by Zoe Quinn
“Okay, sure.” I peeked around the kitchen doorframe and watched Josh helping himself to a cup of punch. “As soon as the meeting is over, I'll—”
“Now, Zoe.”
“Now?”
I peeked into the living room again. More of Mom's activist friends and acquaintances had arrived. People were passing the flyers around and sounding interested and excited, and Josh looked so cool in his SAVE THE WHALES T-shirt. Surely whatever Grandpa wanted to show me could wait. Just then, Josh turned in my direction and waved at me. I nearly dropped the phone.
“I'll be there, Grandpa,” I said, returning Josh's wave. “Forty-five minutes, tops.”
“Zoe, I realize your mother's meeting is about to begin, but—”
I didn't hear the rest of Grandpa's sentence because now Josh was smiling at me.
“So, Grandpa, I'll see you in about an hour?”
“Zoe!” Grandpa's voice was so loud that I had to hold the handset away from my ear. “You must come to the store at once. This can't wait.”
“Okay, okay!” I crept farther into the kitchen, pressed the phone to my lips, and spoke in a whisper. “What's so important?”
“A message,” said Grandpa, more quietly. “From the Superhero Federation, Department of Punishable Offenses.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in.
“Zoe?”
“I'm on my way,” I managed to croak.
I hung up the phone, went back into the living room, and approached Josh.
“You're not going to believe this,” I said, forcing a chuckle, “but I've got to leave.”
“Leave?” He frowned.
“Yeah, but I'll be right back,” I said, trying to smile. I hope I will, anyway, I thought as I dashed off a note to my mom; the words “Punishable Offenses” were ringing in my ears.
I hurried out the door, hoping for the best…
… but prepared for the absolute worst.
little bell on the front door of the cleaner's jangled when I stepped inside. Grandpa nodded to me but didn't smile. I decided to try my luck with Gran.
“How's it goin', Gran?”
“Hello, Zoe dear.” Her eyes looked worried. That made me feel worse—Gran knew all about my superhero training, even though she wasn't a Super herself.
“Sally,” said Grandpa,”will you watch the counter, please?” He didn't wait for an answer; instead, he crooked his finger at me, then stepped through the curtain that led to the rear of the shop.
I took a deep breath and followed him.
Grandpa's office was a small, boxy room tucked in the back of the dry-cleaning store. There was a desk under the window, where he kept track of his paperwork. On the desk in a brass frame was my fifth-grade school photograph. As Grandpa took his seat behind the desk, I motioned to the picture.
“Worst haircut I ever had,” I said, laughing a little. “And look at that sweater! What was I thinking?”
Grandpa said nothing. So much for conversation.
I watched as he opened the top drawer of the desk and removed a plain business envelope addressed to me, care of Speedy Cleaners. It was postmarked and everything, and looked totally official. That sort of threw me; I was expecting a more high-tech form of communication. The only thing out of the ordinary about this envelope was that it had no return address on it.
“It's a letter,” I said somewhat stupidly.
“I told you it was a letter.”
“You said it was a message.”
“A letter is a message.”
“Yeah, but I thought it would be something more … ya know… technological.”
He handed me the letter. I just held it for a long moment, stalling, I guess.
“So the Superhero Federation uses the U.S. Postal Service.”
“Why not?” Grandpa's tone was even. “It's perfectly reliable.”
I opened the envelope and removed a sheet of average-looking cream-colored stationery with the Superhero Federation logo emblazoned at the top.
Dear Superhero in-training,
As you know, the Super Federation expressly forbids apprentice-level superheroes from utilizing their powers prior to completing phase one of their training, which includes taking and passing exam one of the superhero assessment process. We are writing to let you know that we have learned of your recent unsanctioned superhero activity.
Before I could read further, the page in my hand started to tremble. The letters began to shift, moving outward toward the margins, sliding across the surface like a water bug on a pond, leaving the center of the page blank, but only for a split second. I shook my head to clear it, but it wasn't just my eyes going goo-gly with shock. The letters really had scooted to the edge of the page. They were replaced by a graphic that sprouted right up out of the paper, a three-dimensional image like one of those popup illustrations in kids' books. But this was no ordinary cardboard foldout. The image was animated, made of light and shadow, like a teeny tiny movie playing in the palm of my hand.
I stared down at the letter, amazed to recognize a miniature version of my school auditorium flickering on the page. It was actual footage taken the day of the final rehearsal for the school play.
I looked at Grandpa, astounded; a smile played around the corners of his mouth, but he kept his voice stern. “High-tech enough for ya?”
The pop-up scene was showing Howie onstage with Emily, and I was there in the wings. Then I was jumping across the page and crashing into the set, just like I remembered it. At that point, the pop-up movie stopped flickering and flattened itself back into the page. The words skidded from the margins back to their proper places, which I figured meant that I should read on.
So I read on:
It is with the utmost seriousness that we, the staff of the Department of Punishable Offenses, do hereby notify you that you are being placed on Apprentice Probation, effective immediately. With the exception of officially supervised training sessions, you are not, under any circumstances, to use, display, or otherwise employ your powers. Failure to abide by this warning will result in instantaneous dismissal from the apprentice program.
Respectfully yours,
I had just gotten to the signature at the bottom when the paper began to glow. It went from cream-colored to electric yellow to bright purple. Then the paper shriveled up and disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Okay, so as far as stationery goes, I had to admit, the Superhero Federation had some unbelievably cool letterhead. But that didn't change the fact that the correspondence had contained the worst possible news I could have gotten.
I was on probation.
Last Chance Saloon.
One more strike and I was out.
In other words, I was in trouble.
It felt like a million years passed before Grandpa got up from his chair and joined me on the other side of the desk. The office still smelled of smoke from the disappearing message; it made me remember the way Gran's dining room had smelled right after I'd blown out my twelve (and one for good luck) birthday candles just a few weeks before—the night I found out I had superpowers. That seemed like a trillion years ago.
Grandpa put one hand on my shoulder. “I think you're beginning to understand how important this is,” he said.
I nodded hard but kept my eyes fixed on the floor.
“The Superhero Federation is a powerful institution, Zoe. The most powerful in the entire galaxy. They do not hand out any sort of punishment without giving the situation careful consideration first.”
“Baloney!” I said.
Grandpa looked at me in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“This is just a bunch of baloney!” I said more loudly. The nervous feeling I'd had when I started reading the letter had morphed into anger.
“I had to use my powers that day!” I went on.”If I hadn't, Howie and who knows who else would have been hurt. What did the Federation expect me to do? Let my friends get squashed? Yeah, sure, I broke the rule—I used my powers sooner t
han I was supposed to, but c'mon, I saved someone's life! And these Federation guys are worried about my timing? That's just nuts!”
Grandpa was staring at me with his mouth open. I began to stomp around the office.
“It's not only nuts, it's unfair. You can't punish someone for doing something good!” I stopped and planted my hands on my hips. “Maybe I'm not cut out for this whole superhero thing. If the big bosses would rather I let my friend take a light fixture to the skull than use my powers ahead of schedule, then maybe I don't want to work for them.”
For a moment, Grandpa didn't seem to know what to say. “This probationary period is for your own protection as much as for the whole galaxy's safety,” he said at last.
“What about Howie's safety?” I demanded.”The Federation is a bunch of hippopotamuses!”
“Hypocrites,” came Gran's voice from the doorway. “I think you meant to say 'hypocrites.' ”
“Yeah. That's what I meant. Hypocrites. They want me to develop instincts and take care of the world, and then when I do, they go and pitch a fit just because the rules say I'm supposed to wait. Well, I bet Howie's glad I didn't wait.”
Gran laughed. “Excellent point. I agree with everything you just said. Well, except that part about not working for the Federation.” She crossed the room, then braced her hands on my shoulders and looked me directly in the eye.
“You have the mighty blood of Zip in your veins, and because of that you will not quit. I simply won't have it. I suggest you make a formal appeal and tell those big bosses, as you call them, that you think the rules need to be tweaked a bit. You have every right to do so. Give them a piece of your mind, girl. Maybe they'll see reason. But in the meantime, you're going to get through this probation, pass that blasted test, and carry on the family legacy… and you're going to be darn good at it.”
I thought for a long moment. “Are you sure you're not just saying this to make me feel better about the whole probation thing?”
“Positive.” Gran's eyes twinkled. “When you're right, you're right. And besides, I spent the last two weeks working on this little beauty!” With that, she produced what she'd been clutching behind her back. It appeared in a flourish of pink and green— zippers shining, snaps glinting in the fluorescent light of the office.
My supersuit.
As it swayed gently on its hanger, I could only stare at it— a two-piece ensemble that consisted of a shirt and a pair of pants. They were just about the coolest articles of clothing I'd ever seen, and I was pretty sure Emily would agree with me. I could tell Gran was still working on the suit because some of it was held together with straight pins, and several loose threads hung from the seams. But I knew that when it was finished, it was going to be fabulous.
The top was basically just a long-sleeved shirt, designed with broad hot pink and brilliant green stripes. Pinned to the shoulders was a flowing cape of shimmering pink fabric. Gran had marked the hem; it would come down to about the middle of my thighs. On the front of the shirt was my superhero logo. It was just like the symbol Grandpa had shown me the night he revealed the big secret, but this one was embroidered in pink and green to match the suit.
The bottom part of the outfit was just as awesome to behold. The pants were green, with a bunch of cargo pockets and utility loops attached. They were cuffed at the knee, and I could see that Gran had sewn heavy-duty knee pads inside. I had already received a pair of superindestructible pink and green boots to complete the outfit.
“Fashionable and durable,” Gran pronounced.” Very durable.”
Grandpa reached out and touched one of the sleeves. “Dry clean only, of course.”
“The cape is fireproof,” Gran boasted. “Not to mention ultra-absorbent.”
“You made this for me?” I said in a hushed voice. “Even though I haven't even taken my test?”
“Yes,” said Gran confidently “We have absolute faith in you. We know you're going to succeed.”
“Here's another little something you might like,” Grandpa said, reaching into one of the file cabinet drawers and withdrawing a green knapsack.
“A backpack,” I said, though I guessed it was probably a whole lot more than just a backpack.
“This is where you'll store the supersuit when you're not wearing it,” Grandpa explained. He gave one of the many zippers a shake. “These are unmeltable.”
“Clever.”
“The fabric looks like everyday nylon,” he explained, “but actually, it's made by the Federation specifically for use by super-heroes. It won't snag, rip, shred, or fray.”
“Wow.”
“I've been trying to talk the Federation into marketing it to pantyhose manufacturers,” Gran added. “So far, no dice.”
I giggled.
“The pockets each serve a particular purpose.” Grandpa indicated each of the outer compartments and rattled off its function. “Digital tracking devices go here; truth serum vials slip securely into these pouches; code-breaking equipment is kept in this compartment, and intergalactic communication tools fit here.”
I took the backpack and examined it closely.
“The straps can be detached and used to restrain villains,” Grandpa continued. “The entire thing is laser-proof, which means it can double as a shield against any variety of ray-emitting weapon. Oh, and if you tug this flap three times, the backpack will glow in the dark.”
“Neat.” I took hold of the zipper that secured the front pocket and checked out the three little items that were clipped to it. They looked like key chains, the kind every kid in my class had hanging off his or her backpack. One was a minicheeseburger made out of rubber. The second was a yellow smiley face pom-pom, and the third was a plastic pennant that read COOL KID.
I tried to imagine what I'd be able to do with these gadgets. Probably transmit top-secret information around the globe, or maybe spray memory-erasing gas, or see through brick walls.
“What do these do?” I asked eagerlyjiggling the gadgets through my fingers. “These things that look like regular key chains.”
Gran and Grandpa exchanged a look. “Those are regular key chains,” said Grandpa. “We put them on because we thought you'd like them.”
Oh. Well… that was good, too. I was crazy about cheeseburgers.
Gran gave me a wink, holding out the suit again. “Try it on.”
“Really?”
“I want to check the length on that cape. I think they're wearing them a little shorter these days.”
I took the hanger and hurried out of the office into the fitting room where Gran's customers tried on clothes for her to alter. I tore off my own clothes, then removed the supersuit from the hanger.
I got a little tangled in the cape trying to get the shirt over my head, and the pants had so many buttons, hooks, and zippers that I thought I'd never get them fastened.
When I finally got the pants on, I felt something in the front pocket. I reached in and pulled out a figure-eight-shaped scrap of green fabric.
Reverently, I placed it over my eyes and secured it behind my head with its elasticized strap. Then, drawing a deep breath, I turned slowly toward the full-length mirror and looked at myself. Zoe Richards, superhero.
Well, almost.
A volcano of pride erupted inside my chest as I marveled at my reflection. I seemed to be standing straighter than I ever had before, and there was a bold upward tilt to my chin.
A surge of confidence filled me, despite the mistakes I'd made so far, despite the probation, and despite the fact that I didn't fully agree with some of the Federation's rules and regulations. I can do this, I thought. Gran and Grandpa believed in me.
And suddenly, for the first time since discovering that I was destined to be a force of good and justice in the universe, I believed in myself.
meeting was over when I got home. I carried the backpack into the house hidden under a pile of Dad's freshly dry-cleaned shirts that Grandpa had sent home from the shop. Just knowing I had the backpack wa
s making me smile my head off.
Mom looked pretty happy, too.
“I guess the meeting went well,” I observed, placing the backpack near the stairs.
“Very well,” said Mom, taking the leftover lemon squares into the kitchen. “As soon as I told them about the waste pipe we saw dumping sludge into the river, everyone jumped right on board. We've planned a rally at the factory for Saturday.”
I grabbed a few empty plates and cups and joined her at the sink. “That sounds exciting.”
“Speaking of exciting…” Mom had a little smile on her face as she crossed to the refrigerator. “Josh left this for you.” One of the meeting flyers was folded and stuck to the metal face of the fridge with a chrysanthemum-shaped magnet, next to my last geography test, the one with the huge red A+ on it. Mom removed the flyer and handed it to me.
I unfolded the flyer and saw that Josh had written a short note on the back of it. I immediately folded it up again for fear of fainting on the spot.
Oh, man! What an amazing day this was turning out to be. first the supersuit and an indestructible backpack, now this! A note from Josh Devlin in his very own handwriting (which was a little on the sloppy side, but hey, I could live with that)!
“He's a very nice young man,” said Mom, but her smile faded. “I wonder if Howie will feel bad about your receiving notes from another boy.”
Ugh. I'd forgotten that Mom was under the impression that Howie Hunt was my boyfriend. I'd had to use that fib a couple of times to cover up for superhero stuff. But seriously, how could I ever have Howie as a boyfriend? In first grade, we used to sit in the backyard and have contests to see which of us could stuff the most marshmallows into our mouth.
“C'mon, Mom,” I said, rolling my eyes. “It's a puny little note, it's not a dozen long-stemmed roses! And besides, it's not like Howie and me are married or anything!”
“Howie and I,” Mom corrected automatically. “I'd just feel awful if you broke poor Howie's heart.”
