The Extraordinary Adventures of Ordinary Boy, Book One: The Hero Revealed

by Boniface, William

  From the way his arm holding the Professor began to drop, I could tell that AI might actually cave in.

  “You’re going to bargain with him?!” I blurted out. “Even as he attempts to destroy Superopolis?”

  “A hero has to have an archnemesis,” AI shrugged.

  “Not under contract!” my father said.

  “Oh, like you understand what it takes to maintain an ongoing relationship with a name-brand supervil-lain,” the Amazing Indestructo snapped.

  “Your archenemy should be ‘maintained’ by the Superopolis Correctional Facility if you’ve done your job right!”

  The Professor interrupted them. “Perhaps it might interest you all to know that we are currently dropping toward the earth at a velocity that some might consider dangerous.”

  We all looked out the window to see the blimp drifting less than a couple hundred feet above Superopolis’s warehouse district. I guess the added weight of AI and my dad was more than the airship could handle. Then it occurred to me that if the Multiplier had done his job properly (always a very big if) there were also close to two million Professor Brain-Drain cards weighing us down. I turned to look toward the back of the car. Sure enough, he was heading right for us, his primary job completed.

  “Look out, Dad,” I warned. “It’s the Multiplier.”

  “You!” screamed the Multiplier as Dad turned to face him. Apparently he suddenly remembered who had actually stopped him at the Mighty Mart. “You’ll regret ever having tangled with the Multiplier!”

  “I doubt it,” my father replied calmly.

  The Multiplier raised his hands, and I shielded my face. But I should have known that if anyone could mess up an attack it would be him. Reaching for the nearest object, which just happened to be a Ping-Pong ball, he began making more and flinging them at us. I grabbed both the paddles and tossed one to Dad. Using mine, I swatted away the balls coming at me from the Multiplier’s left hand. Dad didn’t even bother swinging. The balls simply bounced off him as if they were no more than drops of rain.

  “Stay away from me,” the Multiplier wailed as the mighty Thermo walked right up to him and smacked him over the head with the Ping-Pong paddle.

  “Don’t ever mess with my kid again,” he snarled as the Multiplier crumpled to the floor.

  Dad hadn’t bothered to set the paddle on fire. He just gave the Multiplier a good old-fashioned whup-ping. Of course, the floor was now full of Ping-Pong balls, and we were in serious danger of slipping on them. I rushed over to the gondola’s side boarding door, unlatched it, and swung it open. The balls rolled to that side of the blimp and continued right out the door.

  Then I walked over to the unconscious Multiplier and picked up the Oomphlifier. I slipped it into my pocket just as he began to stir. To be honest, I felt a little sorry for the Multiplier. I mean, sure, his only goal in life was to do evil, but he was so pitiful at it I couldn’t help but feel bad for him. So I decided to give him some advice.

  “You know,” I whispered to him, “you could start your own company selling traffic cones and make a fortune. You didn’t pay anything for them, so you could sell them for less than anyone else.”

  “I won’t need them,” he hissed. “I’ll just use my Oomphlifier to …”

  He began feeling around for the missing device and I slowly backed away from him. Even as stupid as he was, he would soon figure out that I was the one who—

  “Where is it?!” he shrieked. “You’ve stolen my power!”

  In a flash, he was up on his feet, past my dad, and coming my way. Luckily, I ducked just as he lunged at me. His scream blared in my ear at first, but then trailed off dramatically. But then I guess that’s natural for someone who’s just dived through an open door and was now plummeting toward the ground. I ran to the doorway and looked down just in time to see him crash through the glass skylight in the roof of a building. The second before he hit, I realized that it was his very own warehouse. I heard a muffled fump as he landed in what I figured had to be a pile of traffic cones.

  “Think about what I said!” I hollered. The blimp began to rise now that it was minus the weight of one Multiplier. Looking ahead, I saw we were once again on course for Lava Park.

  Meanwhile, the discussion was continuing between the Amazing Indestructo and Professor Brain-Drain.

  “If you expect me to renew our deal,” the Professor insisted, “I demand a minimum guarantee, as well as my own advertising jingle.”

  “Please! You’ll have to speak with the Tycoon.” AI turned his head nobly away.

  “Don’t just stand there negotiating,” my dad exploded. “Haul him off to jail!”

  “I can’t, I’m afraid,” AI admitted with a resigned sigh. “Our agreement prohibits me from arresting him.”

  “What kind of a hero are you?!” I shouted in disbelief. “Besides, he’s already broken your contract!”

  “He may have, but I’m a hero. A hero always honors his agreements.” AI held his nose up as if he had something to be proud of.

  “A hero doesn’t make deals with his archenemy to begin with,” I pointed out with disgust. As good as it felt to say, though, I really wished I hadn’t.

  “That’s true,” AI admitted as his eyes began to blink rapidly and his lower lip started to quiver. When his shoulders slumped, he loosened his grip on the Professor.

  “Don’t let go of Brain-Drain!” I cried out.

  But it was too late. The Professor was free and running toward the back of the blimp. So I did the only thing I could think of—I stuck out my foot and tripped him. As he skidded onto the floor, the colander on his head went flying, and Dad charged him.

  “Dad,” I hollered, “take care of Brain-Drain!”

  My father was obviously a lot stronger than creaky old Professor Brain-Drain, but only as long as he could keep the Professor from touching his head and draining away his intelligence. The two were soon tangled in a struggle.

  “Don’t let him touch your head,” I shouted. “Keep his hands away from you until I can get AI to help.”

  It was just like AI to leave the dangerous work to my dad, while he wasted time sobbing and berating himself. It really bothered me to think about how misguided my hero worship had been. But I saw we were almost to Lava Park, and the Professor would be desperate to release the two million cards stashed in the hold. So I

  swallowed my pride and did what I had to do.

  “Aren’t you the Amazing Indestructo?” I said with as much awe as I could stomach.

  I stepped over to him and placed my hand on his shoulder.

  “I am,” he answered a little bit hesitantly.

  “All this time, Superopolis’s greatest hero has been right in front of my eyes,” I said, but I was no longer

  looking at AI. Instead, I spoke directly to my father. “And I only just realized it.”

  Dad understood me and a proud smile spread across his face.

  “It’s such an honor,” I said turning back to an oblivious AI. And then I poured it on. “It must be hard to be so perfect.”

  “Well, it isn’t easy,” he admitted.

  “If there’s anyone who can rescue me and my dad from that evil Professor Brain-Drain, I know it’s you.” I gave him my wide-eyed, innocent look, topped off with my best worried pout.

  It worked.

  The Amazing Indestructo got to his feet and started toward the two struggling figures. With a surprising amount of force for a skinny old man, Professor BrainDrain unleashed a solid kick right against my father’s shin. My dad let out a howl and dropped the Professor, who ran toward the cargo door lever. Dad fell to the floor, his hands hitting the rug to catch his fall. Still in pain, the heat in his hands soared and the rug erupted in flames.

  “Quick, AI,” I hollered, “get rid of the rug before it causes any damage!”

  “But it’s on fire,” he said, looking at me like I was nuts.

  “You’re indestructible!!” I yelled back at him.

 
“Okay, okay,” he said, “there’s no need to get huffy.” Then, as the fire spread across the entire rug, the Amazing Indestructo grabbed hold of it by a corner and did possibly the stupidest thing he could have done. Instead of pushing it out the open door, he dragged it over to the hold. With one kick, he sent it tumbling into the midst of two million Professor Brain-Drain cards.

  “So much for those contract violations,” he said proudly. The cards, of course, caught fire instantly. It was only a matter of seconds before the flames whipped up into the gondola.

  “We have to get out of here,” I shouted to AI, who seemed surprised that millions of bits of cardboard would react to fire that way. “You’ll have to carry both of us.”

  Dad was just getting to his feet, but I could tell he was still in pain.

  “Get up on my shoulders,” AI instructed me, and I wasted no time in following his directions.

  Then, once again, the Amazing Indestructo got behind my father and slipped his elbows beneath his arms. AI fired his rocket and we shot out of the flaming blimp. I looked back and saw that it was headed straight for Mount Reliable in the center of Lava Park. As it drifted over the volcano’s mouth, lava erupted into the air, engulfing what remained of the blimp. It was precisely five o’clock.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  After Math

  I showed up at school the next morning with a note from Mom and Dad for Miss Marble. It said:

  Dear Miss Marble,

  Please excuse Ordinary Boy for having missed class on Wednesday afternoon. His help was needed in saving Superopolis from complete and utter destruction.

  Signed,

  Snowflake & Thermo

  Stench, Plasma Girl, and Tadpole were already there. They had brought notes from their parents as well. In addition, Plasma Girl had brought along that morning’s edition of The Superopolis Times. I read the headline aloud.

  “AI Pulls Plug on Brain-Drain,” I announced. “Professor Probably Perishes,” it said in smaller type below. The picture is what really caught my eye, though. It was a shot of the Amazing Indestructo arriving back at the Vertigo Building carrying my dad, and with me riding on his shoulders.

  “Hey, that’s the picture Whistlin’ Dixie snapped as we returned,” I pointed out.

  “Wait until you read the caption.” Plasma Girl smirked.

  “‘AI saves unnamed father and son from fiery death,’” I repeated. “Yeah, that he nearly caused! Boy, you can’t believe anything you read in the papers.”

  “Check out what’s below the fold,” Tadpole said.

  I flipped the paper around to find another photo. This one was of the members of the League of Ultimate Goodness who also participated in the fight. Except it wasn’t just them. I could clearly see Windbag and the Levitator standing with them. I read the picture caption aloud.

  “‘The League of Ultimate Goodness participates in AI’s incredible victory, along with members of an unknown group.’ Can you believe this?”

  “Hey, my dad thought it was great,” Stench spoke up. “He said most groups would kill for that kind of PR their first time out. Besides, have you heard what they’re calling themselves? I actually think ‘unknown group’ has a better ring to it.”

  “Well, if you ask me,” I said, “the group that proved themselves the most was a team called the Junior Leaguers.”

  “You know it,” Tadpole agreed excitedly. “We took on Professor Brain-Drain, the evilest bad guy of them all, and we brought him down!”

  “Well, not completely on our own,” Plasma Girl interjected. “There were about a dozen other heroes that helped.”

  “None of whom would have been there if we hadn’t led the way,” Tadpole argued back, as usual.

  “Stop quarreling,” Stench said. “We never would have gone there at all if O Boy hadn’t convinced us to act like heroes.”

  Stench was right. But the truth was, I felt guilty about leading my team into such a dangerous situation. I was just relieved that it had all turned out okay.

  “We did behave like heroes,” Plasma Girl agreed. “Three cheers for the Junior Leaguers!”

  Just then the school bus pulled up in front of us. As soon as the door opened, Halogen Boy came running out, pursued by a group of our fellow classmates.

  “I’ll thell you my Profethor Brain-Drain card for one thiny dime,” I heard Melonhead sputtering, seeds splattering against the back of Hal’s head as he tried to get away.

  “Me, too,” hollered Transparent Girl. “And mine is nicer than Melonhead’s.”

  “Buy mine,” insisted Lobster Boy. “Dad told me that if I wanted a new bike, I’d have to buy it myself—and I need the money!”

  “I’ll sell you all three of mine for a dime,” volunteered Puddle Boy.

  “But I’ve already got one,” Hal protested, flashing them the card he had bought from the Banshee the day before. He ducked behind us in an attempt to hide from the frantic mob.

  “Don’t they know that all the other Professor Brain-Drain cards have been destroyed?” Stench muttered as Halogen Boy took shelter behind him.

  That made me realize something.

  “Don’t hide from all these eager sellers,” I told Hal. “We want to buy up every card we can.”

  “Why?” asked Tadpole.

  “Just trust me,” I said. “Hal, it’s time to start buying.”

  Melonhead caught up with him right at that moment, waving his Professor Brain-Drain card wildly in the air.

  “Jutht a thingle tholitary dime,” he insisted.

  Halogen Boy hesitantly slipped his hand into his pocket, held it there for a second, and then slowly retrieved a single dime.

  “You’re getting yourthelf a thteal,” said Melonhead as he grabbed the dime from Hal’s hand and shoved the card at him. It was sticky with watermelon juice.

  Everyone else elbowed their way closer as, one by one, Hal exchanged dimes for Professor Brain-Drain cards. At lunchtime word had spread among the other classes, and by the time school was over we had managed to purchase every one of the remaining duplicate Brain-Drain cards.

  As we walked to team headquarters after school, I shuffled through the cards. There were about seventy-five of them altogether. Some had mold on them, some were clawed up, some were in collector bags, and one of them even looked like it had been deep fried. But the important thing was that they all belonged to us.

  When we got to Stench’s place his dad was working in the backyard. He’d obviously just finished using his power to blow all the leaves into one big pile. Now he was burning them a few armfuls at a time in a big metal barrel. I walked up to it and asked Windbag if he would mind me getting rid of some garbage.

  “Go right ahead, O Boy,” he replied, “I’m just getting the yard cleaned up in case anyone from the press wants to come by and interview me.”

  Clearing the leaves really didn’t do a whole lot to make a junkyard look nicer, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I strolled over to the flaming barrel.

  “What are you doing?” Tadpole yelled as I took the stack of phony cards and dropped them into the fire.

  “He must know what he’s doing,” Plasma Girl said, holding him back, “unless Professor Brain-Drain sapped some of his smarts.”

  I ignored the comment as I turned and began climbing up the ladder to our headquarters.

  “Is that what happened?” Tadpole pressed as they followed me. “You seemed fine up until Brain-Drain kidnapped you.”

  “It’s true,” I said, smiling to myself. “But you weren’t there when he started draining away my intelligence on his blimp. If AI and my dad had arrived any later, who knows how much I would have left?”

  “Wow,” said Stench, “that must have been pretty scary. Do you feel like you’re dumber?”

  “Sure he is,” said Tadpole as he plopped down on the couch. “Why else would he have just burned all those cards we spent the entire day buying?”

  “It doesn’t make very much sense,” Halogen Bo
y agreed.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I said, glancing over to our Hall of Trophies and the one, the only, remaining Professor Brain-Drain card left in existence. “It doesn’t make any sense at all.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  WILLIAM BONIFACE may or may not exist. Ordinary Boy, after all, tells his own story. Mr. Boniface could simply be a creation of the publisher in order to fulfill the requirement than an author be listed on the cover of this book. Given that possibility, there is no harm in revealing that Mr. Boniface has lent his name to over two dozen far less wordy children´s books that were also in need of an author. Unless, of course, he didn´t, which would make this entire biography irrelevant.

  For exclusive information on your favorite authors and artists, visit www.authortracker.com.

  CREDITS PAGE

  Cover art © 2006 by Stephen Gilpin

  COPYRIGHT

  Harper Trophy® is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Publishers.

  The Extraordinary Adventures of Ordinary Boy, Book One: The Hero Revealed

  Text copyright © 2006 by William Boniface

  Illustrations copyright © 2006 by Stephen Gilpin

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