTT-LEE.”

  Uh-oh. Mr. Castle (aka Evil Vice Principal Castle) came down the hall. He moved amazingly fast for such a squat, round person—his whole butt swiveled around when he walked. When VP Castle was a kid he probably didn’t like school any more than we did, but then he went over to the dark side and became a vice principal to get revenge on the kids of the future. That’s just wrong.

  “Miss Winnicott-Lee, are you aware that you missed a scheduled appointment with Ms. Dryden on Friday?” Mr. Castle waved his clipboard vaguely toward the other side of the school.

  “Yes,” Polly said, stopping but not turning around. Oooh, the girl was seriously playing with fire. She crossed her arms and stood there with her feet apart, looking ready for a fight.

  “Uh, yeah, I’ll catch you later, Polly,” Scott said. He tried (and failed) to look totally casual about leaving, sticking his hands in his pockets and walking away with a little bounce in his step.

  “YES?” Mr. Castle raised his eyebrows, which makes it look like somebody just pinched his butt or something, but it’s scary just because he can give detention. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Miss Winnicott-Lee.”

  Polly slowly turned around and looked at Mr. Castle, kind of. She was actually looking past his shoulder—I could tell, because for just a second we made eye contact, and Mr. Castle’s shoulder was almost in front of her face.

  I looked down.

  “I’d think you could use Ms. Dryden’s services even more than usual today, Miss Winnicott-Lee, considering your … exploits over the weekend.”

  “Talking to Ms. Dryden’s a big waste of time,” Polly said. “She’s all …” Polly lifted one finger and twirled it around and around.

  Mr. Castle brought his clipboard down fast and smacked it against the side of his leg, WHAP! George and I totally jumped. Max did his crazy waving-his-arms-in-the-air thing.

  Polly didn’t even flinch.

  “Come with me, young lady. RIGHT NOW.”

  Polly walked past Mr. Castle with a bored look on her face, and as he turned around to follow her she rolled her eyes. She looked at me for a second and looked away, then did a double take and looked at me again with wide eyes.

  “Eyes ahead,” snapped Mr. Castle. He glared at us as the two of them went by. “You gentlemen need to get to class before some consequences are levied, don’t you?”

  Max, George, and I all looked off in different directions as he spoke, but we also pushed away from the lockers and headed off toward our next class.

  “That girl’s got anger management problems,” George said. “You know she totally beat up Kelly Smirnoff last year, right?”

  “That was just a rumor,” I said.

  “Totally not a rumor, I saw it,” Max said. “And why was she looking at your shirt? It sure wasn’t because of your muscle-bound chest.” He whapped me on the chest with the back of his hand, just in case I didn’t notice the original insult. I whacked his hand away and looked down at my shirt.

  PRESIDENT OF THE CAPTAIN STUPENDOUS FAN CLUB.

  “You’re not the president, you know,” George said as we went around a corner.

  “What are you talking about? We voted on it, remember?”

  “We just did that because you wanted to, Vincent,” Max said. “It doesn’t actually mean anything.”

  “It totally means something!”

  “Vincent, I’m the treasurer.” Max thumped himself on the chest with a closed fist. “But it doesn’t matter, since we don’t have any money.”

  “My mom told me about this thing called shared governance—the public radio station runs that way—it’s where nobody gets to tell anybody else what to do and everybody has the same—OOF!”

  It was actually “OOF” in stereo—I said it too when Scott and a couple of his Official Fan Club goons stampeded right through the middle of us. One of the goons bounced off Max and had to tilt his shoulder to get by, but George and I went flying like bowling pins.

  “Out of the way, sidekicks,” Scott said, but then he did a double take and looked at my shirt. I swear, that shirt NEVER got so much attention before.

  “President of the Captain Stupendous Fan Club? That’s a joke, right? I’m president of the Official Captain Stupendous Fan Club, and you guys aren’t in it.”

  “There’s no ‘official’ in our name,” I muttered.

  “What’s up, Max?” Official Boy said. “Why you hanging around with these losers?”

  Max just crossed his arms and stared.

  “Oh, that’s right, it’s because you’re a freak!” Scott started laughing like he’d said the funniest thing in the history of things being funny. His buddies cracked up too, and they walked away, cackling like idiot hyenas.

  “I can’t believe you actually used to hang out with him,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, that’s one reason I quit the football t
eam.”

  “Weirdest year ever,” George said. “You were never around.”

  It sucked, was what I wanted to say. “Finally George and I got some peace and quiet,” was what I actually said.

  “It sucked,” George said.

  “Dude, don’t get all sappy.” Max reached up and rubbed George’s hair, which should have looked funny since George is taller.

  “Seriously, Polly can’t be into a guy like that, can she?” If she was, I’d just have to kill myself.

  “Forget about him, Vincent,” Max said.

  “Oh gee whiz, thanks for the advice, Dad.”

  “Dude, you have bigger things to worry about right now,” George said.

  Which was totally true, because we’d gotten to room 226, where we had history class, and where I was due up to give a report. Orally. In front of the whole class.

  We shuffled in and took our usual seats: right side of the classroom, George and I against the wall (with George in front), and Max next to me. The rest of the zoo animals were already in their seats, which was NOT the usual thing. I scrunched my head down into my neck as we slid into our seats, but it was too late—Mrs. Burnell (our history teacher) spoke up before I could actually get into my seat.

  “This is unlike you, Mr. Wu.” I actually like Mrs. Burnell (she smells good, and no, I’m never gonna say that out loud to anyone) but she hates it when people are late to class. “Since you’re already up, why don’t we start our reports with yours?”

  Somebody on the other side of the room (probably that doofus Alex Cruz) snorted, and I mentally punched myself in the face. Being late to class always makes you more visible, which makes you a target. Not even Polly Winnicott-Lee was worth that.

  I picked up the five stapled pages of my report and shuffled up to the front of the room, or as I like to call it, the Terrordome, and turned to face the class.

  Someone coughed a word I didn’t hear, but the rest of the room obviously did. A few people laughed, and Max stared across the room at Alex Cruz, who stared back. For just a second I thought they’d get into a fight, which would distract everyone from my report, but no luck.

  “Settle down, everyone,” Mrs. Burnell said. “Vincent, what’s the topic of your presentation?”