Sounds called Larry-Boy back to consciousness: an agitated pacing on a wooden floor, a voice speaking rapidly, panicked.

I know her, he thought in the fog, and in a second his mind made the click.

Petunia.

Petunia was talking, and something was wrong.

Blearily, he managed to open one eye; the other felt blackened.

Petunia was pacing over a small apartment with a floor lamp providing the only light. She was still in her pretty evening gown, the one she had worn when they danced earlier in the evening. She was talking into her cell phone, and her pretty face was contorted with dread.

Larry-Boy realized he was lying on a couch with a blanket tucked around him. The thought occurred to him that he should get up and ask Petunia what was wrong, but he stayed where he was.

She doesn't need a failure like me, came a sluggish thought, and it at once doused any ember of vitality.

He slumped back into her couch cushions. Petunia would be better off if he just stayed out of her way.

He watched her blankly, and bit by bit his ears began to register what she was saying.

"Please, you gotta help!" she cried to whomever was listening on the other end. "Larry the Cucumber is missing!"


"M-Maybe I should head back to Bumblyburg," Larry stammered in the backseat of his limo. He tugged the collar of his freshly pressed tuxedo. "There could be a crime going on right now, and I'll be late to stop it!"

"Negative," came the dryly amused, British voice of his butler, Alfred, from the speaker installed in the dashboard. Alfred had rigged the limo so that he could drive it from the Larry-Cave. "The Larry-Bot is on patrol and hasn't reported so much as a jaywalker."

"And I've told you no machine could replace Larry-Boy," the cucumber retorted.

"It can for a few hours, long enough for you to have a night out with one of your friends."

From the way Alfred said "friends," Larry pictured him smirking a little.

"She's just a friend, Alfred," he insisted.

"I didn't say anything."

"But you thought it," he said under his breath.

He turned and stared out at the passing streetlights of downtown Puggslyville. Tonight was a fundraiser for a local children's hospital, the sort of thing which was usually on the radar of the kind-natured (and incredibly generous) millionaire, Larry the Cucumber. For once, though, Larry had not heard about the fundraiser through his usual sources; his invitation came through an old comrade, Petunia Rhubarb. The former TV reporter for Bumblyburg's news station had changed careers a few months back, following her passion for fashion by applying at Veggie Beet Magazine's headquarters in Puggslyville. She was supposed to be at the charity gala to write a report on what styles the social elite of Puggslyville would be sporting that evening, and she had reached out to Larry to be her plus-one, since she knew investing in a children's hospital was right up his alley.

Larry adjusted his black bowtie, hoping Petunia would be dazzled by his new tuxedo — not that he was expecting her to fall in love with him or anything like that, he told himself hurriedly. He was meeting Petunia as plain, ol' Larry, and he had never won any girl's heart. Nope. This was a "just friends" date, as he had told Alfred a hundred times.

Larry pictured the friendly redhead, whose smiling face and nose for news used to grace his big-screen TV every evening while he munched on Alfred's home-cooked dinners. He had known Petunia both as his mild-mannered alter ego and as the cucumber crusader, Larry-Boy. She used to interview Bumblyburg's resident rich man whenever he did something newsworthy, like clean up the park alongside other volunteers, and she had a keen sense for action, popping up to report on crimes which Larry-Boy had thwarted.

Petunia had no inkling that her two friends were the same person, and Larry planned to keep it that way. A dashing superhero was ten times more interesting than plain, ol' Larry, no matter how much money he had.


Downtown Puggslyville doubled as a part-historic district, filled with buildings, brick roads and statues dating back to the Victorian era intermingling with chic skyscrapers. One of the jewels of its antique tiara was easily the Puggslyville Hotel, a luxurious old edifice that had been built by an eccentric rich man of a bygone era and later updated for modern convenience. An old carriage driveway, now paved, looped around a courtyard with a pleasant garden for patrons to stroll through, and there was a huge fountain with statues of veggies in heroic or laid-back poses. White street lamps lined the area, their lanterns shaped with an old-timey charm, and columns marked the entrance atop a flight of stone steps.

Larry smiled, cheered by the beauty.

"Alfred, remind me again. Why didn't I move to Puggslyville when they asked me to be their superhero? This town is gorgeous! And gas is ten cents a gallon cheaper." (Larry might have been a millionaire, but he was frugal. The Larry-Mobile didn't run on bravery, after all.)

"Because you had a deep loyalty for the town where you grew up, Master Larry," Alfred's electronic-sounding voice replied. "That, and Bumblyburg has a plunger factory."

"Oh, yeah." Larry nodded.

The limo followed other cars in line for drop off. When it was right in front of the grand stone steps, the side door opened by itself, and Larry hopped out, following the other veggies heading into the edifice. When he reached the stone columns at the top, a voice like sunshine called out his name, sending ripples of delight through him.

"Larry! Larry, over here!"

Through the crowd of carrots, scallions, green onions and other produce, a glimpse of red hair wove its way toward him, until at last a slim veggie managed to squeeze her way into the open. She sent Larry a gorgeous smile, rushing toward him.

"You made it!" she beamed.

"Hope I didn't keep you waiting," he grinned, his heart speeding up as if he had been the one running.

"You're right on time," she assured him. "Nice tux!"

Larry mumbled his thanks. "You look nice too."

She wore a stylish gown that looked like it could have come from some European designer that occasionally got mentioned in Veggie Beet Magazine. It had something which Larry's Aunt Ruth would have called a keyhole neckline, and the skirt was wide, and she accessorized it with a small purse.

Larry almost offered his elbow to escort her, but he remembered he did not have one. Petunia, however, took hold of the side of his tuxedo, and the two strolled through the glorious lobby, which had an indoor fountain, verdant plants and comfortable, pretty furniture. Petunia showed their tickets to a hotel employee at a pair of open doors, and they entered the spacious, festive ballroom.

Several round tables with bouquets for centerpieces framed a dancing floor where several couples were already twirling to a live band dressed in light-blue tuxedos on a dais. A stage with a podium was on one side, ready for the fundraiser's evening activities. Larry and Petunia found their reserved seats at a table, and Petunia pulled out her phone. She opened an app and recorded a few vocal comments about what suit Mr. So-and-so wore and how the rose-embroidered shawl complemented Mrs. This-and-that's pink dress, which had some kind of French stitching that Larry couldn't pronounce. Petunia's words appeared in text form on the screen, which she edited manually. When she was satisfied, she slipped the phone back into her purse.

"I apologize in advance if I don't seem attentive tonight," she told Larry. "I'm just trying to keep on top of my work load."

"I don't mind," Larry assured her. "I don't understand some of the fashion terms you used, but you sound like you know your stuff."

"Fashion is my passion," she laughed. "It's like painting a portrait, but with fabric, and your canvas is a living person. I'm always asking questions like, 'How can I use my medium to bring out someone's best self?' 'How can you make the wearer feel good?'"

"Sounds deep," Larry remarked. "You've really thought this through, huh?"

"This is basically my dream job," Petunia grinned. "Helping people through the power of fashion."

"Fashion helps people that much?"

"Sure," she nodded. "It helps boost self-confidence, if wielded right."

"Yeah?"

"I mean, almost any time you see a female fictional character who likes clothes and shopping, she's portrayed as vapid or a backstabbing popular girl," Petunia pointed out. "Anybody can like clothes, even kindhearted bookworms, and putting effort into your appearance can boost your self-confidence. That's part of why I took this job, to help people."

"So, you're like a superhero of the fashion industry," Larry chuckled.

Petunia laughed as well, and she twisted in her seat as if modeling an invisible super suit. "Hmm, I think I could pull off a cape. Don't you?"

"I think you could pull any look off," he said.

She gave him a warm smile before she glanced at the dancers. She laid her purse on the table and stood, giving him an inviting look.

"Would you like to dance?"

Larry tugged at his collar. "With you?"

"Unless you'd like to find someone else," she quipped.

"No!" he blurted out without thinking, then cleared his throat, giving his best charming smile. "I would love to dance."

Reaching for her with his intangible touch, he escorted her to the dance floor. Although Larry had always been a pretty good dancer, he glanced down several times to make sure he did not tread on her feet before he remembered she had none.

"Do you like this style of dance?" Petunia asked companionably as they wove around the other couples.

He met her eyes — which were pretty close to his — and smiled. "I do now."

She laughed. "Well, if it's too complicated, you don't have to stick around on my account."

He smirked at her. "Hey, you'll never see a cucumber with two left feet."

She snorted, ducking her head, and her red hair grazed his cheek.

Too bad Puggslyville doesn't have a plunger factory, he thought wistfully. He might have given switching towns another consideration.


"Please, Jimmy!" Petunia was pleading on the phone with yet another person. "Can you call your friend who is a security guard at the Puggslyville Hotel? Or, better yet, give me the number?"

Petunia paused, listening to the gourd's response, and her worried face suddenly scowled. "I don't care if it is a big news story! My friend is missing!"

Jimmy's muffled voice sounded a little repentant.

"I already told my connections at the Puggslyville News Station to broadcast a missing person's report on him, asking for someone to call a hotline if they've seen Larry," she told him. "That will be coming on within the hour."

She glanced toward Larry-Boy and started a little when she saw him watching her.

"Jimmy, let me call you back."

She clicked the button on her cell phone and hurried to him, dropping on the floor beside the couch.

"How do you feel?" she asked gently.

He sighed. "Like I'm lower than a snake's belly in a wagon rut, but I guess I'll live."

He tiredly glanced around her apartment. "So… how did we get here?"

"I managed to distract those robot mirrors long enough to sneak you out on a dessert cart to my car," she told him. "You were in bad shape after those things tore into you."

"I barely noticed," he said. He wiggled on the couch. An aching pain arose through his cylinder body, but he barely cared. A nobody like him probably deserved it. "You're nice to help, but you didn't have to waste effort on me, Petunia."

"It wasn't 'wasted effort,' Larry-Boy." Petunia looked at him in concern. "What's going on? Those mirrors have been breaking into stores and looting for Belle Pepper, and everyone who looks into the glass becomes depressed!"

"Makes sense."

She gave him a little shake. "Larry-Boy, you gotta snap out of this! What in the world did you see in that mirror?"

"The truth," he sighed. "The truth."


"Ladies and gentleman," called the MC of the fundraiser into a microphone over the band's playing. He stood on the makeshift stage in a tuxedo with a red rose for his boutonnière. "In about fifteen minutes, we will proceed with tonight's activities to raise funds for the Puggsylville Children's Hospital. Please enjoy the incredible music and—"

At once, a discordant note came from the piano, and the trumpet player's smooth performance ended with a cacophonous blast. The dancers, even Larry and Petunia, paused to look at the now silent musicians, who were all gawking at the stage where the MC stood — and the curtains which had parted behind him.

Several mirrors stood there — and they were standing on mechanical legs which suddenly scurried forward. One of the mirrors knocked the MC to the side, sending the yelping veggie onto the marble floor. The machines lined up at the edge of the stage, and two in the middle parted like doors.

A yellow pepper with auburn curls strolled out. She wore a half-mask like the Plantain of the Opera, and long opera gloves hovered at her sides as if filled by invisible arms. A mink stole laid around her neck, and the long skirt of her chic evening gown swished around her.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," she said exuberantly with a Southern accent. "Kindly stay where all y'all are and no one will get hurt. Thank you."

A startled murmur arose from the crowd. The pepper descended to the dance floor, gliding about as if she heard some silent music.

"Is this part of the fundraiser?" someone wondered in confusion.

As if to give a resounding negative, compartments opened on the sides of the robotic mirrors, and metallic arms folded out. Each mirror reached behind their backs pulled out brown sacks.

Alarmed, the veggies closest to the exits attempted to leave, but several mirrors scrambled in front of them, blocking their escape.

They were trapped.

Larry shot a quick glance at Petunia. Fortunately, she, like everyone else, was warily watching the gliding newcomer like she were a snake about to strike.

Not wanting to miss this opportunity, Larry stole away, slipping under one of the floor-length tablecloths. Larry the Cucumber went in — and in mere seconds, a masked cucumber quietly rolled out.

The pepper flicked back her curls, wearing a smile as sweet as Christmas. "I am here to show y'all a little Southern hospitality by relieving you of your burdensome jewelry, cumbersome designer bags, and all those heavy, heavy wallets. Help me help you by depositing your valuables into the bags."

"But this ruby necklace belonged to my grandmother!" a celery woman protested.

"And I know just the dress to wear it with, sugar," the pepper assured her. "Kindly hand it over, please."

One of the mirrors stalked toward the poor woman, beckoning with its mechanical arm — but a plunger smacked into the machine. Before it could re-compute, the rope holding the plunger grew taut, and the mirror went sailing across the dance floor into one of its brethren.

The plunger released the mirror while a second struck the ceiling. A purple-and-yellow figure flew up above the crowd, swinging forward, and landed mere feet from the pepper.

"I — am — that — hero!" he cried.

Gasps of shock and relief erupted among the nervous guests.

"It's Larry-Boy!"

"We're saved!"

"Isn't he supposed to be in Bumblyburg, where that plunger factory is?"

Larry-Boy frowned at the pepper perpetrator, throwing out his chest.

"Sorry, ma'am, but admission is by ticket only," he told her. "All proceeds go to charity."

The bare portion of the pepper's face shifted into a look of deep concern. She laid the palm of her opera glove against her yellow cheek, like a mother aghast to see her child in trouble.

"Oooooh, sugar," she groaned, shaking her head. "Sunshine, baby doll, honeysuckle. Purple spandex was last season. Maybe I can lend you something a little more in vogue."

"Better check your sources," he retorted. "When it comes to fashion, Larry-Boy is no zero!"

"Larry-Boy," the pepper repeated, tapping her chin. "Larry-Boy, Larry-Boy… Ah, yes, I remember now. You're that masked gentleman from Bumblyburg."

"The one and only," he said proudly, turning a plunger toward her in preparation of an attack. "And just who might you be?"

"The name is Belle Pepper, sugar," she said with a flick of her mink boa. "I am only here to do two things: get some accessories for my new wardrobe and show all y'all the truth."

Larry-Boy frowned, giving her a sweeping glance. "The truth?"

Belle Pepper nodded. She gestured with her opera glove toward the mechanical mirror closest to her. It hopped to attention and scurried to stand between its mistress and the cucumber.

"Kindly peek into my looking-glass, sugar," Belle Pepper said, eyeing him over the frame, "and you'll see things exactly as they are."

Larry-Boy had a gut feeling he shouldn't do what the strange woman wanted him to do, but his eyes strayed toward the glass without him meaning them to. He did a double take.

Inside the mirror was…


"…Was?" Petunia pressed gently after Larry-Boy had fallen silent.

"A pathetic loser," he answered dully.

"What?"

"Basically" — his eyes drifted toward her — "I saw the real me."

She stared at him, perplexed and concerned

"You're not a loser, Larry-Boy," she assured him. "You're a hero."

"Sure, Larry-Boy is the hero," he said resignedly. "He's mysterious and dashing and can fool everybody into thinking he's hot stuff, but take away the costume, and all you got is a goofball that everybody tolerates but nobody really likes."

"I don't believe that," she said firmly. "You constantly risk your life rescuing people from supervillains. The real you has to be a great guy."

"You wouldn't say that if you knew my secret identity," he countered miserably. "The real me didn't have anybody come to his birthday party last year. The real me never got the girl — and the one girl who discovered my identity said…"

He stopped, feeling his throat tightened. He closed his eyes to banish the memories, but a green figure with blonde hair seemed to appear in front of him.

Petunia shifted beside him. Her voice grew tender. "Who was she?"

"Vicki," he said, swallowing. "Vicki Cucumber."

"That name sounds familiar," Petunia said slowly. "Was she ever on the news?"

"She wrote the news — she was a photojournalist for the Daily Bumble, before it closed down."

"And you told her your secret identity?"

"She found out accidentally," he admitted. "Before that, I knew her as both Larry-Boy and as my secret identity, and she never suspected we were the same person."

"There's a concept," she murmured, more to herself. "And you liked her?"

"We went on a few dates; at least, Larry-Boy went on a few dates."

She nodded slowly, sad comprehension dawning. "And what about your secret identity?"

"Oh, she liked him alright," he said, "but only as a friend."

"Ah."

"And when she found out the two of us were one guy — one dopey, silly, friend-zoned guy — her crush on Larry-Boy didn't last much longer. She just wasn't attracted to the real me, and she said we were better off as friends."

"I see." She hesitated. "Well, just because one girl wasn't interested in you romantically doesn't make you pathetic."

"How could someone like you understand, Petunia?" He stared up, defeated, at the ceiling. "The only thing special about me is Larry-Boy. Without the costume, I'm just some goofy, awkward loser whose best friend is on my payroll. I'm not married. I'm not dating. My nearest relatives live on the other side of the country. I don't have superhero buddies I can go grab a pizza with. I don't even have a pet rock. I'm always gonna be alone. Doesn't that sound like a loser to you?"

"You just sound lonely," said Petunia kindly. "No one who genuinely made Jesus their Lord can truly be a loser. Why, the Book of Romans says, 'Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.'"

He closed his eyes. "Petunia, I know you mean well, but please don't quote the Bible to me right now."

"It's when you don't feel like hearing the Word that you need it most, Larry-Boy." She adjusted the blanket around him. "Maybe I haven't looked in Belle Pepper's mirror, so I can't put myself in your shoes, but I promise you — I promise you — that if what you saw contradicts Scripture, then you shouldn't believe it."

Larry-Boy exhaled, turning toward the backrest as much as his plunger would allow.

Petunia was silent for several minutes, and Larry-Boy seemed to feel the weight of her disapproval and disappointment. When she finally spoke, however, her voice was soft and gentle.

"I know it's easy to wear your 'church mask' and pretend everything's okay, even when you feel rotten," she said. "I do it too sometimes."

"Why would you feel rotten?" he asked softly. "You're wonderful."

"Thanks," she said with a wry laugh, "but I don't always feel wonderful."

He turned his head. "Why wouldn't you? You're smart and friendly and a go-getter and helpful and cute. You probably have lots of friends."

"I really don't."

That caught him by surprise, piercing through his torpid cloud. He rolled onto his back again, quirking his eye ridge at her.

She shrugged, wearing a sad smile. "Sure, I have some casual friends — friendly acquaintances, really — but I don't have someone I can grab a pizza with either. Not for a lack of trying, but I guess it's just… hard to let someone that close to me."

"Why?"

She looked at her lap. "I don't really trust people, to be honest. Not in the way you trust a best friend."

He gave her a sweeping glance. Now that he thought of it, he had never (as Larry or as Larry-Boy) seen Petunia with someone in a casual setting. Even when she lived in Bumblyburg and he spotted her around the city on his nighttime patrols, she usually had been either working or hanging somewhere by herself.

"Did a lotta people betray your trust?" he guessed.

"Some." She pulled her red braid around her shoulder and played with the end. "I was teased a lot as a kid."

That woke him up a little more, enough for him to raise his head. "Why would anyone want to hurt you?"

She glanced at him. "For starters, I was clumsy as a kid."

"So?"

"Well, it's hard to feel good about yourself when you crash face first into mashed potatoes and gravy on school picture day." She exhaled slightly. "You know how kids are. If you're a teensy bit weird or different, they won't let you forget it."

Larry-Boy nodded, thinking back to his own school years. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," he said.

"Yeah." She leaned against the couch with a sigh. "By faith, I forgive them, but sometimes the hurt emotions rise up, you know?"

Larry-Boy nodded.

She stared straight ahead, as if she were seeing something from yesteryear, but she gave herself a little shake, banishing the memories.

"By faith, I forgive," she said vehemently under her breath. She turned back to Larry-Boy as if to say something else, but she paused, surprise stealing over her pretty features.

"You know, I've never talked to anyone about that," she remarked. "Why did I tell you?"

"As a superhero, I earn a lot of people's trust," he guessed.

"Maybe," she agreed with a tiny smile. For a moment she looked like she might have reached for his hand, if he had one, but then she straightened her shoulders.

"So, I'm not talking from some ivory tower, Larry-Boy," she said, continuing where she had left off. "I know what it's like to be disregarded over something out of your control."

"I think getting teased as a little kid hurts more than what I went through," Larry-Boy admitted.

"It's not a competition to see who had the worst life," she returned, shaking her head. "Everyone gets hurt at some point, because we live in a world with fallen people. If everyone was perfect, then Jesus wouldn't have needed to save us from sin."

"I guess," he conceded, thoughtful. He regarded her for a few moments, wishing he had known her as a little girl. He pictured her being teased by other kids, and he imagined his younger self bursting into the ring of bullies to tell them to stop. Maybe he would grab her hand — or whatever — and escort her to the nearest place that sold milkshakes, and they would become best friends…

"Wait a minute," he said suddenly, sitting up. "Why don't I feel rotten like before?"

Petunia looked relieved. "You don't? What do you think happened?"

"Well," he said slowly, knitting his masked brow in concentration, "I was feeling sorry for myself… and I told you about it… and then you started telling me about what you went through…. and I wanted to help you…"

"Help me?" She tilted her head.

"Well, yeah," he admitted, sheepish. "I'm a superhero, after all."

"I don't think you could help me with that," she chuckled. "I really do my best to forgive those kids. If they knew better, they wouldn't have done it."

"If I was there, I would have stopped it," he returned.

Her smile warmed him right to his core.

"I don't doubt that," she answered.

He held her gaze, the first genuine smile appearing on his lips since they had danced at the charity gala.

"What helps you 'forgive and forget,' Petunia?" he asked.

She grew thoughtful. "Well… my pastor's wife used to tell us that if we start questioning our worth, we should get our eyes off how we feel and look at what God feels about us."

"Like what?"

"For starters, those who genuinely made Jesus their Lord come into covenant with God," she explained, starting to smile again. "We become the righteousness of God in Jesus, and we become joint-heirs with Him. We are more than conquerors. We are world overcomers. We are God's royal children. Oh, and Jesus literally thinks we're worth dying for."

"Worth dying for, huh?" Larry-Boy said slowly. That made Jesus sound like a superhero — and He was, in a way. He was the greatest hero of all time, and Larry-Boy wanted to be like Him.

"But what about when you don't feel like those things?" he asked.

"Everybody goes through that," Petunia assured him, "where we wonder if anybody, even God, loves us, but that's when you have to remind yourself what the Bible says about you. If you can do that, it'll be harder for the enemy to steal away your identity in Jesus."

Identity. Something clicked within Larry-Boy at the word. Belle Pepper's mirror had distorted his identity, playing upon his insecurities about himself, but that image wasn't "the truth" as Belle had claimed. If God thought Larry was worth sending His Son for, and if Jesus thought he was worth dying for — well, then he had to be incredibly special in God's eyes. And if he was special in God's eyes, then what did it matter if some evil pepper or her mirrors said otherwise?

"God made me special," Larry-Boy said slowly, "and He loves me very much."

"That's right," Petunia smiled.

"And He made everyone who looks into those misleading mirrors special," he continued, "and maybe I'm here tonight because He wants me to help those people remember what He really thinks of them."

Energy began to surge through him, and he could ignore the bruises that dotted his costume frame. "It's time for me to get my eyes off how I feel and be the superhero God says I can be!"

He started to roll off the couch, not even caring if he landed on his feet or his face, but Petunia pushed him back firmly.

"You're not going anywhere in your condition," she told him. "Somebody I really care about is missing, and I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you too."

He blinked at her, surprised and concerned. "Who's missing?"

"You know him, the rich guy from Bumblyburg," she answered, rearranging the blanket around him. "Larry the Cucumber."

He blinked again. And again. Slowly, he adjusted one of the plungers on his helmet.

"I think something's wrong with my hearing," he said. "Did you say you care about… Larry?"

She nodded vehemently. "He disappeared around the time Belle Pepper showed up, and nobody's seen him."

"Plain, ol' Larry?" he tried to verify. "The goofy, silly guy who only has his butler for a best friend?"

"He's not 'plain,'" she retorted, glaring. "How could you say that?"

"That's what he calls himself," he returned, drawing back into the upholstery. "At least, he used to…"

"Well, if he does, he's wrong, and you shouldn't call him that either," she chided. "He's a wonderful guy. He's sweet and kind, and he's good with kids, and he donates to all sorts of charities, and he volunteers for the prison ministry to help supervillains know that Jesus died for them and loves them. How could you call that 'plain'?"

Larry-Boy stared at her. He had never seen her get so worked up before, even over a big news story.

Slowly, he sat up.

"You… really, really care about Larry?"

"Yes," she said, and she suddenly slumped against the couch. "And he's out there somewhere, and I'm so worried I can't think straight."

"Over him?" he questioned.

"Yes!" She scowled. "Would you kindly stop putting down my friend?"

"Sorry," he said quickly, knowing he ought to look apologetic, but he was starting to smile. "I had no idea you felt that way about him."

"Well, I do," she said firmly. "He's one of the nicest guys I've ever met."

"Really?"

"Really," said Petunia. "He's such a big part of the Bumblyburg community. Even though he doesn't seem to have any close friends besides his butler, he's pretty popular as far as local eccentric figures go."

"Eccentric in a good way or bad way?" Larry-Boy asked quickly.

"Good all the way."

He bumped a suction cup against the couch armrest, fiddling with the rubber.

"Do you like him?" he asked. "As in… a boyfriend?"

Petunia drew back slightly, embarrassed. "No offense, Larry-Boy, but I don't know you well enough to have that conversation with you."

"O-Okay," he mumbled, but a silly grin began to tug on his green lips.

Petunia spun and climbed to her feet — or, rather, the end of her stalk.

"And I should get back to trying to find him," she said, concern replacing her flustered tone. "Oh, how could a guy as important as him just vanish? What if Belle Pepper kidnapped him and is holding him for ransom? But if she is, why hasn't she demanded ransom yet?"

She all but ran to the table where she left her phone.

"Maybe somebody downtown has seen him. What's the number of the restaurant with the waitress with a photographic memory?"

Larry-Boy watched her, moved beyond words. His heart raced inside his chest as if it were trying to out-flutter a hummingbird.

He made a swift decision and immediately acted upon it.


Petunia typed rapidly on the search engine, but she kept pressing the wrong keys, and the words looked like a jumble mess.

"C'mon," she ordered her nonexistent fingers. "C'monnnn…"

Please, God, keep Larry safe, wherever he is! she pleaded silently once again. Post angels around him. Send somebody to find him if he's hurt. Please, please, let me know where he is!

"Petunia," Larry-Boy said.

She kept typing on her phone. "One second, please. I'm trying to look up a number."

"Petunia," he repeated.

"What is it?" she asked distractedly. She turned to him, glancing up from the screen — and froze.

Her phone clattered on the floor.

She stood still for a long moment before she took a step forward, barely believing her eyes.

There was Larry-Boy standing in her living room — but he had removed his helmet and held it tucked against his side.

…And it was Larry the Cucumber who smiled at her.

Gaping, she gave him a sweeping look. That was definitely Larry the Cucumber, in Larry-Boy's clothes and holding Larry-Boy's helmet.

"You're alive!" she breathed, her voice breaking. "You're safe!"

He gave her a small smile. "Thanks to you."

She took another step toward him. He limped a step toward her.

"I'm sorry I worried you," he said. "With the secret identity and all—"

He did not get a chance to finish. Misty eyed, Petunia flung herself forward, embracing him. His helmet fell from his grip and bounced on her carpet.

"Oh, Larry! I thought I'd never see you again!"

He stiffened in surprise, gasping a little, but he began to relax. With his intangible touch, he gave her a soft squeeze.

Petunia closed her eyes, leaning her cheek against his. Ordinarily, she would have been mortified with her actions, but after everything that had happened…

He's safe. He's safe, she kept telling herself. Her eccentric, sweet-tempered cucumber wasn't lying hurt in a back alley or held hostage in a villain's lair. He was here, in her nonexistent arms.

After a few moments, she pushed herself back enough to look into his bashful, smiling face.

"Larry-Boy is Larry the Cucumber." She chuckled. "When you say it out loud, it sounds so obvious."

"Nobody suspects oddball Larry to be a superhero," he said with a shrug. "I know of this one guy who hides his secret identity with a pair of glasses."

"It makes sense, really," she reflected. "A guy with a big heart wanting to make a difference and rescue people."

Larry averted his eyes, looking even shyer. "Aw, go on!"

"I mean it!" she insisted, lightly pinching his shirt collar. "With all that volunteer work you do, you already go above and beyond the call of duty to help people, on top of all those charitable donations you make. Is it really such a stretch to think you'd also want to keep people physically safe from bad guys?"

His smile stretched for a fleeting moment, flattered, but then his face grew serious. "Petunia, I got to go now."

She held onto him. "You're hurt. Let the police handle it."

"Puggslyville doesn't have a superhero," he pointed out. "I know because they once asked me to be theirs. The police might not be able to fight off Belle Pepper's mirrors if I don't help them."

"We can just call the police and tell them what the mirrors do," she countered.

"Why call the police when I can call my butler?" Larry pressed a button on his belt to work the radio. "Alfred! Come in, Alfred!"

Only silence met him, not even radio static. Larry tapped the button several times before he shook his head.

"It's busted. Lemme use your phone, please."

Petunia reluctantly handed it over. Larry pressed in a number and held the phone to his head, but his face at once altered.

"It went straight to voicemail," he said, a genuine alarm creeping into his eyes. "Something must be going on in Bumblyburg, and he can't help us."

"Or maybe the cell service is temporarily down," Petunia suggested gently.

Larry handed her back her cell. "Whatever's happening back home, I have to deal with Belle Pepper here on my own."

He turned, searching for his helmet, and bent to pick it up from where it had landed by the couch. He stopped, grimacing, and sucked air around his lone tooth.

"See? You're bruised up!" Petunia cried.

Larry lifted his helmet, carefully straightening. "Petunia, I have to try. I know what those misleading mirrors are doing to the citizens of Puggslyville, and I have to rescue the veggies from their fractured reflections."

"What's your plan then?" she demanded. "Sneak into Belle Pepper's secret lair to turn off some master switch to stop all the mirrors?"

Larry brightened.

"Hey, that's even better than my plan! You're a peach, Petunia! Well, not literally," he laughed as he hopped toward the fire escape.

Petunia started after him. As he opened the window, she grabbed a fistful of his yellow shirt.

"I'm coming with you," she said firmly.

Larry shook his head. "Too dangerous."

"I'm in better physical condition than you, and I've been taking a self-defense class — and I've helped you a few times back in Bumblyburg, remember?"

Larry grew serious. "Petunia, don't be unreasonable. If something happened to you, I don't know what I'd do."

"How do you think I felt when I thought you were missing?" she threw back. "I can't lose you again."

Larry faltered and looked away, his face mingling embarrassment, disapproval, and just a bit of delight. Petunia relaxed her hold on his shirt.

"You know me," she told him. "I don't rush recklessly in danger. With your radio broken, maybe I can be your eyes if you're in a jam."

Larry hesitated, considering her. "I'll let you go, on one condition."

"Name it."

"If I tell you to do something important, you do it," he said firmly. "If I say 'Hide,' you hide. If I say 'Run,' you run — even if it means leaving me behind."

She calmly held his gaze, but she could not stop a wince.

"Deal."

Larry nodded and slipped back on his purple helmet. He climbed out onto the fire escape and helped her through the window. Holding her against him, he shot a plunger up, up, up where it struck a high point of the neighboring building. He jerked his head, and they were both lifted up, and they soon swung through the dark alleys and turbulent streets.

To be continued (hopefully) in "Vogue versus Belle Pepper"


Have you guys ever noticed how the original Larry-Boy theme song made repeated references to how well-dressed he was? ("A man with style…" — "It's plain to see in fashion he's no zero" — "Looking great, fashion plate.") Then what kind of superhero is Petunia later on in the series? A fashion-themed one.

"Larry-Boy is Larry the Cucumber" — On the old Larry-Boy website that was created to promote the Rumor Weed vid, there was a file on Larry-Boy. One thing it said was: "Larry-Boy's true identity is unknown, though he and Larry the Cucumber appear to look a little alike. And they have the same butler. And the same first name. And the same phone number. But Larry-Boy's secret identity is still a mystery!"

Puggslyville — Similarly, the same file said: "The nearby city of Puggslyville recently tried to get Larry-Boy to move to their town, but fortunately Bumblyburg has one thing they don't: a plunger factory!""

Vicki back story — One thing I didn't want to do was villainize Vicki to "get her out of the way" for Petunia to get Larry. Rather, I wanted for her to have a reasonable motive for turning him down — she liked him as a friend but wasn't attracted to his alter ego. This idea is kinda supported in the canon, especially in the book series. For example, in the Yodelnapper episode, Vicki finds Larry the janitor funny but doesn't seem to be attracted to him as she is to Larry-Boy. Meanwhile, in the novelization of that particular moment, Vicki finds him weird and off putting. She also calls him strange in another book. Their romantic relationship would have probably developed if the cartoon hadn't been canceled, but it's reasonable to think that in the world of this fic, Vicki wasn't romantically attracted to Larry-Boy's secret identity.