by Sarah Kuhn
In addition to being one of my best friends, Sam is quite possibly the cheesiest person alive.
“You don’t even work here!” I protested.
“Thank you,” Nicole said, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “Bye, Bea. I left those books I was reading in the café. Maybe you can put them back when you’re done doing . . . whatever you’re doing.”
“Guh . . . you . . .” was all I managed to get out before she strode off, her sensible flats clicking insolently against the floor.
“Nice, I fulfilled her coffee needs, which got her to leave—you’re welcome. Score another point for Team Fujikawa,” Sam said, grinning and jerking a thumb at himself.
“Your whole . . . thing is too much right now,” I said, gesturing at the air around him. “Cheese, cheese, beaucoup fromage. I’ll remind you that the running score stands at Bea: 1273, Sam: 1162. You have miles to go before you catch up with me.”
Sam and I had been fierce academic rivals all through high school, constantly striving to one-up each other with extra credit, advanced classes, and ballooning GPAs. We’d ended up co-valedictorians and after that . . . well. I’d skipped college and other potential life experiences in favor of hanging around the Bay Area, pursuing my dream of becoming a full-fledged superheroine alongside my big sister. Sam had stuck around and gotten a gig at the Mission Mechanic autoshop, much to the chagrin of his two older siblings. Alex and Emily—or as we referred to them, Mr. Brag and Ms. Bore—had used their giant brains to become a fancy doctor and a fancy professor, respectively, and were desperate to convince Sam to use his giant brain in a way that was more impressive-sounding.
We’d basically bonded over being total disappointments to our families.
But we’d kept our ongoing score—something we’d started freshman year of high school—going to this day.
“And you know,” I added, “I think you should get points docked for abusing your heartthrob skills to flirt with my nemesis.”
“You use your superhero skills, I’ll use mine,” Sam said. “And speaking of, isn’t it abuse of your superheroic gifts to force people into buying stuff? Leah ended up selling that guy the whole wereporcupine series. All seventeen books.”
“It’s not abuse,” I retorted. “I only use my power for making our community here . . .” I gestured to my surroundings. “. . . a better place. I have a code.”
“A code that conveniently allows you to mind-control people you find especially annoying?”
“A code that ensures my place of employment runs smoothly, and snotty snobs don’t get away with anything.”
He gave me an amused smile. “Then why don’t you project some of that mojo onto Nicole? She is, in your estimation, extremely annoying.”
“Yes, but she’s only annoying me. My code is all about assessing what’s for the greater good. And in the end, I can’t force anyone to do anything they don’t actually want to do—that’s not within the realm of my power or my code. So in addition to making my little corner of the world better, I freed that guy to get what he really wanted underneath all the bluster. Which was seventeen volumes of wereporcupine goodness.”
Sam shook his head and passed me the other coffee cup he was holding. “Your code, much like your skill in solving advanced quadratic equations, needs work.”
“I kicked your ass in calculus—except for that one time, which barely counts,” I muttered, accepting the cup and taking a sip. “Ugh, this stuff is like battery acid.”
“Sweet, sweet battery acid,” he said. “I thought it was local and artisanal.”
“It’s Folgers with the label ripped off,” I said, going against my better judgment and taking another sip. “Anyway, why are you bringing me coffee? Aren’t you aware of how the customer-to-caffeine-slinger relationship actually works?”
He shrugged. “You looked upset. Your face gets a very particular crinkle right . . . here.” He tapped my forehead. “I don’t want you to prematurely age, thereby becoming a disappointment to Asian Aunties everywhere.”
“I’m already a disappointment for so many other reasons,” I said, batting his hand away. “Pay less attention to my stress wrinkles and more attention to your date.” I took another sip of terrible coffee and started walking back toward the café area. “What is that, the third one this week?”
His smooth brow crinkled. “I . . . mmm. I can’t remember.”
I shook my head. “You’re disgusting.”
“You’re one to talk,” he said, elbowing me. “I’m surprised Charlotte and Leah haven’t issued a ban on you dating customers.”
“I am a master of the drama-free breakup,” I said with a shrug. “So we always retain those customers. Also, I don’t straight up lose track of how many dates I’ve been on within a given time period.”
“There was that time you double-booked yourself, though,” he said, giving me a sly grin. “Guy with perma-scowl and way too much hair gel in the café. Girl with big sad eyes and flowery caftan in the bookstore. And you, running back and forth like you were in a hijinks-packed sitcom, trying to keep them from finding out about each other.”
“That was . . . unfortunate,” I admitted. “But back to your date. Is she another calendar groupie or did you attract her on the street after releasing an extra hefty dose of sexy mechanic pheromones?”
He laughed. “Calendar. That thing is the bane of my existence.”
“Riiight,” I said, giving him a look. “So awful. You must hate being you.”
He just shrugged, his grin widening. If there was one thing Sam Fujikawa did not hate, it was being Sam Fujikawa. He’d achieved a certain level of local fame—though not really the kind his siblings were hoping for—a couple months ago, when he’d been featured in the latest edition of the Bay Area Hunky Hot Hotties calendar, a grand San Francisco tradition that plucked twelve of the region’s studliest local business owners, photographed them in various states of undress, and ranked them from January to December. The thing sold like hotcakes, and all proceeds went to charity. Sam was Mr. March, and his photo was actually quite tasteful: his blue mechanic’s coveralls unbuttoned and shucked off to the waist, the better to show off his broad, muscled shoulders and ridiculous abs. And he’d been smiling that heartthrob smile, jet-black hair tousled just-so and falling rakishly over his forehead.
Since the calendar’s release, Sam had been inundated with admirers—though he never went out with any of them twice.
“She left,” Sam said. “My date. Our conversation was not exactly sparkling. No matter what topic we were on, she kept trying to steer me back to the organic beauty products she makes in her basement.” He frowned. “I think she was mostly trying to get me to buy some. Or sell some? Maybe dating is part of her complicated pyramid scheme.”
“How dare she,” I said, feigning outrage. “You don’t need any beauty products.”
“Anyway,” he said, rolling his eyes at me. “Why don’t you and Leah come over tonight. I’ll make katsu.”
Sam had learned how to make katsu from his uncle, who owned Curry On in Japantown—home of the best pork katsu curry you’ll ever have. My mouth watered just thinking about crispy panko breading surrounding perfect juicy pork drowning in a pool of spicy, soul-nourishing curry.
“I’m in,” I said, doing my best not to drool. “Curry me up. After I work on my Why I Should Be a Superhero presentation for a few hours, of course.”
“Of course.” Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped on the screen. “Just gonna make a grocery list . . . oh. Wow.”
“Wow . . . what?”
“Something’s going down at the waterfront,” he said. “And your sister’s in the middle of it.”
“What?” I squawked again. “Show me.”
I leaned over his shoulder and studied the screen, which contained a video someone had shot only minutes ago. It was blurry, shaky,
and clearly taken from far away, but if I squinted, I could make out three tiny figures poised by a long, blue stretch of waterfront: Evie, Aveda, and their frequent superheroing colleague Shruti Dhaliwal. Evie held up her hands, shooting bursts of flame. Aveda stood a few feet away from Evie, the fire dancing above her head—she was probably using her telekinesis to move it around, sending it toward . . . I frowned and squinted harder. They were being menaced by large, blurry gray blobs that looked like . . . stone? Big rocks that were kicking up some crazy-ass waves? What was happening?
“Twitter says they’re at the Wave Organ,” Sam said. “That sculpture near the Exploratorium? Supposedly, the waves pounding against it creates some kind of music. Though to be honest, I’ve never heard anything.”
I studied the image, wheels in my brain turning. Could Evie have been calling me earlier because she’d had a change of heart and wanted me to join her on this superhero excursion? I hadn’t let her get a word in, after all.
That seemed unlikely. But it didn’t mean I couldn’t once again reach past wanting and seize an opportunity that was staring me right in the face.
If I really showed Evie what I was made of—in the heat of battle—maybe it would make her forget her well-intentioned speeches about how I wasn’t ready. Showing her I was ready would be a hell of a lot more convincing than any presentation, no matter how much glitter I put on my posterboards.
I snatched Sam’s phone and dashed back into the books area of the store, my eyes never leaving the screen.
“Bea.” Sam’s voice was completely exasperated as he followed me, but I barely heard him.
“I need you to give me a ride somewhere,” I said. “Go get your car, okay? It’ll be way faster than trying to public transpo it to the waterfront.”
“Bea,” he repeated.
I stopped and faced him, tearing my eyes from the phone screen. “Look,” I said. “You’re going to try to convince me to do what you think is ‘the sensible thing,’ and we both know I’m not going to do that because neither of us are exactly known for doing ‘the sensible thing,’ which is one of the reasons we’re such good friends. So can we just skip that part and get to the part where you give me a ride because we are such good friends?”
He let out the longest sigh ever and headed for the exit. “Fiiiiiine.”
Satisfied, I continued my march over to Leah. “Hey,” I said, once I reached her. “You know that thing we’ve been working on in the back? It’s showtime.”
* * *
“Is that a cape?”
Sam was trying to drive and look at me in the passenger seat at the same time, and it wasn’t going very well. I’d requested he pull around to the front of the bookstore while Leah and I prepared the creation we’d been working on for months.
Even though I was in a hurry to get to the scene of a supernatural emergency, I’d taken a moment to pose in front of the mirror in the back room of It’s Lit, glorying in how the cape swished behind me, how the material looked like a beautiful rainbow kaleidoscope when the light hit it just right. Leah had also fashioned a tiny superhero cape out of the same fabric for Pancake—“just in case you find yourself in need of a sidekick”—and he ran around next to my feet, barking officiously as I posed.
Sam had tried to argue with me again when I got in the car, insisting he didn’t actually have time to give me a ride because he had to go to the grocery store for katsu supplies. I’d countered that if I didn’t get to the waterfront as soon as possible, I couldn’t help save the world, and then we wouldn’t be having katsu ever again.
I won. Bea: 1274. Sam: 1162. My lead was awesomely definitive.
“It is indeed a cape,” I said, using the passenger side mirror to adjust my glorious cape’s collar closure. “I know conventional wisdom is that capes get caught in stuff when you’re trying to kick evil in the balls, but Leah and I constructed this one to be aerodynamic, so it flows with me rather than impeding my movements.”
“It is . . . something,” Sam managed, sneaking another sidelong glance at me. “And the rest of the outfit?”
“Similarly designed and constructed to give me the best range of movement possible while also withstanding the ever mercurial San Francisco climate,” I said. “And pretty stylish, no? The combination of Leah’s art brain and my science brain is like magic.”
“Damn,” Sam said. “The two of you would make a kickass superhero team in your own right. Just call me if you need someone to be the face of the operation, I’ll be happy to add my charisma to your Justice League set-up.”
“All I need is your car,” I said, waving my hand at him in regal fashion. “Drive on, driver.”
Satisfied with my cape collar, I ran my palms over the rest of my costume, smoothing out stray wrinkles. I was wearing a short dress that mimicked the cut of my usual slip dress fare and heavy duty leggings—both made out of a special material Leah and I had devised to enhance my aerodynamic-ness. It was a shimmery rainbow of colors with highlights of blue and purple, to match my hair. We hadn’t quite gotten around to footwear—that was next on the agenda—so I’d topped the costume off with my purple ankle boots. They weren’t perfect for superheroing purposes, but they’d do in a pinch.
“Drop me off as close to the waterfront as possible,” I said. “Like, right about . . . here.”
“You’ll still need to run a ways to get to the Wave Organ,” Sam said, pulling over into a tiny sliver of space that wasn’t exactly a parking spot. He cast a doubtful look toward the water. “Are you sure you don’t want help—”
“How are you going to help me?” I said, poking him in the arm. “Gigantic stone monsters stomping the waterfront aren’t going to care about your charisma.”
“But—”
“Bye!” I sang out, leaping from the car and slamming the door behind me.
He frowned and looked like he wanted to say much more, but then the car behind him started honking, which set off a honk chain reaction. He gave me one last thoroughly exasperated look and drove off. I guessed he was going to look for a parking spot, but ha! The only places to park around here were grimy tourist lots that stacked cars like sardines, and no way would Sam risk a scratch on his precious automobile. He’d spent a good three months restoring and upgrading the engine and it was pretty much his baby.
I took a few deep breaths, bounced up and down on my toes a couple times, then took off, running down the dirt path by the water. On an ordinary day, it would have been a lovely stroll with a beautiful view. The Golden Gate Bridge peeked its way through the fog, a bright orangey-red exclamation point of a photo backdrop for tourists. The water, a mermaid-worthy blue-green, lapped against the craggy landscape that passes for beach in Northern California. And the wind swept my hair around in a way that probably would have looked glamorous if I’d been smiling for a sunny day selfie instead of sprinting toward the scene I could see in the far-off distance: those giant gray blobs menacing three tiny figures.
I tried to pick up speed, ignoring the way the ground smacked against the thin soles of my boots, making my feet and legs ache. My breath wheezed in and out and my lungs burned—I was definitely no athlete. But hey, neither was Evie. And she still managed to do a ton of kickass superheroing.
As I got closer, the gray blobs started to come into focus—they were definitely made out of some kind of stone. What the hell? Had giant stone monsters invaded from the Otherworld? The Otherworld had giant stone monsters now?!
I found myself darting around people running in the other direction—civilians, I realized, trying to escape whatever terror these massive stone monsters were dishing out. I dodged a woman wearing a sunhat and toting a giant camera, then dodged again when her camera swung around and nearly bonked me on the head. Clearly a tourist.
“Don’t go over there,” the woman screeched at me as she ran past.
“Something awful’s happening! Those
big rocks are trying to kill people!” chimed in a guy wearing an Alcatraz sweatshirt. Also a tourist.
“But Evie and Aveda and their superteam have got it under control—we should stay out of the way!” called out a teenage girl with a giant backpack. Hmm. Could be a tourist or just an angsty youngster with a lot of literal baggage.
“Oh, it’s cool, I’m part of the superteam!” I said breezily—well, as breezily as one can bellow something. But they were already gone, replaced by a new set of civilians just trying to get out of the damn way.
“My friend!” a woman wearing several fannypacks shrieked, gesturing in the direction of the stone monsters. “You have to help me find my friend, we were looking for her wallet and now I can’t find her—”
“I assure you, we’re working to evacuate all civilians.” Lucy Valdez—weapons expert and personal trainer to Team Tanaka/Jupiter—gave the woman a reassuring smile. She was bringing up the rear of the tourist crowd, trying to herd them away from the water. “Please head to the evacuation point. Perhaps your friend is there already.” Lucy turned and spotted me. “Bea! Darling, why aren’t you at the bookstore? Come on, we’re evacuating people to a safer location. Rose cordoned off an area by the Palace of the Fine Arts—”
“I’m not going to a safer location, I’m going to help,” I said firmly, nodding in the direction of the action.
“That sounds like a perfectly dreadful idea, but I suppose there’s no talking you out of it,” Lucy said, cocking an eyebrow. “We’ll be waiting if you change your mind.” And with that, she raced off, another wave of civilians hot on her heels.
I doubled down on my focus and tried to run faster, to wind myself through the crowd more efficiently. These boots were probably going to be toast. I could already feel a hole forming where the sole met the ball of my right foot. Too bad, they’d been my favorites.
I finally reached my sister and her friends and skidded to a stop right behind Evie, wheezing so hard I had to rest for a moment, doubling over and putting my hands on my knees. Leah and I had made sure the costume material was moisture-wicking, but that didn’t mean it had the power to stop me from sweating altogether. I felt sticky all over.
