by Lucas Flint
Then I heard a knock at the door and said, “Yes?”
“It’s me,” said Dad’s voice, slightly muffled by the door. “Can I come in?”
I put down my phone and sat up. “Yes.”
The door opened and my Dad entered. He looked pretty much like he always did; red polo shirt plus a pair of jeans. Dad looked kind of like me, except taller and stronger and more athletic. He also didn’t wear glasses, not that that meant that his vision was great or anything. He just wore contacts instead. I thought about getting contacts myself at some point, but I was too lazy to learn how to put them on or take them off, so I stuck with my normal glasses (although given how inconvenient glasses were in a fight, maybe it would be smarter to learn how to wear contacts).
Dad’s appearance didn’t interest me much, however. I was paying more attention to his face; he looked tired, probably from work. I hoped to catch a glimpse of what he and Mom were going to do in his face, but all I could tell was that Dad didn’t seem very pleased.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, making a smile that I hoped was charming, although I had a feeling that it just looked awkward. “How was work?”
“Good,” said Dad. He cross his arms over his chest, like he usually did whenever he was going to have a talk with me. “But that’s irrelevant right now. I want to talk with you about what happened at your job today.”
I gulped. “Didn’t you already talk with Mom about it?”
“I did,” said Dad. “She told me what happened, but I wanted to hear about it from you because she didn’t know all the details.”
So I told Dad what happened at my first day at work. Dad listened well; it was one of the things I liked best about him, his willingness and ability to listen to me and James whenever we talked to him about something. Of course, I also dreaded it, because he never forgot anything you told him, which made it harder to trick him sometimes. He was harder to trick than Mom, anyway, and he was about the only person I knew who was immune to James’ persuasion techniques, which I suspected were due to the fact that Dad and James were pretty similar in terms of personality and mindset.
When I finished telling Dad my story, he did not say anything at first. That reminded me of Rubberman, who had had the exact same reaction after I told him about the ninja. Did all older guys do this or was it just some kind of freaky coincidence that Dad and Rubberman reacted the same way?
“I’m glad you survived that, Alex,” said Dad after a prolonged silence. “It sounds to me like that ninja was aiming to kill.”
“Only because I attacked him,” I said, hanging my head. “Rubberman says that the ninja probably just stole some files from his computer. If I hadn’t gone to investigate, the ninja might not have tried to kill me.”
“Probably,” said Dad. And that was all he said; it was another habit of his, where he’d just give a one word answer and expect you to keep talking.
I looked up at Dad again. “Am I going to have to stop working for Rubberman? I know how you feel about superheroes. And if I have to quit, then I have to quit, but I really don’t want to.”
Dad didn’t answer right away. He had a thoughtful look on his face now. “Back when I was your age, my first job was a paper route. It was a pretty safe job. I didn’t even have to worry about the dogs that would sometimes bark at me when I dropped off the newspaper on their property. I certainly didn’t have to deal with any ninjas or supervillains or anything like that.”
I knew what answer was coming, so I braced myself for Dad to tell me to quit and look for another job elsewhere.
That was why I was surprised when Dad said, “And I really would prefer you to be in sports; however, after giving this matter some consideration, I think you should go back to work for Rubberman on Monday.”
I looked at Dad in shock. “What? Really? You aren’t going to call him up and tell him I’m not going to work for him anymore?”
“Of course not,” said Dad. “I considered it, but during our talk, Rubberman called and we talked for a few minutes. He explained some of the measures he was taking to prevent such a situation from happening again. Your mom and I both agreed that they would work, so we decided not to have you quit.”
“Rubberman called you?” I said. “I didn’t know he would do that.”
“Neither did we,” said Dad. “We were surprised when he called, but I have to admit that it improved my opinion of him. He told us that he took full responsibility for the problem and that he was going to make sure it would never happen again. He also told me that he was going to make sure that you learned how to defend yourself, both with your eye beams and your fists.”
I sighed in relief. “That’s a relief.”
“I would still prefer if you get another job,” said Dad with a shrug, “but Rubberman seems like the kind of boss that a kid your age needs. I remember my first boss was just like Rubberman in terms of his attitude toward business and I learned a lot from him, lessons that have helped me to become successful in life. I figure Rubberman will be able to teach you those same lessons.”
“Thank you,” I said, putting my hands together. “I thought—”
“But I told Rubberman that if that happened again, we would not let you go work there ever again,” Dad interrupted. “We also asked him to promise not to put you in danger until you could control your powers reliably and could defend yourself in a fight. He agreed to both conditions, so you will be able to go back to work on Monday after school.”
I already knew that, given that Rubberman had told me much the same thing before I left work today. Still, it was good to hear that Mom and Dad were on board with it. I had been worried that they might not approve of even that much.
“But you will still need to be careful,” said Dad. “Don’t get cocky or careless. Rubberman may make sure that you don’t end up in a fight, but that doesn’t mean you can just act like everything is going to be okay.”
“Don’t worry, Dad,” I said. “I’ll be fine. I’m not going to go looking for ninjas. One is more than enough for me.”
“Good to hear,” said Dad, nodding. “Now, I’m going back downstairs to watch TV and get some food. Your mom is cooking dinner and it should be done soon.”
“Okay, Dad, I’ll be there,” I said, giving him the thumbs up. “Don’t worry about me.”
Dad nodded again and then left the room, leaving me alone once again.
Once Dad was gone, I laid back in my bed and sighed in relief again. I was surprised at Dad allowing me to keep working for Rubberman, but I guess Rubberman must have been more convincing than I thought. I suddenly felt a whole lot lighter than before, as if a great burden had been lifted from my shoulders. Things were starting to look up for me and now I couldn’t wait to go back to work on Monday after school. I was looking forward to my training sessions in particular; I was starting to think that my powers might not be such a curse after all. Maybe I would finally not have to fear blowing up the house anymore accidentally.
CHAPTER TEN
On Monday, I rode my bike through the streets of Golden City on my way to my school, Harold Golden High, before classes started. Unlike my first day of work, I was pretty confident that I was going to be on time, because I had set my alarm for the night before and I had managed to take a shower and eat a good breakfast before I left the house. James had seen me off; even though he was supposed to go back to college today, he had stayed over Sunday in order to hang out with his new girlfriend. He didn’t tell us who she was, which was kind of annoying, but honestly pretty typical for James, who usually didn’t introduce his girlfriends to us until the last minute. Besides, I always felt jealous whenever he showed his new girlfriend, so I was happy that he was not yet going to introduce her to us.
I could have taken the bus to get to school; however, school was only a ten minute bike ride, so I never saw any reason to ride the bus unless it was really hot or really cold or it was raining hard or something. Golden City’s weather was usually pretty temperate year round
, but on the few occasions I had to ride the bus, it was like being trapped in a prison bus with a bunch of screaming monkeys throwing stuff everywhere. Maybe that was being unfair to my classmates—after all, monkeys only acted out because they couldn’t talk, not because they were dumb—but it made me really glad that I could just bike to school. And, once I saved up enough money from my job, I would be able to drive to it in a car as well.
I had not heard from Rubberman over the weekend, but that made sense, because I wasn’t supposed to come back to work until Monday. I did wonder what he and Adams did while I was away; did they still fight supervillains and criminals? Or did Rubberman spend all his time in his office making new deals for merchandise and playing with the toys based off him? I guessed I would get a chance to figure out when I went back to work on Monday. I hadn’t see any news of supervillain attacks over the weekend, so business was probably pretty quiet at the moment.
It wasn’t long before I arrived at Harold Golden High, which was named after the founder of Golden City, Harold Golden. I wasn’t the first student there; school buses were unloading students, who were climbing up the front steps in an attempt to get to their classes on time, while other students who came on bikes like me were putting their bikes on the bicycle racks near the school’s entrance. Only a handful of students actually came on bikes, however, and by the time I reached the rack, those few students had already gone into the school itself. Although it was early morning, the sound of kids talking and walking and buses rumbling along was quite loud, loud enough to wake up anyone in the houses near the school. I also saw a few students walking from the burger joint from across the street, Beejay’s Place, which was probably where they had gotten their breakfast for the morning.
I just finished putting my bike up when I heard a familiar voice shout, “Alex!”
I looked over in the direction from which the voice had come to see a short and stout guy about my age hurrying over to me from one of the buses, his backpack hanging over his shoulders. There was no mistaking that blue baseball cap or black jacket for anyone other than my best friend, Franklin Maddox.
“Hi, Frank,” I said as Franklin approached. “What’s up?”
Franklin stopped before me, huffing and puffing slightly. Even though he had not walked from a very far distance, Franklin still seemed tired out. That may have been because he was fatter than me. And no, I’m not saying that to be mean. Unlike some people, Frank isn’t sensitive about his weight and is usually the first to joke about it. Besides, it wasn’t like I was much better; while I wasn’t fat, I was really skinny and not very athletic, so the two of us went together pretty well.
“Not much,” said Frank, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “How was your weekend?”
I opened my mouth to tell him about my new job, but caught myself before I said even one word. Even though Frank was my friend, I was still not allowed to tell him my secret identity; otherwise, I would lose my license and my job. That also meant I couldn’t brag to the other kids about being Rubberman’s sidekick; but maybe that was for the best, because there were some pretty mean kids in my school who didn’t take kindly to kids who bragged about anything.
“Eventful,” I said as I placed my helmet on my bike’s handlebars. “How was yours?”
“Oh, the usual,” said Frank with a shrug. “Played the newest War Zero game and am already halfway through its story mode campaign.” He looked at me seriously. “It sucks.”
“Really?” I said as Frank and I made our way to the steps leading to the school entrance. “But the trailers made it look cool.”
“Yeah, that’s just marketing BS,” said Frank, rolling his eyes. “The story is so cliche and stupid. That’s why I’m going to finish it today after school. What are you going to do, by the way?”
“Oh, just go home and chill,” I said, although I was thinking about how I was going to have to go to my job. “Not much else to do at the moment.”
“Okay,” said Frank. “By the way, I heard from Greta that she saw you Saturday morning. Said you fell on the street and cracked your glasses.”
“What?” I said, looking at Frank in shock as we joined the throng of students climbing the steps to the school. “You were talking with Greta? I didn’t know you talked with Greta outside of school. Or that you talked to her at all, for that matter.”
“Well, I didn’t actually talk to her,” said Frank. “I was just going to the post office on Sunday to see if my package had arrived and I walked past Greta and one of her friends. Overheard them talking about you.”
“Really?” I said. I felt my throat start to constrict slightly at the thought of Greta talking about me. “What did they say?”
“I don’t know,” said Frank with a shrug. “Sounded to me like Greta’s friend thought you were stupid for running into her. Greta, on the other hand, seemed to think it was just an honest mistake.”
Internally, I sighed in relief. I thought for sure that Greta was going to think that I was the biggest idiot in the world, but I guess she must have had a more positive opinion about me than I thought. Of course, Frank had only overheard part of their conversation, so maybe Greta’s friend somehow managed to change Greta’s mind and now Greta hated me. I shook my head as soon as that thought entered my head, however, because I didn’t want to let myself obsess over something that might not even be a real problem.
After stopping by our lockers to pick up our textbooks, Frank and I made our way to our first class of the period, our science class. Science class was always one of my favorite classes; I really liked learning about nature and science and stuff. The teacher, Mrs. Naomi, was always good at making it interesting and informative. It was probably the best class in the school just because of Mrs. Naomi’s teaching skills. It didn’t hurt that Mrs. Naomi was very pretty, too, although not as pretty as Greta, in my opinion.
As we walked into the classroom, I looked over at the teacher’s desk and said, in a bright voice, “Good morning, Mrs.—”
I stopped speaking as soon as I saw who was sitting behind the desk. A thin, balding middle-aged man sat behind the desk, wearing a crumpled button-up shirt and blue slacks that looked like they hadn’t been ironed in a while. He immediately looked up at me when I spoke, showing me his large glasses that made his eyes look even bigger than they really were. I had seen those glasses before, but I didn’t expect to see them again: They were the glasses of Mr. Sampson Peters, my former high school science teacher, who used to work here before he quit six months ago.
I blinked several times, trying to make sure I wasn’t somehow hallucinating his existence, but Mr. Peters did not suddenly turn into slim and gorgeous Mrs. Naomi, no matter how many times I blinked. He just stared at me, at first with a puzzled look, before recognition dawned on his features and a scowl crossed his face.
“Hello, Alex,” said Mr. Peters. His voice was as nasally as I remembered, made even worse by his forced politeness. “I see you are still as late as ever.”
“Late?” I repeated. I glanced at my wristwatch. “But I’m on time.”
“Class starts at eight,” said Mr. Peters, his voice as polite as ever. “You walked in at eight o’ one.”
“What happened to Mrs. Naomi?” I said. “Why are you back?”
“Mrs. Naomi has gone on vacation to visit her relatives in North Dakota,” said Mr. Peters. “She will be back in a week, but until then, I am your substitute teacher.”
I looked at the rest of the class, to see if anyone could confirm that. Unfortunately, the other students were too busy getting into their seats and talking to each other to pay attention to that. Only Frank still stood with me, looking almost as awkward as me, probably because he remembered Mr. Peters as well.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to work here ever again,” I said, looking at Mr. Peters. “That’s what you said when you quit.”
“I meant full time,” said Mr. Peters with a bit of a snap to his voice. “I’m perfectly fine with substitu
ting. I still love teaching science; I just don’t love it quite as much as I used to. Rest assured, however, that today’s class will be infinitely and more informative than Mrs. Naomi’s average class. Not that she is a bad teacher; she simply is not knowledgeable about science as I am.”
To most people, that would just sound like bragging, but I knew that Mr. Peters was doing more than just bragging. As much as I disliked the man, I had to acknowledge that he definitely knew his science, maybe even better than Mrs. Naomi.
After all, he was the guy who gave me my superpowers in the first place.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Frank and I took our seats near the back of the class. As we sat down, Frank whispered to me, “Alex, do you think Mr. Peters will grade us fairly? You know he doesn’t like us.”
I didn’t look at Frank. I just watched Mr. Peters, who was now standing up and calling for order in the classroom. Although Mr. Peters was not a very large man, his voice was commanding enough that he managed to make everyone shut up pretty quickly. Mrs. Naomi could do that, too, but somehow it was more impressive when Mr. Peters did it, if only because most of us didn’t like him that much, although there was a special animosity between Mr. Peters and Frank and I that didn’t quite exist between the rest of the class and him. A more personal animosity, I guess you’d say.
“I don’t know,” I replied in an equally low whisper as I pulled my textbook out of my bag and put it on my desk. “But even if he doesn’t, so what? He’s only going to substitute for a week. It’s not like he’ll be able to do more than just annoy us.”
“But I’ve been getting straight As in class ever since Mrs. Naomi became our teacher,” said Frank in an anxious voice. “If Mr. Peters decides to break that streak just because he doesn’t like us, my parents will kill me.”
