The Return of Meteor Boy?

by William Boniface

  “And with so many people attending these multiple events,” he continued in an attempt to spur the sort of hubbub he wanted, “we expect our bake sale to bring in at least triple what it normally does.”

  “Yippee!”

  We all turned in surprise to look at Miss Marble. I guess her excitement was understandable since the money from the bake sale goes to help the teachers buy school supplies. Of course, school supplies, according to our teachers’ definition of the term, meant things like fully stocked refrigerators and snack cupboards in the teachers’ lounge. But back to Principal Doppelganger. So far, with the exception of me and Miss Marble, his big announcement had been a big flop.

  “And did I mention the celebrity judges who will be reviewing your science experiments?” he announced with an air of desperation. “They’ll include Crispo himself . . .”

  My classmates all sat as still as five rows of Crispo potato chip sculptures.

  “. . . And the Amazing Indestructo.”

  The class erupted in a frenzy of cheers and applause, but I was looking at my teammates, none of whom was joining in the commotion. Don’t get me wrong. A week ago, all of us would have been cheering, too. But we had all recently seen firsthand how unworthy of admiration the Amazing Indestructo really was. None of our classmates knew this, though, and frankly, none of them would have believed us even if we’d told them. As a result, the noise continued to grow even as the principal tried to keep talking.

  “Let me handle this,” I heard Miss Marble shout to her flustered boss.

  I got as comfortable as I could in my seat and waited for the inevitable. Sure enough, seconds later I felt my body tense and freeze up as Miss Marble exercised her power on my unsuspecting classmates. Of course I couldn’t turn my head to see what had happened behind me, but the kids within my line of sight had been caught in some incredibly uncomfortable-looking poses. some incredibly uncomfortable-looking poses.

  “There you go,” she said to the principal, who looked us over with a combination of what I can only imagine was relief and pity.

  “Uh, thank you,” he said. “As I was saying, this is an exciting opportunity. Of course, it will require some additional effort on all our parts.”

  Uh-oh, I thought.

  “In this case,” he continued, “the challenge will be the amount of time that we have to prepare for this big event. I know that in the past you’ve had as much as four weeks to prepare your projects. Unfortunately, Crispo’s new masterpiece is set to be unveiled next Thursday, October seventeenth.”

  “Are you insane?!” Miss Marble exploded in surprise.

  She would have had lots of backup from us, if we weren’t all still in a state of suspended animation.

  “Oh, I’m sure they can do it,” Principal Doppelganger said. “And just keep thinking about that bake sale.”

  He then leaned in and whispered something in Miss Marble’s ear. Despite her shock, she nodded numbly in response. Then, returning his attention to the class of statues, he added, “Miss Marble will now group you all in teams of two. And let me just tell you all how proud I know you’ll make me.”

  We all began to come out of our suspended states, but were still stunned by the amount of work that would be expected of us in order to get our projects completed in just six days. Little did I know that for me, things were about to get even worse.

  “However,” the principal interrupted, “I need to speak with one of you privately. Melonhead, could you come with me?”

  “Thertainly, thir,” he splattered. He never missed a chance to suck up to a school official. “It’th my pleathure!”

  “Before you come with me, though, I think Miss Marble should tell you your partner,” he added, tipping his head toward our teacher.

  At first, I thought this was a good thing. With Melonhead’s partner being picked from the entire class, there was only a one-in-twenty-one chance of getting stuck with him. One poor sucker would have to deal with his ego and incompetence, not to mention an uncontrollable output of watermelon seeds. Thankfully, the chance that I might be that unlucky individual was slim.

  Then I noticed Miss Marble looking directly at me.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A Double-Dip Disaster

  Man, I couldn’t believe my bad luck getting stuck with Melonhead as my science fair partner!

  Plasma Girl had ended up with Little Miss Bubbles as her partner, and the two of them were already giggling with each other as they discussed a variety of girly projects ranging from flower anatomy to the use of snowflake patterns as tea doilies. I suggested they should use some of their dolls to demonstrate the amputation and reattachment of limbs, but they just glared at me.

  Stench and Tadpole had been lucky enough to be partnered. They were currently huddled in a way that made it look like they were planning their project, but in reality I knew they were discussing dodgeball strategy.

  The only member of my team that I think was in a position equal to my own was Halogen Boy. His partner was Cannonball. Even now I could see Hal brightening and dimming himself at Cannonball’s command, and I could tell the fat creep was up to no good.

  While I waited for Melonhead to return, my mind turned back to the mystery of Meteor Boy and the rock I had discovered. I retrieved the rock from my pocket and carefully unwrapped the piece of newspaper that partially covered it. Unfolding it, I was startled to see that it was a photo of Funnel Boy, Inflato, Meteor Boy, and InvisiBoy. They were holding a much larger version of the rock I now held in my hands. Shoving his way into the middle of this group of kids was none other than the Amazing Indestructo—a much younger Amazing Indestructo. The caption for the photo identified the four boys but didn’t mention AI at all. The kids had apparently foiled the robbery of a rare prodigium meteorite from the Superopolis Museum.

  I considered the rock, mentally weighing it and wondering what exactly it was. I had never heard of prodigium before. Could that be what this was? If only I could go back in time and ask these kids what the deal was.

  Then an idea struck me. A time machine! Why not invent a time machine for our science fair project? Of course, the realist in me said, Are you nuts? No one has ever invented a time machine and there’s no way you’re going to be the first—especially with Melonhead as your partner.

  As if on cue, Melonhead returned from Principal Doppelganger’s office. “Ithn’t thith ekthiting, O Boy?” he splattered as he sat down next to me. “All thortth of famouth people will be able to thee firththand how thmart I am.”

  Melonhead’s sense of his own importance was so delusional that I was left speechless.

  “And gueth what?” he continued without pause. “I’ve already chothen an idea for uth.”

  “What do you mean, you’ve chosen?” I sat up. I wasn’t going to let this go by unchallenged. “This is a team project. We choose the subject together.”

  “Thimmer down, thilly,” Melonhead said, clucking soothingly, as if he were trying to calm down a halfwit. “I’ll thee to all the complekth thtuff mythelf.”

  Trying to argue with Melonhead was a lot like trying to say a tongue twister with a mouthful of peanut butter—no matter what you said, he heard something totally different. So I decided to ignore his misguided opinion of his abilities and jump right to the heart of the matter.

  “So what is this brilliant idea of yours?” I asked.

  “It’th thimple, really,” he said with a smirk. “I’m going to conthtruct uth a time mathine.”

  The shock of hearing him suggest exactly what I had been thinking was drowned out by the sound of the last bell of the day ringing. Melonhead got up and began gathering his books. As I watched in amazement he turned to leave without another word.

  “Where are you going, seed brain?” I hollered.

  “When the latht bell ringth it meanth we can go,” he explained as if this were my first day of school.

  “What about the project?” I blurted. “We only have six days. We’re going to need to
work on it this weekend.”

  Melonhead looked at me as if I was the only obstacle between him and scientific immortality.

  “Fine,” he said with a sigh. “I thupothe you can come over to my houthe tomorrow morning if you feel you mutht.”

  It was clear to me that Melonhead would have been more than happy to take on this project all on his own and that he perceived me as an annoyance at best.

  “I’ll be there at eleven,” I said.

  As Melonhead walked off in a huff, I turned to find the rest of my team standing there waiting for me.

  “We’re so sorry,” Plasma Girl said. “It’s not fair that anyone gets stuck with Melonhead as a partner. Do you really have to meet with him tomorrow?”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “We thought we would move our normal Sunday meeting of the Junior Leaguers to Saturday,” Stench said.

  “Little Miss Bubbles and I have already agreed to meet about our project on Sunday,” Plasma Girl explained.

  “And Cannonball told me to be at his house then, or else,” Hal added softly.

  I can join you in the morning for a little while.” I shrugged. “Even if we don’t get any science fair work done, we can at least develop some dodgeball strategy.”

  “Definitely,” promised Stench, “and I just wanted to apologize for picking Lobster Boy this afternoon when I should have picked you.”

  “That’s okay. I know you thought you were doing the right thing,” I said. “But we have to figure out some way to beat those guys next time.”

  “Just like I said,” Tadpole jumped in, already working himself into a state of agitation. “That creep Cannonball has gotta be taught a lesson or we’re never gonna hear the end of it.”

  Tadpole continued to rant and fume about our loss as we made our way out of school. We were barely past the front door when we all came to an immediate halt.

  “Look at that!” Halogen Boy interrupted with a touch of awe in his voice.

  There ahead of us, parked on the street right in front of school, was a big truck with what looked like a giant ice cream cone stuck on the top of it. Its bell rang and we all began moving toward it.

  “Mmm, ice cream,” Hal muttered. I looked around and noticed that the ice cream truck was attracting kids like mosquitoes to a blood bank. Moving closer I noticed that it had a window on the side, but the inside of the window looked like it was coated with frost. Then, suddenly, the window slid open to reveal . . .

  “Uncle Fluster?” I said with complete surprise.

  “OB?” He looked momentarily perplexed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Umm . . . this is my school.” I answered.

  “Of course.” He laughed. “This is a school. That’s why I’m here.”

  Uncle Fluster is my mother’s twin brother. Just like my mom, his power falls into the low-temperature category. But unlike my mother, who can focus her freezing powers into an intense beam with her gaze, her brother radiates it from his entire body so its effects are mostly dissipated. Unfortunately, his mental power seems to dissipate in the same manner, leaving him almost constantly confused. That’s where his name came from. When he was born, his parents named him Frost, but it didn’t take long for it to evolve into Fluster. He was always trying to be a success at something, and my guess was that this ice cream truck was his latest attempt.

  “So what’s with the ice cream truck?” I asked.

  “I bought it a few weeks ago to turn it into a coffee wagon, but—”

  LI’L HERO’S HANDBOOK

  PEOPLE

  NAME: Fluster. POWER: An ability to cool the air around him. LIMITATIONS: An inability to turn his power off. CAREER: Except for his first job as a cheap form of air-conditioning at a movie theater, Fluster’s career has been chilly at best. CLASSIFICATION: A constant case of cold confusion.

  “But people didn’t like their coffee frozen,” I finished.

  “That’s right!” he said, astonished. “But then I found this metal cone”—he pointed up to indicate the ten-foot-high cone mounted atop the truck—“and I got the idea to go into the ice cream business.”

  “It certainly seems appropriate,” I agreed.

  “It’s brilliant, isn’t it?” he said with a sly wink. “I’ve found that if I stay inside the truck, my body chill keeps the interior the perfect temperature for producing ice cream. I’ve been experimenting for weeks to develop a whole range of interesting new flavors right here in my ice cream laboratory. In fact that’s how I came up with the name of my business.”

  I looked where he pointed, and there was the name painted right on the side of the truck.

  “The Creamatory?” I blurted out in disbelief.

  “Isn’t it perfect?” He beamed. “It’s a combination of ice cream and laboratory.”

  “So it is,” I agreed, not knowing what else to say.

  “Now what can I get you?” he asked. “My treat.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to be my uncle’s first guinea pig. I decided to play it safe.

  “Vanilla, please.”

  From the flustered look on his face, I knew I had thrown him a curveball.

  “Umm, I don’t have any vanilla.”

  “Chocolate?” I tried, with no success. “Neapolitan, fudge ripple, orange sherbert?”

  Each time he shook his head.

  “Well, what do you have?” I finally asked.

  “I’ve just created a brand-new flavor I think you’ll like.” He lit up. “It’s called moss.”

  “Moss ice cream?” I blurted out. “Who would want that?!”

  The words weren’t out of my mouth for two seconds before the Spore spoke up.

  “I’ll take one,” he huffed breathlessly as he came forward to the window.

  Uncle Fluster gave me a smug look as he scooped two dips of a greenish, speckled ice cream onto a cone and handed it to the eagerly waiting Spore.

  “That’ll be fifty cents,” he said proudly.

  The Spore dug a couple of quarters out of his pocket as he eagerly licked at the disgusting-looking cone.

  “Who’s next?” Uncle Fluster asked confidently.

  My classmates immediately began backing away from the truck. I don’t know if it was out of fear of my uncle’s ice cream creations or because a group of five seedy-looking villains had just dropped out of the sky and were now hovering above Uncle Fluster’s truck. I assumed they were villains because they looked really nasty. But the oddest thing of all was they appeared to have arrived here on a rainbow.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A Blast from the Past

  Unlike a regular rainbow, this one was upside down and was carrying these villains as if they were sitting on a swing. As it lowered itself to the ground, its five passengers hopped off and surrounded my uncle’s truck.

  “That’s right, little lemmings,” said one of them. He had long, scraggly gray hair and lightning-bolt sunglasses. He pulled out a ukulele and began strumming it. “Just back away and do as I warn you. The Commune for Justice is here to inform you.”

  Although his verse was bad, the music was calming and I blissfully backed off along with my classmates. I also retrieved my copy of the Li’l Hero’s Handbook to find out who the Commune for Justice was.

  Hmm. Inactive hippies. So what were they doing here? I’d already figured out that the one with the ukulele must be Bliss. Meanwhile, the five villains had turned back to Uncle Fluster’s truck. We all stood and watched helplessly as they unleashed everything they had.

  LI’L HERO’S HANDBOOK

  PEOPLE

  TEAM NAME: The Commune for Justice. MEMBERS: Bliss, SkyDiamond, Aquarius, Rainbow Rider, and the Hammer. PROFILE: This Commune’s idea of justice apparently meant rebelling against a society that expected them to bathe, get jobs, and take responsibility for their own actions. CAREER HIGHLIGHT: The Commune for Justice committed only one known theft—which was apparently all it took for them to realize that crime was work, too. STATUS: Inactive—as
one would tend to expect.

  One woman started wrapping the ice cream truck in multiple rainbow bands. She apparently had the ability to manipulate rainbows and make them solid. However she did it, she had Uncle Fluster trapped inside.

  “Good work, Rainbow Rider,” said the other woman. “Now let him sample the power of Aquarius!”

  Aquarius focused her attention on the truck, and Uncle Fluster looked down in alarm.

  “Hey, where’s this leak coming from?” he shouted as I saw a whirling cascade of water begin to churn around him.

  “We’re here for two reasons, capitalist,” shouted the woman named Aquarius. “One is for your profits, so toss them out to us.”

  “But I haven’t made any profits,” protested my uncle as the water swished around him. “Business has been awful!”

  “Profits are for the people, man. Don’t disrespect it.” Bliss said in an oddly relaxed manner. “You owe the people their share. We’re just here to collect it.” He turned to the biggest member of his team, who so far had just stood there silently. “Hammer, show him how society gets its share.”

  The Hammer began swinging his fist against the side of Uncle Fluster’s truck as if it were . . . well, a hammer.

  Uncle Fluster covered his ears as the pounding got louder and louder.

  “Stop it! Stop it!” he began to holler. “I’ll give you everything I’ve earned so far.”

  A few seconds later, the fifty cents he had made from selling a moss ice cream cone to the Spore came clinking onto the road. The Hammer paused as Bliss stepped forward and examined the two quarters lying on the ground.

  “This is it?” he said with undisguised disgust. “We’ve got a trip planned, and it’s not in our head. But if we’re gonna take it, we gotta have bread.”

  “I don’t have any bread,” my uncle insisted, “but you might like one of my newest flavors—yeast!”