AN: I had hoped to have this fic ready for my one-year fandomversary a couple weeks ago, but unfortunately real life got in the way. Still, it only seemed right that I celebrate with a oneshot dedicated to my favorite part of the show. I just love Wordgirl's relationships with her villains – the way they all try to fit into their prescribed roles but can't help caring about each other, and the little moments of connection that they share between all the silly schemes and fighting. It's my headcanon that as Wordgirl grows up and becomes more comfortable with herself and her role as hero, she'll begin to relax a lot more around the villains and real friendships will slowly start to emerge. So this fic fast-forwards four years into the future, to offer five little snapshots of what I think her relationships with the villains might have grown into by that point.
The different sections are not connected, though they do take place in chronological order.
It was a crisp, clear fall day and the park was a riot of glorious color, but Wordgirl did not have time to enjoy it.
"Look, I'm really sorry," she said, hovering several feet above the Butcher, the upturned hot dog cart, and the vendor bound in chains of sausage. "But I just can't do this today!"
"Why?" asked the Butcher, shading his eyes from the sun as he squinted up at her. "There better not be anyone else trying to pull off a crime today! I made it very clear at the last meeting that I've been taking the backseat for months –"
"No, no, nobody else is trying to pull off a crime, for once," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. "But it's like I was saying – were you there when I was talking about this? – I just started high school a month ago, and –"
"Hey, no kidding?" said the Butcher, suddenly bright with enthusiasm. "I had no idea! Don't just hang there, sit down and tell me about it!"
"Thanks," Wordgirl said. She zoomed down to sit on the low stone wall, behind the trashed hot dog cart. The Butcher settled down on the other side of the incapacitated vendor and looked at her expectantly. It was a pleasant spot, speckled with sunlight filtered through the orange leaves above them, with a view of the paths and people meandering through the trees.
"I mean," Wordgirl said, once she'd gathered her thoughts, "I knew it was going to be harder than middle school, it's not like that's a surprise. But I'm just so swamped!" She began to gesture wildly in her frustration. "I haven't even started my research paper that's due in a week and a half, and there's this huge geometry test this Tuesday that I really need to study for. I was going to get all caught up yesterday, but noooo, Miss Question had to hold up that game show, like, did it really have to be then? And, ugh, Mr. Big's traffic jam yesterday night –"
The Butcher nodded sympathetically. "That was really inconvenial for a lot of us."
"Inconvenient, you mean inconvenient," Wordgirl corrected automatically. "Anyway –"
"Look," came a beleaguered voice from below them, "If you guys are just gonna sit there and talk, could you maybe untie me first?"
Wordgirl frowned down at the hot dog vendor, who was squirming against his bonds. "I'm getting there, patience is a virtue," she chided. But she had to admit, his comment did give her pause. Since when did she just sit around chatting with the villains when there was work to be done?
Well, for quite a while now, actually. Looking back on her first few years as a hero, it was sort of funny. She could still remember how painfully careful she'd been about her secret identity, certain any indiscretion would come back to bite her. She hadn't been sure how this would happen, exactly, but she had still feared it with a childish vagueness. But slowly, almost inevitably, little bits of information had begun to trickle out, and with some villains the trickle had turned into a stream. How could it not? She spent so much of her life around these people, and some of them seemed to genuinely care about what she had to say. After years of secrecy and fear, it felt good to let her two lives come closer to meeting.
"Anyways," she said again, the vendor's comment making her suddenly self-conscious, "the point is that I just really don't have time for this today. It's nothing against you, really, I just have to finish up those research notes or I'm going to be in a world of hurt for the next couple weeks." She waited anxiously, hoping he wouldn't be offended. Her villains could be so sensitive sometimes.
The Butcher held up his hand. "Say no more," he said, in a tone he probably believed to be grandly munificent. "Schoolwork comes first, that's what I always say."
"Really?" she said, tilting her head and trying to wrap her mind around the idea of the Butcher having an educational philosophy.
"Well, maybe I don't say it a whole lot," he said, glancing down, sounding slightly sheepish now. "And I guess I didn't exactly do it a whole lot either." In response to her curious look, the Butcher shrugged. "Never really cared for school, myself. Didn't suit me. Figured I was gonna be following in my dad's footsteps anyway, so what did it matter if I could do long division? And I could never wrap my head around that sentence diaphragming business, either –"
"Diagramming."
"Right. Diagramming. That's what I said." She could tell from the way he grinned slightly and quickly glanced at her that he was joking, and she smiled back, wondering if there was a point to all this.
"Anyway," he continued, "I never pried myself in school –"
"Applied yourself."
"Applied myself, right. Point is, I never applied myself, maybe there wouldn't have been much of reason, but a smart kid like you?" He looked at her now, beaming with such pride that she felt embarrassed. "You gotta put schoolwork first, gotta make something of yourself. Brains like that, you're gonna go places."
Wordgirl felt her cheeks warming and glanced down at her hands folded in her lap. "Thanks," she said.
"Hey, no problem," he said, getting to his feet. "I'll tell this joker here –" He leaned down and began to untie the vendor – "That we'll get back to settling this next … Saturday?"
Wordgirl pushed off from the bench and hovered. "I have a big debate club meeting next Saturday," she said apologetically. "Sunday?"
"Sunday it is," the Butcher said cheerfully.
"You gotta be kidding me," mumbled the vendor.
"Oh, and hey, Wordgirl!" the Butcher called after her.
Wordgirl stopped and turned just before she was about to engage her super speed. "Yes?"
"I'll talk to the other villains at the next meeting," he called up to her. "Tell them that we need to be more corroborating of your schedule."
Wordgirl smiled. "Thanks, Butcher," she said, before turning around and flying off.
For once, she decided not to correct him.
All of Fair City was buzzing about the premiere of the Pretty Princess spinoff series. The original show had gone off the air after its grand finale two years ago, only for its creators to announce months later that they were beginning work on a new series that would focus on Magic Pony's life before his team-up with Pretty Princess. Finally, after a year's worth of living off of concept art and brief clips, fans of the show – young and old alike – were waiting in eager anticipation for the first episode.
Naturally, Becky Botsford and Violet Heaslip had been planning their celebratory sleepover for months. It would be just the two of them, special best friend bonding time, with Pretty Princess-themed snacks and games. They'd planned the party with an abashed kind of glee, pretending that they were only interested in the show for nostalgia's sake while eagerly exchanging theories and following all the latest updates. It was going to be the best sleepover ever.
Until two weeks ago, when Mrs. Heaslip had reminded Violet that they had a cousin's wedding to attend out of state the weekend of the premiere.
And so on the night of the debut episode of Pretty Princess Power Hour: Once Upon a Pony, the city's greatest superhero found herself perched on the couch of Mr. Big's entertainment center, watching the countdown on his enormous flatscreen TV.
The door opened and Leslie entered, carrying a bowl of fresh popcorn to add to the smorgasbord of snacks on the coffee table.
Feeling the need to break the silence somehow, Wordgirl said, "So, uh … Mr. Big really doesn't mind us using the room?"
Leslie shrugged, her usual impassive expression firmly in place as she set the bowl down. "Can't mind what he doesn't know about."
"Oh." Wordgirl shifted awkwardly on the couch. It was incredibly comfortable, obviously top-of-the-line, just like everything else in Mr. Big's enormous home theater. But she was starting to wish she'd just stayed home and watched the episode with TJ.
In hindsight, she should have figured that Mr. Big would try to capitalize on the popular show's return with some kind of mind control scheme. But she'd still managed to dismantle his device, which would convince everyone that the premiere was just an hour-long commercial for Big Industries products, with time to spare. And while waiting for the police to show up, her righteous lecture to the villains had somehow turned into venting about her ruined party plans. It had just been an outburst of pent-up frustration, really. She hadn't expected any sympathy. But as Mr. Big was being taken in for questioning, Leslie had pointed out that she herself hadn't technically done anything illegal in this particular scheme. After all, she'd said, she didn't want to be stuck watching the premiere through the bars of the jail cell. And then, without any indication that she was saying anything unusual, she had invited Wordgirl to join her for the premiere in Mr. Big's plush entertainment room.
A few years ago, Wordgirl probably would have assumed it was some kind of trap. But now the idea of watching her favorite show with one of the city's villains somehow didn't seem totally bizarre. And besides, she found it difficult to imagine Leslie putting in the effort to set a trap without orders from her boss. So here she was, on the sleek leather couch in the penthouse of Mr. Big's skyscraper, with the TV announcing seven minutes to go until the start of the premiere.
Leslie filled a paper bowl with pita and hummus and settled on the opposite end of the couch, apparently unperturbed by the awkward silence between them. Wordgirl watched her out of the corner of her eye. She'd always found Leslie a little intimidating, with her veneer of world-weary maturity. The martial arts skills didn't exactly enhance her approachability either.
"So, do you think we'll find out what happened to Sparkletoes' parents?"
Wordgirl jumped a little, surprised to hear Leslie speak. The woman was watching the screen, where the pre-show recap had briefly flashed to the pastel-colored pony in question.
"Um," Wordgirl said, "Well, we know we'll see her big sister, and at this point she's still in Cotton Candy Palace, right? So her parents would probably be there. And they did release that concept art of the Candy King."
Leslie nodded thoughtfully. "I guess it depends on how much time passes over the course of the show. Because at this point Count Cloudy's rise to power is still a few years out."
"True, but didn't Sparkletoes' sister already have the Orb of Friendship when Count Cloudy made his move?"
"Fair enough," Leslie said with a shrug. "Though her parents could have bequeathed it to her themselves. I guess we'll have to wait and see."
"I guess we will," Wordgirl said with a little nod. She grabbed a napkin and a handful of popcorn and settled back a little further into the couch. She glanced again at Leslie, who was placidly eating her pita with her eyes trained on the screen.
She still wished that she could be watching the show with Violet. But she supposed that the most deluxe entertainment room in the entire city wasn't a bad venue, either. The company might be a little on the taciturn side, but it was almost a pleasant silence between them now.
She leaned back and started munching her popcorn.
Wordgirl sighed in frustration, leaning against the bars of the cage.
"Look, can we wrap this up, please? I have somewhere I need to be."
"'Can we wrap this up, please?' No, we can't wrap this up, please," Two Brains exclaimed, sounding as frustrated as she was as he waved the wrench around wildly. "C'mon, WG, keep your head in it! This is the culmination of my brilliant plan! I mean, once I fix this little hiccup," he added, turning back to fiddling with the control panel on the ray. "Which won't take long. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted –"
"Yes, yes, you're turning the big thing at the place into cheddar or mozzarella or parmesan or whatever, mass chaos ensues, you get lots of cheese, et cetera, trust me, I get the plan!" She launched off the ground in her frustration, then settled back onto the floor, rubbing at her forehead. "But I'm meeting someone in half an hour, and I really need to be on time!" She reached out and tested the bars of the cage he'd trapped her in. Nothing unusual, the same kind of structure he'd dropped on top of her dozens of times before. She glanced at Huggy next to her, who shrugged.
"Pffft, half an hour? What's the rush? It's gonna take three minutes for this ray to get charged up, tops. You'll have plenty of time." He waved one hand dismissively as the other worked at unscrewing one of the bolts. "As I was saying –"
"No, I do not have plenty of time, because I need to be getting ready now!" Wordgirl stamped her foot hard enough to make the cage around her shake.
Two Brains just snorted, apparently amused by her display. "What is this, a date or something?" he asked, rolling his eyes without glancing up from the controls, as if it were the most laughable idea in the world.
Wordgirl folded her arms across her chest and stuck her chin in the air. "Yes, as a matter of fact it is."
Apparently, it took a second for that to sink in, but when it did Two Brains turned away from the controls and squinted at her. Already Wordgirl was mentally kicking herself for blabbing about her plans – now he was probably just going to try to ruin her evening on top of whatever scheme he'd cooked up – but it was too late now, so she met his gaze defiantly.
Finally, he said, "Aren't you a little young to be dating?"
"I'm fifteen," she snapped, folding her arms a little tighter.
"Like I said."
"Lots of fifteen-year-olds date!" Huggy squeaked next to her. "You're not helping!" she hissed.
"What do you mean, 'date'?" Two Brains asked, still frowning at her as though she had popped into existence seconds ago and he was trying to figure out where she'd come from. "I mean, are we talking you and all your friends going bowling together or what?"
"No," she said, blowing out a puff of air, "I am talking about a date. Definition: a social event in which two people go somewhere in order to spend time together! Used in a sentence: I am going on a date to the movies tonight!"
"By yourself?"
"With a boy! That is the definition of a date!"
"I know the definition of a date!" he exclaimed. "I mean – how well do you know this kid? Is he in your year?"
"No, he's a sophomore, and I know him fine –"
"So he's older than you," Two Brains said, pointing the wrench at her accusatorily. "I don't like the sound of that –"
"I know him fine!" Wordgirl repeated, hardly believing that she was having this conversation.
"Yeah? Where from?" He jabbed the wrench with each question. "What's this kid's name? What're his parents like? Do your parents know you're going out with this kid? How late are you –"
"His name is Dylan, and he's only a year older than me, and he's nice!" And he was. A little quiet, too, maybe a bit awkward, but cute in spite of all that. When he'd approached her after a newspaper staff meeting and quietly asked if she wanted to see a movie with him, she'd been a bit surprised, but she'd been happy to say yes.
"Yeah, 'nice,'" Two Brains scoffed. "How late does the movie run till? Are you –"
"This is none of your business!" Wordgirl exploded, launching off the ground for the second time in as many minutes. "I cannot believe –"
At that moment, the alarm on her belt went off, beeping repeatedly to remind her that she should have already been out of the shower by this point, and making the final decision on her outfit.
Letting out a yell of frustration, Wordgirl reached out and seized the bars of the cage, yanking them sharply to create a space large enough for her to fit through. In a blur of light, she sped through the gap, yanked off the antenna of the ray, bound Two Brains securely in the twisted metal, and launched herself out of the warehouse window.
She sped towards home, fuming as the freezing wind blasted against her cheeks. Great, she thought, now I'm going to have to skip the shower, and –
She jerked to a stop in midair, suddenly having noticed a distinct emptiness under her right arm.
"Oh no," she groaned, "Huggy…"
She wavered for a split second, loathe to waste more time going back to retrieve her sidekick. But she had been making an effort not to forget him lately, and she did have super speed. Heaving an enormous sigh, she reversed course and sped back towards Two Brains' warehouse.
Right before darting in through the hole in the window, however, she paused, her super hearing picking up on her own name. She stopped short and peeked in through one of the panes.
Two Brains was exactly where she'd left him, looking resigned to his fate on the floor next to his ray gun, and Huggy was rustling around in his pockets for change for a cab. Nothing unusual about the scene, except for the fact that they were, apparently, in the middle of a conversation.
"So you tell this Dylan boy," Two Brains was saying, "if I hear anything less than a glowing report, he's going to find the city's number one supervillain on his front porch."
Huggy, the traitor, squeaked in affirmative.
At that, Two Brains relaxed a little within his constraints, his indignation apparently spent. "Ah, she'll be fine," he said. "She's got a good head on her shoulders … Still, I have been meaning to dust off the old goop ray, couldn't hurt to have it ready …"
Wordgirl had heard enough. Shaking her head, she leapt through the window, grabbed Huggy, and took off back towards home, leaving only a blur of light in her wake.
But as she sped through the darkening skies, she found that she was smiling a little in spite of herself.
Wordgirl stared at the array of sandwiches spread out on the table in front of her. The trays were stacked high with every possible kind – turkey, ham, pastrami, veggie, cheese, peanut butter and jelly – and every last one of them looked and smelled delicious.
"Chuck," she said, pressing her hands together in gratitude and giving weight to every word, "you – are – a – lifesaver."
"Hey, it's no big deal," Chuck said, looking embarrassed at the praise. "I like making sandwiches."
"I can tell," Wordgirl said.
"You said you could probably use about a hundred, right? I didn't want you to run out so I made fifty extra. Someone can take the rest home, if they don't sell."
"I don't think we're going to have to worry about these selling," Wordgirl said, still staring in awe at the assortment in front of her. She hadn't thought that she would ever understand Chuck's sandwich obsession. But she had to admit, the display on the table looked like a work of art.
Admittedly, some of her sudden appreciation may have stemmed from the fact that without Chuck's help she would have had to show up to her school newspaper's charity fundraiser empty-handed. Thanks to an onslaught of villainy and general mischief in the past week, the annual "Spring into Action" concession stand – and her promise to bring snacks to said stand – had completely slipped her mind until late last night. It had been pure luck that she'd happened to mention it to Chuck while she was investigating him for a string of grocery store thefts. To her amazement, after she'd decided that he was not the guilty party, he'd offered to make her "a few sandwiches" to help her save face. When she'd flown to his mom's house early that morning, she hadn't expected the impressive display that awaited her.
"So you said this was for a school thing, right?" Chuck said, beginning to point to the different trays. "Well, I figured some kids would have allergies and stuff, so I made sure the PB&J's didn't touch any of the other trays, so make sure you don't let them touch the other trays – these plates here are vegetarian, and this one's vegan, and both of these are gluten-free. Do you think that'll be okay?"
"Okay? This is amazing!" Wordgirl exclaimed. "Chuck, you're unbelievable. Thank you so much!"
Now he looked even more embarrassed than before. "Like I said, it was nothing," he said, ducking his head. "Um, how are you going to get these to your school?"
Wordgirl extended her arms. "Load me up! I'll carry them over right now. We have to be there early to set up."
"Are you sure?" he asked hesitantly, casting a worried glance at his creations. "There're a lot, and you fly pretty fast – won't some fall off?"
"I have super reflexes, remember?" she said. "I won't drop them, I promise. Go ahead, stack 'em on."
"Okay, then," Chuck said, still sounding a little concerned. But one by one, he carefully balanced the trays on her arms, stacking them on top of each other when he ran out of room, until Wordgirl looked like the world's most overworked waitress.
"Is that the last one?" she asked as he carefully lowered the turkey sandwiches onto her left arm.
"Yeah, that's all of them."
"Then I'd better head off, but thank you so much, Chuck, seriously, if there's ever anything I can do –"
He waved her off. "No problem, no problem," he said. "Have fun at the fundraiser."
"I will – thank you – bye!" Wordgirl bent her legs and prepared to launch, but at the last second Chuck suddenly said, "Hey, Wordgirl?"
She froze a foot in the air, sandwich trays teetering as she struggled to find her balance.
"Yes, Chuck?"
"Well…" He tapped the tips of his fingers together and glanced off to the side, apparently too nervous to meet her gaze. "I mean, I know I said you don't have to pay me back or anything, and you don't, but, um…"
"Yes, Chuck?" she said in what she hoped was an encouraging tone.
"Well, my brother is coming to visit this Friday, just stopping by the house, and I just thought that maybe if Wordgirl herself came along to, um, thank me for the sandwiches and tell me they were good, you know, while he was there, in front of my mom and stuff, that just, um, that might be nice, if you're not too busy –"
"Yes, Chuck," she said, smiling fondly at him, "I can definitely do that."
"Oh, uh, great! Thanks!" He was beaming now.
"Friday, you said? What time?"
"Um, around five? Five-thirty?"
"You got it. I'll be there. Thanks again!" She pushed off again, zoomed out the front door, and soared into the sky.
And if a few sandwiches tumbled off the trays here or there, well, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
It was a pleasant, warm night. The breezes, gentle even at this altitude, were laced with the promise of the summer to come, and from this height the stars were distinguishable even amidst the haze of light from the city.
Wordgirl was feeling quite content as she soared over the skyscrapers. She couldn't speak for the blond boy genius tucked under her right arm, but he was quiet, at least, and the silence between them was almost pleasant.
Then, of course, he had to go and speak.
"Ah, Wordgirl?"
"Yeeeeessss, Tobey?" she said, drawing out the word for as long as she could, and feeling him squirm a bit.
"I was just wondering…" He paused, cleared his throat. "I realize I wreaked quite a bit of havoc back there, and I realize it is your job – albeit self-appointed – to bring havoc-wreakers to justice, and as such it is really quite natural that you should make sure I face punishment –"
"Very good, Tobey, I'm proud of you," she said. "The first sign to recovery is acceptance, you know."
"Yes, very amusing, Wordgirl," he grumbled. "But, ah, I was wondering if, just this once, you could … maybe not tell my mom about this?"
The last words game out in a rush. Wordgirl glanced down at him, but he was at an awkward angle and she couldn't see his face.
"And why would I do that, Tobey?"
"Well, not … not for any reason, really, it's just that … my high school is having a dance this weekend, you see, and it's not that I'm terribly concerned about those silly administration-sanctioned outlets for pent-up frustration, but … a few members of the robotics club are attending, and I told them I'd be attending too. And if my mother finds out about this she certainly wouldn't allow me to go. And … it would just be a shame to deprive my peers of my presence after they were so looking forward to it."
"Yeah, sounds like it's your peers who would be really disappointed if you couldn't go," she observed drily.
Tobey didn't respond, and Wordgirl sighed. She had no reason to let him off the hook, certainly not because he wanted to go to a dance. But the annual Woodview High Spring Fling, she had to admit, was hardly just any dance. It was the underclassman equivalent of prom, a semiformal that allowed them to get rid of all their nervous energy before buckling down for finals, and everyone had been looking forward to attending since seventh grade. She and Violet had picked out their dresses weeks ago. Dylan had even offered to take her – which was sweet of him in his own awkward sort of way – but she had assured him that she didn't mind going stag.
It would be silly to agree to Tobey's request. But for some reason she wanted to. He sounded oddly subdued, and something about the way he seemed to expect her to tell him no made her want to tell him yes.
"Robotics club, huh?" she said instead, trying to act like this was new information to her. "Sounds like a great place for you to be, with your track record."
"What, are you worried it'll be a bad influence on me?" he said mockingly.
"No, I'm worried that you're going to be a bad influence on them. The last thing I need is more Tobeys running around."
"Please. I'm inimitable."
"Nice word."
"Thank you."
The last of the skyscrapers had faded away beneath them and now the suburbs spread out instead. She could just see Tobey's house on the horizon. She shook her head, hardly believing she was about to do this. Then she swooped down and brought Tobey not to the front door, but to the window of his bedroom, which was propped open to catch the breeze.
"All right, get in there," she said gruffly, hoisting him towards the opening. He clambered clumsily inside, stumbling a few steps across the room and then turning to face her. She pushed the window open further and perched on the sill, arms crossed, trying to look stern.
"So," he said, his eyes wide, "you're, ah … you're not going to get me in trouble, then?"
"Just this once, McCallister," she said, holding up a single finger. "Don't get used to it."
He spread his arms and bowed his head, probably to conceal the smile playing across his lips. "I'll be sure to commend you to the Robotics Club."
"Oh good," she said drily. She glanced idly around his room. She'd been here before, of course, but it had been a while. Her glance lighted on his drawing table, his shelves full of books and robot bits, and the pile of dirty laundry on his bed.
Tobey, who had been following her gaze nervously, gave a strangled cry and lunged forward to quickly sweep a pair of boxer shorts to the bottom of the pile. Then, for good measure, he picked up the entire stack and dropped on the other side of the bed, out of her line of sight.
"Oh, that's tidy," Wordgirl said.
"Well excuse me," Tobey said, blushing furiously, "I wasn't exactly planning on having visitors!"
"Fine," Wordgirl said, putting her hands in the air. "I'm leaving, I'm leaving. But –" the thought occurred to her suddenly – "First we're making a deal."
Tobey's eyes narrowed. "What sort of deal?"
"I let you off the hook once, so you're going to let me off the hook once. Next time I tell you that I don't have time to deal with your robots, you have to turn around and go home and behave yourself, no questions asked."
Tobey sighed dramatically. "You drive a hard bargain, Wordgirl, but I suppose I don't have much choice."
"No, you don't. Though I have to admit," she said, tilting her head slightly as she regarded him, "lately you've been … less of an issue than you used to be."
"Truly high praise," he said, sticking his hands in the pockets of his shorts and twisting his mouth wryly. "I'll write that on my college applications. 'Not a complete issue.'"
"Not my fault you're slacking off," she said. "Seriously, this was the first time in, what, a month? A month and a half?"
"Yes, well, my schoolwork has unfortunately been distracting me from more important pursuits."
Wordgirl knew that was true, in a sense. Tobey had been quite the conversation piece at Woodview High for the past year – the freshman in the advanced math and science classes, on a fast track into a selective engineering course usually reserved for seniors. Tobey might claim his courses were "distracting" him, but Wordgirl thought a better word might be "diverting" – his attention and energy so focused on the challenging work presented to him that he didn't have nearly as much to spare for less constructive pastimes. He'd put on a good show for most of the year, but now, she knew, his final projects were heating up and keeping him busy.
"But fear not," he continued. "Once the school year ends I'll be back in fine form."
"Oh, thank goodness," she said, rolling her eyes. "I just haven't known what to do with myself without you trying to smash the city into bits every other day."
"Oh, yes, I'm sure you've missed me terribly." His voice was full of wry self-deprecation.
Wordgirl took a breath, ready to respond, and then stopped. He seemed so certain in his sarcasm, convinced that there was no way she could have missed his company. Maybe she had – maybe she hadn't – she couldn't say. But whichever was true, Wordgirl suddenly found that she couldn't bring herself to play along. It was just silly banter, she knew, but even so some part of her didn't want to convince him further that she saw him as nothing but a problem.
"Yeah," she said awkwardly, glancing around the room again, looking for a change of subject and finding none. "Well, I guess I'd better go."
"Yes. I guess so."
Suddenly another idea burst into her head, just in time.
"But first," she said, "I want your promise in writing."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously," she said, pointing imperiously to his desk. "Put it in print, McCallister."
"Very well," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. He ripped off a section of drawing paper, grabbed a pencil from the desk, and began scribbling. Wordgirl watched him do it, and it suddenly occurred to her that Tobey was becoming very tall.
He straightened, smoothed the paper, and read aloud. "'I, Theodore McCallister III, do hereby swear that in recompense for Wordgirl's infinite mercy –'" Wordgirl snorted aloud, and he smirked a little as he continued reading – "'the next time I am engaging in my noble pursuit of engineering excellence and a bit of healthy mayhem, and Wordgirl tells me that she does not have time to, as she says, 'deal with it,' I shall go home and behave myself, no questions asked.'"
"Wow," Wordgirl said, extending her hand for the paper, "Exact words. Impressive."
Tobey crossed the room to hand it to her. "What can I say? You know I hang on every pearl of wisdom that falls from our noble hero's mouth." He cut his eyes away for a split second, as though suddenly embarrassed by what he'd said, afraid that even in sarcasm he might have crossed some invisible line. Wordgirl quickly puffed herself up and tossed her head imperiously, playing along.
"And well you should," she replied, taking the paper with a flourish and tucking it into her cape.
"Indeed," he said, rocking slightly on his heels.
He was very close to her now.
Wordgirl was suddenly very aware of that, of the fact that there was probably only a little more than a foot between their faces and that she could almost feel the heat coming off of his body and that he was looking at her very intently and that she was looking back.
"So," she said, a little breathless for some reason, "I suppose I'll anticipate a bit more mayhem from you in the coming months."
"Of course. I'll be back and on the top of my game in no time."
"No more slacking off," she agreed. "My robot-fighting skills are getting rusty."
"We certainly couldn't have that."
They were still looking at each other. The distance between them had closed by the slightest degree, and the empty air seemed to be straining, pulling them still closer.
She could feel a possibility hanging in the air between them, a possibility that with every passing millisecond was coming closer to a certainty. And suddenly a single thought presented itself to her, very clearly:
I am not having my first kiss here, of all places!
"So I should go," she said quickly, and he moved back by half an inch and it was enough to snap that thread of possibility between them.
"Yes, of course," he said. "No need to sit here staring at my dirty laundry, heh."
"Right," she said, pulling herself up into a crouch on the windowsill. "I'll see you around, then, Tobey."
"Of course," he said, backing away still further and raising his hand in an awkward wave.
"Have fun at the dance."
"I will."
"Stay out of trouble."
"I certainly will not."
"Well, we can't have it all," she said, and it probably would have been a decent parting shot if a flustered feeling in her chest hadn't made her babble the words out so rapidly. Her face burning, she launched herself into the sky.
Once she'd gained sufficient altitude, and the lights of the houses below her had merged into a twinkling pattern of stars that mirrored the sky above, she paused, hovering, and waited to feel horrified.
I almost kissed Tobey, she thought to herself. Tobey McCallister, she added, as if there could be some doubt in her mind as to which Tobey she was talking about.
But, as she floated in the warm night air, she found that horror wouldn't come.
The idea of kissing Tobey McCallister did not seem appalling. As she replayed the scene in her head, with some heat still lingering in her cheeks, she found this to be simply and incontrovertibly true: she had not backed away because she didn't want to have her first kiss with him. She had backed away because she didn't want to have her first kiss there and then, crouched on an uncomfortable windowsill in a room piled with dirty laundry, still not quite sure exactly what, if anything, existed between them. She had been on a couple dates, now, with Dylan, earlier in the year. Although they'd been enjoyable, there had been little more than some awkward sweaty handholding, and both of them had realized that they were perfectly happy just being friends. Still, she felt worldlier now, a bit more certain of what she wanted from a real relationship. And she knew that when her first kiss came along, she wasn't going to settle for it being anything other than perfect.
But she realized now that having her first kiss happen with Tobey would not lessen its perfection in the slightest.
The most surprising thing about it, she reflected as she gazed at the glittering lights of the skyscrapers in the distance, was how little it surprised her. A few years ago the very idea of kissing Tobey McCallister would have appalled her. But something – many things – had changed. Tobey had crept up on her somehow, with his brilliant mind and eager enthusiasm, his mischievous smirk and that silly fake accent. And she knew now that this stupid brilliant boy wasn't going to sneak back away again anytime soon.
Something's changed, she thought again, and she laughed a little bit to herself at the obviousness of the statement. Everything's changed. I've changed. She wrapped her arms around herself.
That was the thing about growing up, wasn't it? Everything was constantly shifting around you, true, but what mattered, what made your own world suddenly become so vast and frightening and wonderful, was the way you were changing at such an alarming rate. The easy black-and-white of childhood, the clear lines and solidity, blurred and shifted. Suddenly everything was painted in new and subtle shades, blending into each other, offering depth and variety that were terrifying and exhilarating.
Wordgirl thought of all the people in her life, her family and friends and all of her ridiculous villains, and she smiled. Had people always been like this, so complicated and multi-faceted and frustrating and amazing? Probably, but she had only been able to see it gradually, layers of complexity slowly uncurling themselves to her like a flower timidly opening to the sun. It was unsettling. It was disorienting. It was wonderful.
She hugged herself tighter as a warm breeze stirred her hair, and her heart felt very full and very open.
It was a school night, and she still had homework waiting for her. But the city below her glimmered and thrummed, alive with possibility. She spread her arms now and launched herself into flight, deciding to do a few laps through the skyscrapers before heading home.