It was a pair of somethings.
“Rocket shoes!” I goggled at the incredible sight. A pair of ordinary black leather school shoes, with the unlikely addition of rocket engines in the heels. They hovered over my bed.
Stellar’s eyes were wide with wonder. “D’you see what I did?”
Before I could reply, the floor began to tremble and a vibration shook the house. From outside tree branches creaked and popped like a submarine’s hull at depth. The Human Torch lamp slid across the bedside table, crashed to the floor, flickered and went out. A second later there was a click of circuit breakers as the house lost power and all the lights failed. In the dark I stumbled and lost my footing, twisting my ankle as I fell. I rolled under my bed, sheltering there for cover. There was a roar as the rocket shoes ignited once again, followed by a crash and a terrible ripping noise. The tremor subsided and the world steadied itself once more. Light spilled through the house as the power flicked back on.
I realised I couldn’t hear the rockets and it was safe to poke my head out from beneath the bed. The gerbil-hole had vanished, but I saw with a sinking heart that it had been replaced by another hole. The rocket shoes had blasted clean through my bedroom ceiling and the roof. Beyond a ragged opening of plaster and broken tiles lay the night sky.
From outside my door came the sound of scuffling feet. Stellar didn’t hang around. He shot out of the hole in the ceiling seconds before Mum and Dad burst into my room, quickly followed by Zack and Cara. Once they’d established that I was in one piece their attention turned to the less-than-one-piece ceiling. I couldn’t tell them what had happened, but they didn’t ask, instead putting the damage down to the freak earthquake, which was half true.
“Well, you won’t be sleeping in here for a while,” said Dad.
Mum agreed. “You’ll have to move in with Zack while the roof’s repaired.”
“No way!” Zack complained. “He can’t—”
Mum cut him off with a look. It was like General Zod’s just after deciding to destroy Earth, except more dangerous. “Cara, I think you’d better go home now,” she said. “I need Zack to help move furniture.”
I looked up into Zack’s glowering face. Not only was I about to become his unwelcome guest, I had also brought his cosy tutoring session with Cara to an untimely end. Stellar had really dropped me in it.
I hadn’t found out much, but I was more convinced than ever that Stellar was hiding a dark secret. Something about him wasn’t right. One moment he was his usual swaggering, smug self, who wouldn’t shut up, and the next he was quiet and sad. My super-twin was super-moody.
Dad attempted a makeshift repair, nailing a piece of plastic sheeting (and his tie) across the hole in the roof. We spent the remainder of the evening moving stuff out of my room, in case it rained. I tried to tell my furious brother that it wasn’t my fault, but he’d made up his mind. I was in the dog-house.
I brushed my teeth and fumed. Stellar was reckless. Dangerous. I planned to give him a piece of my mind, but I’d have to wait until everyone else was in bed. I headed to Zack’s room. In our old house Zack would occasionally let me sleep in his bunk bed (on the bottom, obviously). I missed those days. Under less shout-y circumstances I would’ve been looking forward to our sleepover.
I was in bed before Zack. On his side of the room a white lamp glowed from a bedside table. His duvet was a simple blue stripe; not a single Jedi or superhero decorated it. Zack didn’t see the point of any of that stuff. I remembered years ago, when Dad bought him a Spider-Man pillow set. He’d shoved it to the back of the wardrobe, crammed under a pile of shoes, where it had lain for months. Even at that age (I was four), I sensed that his lack of appreciation for the finer things in life – i.e. comic-books and lightsabers – was weird. It wasn’t as if he preferred opera and ate olives, but at seven years old he seemed different from anyone else.
It would remain like that for years. Growing up I always had friends over to play. Zack played host to the occasional schoolmate, but they never came more than once. He was serious, and always seemed to be worried about something. It’s hard to explain, but he didn’t appear worried for himself. He was like a lighthouse, standing at the edge of the world, anxious that everyone else got home safely.
Once I overheard Mum and Dad talking about him. Long after bedtime I’d left Zack asleep in our room to creep downstairs. I recall being on a mission to adjust the boiler settings. From an early age I displayed an uncontrollable urge to randomly push buttons and turn dials on any control panel within my short reach – an instinct that has since served me well in my adventures with supervillains and alien overlords. But which probably means I shouldn’t consider a career as a nuclear missile operator. As I sneaked past the kitchen door I heard Mum and Dad talking inside.
“Zack’ll be fine,” said Dad. “I was twice as weird when I was a kid and look how great I turned out.”
There was a long pause before Mum spoke. “He’s different – special. Luke is too, of course. But not like Zack. There’s something about that boy…”
I felt a pain in my chest. Not like the time I’d gulped down half a bottle of Dad’s chilli sauce on a dare. This was more of a dull ache. Standing on the other side of the door, I knew this was a conversation I shouldn’t be eavesdropping on, but I couldn’t walk away.
“Hey, maybe that’s it,” said Dad. “Zack’s name is on some ancient mystical scroll and he’s foretold in prophecy to save the world. See, the weight of his destiny is why no kid will play with him.”
“Are you going to take this seriously?”
They carried on their discussion, but I’d stopped listening. All I knew was that Zack was the most important person in my life. My world revolved around him. He was the sun and I was Mercury, which at a distance of 57 million kilometres is the closest planet in our solar system to the sun. He was my best friend. He was a total pain. He was my big brother.
Zack swept into the room. “You’d better not snore,” he said, climbing into bed. He snapped off the light, pulled his covers up and turned his back on me.
I wanted to discuss Stellar’s suspicious new power; ask him what he thought about the holes in the fabric of the universe. I wanted my brother’s advice.
I sat up. “Do you remember my gerbil, Wayne?”
There was a groan from beneath Zack’s duvet. “Go to sleep.”
Perhaps jumping straight in with questions about weird dimensional pets was the wrong approach. I needed to ease him into the conversation. When I thought of our old bedroom I also pictured Mum or Dad, sitting uncomfortably on an understuffed beanbag reading us bedtime stories. “What about Dad’s nursery rhymes? They were great. Remember ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Death Star’?” In Dad’s versions of nursery rhymes, boring old kings and queens became all-powerful galactic emperors, black sheep transformed into black ops, and the three blind mice were ninja masters. And let’s not even start with the mutant creatures lurking on Old Macdonald’s farm.
I began to recite.
“Twinkle, twinkle, little Death Star,
How I wonder at your firepower,
Up above my homeworld so high,
Raining fiery terror from the sky.”
“He only did those for you,” Zack muttered.
I detected a note of hurt in my brother’s voice. “That’s because he knew you weren’t into any of that stuff,” I said. “You wouldn’t get the references.”
“The two of you did loads of things like that,” he grumbled. “You and Dad went to that comic convention in Birmingham, you built the Lego Death Star without me and you spent ages making those Top Trump superhero cards together.”
The convention had been brilliant fun, I remembered constructing the Death Star and fixing its little thermal exhaust port flaw, but I hadn’t thought about those cards in years. One wet afternoon we’d sat at the kitchen table and invented a whole world of goodies and baddies, each with a detailed list of his or her own strengths, weaknesses and,
of course, superpowers. I gave them badly spelled names and drew them on individual cards. What had I called it? “Hearos & Vilanz,” I said, remembering.
“That was it. And when I said I wanted to play, you wouldn’t let me,” said Zack. “You threw a total fit. It was the same with that Spider-Man pillow set Dad bought me. You took one look at it and started crying that you wanted it. In the end, I hid it in the wardrobe, just to stop your whining.”
I didn’t remember it like that, but having got it off his chest, Zack rolled over and settled down for the night. I waited until I was sure he was asleep, then crept out of bed and made my way through the silent house to the garden.
The tree house lay before me, silhouetted against the blue-black sky. It had been completely rebuilt after what my parents believed was an accidental fire caused by a faulty novelty Thor lamp, but was in fact due to a booby-trapped alien TV remote control. Dad had since installed a smoke alarm that was so sensitive it went off if you so much as mouthed the word “smoke”. A pinprick of light shining from inside told me that Stellar had ignored my instruction not to draw attention to his presence. I hadn’t wanted to let him stay here at all but the others overruled me. It was my Batcave, my Fortress of Solitude, my Rebel base. And there was a superpowered cuckoo in my nest.
“Did you see that?” Stellar shouted delightedly as I stormed in. “I thought about rocket shoes and – whammo! – the universe sent me a pair.”
“You’re crazy, y’know that. You wrecked my room. And I’m pretty sure your power caused that earthquake.”
“I’d hardly call it an earthquake. At most it was a tremor.”
That was not reassuring. “This superpower of yours – are you sure it’s safe?”
“Hey, you can’t make an interdimensional omelette without breaking a few supermassive eggs.”
I had a strong suspicion that he was playing down the bad side. Punching holes in the universe sounded like the sort of thing that came with dire consequences. So far he had outmanoeuvred me like an X-Wing dogfighting with a Sopwith Camel, but I was determined to end the day one step ahead of my twin.
“We didn’t finish the interrogation,” I said.
He opened his arms wide. “Shoot.”
“Why don’t you want Lara to come with you to your world?”
He looked down at his feet then back at me. “Her superpower, it’s, well … a bit rubbish.”
To be fair, I used to think the same thing. Clearly, in his universe he hadn’t seen her in action against alien invaders.
“She has skunk hair,” I said.
“Really? Now, that is cool.”
I explained how Lara had used her power to save my neck against the Alien Overlord.
“Y’know what,” he said when I’d finished, “you’ve convinced me. Dark Flutter ought to be on the mission. The more superheroes the better, right?”
I hadn’t expected him to agree so readily. I felt wrong-footed again by my equal and opposite number. At least Lara would be pleased.
It was getting late. “I have to go,” I said. At the door I stopped and looked back. Stellar hadn’t moved. It’s the strangest feeling to be watched so intently through your own eyes. He knew exactly how I thought, what I knew, and how I’d react in any given situation. I searched his face for a clue to his real plan. Either he was telling the truth and everything would be fine, or I was facing the deadliest enemy I’d yet encountered.
Me. With superpowers.
In science an event horizon is the point of no return, the place in the universe from which nothing escapes. Or, as I preferred to call it, double maths with Mrs Endless. (Her real name is Endler, but honestly, who could resist?) As she droned on about integers I glanced up at the wall clock. The lesson still had fourteen hours left to go. Time stretched out like Mr Fantastic’s arms. I yawned.
“Luke Parker.” Mrs Endless’s voice interrupted my comic-book daydream.
“Minus forty-two,” I blurted out.
“Correct,” she said, spectacles slipping down her nose.
Well, that was a piece of luck. “It is?”
“No,” she snipped. “Not even close.” She prodded her spectacles back up her nose. “Miss out on our beauty sleep last night, did we, Mr Parker?”
“No, Mrs Endless— Endler!” I offered up an apologetic little smile.
She glowered at me. “I had your brother in my class last year,” Mrs Endless went on. (And on.) “Now, there’s a boy who applied himself.”
Here we go again, I thought. Another sharp reminder that Zack soared through his school career while I stumbled along behind him. I sighed inwardly.
“But then he does have the advantage of being superpowered.” There was a pause, and then Mrs Endless gave a great honking laugh, which while unsettling at least proved she didn’t believe the rumour.
With Mrs Endless’s seeming approval of the subject, the rest of the class began to discuss it in earnest. Conversations burst out like popcorn in a hot pan.
Josh Khan leaned over and whispered, “It’s true, isn’t it?”
I had to tread carefully. Josh already knew too much. “You’ve met Zack – does he strike you as the superhero type?” I said, trying to brush off his question while appearing unconcerned. Serge had informed me that in French it’s called being blasé.
Josh wasn’t buying it, in any language. “You know Dark Flutter. It’s hardly a stretch to imagine you also know her sidekick, Star Lad.”
Sidekick? Uh, what version had he been watching?
I could almost hear his mind whirring as he laid out his thinking. “I bet he’s a member of your secret squirrel gang. And that would explain why you’re a member too. You’ve got no powers, you’re useless at, well, pretty much everything. Your brother must have got you in.”
There was never a pool full of piranhas around when you needed one.
“Right, that’s quite enough chatter about Star Lad,” said Mrs Endless, clapping for silence. “Now, class, let’s have some fun dividing integers.”
Sometime around the year 3000 double maths eventually came to an end. By comparison, the rest of the day passed in a blur, mostly because I had to move fast to stay one step ahead of Josh Khan. I daren’t risk fielding any more of his questions, at least not until I’d filled Zack in. One wrong word could blow Star Lad’s identity wide open.
I was just about to leave when I saw Josh hurrying towards me. To my surprise, he didn’t stop to harass me with yet another irritating theory about my brother. Instead, he raced past, shouting, “Star Lad’s trying out for the running team!”
I hurried after him. What was going on now?
I arrived at the track and pushed my way to the front of the big crowd, just in time to see the climax of the latest heat. Out in front was Cara Lee. With a burst of speed around the final bend, she opened up a commanding lead on the rest of the pack. Arms pumping, knees rising to her ears, it seemed that her shoes barely touched the ground. She glided across the line, to victory.
I spotted Zack beside the track and made my way over. His eyes were latched on to Cara.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He tore his gaze away. “What does it look like? I’m trying out for the team.”
“Uh, why? I mean, how have you got time for this? You have even less free time than me, and I had to give up Lego club to take care of my S.C.A.R.F. responsibilities.”
He gave a sigh. “Why are you here, Luke?”
I ignored his unwelcome tone. “We have to talk. Josh Khan is on to us,” I said. “And when I say us, I mean you.”
He didn’t seem to hear me. He was too focused on Cara ambling back across the track chatting to another runner, a girl called Izzy. She had curly blonde hair, so everyone called her Frizzy Izzy.
“Great race, Cara,” beamed Zack. “You have lovely form.” He shook out his arms and did a star-jumpy thing.
The two girls exchanged looks.
“Some crowd, huh?” Zack knelt
to retie his shoelaces.
Cara glanced at the mass of spectators. “Mm-hmm,” she agreed.
“Aren’t there usually this many people?” he asked.
“Nope,” said Cara. “I’ve never even seen this many people turn out for an actual competition. The only school spirit in this place is haunting the peculiarly dark library.”
“So why are they all here?” asked Zack.
She gave him a look, as if to say, “Really, you have to ask?”
Just then the PE teacher blew his whistle.
“OK, flyboy, your turn,” said Cara. “Into the blocks. And good luck.”
“Yeah,” said Frizzy Izzy with a teasing smile, “Good luck, Star Lad.”
Zack’s cheeks flushed scarlet and he turned to take in the cheering crowd. Finally it dawned on him why all these kids had stayed after school for a boring track meet. They’d shown up to see their very own superhero in action. Someone unfurled a long banner. Scrawled across it was the phrase, “Go, Star Lad! Go!”
I caught the grim expression on his face. He was hating this. The last time I’d seen him so uncomfortable was when Mum accidentally shrunk his favourite underpants and he’d insisted on wearing them.
Someone was waving at me from the edge of the whooping crowd. It was Lara. I left Zack to take his place with the rest of the runners and jogged over. I don’t normally like to break into a run of any kind so I can only assume being around the athletics team must have brought it on.
“How did you know I was here?” I asked. Fair to say, the track was not my natural habitat.
“The school guinea pig saw you heading this way,” she explained. She gave a nod in Zack’s direction. “So, this must be his latest attempt to impress her.”
My Evil Twin Is a Supervillain Page 5
