Never Fear, Meena's Here!

by Karla Manternach

  I back away. “What’s his problem?”

  “You scared him.” She takes a step forward and reaches out to him. “Estás bien, gatito,” she says in a low voice.

  He glares at me, then turns and nuzzles her hand.

  I shoot Oriol a look. “Can we just put him inside for a while?”

  “I haven’t seen him all day,” Sofía says, stroking the top of his head.

  My heart sinks. I haven’t been over in weeks, but she doesn’t seem to care about that.

  “What are you trying to do, anyway?” she asks.

  “Forget it,” I mutter.

  I’ll just figure this out on my own. I’ll practice at home until I know for sure what my powers are. Then, when the time is right, and she least expects it, I’ll be ready.

  BAM!

  It doesn’t matter what we do now, so I let Sofía pick. We waste the rest of the afternoon watching a bunch of those bird videos she likes. I wish I could mind-control myself, but all the powers in the world couldn’t make me like bird stuff. I sit there, staring at the screen and sucking on my plastic stick long after the candy is gone.

  And just once, even though I know I shouldn’t, I WHOOSH a thought at her as hard as I can.

  Believe me.

  8

  It’s pouring rain when I wake up on Saturday, which foils my plan to test out my flying on the school playground while nobody is there.

  When I come downstairs, Mom is already at the computer in her bathrobe. She takes off her glasses, rubs her eyes, and motions me over. “Want to guess how long I’ve been up?” she asks, wrapping me in a hug.

  “An hour.”

  “Two, actually.”

  “Why?”

  “Tax season.”

  There’s a chart on her screen—rows of gray rectangles, filled with tiny black numbers. “How can you spend two hours looking at that?”

  She gives me a twinkly look. “I don’t mind. I like getting everything in order. It’s beautiful in its own way.”

  “It’d be nice if it were beautiful in an actual way.” I get out the Rainbow Pops cereal and pour the last of it into a bowl.

  “I think we’re out of milk,” Mom says.

  “That’s okay.” I count up the colors in my bowl—no purple. Which reminds me… “Hey, when are we painting my room?”

  “Depends how much I get done this week.” She stands up. “You need anything before I go shower?”

  “Something purple.”

  “Grapes in the fridge,” she says. She kisses me on top of the head and scuffs away in her slippers.

  I grab a few grapes and sit crunching on dry cereal, listening to the patter of rain and the soft whir of Mom’s computer. I try to hum a matching pitch to make it sound more like music, but I can’t keep my eyes off the dull gray rows. They’re the same color as my bedroom. I’m just about to turn the screen away when I feel the twitch of an Inspiration.

  My crunching slows down. I scan over all those numbers, trapped inside their little gray cells.

  I know what that’s like.

  I can save them, I realize. So what if they’re only numbers? I can save Mom, too. She shouldn’t have to stare at that boring, black and gray screen hour after hour.

  I scoot up to the computer and get started. When I click on the drop-down menu, a grid of colors appears on the screen like a miniature paint chip display. There are so many to choose from! For a long time, I click and highlight and change colors. I pick a new font, too—something cheerful this time. I don’t know how long I’m at it, but pretty soon, the whole screen looks like a rainbow. I’m just about to save my work when I hear a gasp.

  Mom is standing in the doorway in jeans and a sweater, her hair wet around her shoulders. “What are you doing?”

  I jump up and throw out my arms. “Surprise!”

  She hurries over and stares at the screen. “Did you change my numbers to Comic Sans?”

  “No need to thank me,” I say. “I was just doing my—”

  “No, no, no…” She claps her hands over her cheeks and sinks into the chair. “I have to get it back.”

  I blink. “Why?”

  “Seriously, Meena.” She starts to click frantically. “I can’t submit it like this. How do I get it back?”

  “There’s an undo button. It’s right—”

  “Don’t touch it!”

  I take a step away.

  She starts clicking undo over and over, draining all the color from the screen. I feel it leaking out of me, too. “I thought you’d like it,” I mutter.

  “What I’d like,” she says, “is for you to leave my work alone.”

  I shake my head and stomp my bowl over to the sink. She’s like someone on a crumbling ledge that won’t jump into Superman’s arms. Some people don’t know what’s good for them.

  I head upstairs and plop onto the floor of my workshop. This is probably a bad time to ask if there are any railroad tracks around here, in case somebody’s getting tied up. Or if there are any earthquakes scheduled, in case people start falling into the cracks.

  I guess I could work on my supersuit some more. I should have grabbed a milk jug, but no way am I sneaking past Mom to the recycling bin now.

  Maybe if I made my body flat enough, I could slide through the doors, stretch around corners, and slip past her!

  I try wedging my head under the door, but it doesn’t fit. My fingers go through, no problem, but the meaty part of my hand gets stuck. I let out all my breath and suck in my stomach, but I still can’t get through. I sigh, pick up Raymond, and kiss his hooves. “Worth a try,” I tell him.

  Maybe I can float the milk jug up here with my mind!

  I press my hand against the door and grab hold of the Rainbow Ring, imagining the recycling bin by the back door. I picture a milk jug floating silently past Mom, close to the floor, where she won’t spot it. I concentrate on reeling it in, up the stairs, down the hall to my—

  KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!

  I lurch away from the door, my heart pounding.

  But when I creak it open and peek out, it’s just Rosie, holding Pink Pony by the tail. “What are you doing?” she asks. When she scratches the front of her neck, the pink beads on her bracelet click.

  “Working,” I say. “Go away.”

  “Can I help?”

  I’m about to tell her no when I realize something. Maybe instead of moving the milk jug with my mind, I accidentally commanded Rosie here to get it for me.

  That’s almost as good!

  “Actually,” I say lowering my voice, “I do need something.”

  She leans in closer. “What?” she loud-whispers.

  “A milk jug. From the recycling.”

  She nods, very serious, then darts down the stairs. I make sure to channel my mind control so Mom doesn’t get suspicious. You don’t see her—WHOOSH. You aren’t interested in what she’s doing at all.

  Then Rosie is back, handing the jug through the door.

  “Did Mom ask what you were doing?”

  “Nope. She was working.” Yes! Rosie pokes her head in. “What are you making?”

  I squint at her. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone else. Promise?”

  “Not even Mom?”

  I start to close the door.

  “Wait,” she says quickly. “I promise.”

  I wave her in and shut the door. “It’s a suit.”

  Her eyes get wide. “What kind of suit?”

  “A supersuit.”

  “What for?”

  I think fast. “Let’s just say I met a superhero.”

  “What? Lucky!”

  “And let’s just say this superhero asked me to make them a suit.”

  Rosie sighs. “You’re good at making stuff.”

  “Right? So how would you like to bring me some supplies?”

  She perks back up. “What do you need?”

  I get lots of good work out of Rosie. She fetches a plastic tablecloth from the picnic supplies, a
snorkeling mask from the swim bag, and a garbage bag from under the kitchen sink. When I get thirsty, she fills my water bottle and brings it up. She even grabs Mom’s galoshes and stuffs the toes with crumpled paper so they don’t fall off my feet.

  “I need a utility belt,” I tell Rosie next. “How do you think Mom would feel about lending me some tools?”

  It’s hard to tell through the swim mask that’s strapped over the eyeholes I cut in the jug, but Rosie looks doubtful. “Not good,” she says.

  “Okay.” My voice sounds flat and muffled in here, and my breath is making it wet. “Then just grab the pinchy thing, the wheely-deely thing, and the sunction thing. And you’d better leave the hammer.” I’ll just have to kick down doors with my feet.

  When Rosie creeps downstairs, I check out my suit in the mirror. As long as I keep the mask on, you can’t tell it’s me in here!

  I clomp back and forth across the room. The galoshes make a floppy, rubbery sound when I run. I’m so busy trying to get the picnic cape to flutter behind me that I forget to protect Rosie.

  “Meena Zee, come down here!”

  Mom.

  I throw off my costume and hurry to the kitchen. The tools are on the table, and Mom is sitting with her arms crossed. Rosie is slumped in a chair, not looking at me.

  “Give us a minute, please, Rosie,” Mom says.

  Rosie gives me I’m sorry eyes and slinks away.

  Mom rests her elbows on the table. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why have you had your sister running around all morning?”

  “We’re working on a project.”

  She leans forward. “Who’s working on it?”

  I toe the floor. “I am. But Rosie’s helping me,” I add quickly.

  Mom gazes at me for a long time. “You know, one of these days, Rosie is going to wake up and realize that you’re taking advantage of her.”

  “You said to include her,” I say, the back of my neck getting hot.

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  “But she likes it!”

  “Rosie doesn’t want to be your errand girl, Meena,” Mom says. “She wants to be your equal.”

  “We’re not equal. I’m older than her.”

  (Plus, I’m a superhero.)

  Mom sighs and rubs her forehead. “Stop ordering her around,” she says. “It’s not good for her. It’s not good for you to get your way all the time either. But for now”—she nods toward the sink—“the least you can do is wash the breakfast dishes.”

  “What? It’s Rosie’s turn!”

  “I think she’s done enough for you today.”

  I huff over to the sink. It isn’t fair! No one ever made Superman wash the dishes! You’d better believe he never had to do his sister’s chores, either. You know why?

  Because he didn’t have one! Lucky.

  I put in the plug and turn the water onto full blast, my stomach clenching in a tight little ball. When I squeeze in the soap, a cloud of lemon-fresh steam rises all around me. I breathe it in a few times, my stomach relaxing a little. Okay, so I don’t really mind having a sister. Not usually. But what good are my powers if I can’t use them for myself once in a while?

  Then I remember what Sofía said. About using my powers for good.

  I turn off the faucet and look at the cups and bowls peeking up through the bubbles. I’m supposed to fight crime. Defeat villains. Defend the public. I’m supposed to help people. That’s what I started out doing.

  Why do I keep getting sidetracked?

  I pick up a bowl and rub the sponge over it then rinse off the suds and set it on the rack. I wash the next dish, and the next, concentrating on each one, lining them up in a neat little row to dry, clean as a whistle. For a while, there’s no sound in the kitchen but the water trickling and Mom clicking and the rain tapping against the windows.

  Then the back door rattles, and Dad steps in, soaking wet in his running tights. “Hey, champ,” he says when he sees me.

  “You ran in the rain?” I ask.

  “You bet. It’s invigorating! See?” He comes over, shakes his head like a dog, and splatters me.

  “Dad!”

  He snickers and ruffles my hair then picks up a dish towel and starts drying the back of his head. “I ran by your sister’s,” he says to Mom. “She said Riley didn’t come home last night.”

  Mom looks up from her computer. “What? Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine. He went on a road trip with some friends at the last minute instead. He was already halfway to Florida when he called.”

  I pull the plug out of the sink. “He’s not coming at all?”

  “He said he’d come next weekend,” Dad says, “at the end of his break.”

  “But Eli wanted to do a concert for him,” I say, drying my hands on my shirt.

  “I guess he’ll have to do it next week.”

  But that wasn’t all he had planned. I think of Eli running home from school yesterday, and my chest starts to hurt. I imagine him waiting in his living room last night with a big bag of jawbreakers. I picture him sitting alone in his room right now. I swallow hard. “He wanted Riley to take him to the pool this morning,” I say.

  Mom sighs. “He can’t exactly do that from Florida.”

  I put my hand over the Rainbow Ring. “But I can.”

  Mom tilts her heads at me. “You think he’ll still want to go?”

  “Of course he will. He loves it there.”

  Dad looks at Mom and shrugs. “It can’t hurt to offer.”

  I make a move for Mom’s phone. “I’ll call him. Can you drop us off?”

  “Honey…” She grabs the phone away. “We can’t just leave you there.”

  I stare at her. “Why not? We go swimming by ourselves all the time.”

  “You did last summer, but things are different now. If you had a seizure in the water…” Her voice trails off.

  I wave my hand in the air. I’m sure the Rainbow Ring would keep me safe, but all I can say out loud is, “That’s what lifeguards are for.”

  “Lifeguards scan the area,” Mom says. “Someone needs to watch you. Besides that, Rosie will want to go, and she hasn’t passed the swim test yet.” She smacks her hands on her thighs and starts packing up her computer. “We’ll all go.”

  “But you’re working!”

  “I can work anywhere.”

  I roll my eyes. I don’t care who else is coming. This is my chance to help Eli and to use my powers for good—to be the kind of hero Sofía can believe in.

  It’s Meena to the rescue!

  9

  Aunt Kathy looks tired when she answers the door, her red curls wild around her face. “Eli,” she calls.

  Rain patters all around, but the tiny roof over their stoop keeps me dry. Down the hall, Eli shuffles out of his room, his shoulders slumped.

  “At least you still get to swim, right?” she says, holding out his bag.

  “But what if he changes his mind?” Eli whines. “What if he’s on his way now?”

  Aunt Kathy hangs the bag across his body. “If he shows up, I’ll send him over.” She strokes his hair. “But I don’t think that’s likely.”

  Eli scowls and pulls away from her. He grabs the strap of his bag and pushes past me.

  Aunt Kathy sighs, her eyes following him down the front walk as the rain pelts his head and shoulders. “Thanks for trying,” she says.

  “Don’t worry.” I give her arm a pat. “I’ve got this.”

  Rosie scootches to the middle seat to make room for us, her arm floaties squeaking.

  “Hey, buddy,” Dad says from the front.

  “Wanna see my bracelet?” Rosie asks, sticking her wrist in Eli’s face.

  Eli doesn’t say anything—just clicks in his seat belt, leans his head against the window, and stares out into the rain.

  * * *

  The indoor pool is the noisiest place on earth.

  The hot
tub groans and bubbles. Water crashes onto the splash pad floor. Kids shriek, whistles tweet, and lifeguard voices boom through megaphones: “Walk! Walk!”

  Mom spreads a towel on a lounge chair while Dad and Rosie go to play in the shallow end. I whip off my hoodie while Eli steps out of one sandal, then the other.

  “Wanna go off the diving boards?” I ask, shouting over the crashing and splashing.

  He shrugs.

  “The lifeguard there only has to watch two or three kids at a time,” Mom says, “so I’ll do some work. But if you go anywhere else, come and tell me.” She squints at my neck. “What’s that?”

  The Rainbow Ring! I clap my hand over it. “It’s a good-luck charm,” I stutter, thinking fast.

  She holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”

  I take a step back. “Why?”

  “I don’t want you swimming with something tied around your neck.”

  I clutch the Ring harder.

  “It’s not safe, Meena. I’ll hold it for you.”

  I hesitate. Warm, bleachy air prickles my nose. Slowly, I pull the Ring over my head and watch Mom stuff it in her pocket. My chest feels empty without it.

  I give myself a shake. I can still do this. I swallow and stand up straighter. Operation Cheer Up Eli is underway!

  “Come on,” I say and lead the way around the pool to the low diving board. “You want to go first?”

  Eli shakes his head, staring into space.

  I climb onto the board and take off running. “Octopus Jump!” I throw myself off the end, arms flailing. Cold shocks my body, and water muffles my ears, then right away I feel warm all over. I kick to the top and swim for the side, blinking hard.

  “Do a cannonball,” I yell to Eli.

  He shuffles to the end of the board and stands there, looking across the water. I follow his eyes, but there’s nothing over there except the entrance.

  “Let’s go, buddy,” the lifeguard calls from her chair.

  Eli steps off, barely making a splash.

  I groan. “That was boring,” I shout when he surfaces. “Come on. Let’s try it again.”

  We go off the board a few more times. I do a cannonball, a twist, and a flip that turns into a belly flop. When it’s Eli’s turn, I WHOOSH cheerful thoughts his way. I love the pool! I’m so glad I came!