by Dan Danko
The Professor’s eyes widened like balloons. He raised his pointer stick and, in more instinct than thought, blasted his own mortarboard.
The explosion threw him against a far wall, where he slumped to the ground.
“School’s out,” I said, standing over his unconscious body.
Okay, so maybe that wasn’t so witty. But that’s why my nickname isn’t Pun Boy. And now that I think about it, I’m pretty darn happy about that.
I checked The Professor for something, anything, that could tell me what had happened here. Who or what could have taken out the League of Big Justice so quickly and easily? The thought sent a chill down my spine.
I checked his gown. That’s where I found it. The card.
BROTHERHOOD OF ROTTENNESS
THE PROFESSOR
Member since 1999
Wow. I don’t know where rottenness ranks between evil and bad, but I didn’t like the sound of that. I guessed they took out the League of Big Justice and left The Professor behind to deal with the sidekicks.
Took out the League of Big Justice? What was I up against? I’m just a sidekick, a rookie, a —
“Sidekicks Strike!”
I spun around to see Exact Change Kid, Earlobe Lad, Spice Girl, Spelling Beatrice, and Boom Boy race into what was once the League of Big Justice Main Hall. I could hear Boy-in-thePlastic-Bubble Boy’s Giant Hamster Ball of Justice bang repeatedly against some rubble out in the hallway.
“Speedy! Speedy! Thank goodness!” Exact Change Kid called out as he ran up to me with dire urgency. “I just wanted you to know ‘Sidekicks Strike’ is not official yet, so don’t feel left out... hey,” he added, finally looking around. “Did we miss anything?”
“No,” I said. “This is just the beginning.”
Chapter Four
Punching Evi in the Face
“What do we know about the Brotherhood of Rottenness?” I asked the group.
“Well . . .” Spice Girl began. “We know they’re a brotherhood!” She clapped her hands together like she’d just won a prize on a game show.
“And rotten, don’t forget that,” Boom Boy added sarcastically.
“Oh yeah, that, too.” Spice Girl deflated, disappointed she hadn’t thought of that first.
Exact Change Kid shuffled ten dimes and four pennies in one hand and typed at the Sidekick Super Computer with the other. “No records of them here.”
“Let’s interrogate The Professor,” I suggested. “He’ll tell us where the secret base of the Brotherhood of Rottenness is.”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s a boomtastic idea,” Boom Boy said, hitting his clenched fist into his open palm.
After I had defeated The Professor, we tied him up and confiscated his pointer stick and gown so he couldn’t use them to escape. We also answered one very important question: they do wear underwear under those outfits.
“You won’t get anything from me, worms!” he boasted.
“Let me handle this,” Boom Boy replied and took a dramatic step forward. He looked down on The Professor and cracked his knuckles. “You better tell us how to find the Brotherhood of Rottenness, or I swear, I swear, I’ll... I’ll...”
“You’ll what?” The Professor asked defiantly.
“I’ll blow myself up!”
“You wouldn’t dare!” The Professor dared.
“Wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t I?” Boom Boy yelled back. “I’ll blow up so good, there won’t be enough left of you to teach kindergarten!”
“Go ahead!”
“Okay! Okay! But don’t say I didn’t warn you!” As Boom Boy clenched his fists and his cheeks began to flush red, Exact Change Kid casually turned and headed for the front door of the Sidekick Super Clubhouse like he was stepping out to get a sandwich from the fridge.
“Where’re you going?” I asked.
“If Boom Boy’s going to blow himself up, someone better be around to clean up the mess.”
He had a point. Not about cleaning up the mess, but about still being around after Boom Boy blows himself up.
“Hold on,” I said. “I’m coming with you.”
“Wait!” Boom Boy said and opened his eyes. “I get it now. I get it. You want me to blow up, don’t you? Yeah. ’Cause once I do, I’ll be gone and then there’ll be no more Boom Boy to save the League of Big Justice.”
Boom Boy’s awesome sense of redundancy never ceased to amaze me.
“Mmaa pahp maaap paaam ma?” Boy-in-the Plastic-Bubble Boy said, rolling in front of Boom Boy to take over the interrogation.
“What?” The Professor asked.
“Mmaa pahp maaap paaam ma?”
“What?” The Professor repeated.
“Mmaa pahp maaap paaam ma!?” Boy-in the-Plastic-Bubble Boy asked once more, this time louder and with a tinge of threat. Or at least as much threat as a boy in a giant hamster ball could muster.
“I’m sorry, but the bubble, it’s just... could you possibly speak louder?”
“Nooooo!” Earlobe Lad screamed and raced from the room, crying.
“MMAA PAHP MAAAAP PAAAM MA!” Boy-in the-Plastic-Bubble Boy yelled at the top of his lungs.
The Professor looked at the other sidekicks. “Is it me?” he asked. “Can someone clue me in here?”
“Maybe we should ask him what his favorite color is?” Spice Girl asked, anxious to help with the interrogation.
“Blue!” The Professor quickly replied, eager to speak to anyone but Boy-in-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy.
“See! That’s not so hard!” Spice Girl clapped her hands together in a fit of victory. “Now let’s ask him about Popsicles!”
Boy-in-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy fell against the inside of his Giant Hamster Ball of Justice and slid to the bottom like an unhappy little hamster who finally realized he wasn’t getting anywhere on that hamster wheel of his. Exact Change Kid patted the outside of the Giant Hamster Ball of Justice.
“Mmm maa maph . . .” Boy-in-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy sadly groaned, taking a soapy shower in the cold, bitter waters of defeat.
“I know, B-I-T-P-B-B,” Exact Change Kid consoled. “Evil teaches them well. He’s a tough potato to crack.”
Exact Change Kid paced back and forth in front of The Professor. He stopped, stared at The Professor for a silent moment, then rotated on his right heel and paced back the other way. The Professor tracked his every movement, waiting for the lion to pounce. Exact Change Kid paced to the right, pivoted, then paced back to the left, pivoted, paced back to the right, pivoted, then paced bac —
“Super Penny Surprise Attack!” Exact Change Kid screamed and pelted The Professor’s face with pennies.
They bounced off his forehead and fell to the floor like bugs ricocheting off a windshield.
“Don’t think...I won’t use... nickels...” Exact Change Kid threatened between breathless huffs, exhausted from the effort.
The Professor didn’t say a word.
“Any ideas?” I asked Spelling Beatrice.
“I was going to throw my Scrabble tiles at him, but if the pennies didn’t work...” She opened her hand to reveal a fistful of vowels and consonants. There were twelve tiles total, but they could never spell “doubt” as well as the look on Spelling Beatrice’s face.
“Hold on to your subordinate clause,” I advised her. “I’ve got an idea. Give me a Q. ”
“Q!” Spice Girl shouted. She jumped up and down like a cheerleader, kicking her legs in the air. “What’s that spell? Q!”
Spelling Beatrice slipped a Q Scrabble tile into her hand. She cupped it in her palm and we walked past Exact Change Kid, who was on his hands and knees retrieving the remains of his Super Penny Surprise Attack. “We’ll get him next time, Abe,” he mumbled under his breath.
I was going to let The Professor go, but secretly drop Spelling Beatrice’s tile into his robe pocket. We’d be able to track the homing beacon that was in the Q tile with Spelling Beatrice’s tracking T tile.
That was one cool thing about Spelling Beatr
ice. Some of her tiles actually did things — unlike Exact Change Kid’s change, which was only good for lame things like pay phones and parking meters. Oh, and throwing them at evil’s face.
Like, the E tiles were also tiny explosives, and if she attached the R tiles to her glasses, not only did it make her look like an idiot walking around with a square “R” over each eye, but it gave her infrared vision as well. I think the Z tile was best of all. It didn’t have any special properties, but it’s worth ten points in Scrabble. Slap that baby down on a triple letter-score square and you’re home free!
Anyway, that was my plan. Yeah, it was lame, but simple plans usually are. Problem was, before Beatrice could give me the Q, the wall exploded.
“Anyone seen Boom Boy lately?” I asked as the rubble and dust settled at my feet. Luckily none of it was pink and squishy.
Chapter Five
Evil Doesn’t Knock Before Entering
“Oh, man! What’s that smell?” Boom Boy asked.
“Eet iz zee ztink of eveel!” Le Poop shouted in a thick French accent as he and The Complainer entered the Sidekick Super Clubhouse through the gaping hole. “Filling up your nose like a very ztinky zing which fills up your nose like ztinky zings do!”
“You think it’s bad now? Try spending the day with him,” The Complainer complained, jabbing a thumb toward Le Poop. “And really, couldn’t you have your clubhouse in a little more convenient location? The drive over here is a killer.”
Clearly, they were here to save The Professor and finish the job he had failed to do. Evil’s funny that way. It rarely has time to do the job right the first time, but it always has time to do the same job twice.
I wasn’t about to wait for them to make the first move. “Sidekicks Strike!” I shouted and raced toward The Complainer.
“That’s not official yet!” Exact Change Kid offered the two minions of evil.
“Why are you attacking me first?” The Complainer griped. “He’s the one who smells like rotten eggs!”
Le Poop exhaled. A green cloud gushed from his mouth and hit the ceiling. The toxic fumes loosened the roof and a large chunk collapsed to the floor. Spelling Beatrice and Spice Girl dove to the left and narrowly avoided being crushed.
I raced by The Complainer at 45 miles per hour and delivered three super-fast right hooks to his jaw.
“Hey! Do you have to hit so hard?” The Complainer protested.
He balled his fists and thrust them both outward. An energy blast shot out toward me. I had to skid to a stop, and my ankle twisted. Pain shot through my leg and I dove at the last second, letting the deadly blast shoot over my head.
Boy-in-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy wasn’t so lucky.
“Pamh ma ma!” He yelled and charged forward like a see-through bowling ball. The blast hit his Giant Hamster Ball of Justice. It bounced backward, smashed into the back wall and rolled over Boom Boy, who, it seemed, was preparing to blow himself up again.
Boom Boy fell to the floor unconscious. The pinball ride knocked out Boy-in-the-Plastic-Bubble Boy, too. We were already down two and the fight had just begun. I was so desperate, I considered calling for Earlobe Lad.
“Smell this!” Spice Girl shouted and countered with a sharp odor of lavender and peaches at Le Poop.
“Mon Dieu!” he screamed. “Zuch a zpringtime fresh zent!”
Spelling Beatrice dug into her tile bag and pulled out a D, an I, and five M ’s. And for evil, that spelled trouble. Well, actually it spelled DIMMMMM or MMIMMDM, but I’m saying, for evil, it spelled trouble.
“I’m going to split your infinitive!” she yelled, tossing the Tiles of Justice with the proficiency of a blackjack dealer.
The D and I tiles burst in a flash of blinding light. Le Poop covered his eyes and never saw the five M tiles shoot webbing among themselves to create a giant net that landed on him.
“Ha!” Spice Girl laughed. “You lose.”
But a mere net would never stop the awesome stench of Le Poop. He raised his arm and unleashed the full power of his Armpit of Evil. The stench burst from his sweaty pit and melted the net.
“Oh, that is so gross!” Spice Girl said, plugging her nose.
“Where’s Bar-of-Soap Boy when you really need him?” I joked.
“He quit last summer. Had to move someplace where it didn’t rain so much,” Spelling Beatrice explained, not realizing I wasn’t serious.
The Complainer wasn’t laughing either. He and Exact Change Kid were squaring off. They circled each other, waiting for the other to make his move.
“Washington Wrecker!” Exact Change Kid shouted, and he flung a fistful of quarters at The Complainer, who countered with a blast so fierce, it flung Exact Change Kid across the Sidekick Super Clubhouse and smashed him against the wall.
Dozens of pennies, dimes, and nickels clattered to the ground and rolled across the floor as Exact Change Kid fell unconscious in a pile of loose change.
“Hello? Would it kill you to say ‘Nice job, Ira,’ just once?” The Complainer wailed to Le Poop. “Is it so hard to just say ‘Thanks, Ira?’ Why do I even bother?”
Things were getting bad. Spice Girl would have to handle Le Poop alone. Spelling Beatrice and I went after The Complainer. She launched an all-vowel attack while I used my super speed to kick debris from the destroyed wall like soccer balls.
Meanwhile, Spice Girl had shifted into peppermint and was driving back Le Poop’s foul stink attack.
“You’re smelly and I don’t like you!” Spice Girl warned as she threw a layer of cinnamon into her assault.
Le Poop staggered. His knees began to shake. The sweet smell of good stung his evil senses.
“Sacre bleu! You are ztinging my evil zenses!” he cried.
See? I told you.
Le Poop spun around. I thought he was going to run. Boy, was I wrong. Spice Girl closed in for the final blow: sandalwood. But it was too late.
“Spice Girl! Nooo!” I yelled, but even my super speed couldn’t save her.
Le Poop bent over. Spice Girl never had a chance.
The smell was so bad, even Boom Boy’s eyes watered — and he was still unconscious. Le Poop broke wind and Spice Girl fell before its stinky awesomeness.
“Now you lose like zomeone who eez no good at winning,” Le Poop gloated.
The moment Spice Girl fell to the floor, Spelling Beatrice plugged her nostrils with a Scrabble tile noseclip (an A tile and a B tile held together with a clothespin) and tossed me my own pair.
“Puht dem on doh dose!” she called out, her nostrils safely pinched closed.
“What?” I said.
“Doh dose! Kwip dem on doh dose!”
“‘Dodos?’ What’s this got to do with the bird?” I asked.
“Not da buhd! Doh dose! ” she stressed.
The Complainer stepped up next to me. “I think she wants you to put that thing on your toes,” he explained.
“My toes? That doesn’t make any sense,” I replied.
“Hello? ‘Thanks for trying to help.’ ‘I appreciate the suggestion, Ira,’” The Complainer grumbled.
He shook his head. “Why do I even bother?”
Suddenly, the stink of Le Poop’s fart floated into my area. My upper lip began to quiver, and I quickly figured out what Spelling Beatrice was yelling.
“Oh! Maah dose! ” I said, clipping the tiles onto my nose and blocking Le Poop’s attack.
“Dake Dah Combainer! De Boop id bine,” I ordered Spelling Beatrice.
“Oh, what? Now I’m not good enough to fight?” The Complainer complained.
I raced around Le Poop, faster than he could rotate with his butt in the air. He wasn’t able to track me. The speed caused a vortex of debris to spin wildly around Le Poop. He raised both his arms to launch a double-pit attack, but a large piece of debris swept up by the vortex hit him in the temple and ended his stinky reign of terror.
I turned to help Spelling Beatrice with The Complainer, but suddenly the roof caved in.
>
The last thing I saw before the rubble fell on me was the laughing face of The Professor, smoking pointer stick in hand and the rope that once held his wrists at his feet.
Chapter Six
Evil Leaves the Cap off the Toothpaste
I dug myself from the rubble. I was bleeding, but not too badly. They had left me for dead, trapped under a ton of collapsed ceiling. The Professor and The Complainer had revived Le Poop and taken the other sidekicks.
One thing that’s really cool about being fast is that sometimes you can do things faster than people can see. So after The Professor blasted the roof, I dove for cover under the Sidekick Super Computer desk.
And I made it.
It didn’t protect me completely, but enough to save my life — and if you ask me, that’s more than you can expect from furniture purchased at a yard sale.
“More money for me!” Pumpkin Pete had gloated when he stuffed the leftover twenty-dollar bills in his pocket. We had spent an entire Saturday driving from garage sale to garage sale looking for new Sidekick Clubhouse furniture.
Every bone in my body ached, but I had a job to finish. I had a whole lot of saving to do, and I was alone.
And then I heard the groan.
It was Exact Change Kid. He had been buried beneath the rubble as well. He was a little more beaten up than me, but otherwise okay. I helped him up.
“Thanks, Speedy,” he moaned. He looked at the mess of rubble and scratched his head. “It’s going to take forever to find all my pennies.”
“Don burry, dahm dure dere are benty mo in da Thidegick Thuber Gouch dofa gushions.”
Exact Change Kid gave me a blank stare. “Huh?”
Spelling Beatrice’s Scrabble tile nose clip! I took it off and tried again.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure there are plenty more in the Sidekick Super Couch sofa cushions. Come on. We’ve got to save them.”
“How?” Exact Change Kid asked.
Sometimes, you don’t worry about the how’s. Sometimes you just have to dive in and hope things sort themselves out. When people are in danger and you are their only hope, it’s really one of those times.
