(Posted June 30th)
Tree Diagram
.:: January 3rd - Saturday - 1:41 pm ::.
"All that is possible can be made probable once plans have been prepared."
(Ancient Hexagon proverb)
➕ ➖ ✖️ ➗
Psst! Look for the words civilian and resilient
Where we left off, WordGirl and Captain Huggyface were in the midst of a grueling fight against Tobey's robots and a mind-controlled Kid Math, courtesy of Mr. Big…
Even gentle snowflakes can feel like spikes of hail when you hurtle through them at Mach 4. They lash her cheeks and bite her eyelids. WordGirl plows through them anyway, one hand up to block at least one of her cheeks. It helps. A little. She's resilient either way.
She veers up from her comet-like charge and floats like a sparking star in the empty space. She plants herself in front of both Mr. Big and Tobey. Her whiplash arrival makes the former flail his arms in shock and the latter cry her name. WordGirl shakes her head, ignoring both, and floats a little closer to the man on the taller building.
"All right, Mr. Big! We can either do this the 'cheap and easy' way, or the 'hard and insurance paperwork' way. Now, stop mind controlling my friend and leave this city alone!"
Mr. Big takes one look at her and jabs a finger at the remote in his hand. Behind him, a bespectacled superhero kid bursts skyward with the husk of a giant robot lifted above his head. He's wearing cyan blue. White gloves. White boots. A yellow belt wraps around his waist, fastening with a hexagon buckle at his stomach. A single green light on that buckle blinks on and off. The robot groans, flailing its limbs. One foot narrowly misses Tobey on the bakery's three-tiered roof. Its smacking hand almost whacks Mr. Big clean off the ambiguous building. Huggy shrieks, squeezing her neck. WordGirl chokes on a gasp, then steadies her balance in the air. There he is. And even from here, super-hearing or no super-hearing, she can hear Kid Math mutter the same mantra over and over under his breath: "Destroy competition. Construct new billboards. Destroy competition. Construct new billboards…"
"MY ROBOT!" Tobey wails, drawing his hands down his cheeks. "Number 14!"
"All right… Huggy, make a note: add Mr. Big to the list of villains we should never again leave Kid Math to handle alone. At… least not if we're across town instead of enjoying a conveniently placed picnic nearby with our binoculars in hand."
He squeals agreement, wrapping his arms and legs around her torso. Right. Back to business. WordGirl punches her hand into her open palm, thinning her eyes to slits.
"Okay, Kid Math! This chaos is way out of line. Your fractured reality is about to get simplified."
Does that even make sense? Math puns aren't her thing. She can define every word with the gossamer touch of a fairy princess, but that doesn't mean she understands the full complexities of equations and numbers the way he does. Her mind blurs after about 12. Kid Math stares back at her, all glaze-eyed and ghostly.
Then he arches his back and hurls the massive robot directly at her. "WHOA!" she yelps, and twists her flight pattern like a snake. Huggy squeezes with both arms and both legs. The robot (or what's left of it) cannonballs right past them. It plows through an empty parking lot outside a squid-themed restaurant- the one that doesn't serve seafood at all. WordGirl winces. Oops. Probably should have caught that… Tobey screams distress from the roof of the three-tiered bakery, clawing his fingers down his cheeks. Something about a partnership betrayed, and Mr. Big all but confirms this when he yells back from the neighboring rooftop, "My mistake, Theodore! I can't choose what he wants to throw!"
"Number 14…"
Kid Math twitches in the sky, his hands empty but his body still tense and looking for a fight. WordGirl keeps her eyes locked on his face. They can both fly at lightning-fast speed (well… thunder-fast), and dodging him will be a lot easier if he signals a move before he makes it. Thus far, she'd chased her wayward understudy - not that she'd ever tell him he was sort of like her understudy - from the bank to the park to the steakhouse and around through the loop again. Right from the start, it was obvious something was going on with him. His paths were too direct for him to pass as the real Kid Math, because this mind-controlled puppet version of her friend charged straight from Point A to Point B without taking thermal updrafts and wind resistance into the equation. Absolutely ineffective. Totally unlike him.
And of course, the Kid Math she'd come to know over the past four months wouldn't just be flying around destroying billboards and things either.
Or, uh… At least he isn't that destructive MOST of the time. WordGirl winces at the memory of a furious, flush-cheeked Kid Math punching a street sign hard enough to send it crashing through a window. He didn't mean to do that. He just didn't know his own strength yet.
Well, okay. As much as she hates admitting it, maybe she is being a little quick to grant him that benefit of the doubt… Even yesterday, Kid Math (in the guise of 8-year-old Rex Pemdas: the innocent, newly-enrolled 3rd-grade student of Woodview Elementary) had rambled to her on the way to the jewelry store that he had a plan to help the city "go green" before Earth Day rolled around in spring. His plan had involved "relocating" more than a handful of skyscrapers, and he'd been stubbornly reluctant to take "No" for an answer.
"Destroy competition. Construct new billboards. Destroy competition…"
Why she'd even escorted him to the jewelry store was another story altogether, and one that involved Invisi-Bill tackling his first solo crime since WordGirl had met him. The thin excuse to her brother TJ and tagalong Johnson had been "Rex wanted to check out the shiny doorknobs at the library and we need to run really fast to make sure we get there before it rains," to which TJ had rolled his eyes and snarked that Becky probably just wanted to get Rex hooked on Princess Triana novels. He and Johnson had wished their new friend good luck. They sprinted off, and Invisi-Bill had actually made it pretty far down the street before Kid Math had zeroed in on his whistling and-
A dot of green blinks in the center of her vision, snapping her focus back to the battle at hand. Aha! Something they can use. WordGirl blasts forward, arms extended, with her eyes locked on that little flashing dot. Now we're getting somewhere…
"Huggy! That green light on his belt has got to be Mr. Big's mind control device!"
He grunts acknowledgment. Kid Math pulls back his arm, ready to plow his fist at her face. No thanks! WordGirl spirals right past him. His knuckles glance over her helmet. Kid Math twists around to follow her with his gaze, still muttering. He hangs belly-down and bat-like high above the city streets. Huggy squeaks and props her helmet back into place. Alarms blare in the distance, mixed with police sirens, and massive, earth-shaking robots creak and thump all around them. One robot was kicked so hard in the chest, its front plate hangs open like an oven door. Serrated metal gleams like piranha teeth. It's all noisy, it's bubbling… WordGirl watches Kid Math's face for any signs of twitching or overstimulation, but his empty eyes stare through her like unpolished pennies. His mouth shapes the same words over and over again.
"Okay. I'll fly in as close as I can get. Then we'll try a Monkey Throw to bring him down fast. WHOA!" She flips backwards in a pinwheel, tucking in her arms. Huggy squeezes her for all she's got. Kid Math shoots right past her. While she catches her balance, he keeps flying. His body shivers. Then he tips downward, plunging towards the city like his batteries ran out. Uhh… WordGirl stares after him, debating for a split-second if she needs to follow, but Kid Math faceplants with a thunk on one of Tobey's robot's shoulders. The robot gives a twitch. Kid Math stays unmoving for three seconds, then pushes himself to his knees and shakes like a wet dog. He doesn't even look winded. Okay, great! He'll be fine.
"Don't you dare!" Tobey shouts, waving a finger at Mr. Big. The last word isn't even out of his mouth when a CRUNCH of metal fills the air. "Eeesh," WordGirl mutters to Huggy as Kid Math rips the robot's head right off its neck. The headless robot lurches sideways, grabbing at another's arm for support. Oh, that won't end well. The damages for this crime will be horrendous. Tobey swerves around, whining like a fire engine, and Mr. Big flings his hands up in surrender.
"Whoa, hey! I didn't press any buttons! He's on auto-pilot. Totally independent!"
"'Auto-pilot'? Then WHAT'S THE POINT OF HAVING MIND CONTROL!?"
Kid Math launches the sparking robot head at WordGirl, who dodges by veering left. Then, thinking twice, she zips after it and catches it before it can smash into something important. Huggy winces, his toes clenching her stomach skin through her costume. Puffing warm plumes of breath, WordGirl carries the head down gently to the street, and sets it beside an overturned taxi cab. Glass shards are strewn all across the snow. The windows and door are smashed in. A couple of very shaken-up looking civilians stand nearby, wrapped in their coats. Maybe tourists. They don't look like they've been scratched. Both wave timidly at her like they're not sure what to say. WordGirl spirals into the air again, this time weaving as Kid Math makes a valiant attempt to grab her in his bare hands.
"Hh… hh…" Floating high, WordGirl throws her arms out at no one in particular. "This is ridiculous! He can access every place I can fly off to, and I can't even outspeed him! Aw, man! I need a new plan to get in close."
Huggy swings his weight to one side, clinging onto her while surveying the area from a better angle. WordGirl shifts to balance him, and he squeaks and points at a fallen robot that sits slumped against a brick building. "Hm," WordGirl murmurs. "That's true. Luring him into getting swatted by a robot hand might work. Those things can really pack a punch."
"There's always the Fair City Waterpark," says a disembodied voice from somewhere over her head. WordGirl and Huggy both glance up. Though the Narrator lacks visible arms, she can sort of feel him gesture over to the right field of view. "It's drained for the winter and there won't be any civilians in the area."
"No, that's no good… A single superpowered punch could take out a waterslide for months, and I really want to try the tunnel slide this year. I think I'm better off confining him to the section of the city he's already damaged. He can't do much more harm as long as he stays here."
Although maybe there is a nugget of information she can glean from that suggestion after all… WordGirl slides her eyes from Kid Math's floating silhouette to his feet.
"Actually, using 'tunnels' might not be a bad idea…"
On the deck of the water tower, Leslie presses another button on her boombox-shaped device. It balances on a rickety table. That's definitely the thing responsible for radiating this month's standard mind control signal. It's not as loud as most of them. WordGirl hadn't even heard the noise until too late.
One push of Leslie's finger is all it takes to force Kid Math into superspeed. His muscles jerk forward on puppet strings. Then he dives right for Tobey. Tobey shrieks, clapping his hands to his glasses as though that'll make his threat turn invisible. Yeah, that doesn't help. Kid Math shoves him from the roof without a fraction of hesitation. Ugh. He'd be really mad if he knew she was describing his cruel actions with math words right now.
"Again, that was definitely not my intention!" Mr. Big calls out, but Tobey's screech could curdle solid oak. He kicks his arms and legs.
"CATCH ME, CATCH ME, CATCH ME!"
"Oh boy." WordGirl kicks backwards in the air, turning her arc into a loop and then a plunge. She can keep pace with soundwaves. The disconnect between Tobey's gaping mouth and his screams rattles her brain like a raisin in a tin can, but his shape and color are unmistakable even at this speed. FZWOOOM! WordGirl shoots forward, grabs the boy by his wrist, and swings him into the air. Tobey, panting hard, slightly peeks between his fingers. She keeps flying.
"W-WordGirl? You saved me!"
"Yep," she grunts, and Huggy squawks in her ear. WordGirl flicks her eyes over his hands. Two minutes ago, she'd deprived Tobey of what she hoped was the final remote control for his remaining robots. She might be mistaken, but she's pretty sure that until today, she'd never seen him carry more than five. She STILL can't believe he had six on him this time. Hhh. Not bothering to confirm if he still has the sixth, she dumps him on the roof of the bowling alley. Tobey stumbles sideways and falls on his arm. His glasses bounce off. He looks winded, holding his other hand to his chest, but he'll be fine; Tobey's pretty resilient for an Earth kid. Now that he's out of the way, WordGirl veers back to confront Kid Math head-on.
"Hold on tight, Huggy! We're going into a dive."
He grunts back, tightening his arms around her chest. She can hear his oversized alien monkey heart beating rapidly against her spine. Okay. A trio of Tobey's robots stand like dominos or bowling pins in a busy intersection while car horns blare. One robot holds a snow plow in its open palm. Another grips the struggling, spitting driver by the back of his shirt in its giant metal fingers. The third robot holds a tiny camera and apparently thinks this scene is picturesque. WordGirl scoops out of her dive, pulls the snow plow driver free, and plops him back on the sidewalk. The robots twist their necks, trying to register what she just did. She leaps into the air again, staying low. Waiting.
"Come on, come on… Stay with me, Kid Math."
A small prick of blue-white light gleams off one of the robot's reflective heads. It grows brighter and brighter, closer and closer. Perfect. WordGirl stalls it out a second longer, then bolts between the robots' legs in a blur of gold. She keeps her speed low, lower than the speed of sound. A subtle shift in air pressure and soundwaves indicates that Kid Math just bent his course to follow her. WordGirl grins.
Gotcha.
Picking up speed again, she curves her way through robot legs like she's a snake in a pretzel factory. Kid Math, his movements jerky, fumbles after her while bashing his face on every leg. Even if he's semi-independent, his sluggish brain can only stay so alert. WordGirl grits her teeth, Huggy's toes dragging at her skin, and starts weaving a pattern in the robot legs. Too fast for Mr. Big or Tobey to tell where her comet trail ends and she begins as she whips around and around. Even the robots probably wouldn't know where to swat. A blue and white beam of light stays right on her heels. He's weaving the same infinity sign that she is. If she can time this right, he's a sitting duck.
Ready…
Huggy's cheeks are flapping, his teeth chattering together. WordGirl throws a sudden left and slams right into Kid Math's shoulder. All the wind bursts from his lungs in a sputtered "OOF!" and they both go rolling into the snowy intersection. Thump thump thump SPLUT!
She's seeing stars. Horns beep and screech at them, every car stalled by robots but drivers still watching their every move. "Oh my gosh!" "Superheroes in the road!" "Are they hurt?" "Did WordGirl just tackle Kid Math?" "Are they okay?"
Cacophony.
Huggy's squealing, shaking her shoulder. She can hear his feet scuffing through snow. WordGirl's lashes flutter against her cheek. Ugh. She may be resilient, but rocketing into another person at the speed of sound still hurts. Slowly, she pushes herself up on her hands. She lifts her head. The sky is gray, plumes of dust fill the air, and Kid Math is lying limp in front of her, his eyes squeezed shut. They ended up right in front of the cars waiting at the crosswalk. Warm fingers brush her face, and Huggy's there, checking her health as best he can on short notice. His whuffing breath blends with hers. He whispers nervous words in monkey talk, patting her skin, and she blinks through her daze. Ow. Her spine took a bad crunch on that last tumble.
She's a superhero. She can't quit on the city now.
WordGirl struggles back to her feet, bracing her hand against a car bumper. Its driver's side door flies open, and she blinks through her dizzy haze to see Mrs. Champlain slip out of her seat. Huh? "No, no," WordGirl mumbles. "Get back to shelter…"
The art teacher is barely dressed for the snowy weather, her colorful coat billowing open in a gust of wind. Her oversized pyramid earrings bounce against her cheeks. Their points look like they jab. She doesn't seem to care. She grabs WordGirl's arm and drags both her and the unmoving Kid Math all the way out of the street to the snowy sidewalk. Away from all the cars. None of those vehicles can go anywhere with giant robots blocking the way (plus half the road still streaked with everything the snow plow didn't get to), but it's a smart move regardless.
"Th-thanks," WordGirl stammers out. "But you should really get back in your car…"
"Are you kids okay?"
Kid Math jerks up his head, eyes blazing green. Without pause, he slams his fist in WordGirl's cheek. With a BLAM, it sends her flying towards a heap of ice and slush. She yelps, Huggy shrieks, and the monkey launches himself off her shoulder, aiming for the younger superhero. Kid Math doesn't seem to register the danger. He doesn't try to block, and Huggy tackles him to the sidewalk. WordGirl scrambles to her feet again, heaving in short breaths.
"Hhh. Okay. Okay. Boy, he sure is resilient… Great work, Huggy!"
Huggy chirps, mostly grunting. WordGirl flaps her hand to shoo Mrs. Champlain and the other nervous civilians back. It does no good. Mrs. Champlain has gone stiff. Ah, right, right… Exiting her car put her in contact with the thin layer of mind control permeating downtown. Now it's kicking in. Well, that's just great. WordGirl shakes out her body, then stumbles through the snow to the sidewalk again. Ice is trickling down her boots.
"Kid Math, let me help you!"
Her friend jerks his head clumsily around to stare. Oh boy. WordGirl scoots away from Mrs. Champlain as the art teacher takes a lurching step towards her. Two more civilians have their arms out, ready to grab. WordGirl hones her super-hearing on their footsteps, keeping her eyes locked on Kid Math. She lifts her fists in case she needs to hit him back.
Clearly, Kid Math wasn't programmed to defend against Huggy. He struggles against the monkey's iron clamp grip as Huggy fights to keep him on the ground. Kid Math doesn't even bother to shove him aside. He just drags himself nearer to WordGirl one forced step at a time. It doesn't seem to matter if a monkey is hampering his movements. His eyes - haunted and dark, flickering with waves of lime green - are fixed on her alone. WordGirl stays steady in her crouch. The wind bites at the cracks in her chapped lips. But she holds position. Holds her fists. Ears on the mind-controlled civilians, eyes on her friend.
"Ready…"
Kid Math, wriggling against Huggy, lifts one of his knees extra high as though in a crane stance. Then he smashes his boot against the sidewalk. A crack, crack, CRACK! snips through the air. A small fissure zig-zags out from under his foot and zeroes right in on her, like that pretzel factory snake has had second thoughts and wants to make a meal out of 11-and-a-half-year-old alien superheroes instead. "Uh-oh," WordGirl mutters. She springs up, kicking in her levitation abilities, as the crack jabs its way through the street. It drops open into a gulf.
SHWOOM! A burst of snow dumps into the chasm, taking asphalt chunks and bits of pipe with it. Whoa! While floating over the gap, WordGirl can see about ten feet down into dirt and rock. Ihh, that's not good… the subway tracks aren't very far from here, and it would only take a few stomps like that to plunge a building through a sinkhole.
"I… didn't know you had that power," she tells Kid Math, blinking owlishly. Good to note. In a blur of golden light, she sweeps the three nearby civilians off their feet and drops them on a safer spot at the top of a big snowbank. Then she zips back to her friends. Oof. She really needs to bring back her daily stretching routine; she sort of fell out of practice over the holidays. Now she's got a stitch in her side.
"Destroy competition… destroy competition…"
"Yeah, maybe you don't have to destroy the competition… Kid Math, can we talk about this? Using words instead of fists?"
Kid Math shimmies his whole body against Huggy's grip, but Huggy squeezes him more tightly, clinging on with arms and legs. Kid Math grunts. His teeth scratch like metal on metal. Hmm. WordGirl floats a little higher, and Kid Math rises to meet her. Okay. Floating means he can't pull out any more of those earthquake stomps. That's good; they're getting somewhere with this.
Not too high, though… If Huggy slips, I need to make sure I'm not too far away to catch him.
A grinding, creaking sound above them makes WordGirl and Huggy both jerk up their heads. He screeches a warning. WordGirl barrels forward and shoves Kid Math out of harm's way. A giant robot hand splats into the ground behind them. Asphalt explodes like a geyser. WordGirl catches her breath for two seconds, then doubles back. At top speed, it's easy to slice the robot's hand clean off at the wrist. It sparks and fizzles, then plunges towards the ground. The wrist joint bangs its way into the fissure in the road. Giant fingers grab the edge of the crack, holding on for all it's worth. The massive robot stumbles back. It beeps distress and shakes out its arm as if it just fell asleep. A big, metallic praying mantis. That's what it looks like. Sort of.
Hhh… hhh…
Kid Math starts tipping over sideways, struggling against Huggy's weight and clearly not sure what to do. Yeah, Mr. Big probably left out all the instructions for proper flying… WordGirl grabs his boot and spins him in a full circle like a game show wheel. She catches his arm as he swings upright again.
"Kid Math?" She waves her gloved hand in front of his hazy green eyes. "You okay?"
Huggy grunts, tightening his toes in Kid Math's costume. As for Kid Math, he pulls in a great gulp of air. WordGirl blinks.
"Uh, what are you-?"
He spews a vortex of air at her in a burst. Ice cold. The force of the sonic blast shoves her backwards, like a sneeze, though it only takes a second for her to realize that his sonic waves are vastly underdeveloped compared to hers. Okay. No big deal. She balances out again, but a spark of searing red zings across his eyes. Is that…
Laser vision?
"No, no… Kid Math, don't! You're wearing glasses!"
Actually, does that even matter? It's still a form of light. I guess it won't rebound.
Kid Math's eyes spark with scarlet, but the lasers - if that's really what they are - fizzle out around his lashes. A dark sweep of shadow crosses over them. Huggy squeals and scrambles with his feet, trying to steer Kid Math out of the way. WordGirl glances back. The robot who lost its hand towers over them, trying to stay upright while wobbling from lack of balance. One of the other robots grips its shoulder for support, though the third has retreated near Tobey, who watches the whole scene through his fingers, pulling on his face. Mr. Big is no longer on the other building, so that's… that's just perfect. He must have seen his chance to slip away and took it. Typical. He's always been one to bolt when his plans start going south.
WordGirl flashes out of the way, and the giant robot slams down a foot to stomp on her like a bug. Kid Math and Huggy, buffeted by the resulting wind gust, tumble backwards in the air. WordGirl dodges again as the robot smashes down its second foot. Then it grabs for her with its one remaining hand. Uhh…
One remaining hand? Hmm…
In a flash of gold, she zips between the robot's legs and grabs the wrist of its disembodied arm. "Huggy! Back away from Kid Math!"
He squeals agreement, leaping off the Hexagonian hero. Kid Math swivels towards her, raising his fists again. Perfect. WordGirl streaks into the air and rears the giant hand behind her.
"Sorry about this," she says aloud, and brings the robotic arm crashing down on his head. KER-LUNK!
Kid Math barrels into the road with the force of a damaged spaceship. The sound is sickening. WordGirl winces, swinging the hand aside. It tumbles across the street and falls into the fissure again. Squealing metal fingers make another grab for the edge. Is he hurt? He doesn't wear a helmet…
Kid Math lies in the middle of the snow-dusted road. Ow. Where he splatted, four rectangular arms cracked out beneath him like angel's wings. Each one stretches perfectly in a cardinal direction, like a giant plus sign. Yikes. The imprint looks more like a mild dent than a deep crater, but still… Between that and the fissure, the damage is bad enough that a construction crew will probably need to close the street for weeks while they fix it. The shops on this road won't be happy. They'll be more liable to getting robbed, too, since no police cars can drive this way. Plus, that had to hurt. Even for a superhero kid.
It's only been four, maybe five weeks since Kid Math sprang into WordGirl's life: peppy, smart, and ready for adventure. He's always seemed more resilient than a fresh rubber band. He's a butterball. But when several seconds pass without him shaking himself off (or even letting out a winded but cheery "I'm okay!"), WordGirl floats to the ground for a more scrutinous look. She holds her arms out for Huggy. The monkey races up to her, leaping for her like a gymnast.
"Kid Math? … Huggy, keep an eye on the rest of the city. Leslie's machine is still running. Don't let them get close while I'm not watching. Uh. Did Tobey pull back his robots once Mr. Big ran off?"
Huggy squeaks in affirmation, checking her face and shoulder for signs of damage. WordGirl floats lower to check Kid Math over again. Well, he isn't kicking or flailing. That's probably a good sign. That green light still flashes on his belt, which jolts WordGirl back into the present. The mind control device. It's still active. WordGirl studies it in silence for a couple seconds, trying to figure out the best way to get it off him. His buckle is a hexagon. As far as she can tell, the device is inside the buckle's bubble-like center piece. Hmm… She uses her own belt for a communicator, like a walkie-talkie. Is that somehow a standard thing back on Hexagon, too? Maybe Mr. Big pried out that part of Kid Math's suit and replaced it with his own device.
With a single deft finger, she presses the bubble in the center of his belt. The capsule pops open. WordGirl swipes up the flashing green light. It's embedded on a little chip. The chip is small… It doesn't look like anything special, though it's purple with Mr. Big's face printed on one side. Really? This was it? It doesn't even look like it's wired up to anything. Yeesh.
WordGirl passes the chip behind her to Huggy, who likes to document every evil scheme they run across and record any known ways to counteract the threat. Hey, they may have first dibs on Fair City, but they aren't the only superheroes in this world. You never know when a villain might move to another location, and it never hurts to keep good records. WordGirl got her own start combatting ray guns thanks to a set of records from her own mentor, GeographyGirl (well… she goes by GeoGirl now) way back when. She should pay her a visit sometime, but GeoGirl lives all the way on the other end of the country. For a superhero it shouldn't be a long flight, but… it's also been a few years since they sat and talked. GeoGirl's a decade and a half older than she is, and it always felt… invasive? Somehow? To ask her to take time away not only from her superhero duties, but also from her husband and kids? Plus her sibling has agoraphobia and doesn't like being left alone, you know… It's just not a call she's comfortable making on a whim.
I can't bother her like that. She needs her recreation time as much as I do. Besides, WordGirl knows everything GeoGirl could possibly teach Kid Math about crime fighting. Why waste another hero's time asking advice? She's busy.
Anyway. She gives Kid Math's arm a shake. "Hey. Are you all right?"
Her exhausted, beaten friend gives no indication he heard her. WordGirl's stomach twists like a balloon. She drops to one knee. A single long scratch stripes his cheek. As near as she can tell, that's it. No missing teeth lay scattered around the plus-sign-shaped divot in the road. No additional scratches. Maybe she'll find a bruise or two beneath his costume, but if there are any, they'll heal in a matter of minutes. In fact, even as she watches, the scratch on his cheek glows cyan, then white, then seals the cut in his skin altogether. Smooth as laminated paper. Good as new. As cautious faces start peeping through the windows of neighboring buildings, WordGirl pats his shoulder again.
"Kid Math? Mr. Big's mind control should be wearing off now. I need to leave you here and shut down the second part of his ploy. Are you okay?"
"Mmmm…" Like a gondolier shoving his way through thick scoops of ice cream, Kid Math finally stirs awake. WordGirl leans away, ready to give him room, but he lies still a moment more on the road. His lashes flutter at his cheeks. Can he see? Probably not. She cracked his glasses in that hit. Oops. Hopefully those won't be difficult to replace…
"Ah, no, sorry," he mumbles. "I must've dozed off and simply dreamed that I was battling giant robots as Kid Math. My name is Rex; I am a normal Earthling boy-"
WordGirl shushes him with a hand on his shoulder before he can repeat his civilian name. Kid Math has definitely gotten a little better at concealing his secret identity since arriving in Fair City five weeks ago, but the 'checking your surroundings to confirm where you are, who you're with, and how you're dressed' part still needs a bit of work. Maybe he'll remember it better if she writes a rhyming couplet. Or maybe he needs a math pun. That'll stick with him.
"I'm glad you're okay." WordGirl extends her hand. Kid Math ignores it, pushing up to his knees by himself. His gloves, once white and pristine, are smeared with gravel, dust, and oil. He rubs them into his eyes anyway, groaning at the brightness of the sun. Yeah, she can't blame him. They're both superhero kids with heightened sensitivities… and the searing sunlight reflecting off the snow would probably hurt even if they were regular Earth kids.
Then he looks up. At the fissure in the road. At the line of cars trapped behind a barrier of snow. At the giant robots slinking away down the street while Tobey's mother pulls him across the bowling alley rooftop by the ear. At the haunted people still stumbling around, flickering in and out of the low-level power of Mr. Big's latest mind control device.
"Whoa…" Kid Math trails his gaze first to the left, then the right. Then he swivels his head back to WordGirl. One hand lifts to touch his chest. "Did I do all that?"
"Well, some of it," she admits, scanning the roads. The damage isn't pretty. She points at the rubble of a brick building across the street. "Tobey's robots took out the dog groomer's, plus most of that new sandwich shop Chuck is always ranting on about. One of the robots fell on that billboard over there, and I'm technically responsible for this plus sign shape in the road when I knocked you from the sky. Everything else was… pretty much all you. But it's not your fault! Mr. Big planted a mind control device in your belt. He's been controlling your thoughts and movements. Or, well… trying to. He may have flown you into the side of a building a few too many times."
Kid Math grimaces, rubbing his shoulder. "That explains the ache on my arm here… So when did all this start happening?"
"Just before lunchtime."
A wry smile picks at the corner of his lips. "Ah. No wonder I'm so hungry. I haven't eaten since breakfast."
Huggy squeaks in sympathetic pity. Before WordGirl can say anything else, an elementary-aged boy comes sprinting up to them from the police station. His yellow jacket flaps open at his waist and he clings to his hat with one hand. With the other, he grips a notepad and a pencil. Scoops!
WordGirl's blood runs hot like chili powder at the sight of him. She straightens up, whirling possible responses to his questions through her head. Things have been, uhh… weird since Scoops discovered that she - his close friend and mild-mannered Fair City Earthling girl, Becky Botsford - leads a double life as WordGirl: the spunky superhero who excels in bringing criminals to justice and sharing her vocabulary knowledge. It's been "good weird." Not a lot of people know her secret, and their other best friend Violet still isn't one of them… but the right time to share the truth will come.
"WordGirl!" Scoops skids to a halt at the edge of the plus-shaped crater. His breath spins from his mouth in a gush, glinting silver in the freezing air. He's handsome in the sunlight. Like a prince. Scoops grins, wild with the light of a front-page story in his eyes, and she wants to melt… melt right there in the crater next to Kid Math, tired and mumbling answers to interview questions while holding an ice pack to her leg. His black hair hangs against his forehead, sticky with sweat and melting snowflakes. He's puffing out his little breaths, slightly ragged from his sprinting. It's very human. Precious. He came running out here for her. Because she's worth running for.
With his big dopey grin, Scoops looks like a noble wizard who just defeated an army of cloudy forces with his spell book in hand. His jacket could be a cloak. There's a long list of reasons why she may have just a teensy crush on Scoops, from the poetic way he weaves his words to his playful attitude… but that smile…
Oh, that accursed smile… It flips her heart.
"Todd 'Scoops' Ming here, reporting live on the destruction caused by Fair City's newest student superhero on the job-"
Kid Math snaps up his head. "Student?" His voice crackles like one of Tobey's battered robots. He seizes WordGirl's arm, pulling himself back to his feet. "I graduated from the superhero track! I was second to top of my class!"
Scoops breaks off his ramble then, his pencil poised above his notepad. He blinks. His eyes flicker between green and their normal stormy, hazy gray sheen. Uh-oh, WordGirl thinks, tensing up. He stepped outside and the mind control field is still on. Scoops sways on his feet, trying to stay grounded. His words leave him in awkward chunks. "Um, is he hurt? Sh-should I call the ambulance?"
Scoops, no… Superheroes getting bruised and battered is definitely something they don't need written in the newspapers. "That won't be necessary," WordGirl tells him quickly, blocking Kid Math with an arm and her cape. "We superheroes recover fast, don't we, Kid Math?"
"Actually, WordGirl," he mumbles, "I… I think I want to get a helmet. At least for sometimes." He sits there, shaking, with one hand tight against his face.
"Oh, my head," Scoops mumbles. The notebook slips from his fingers. He stumbles back, grabbing for his ears. Then he plops down on the road. His hat slips off behind him. Okay, they've really got to finish this job. WordGirl glances behind her. Kid Math keeps a gloved hand pressed against his road-burned cheek, staring blearily up at the sun. He double blinks every other second. The fingers of his other hand clench against his stomach as though flying in circles over and over had made him queasy. Yeah, that's understandable. Especially since he's still new to having superpowers. If his home planet of Hexagon is anything like what she's read of Lexicon from the textbooks in her ship, then there had to be enough natural Hexanite in the local soil and nearby asteroid belts to tamp down all his inborn superpowers. Well, except the advanced mathematical skills, of course. It would take a lot of highly concentrated Hexanite to disrupt that ability.
Being away from that world is still pretty new to him. Imagine growing up with the force of gravity weighing down your shoulders, only to abandon it at the humble age of 8 and teach yourself to fly. WordGirl takes his wrist, giving him a gentle tug. "Come on. Let's go after Leslie. Mrs. McCallister already took care of Tobey."
"So no interview?" Scoops asks, looking queasy and disappointed. His twitches are taking over his body. His eyes keep blinking into green. Really? He's asking this now? WordGirl shoots him a glare. Scoops shrugs in that stupidly dopey, innocent way of his, the glitter of determination never slipping from his eyes even when they flicker. "Right! We'll catch up later… just thought I'd ask. Oh… Okay, I'm gonna lie down…"
Up until now, the snowbanks, the giant robots, the overturned cars, and the long crack in the street kept most of the onlookers at bay. But now, more and more civilians are wandering closer to get a better look at the heroes on the road. Their footsteps sort of drag when they walk. Most of them stumble forward with outstretched arms like zombies, their jaws slack and eyes glowing green. Eeesh…
One more time, WordGirl tightens her fingers in Kid Math's arm. He winces, but she doesn't say sorry. "Hey, we should get out of here. Are you okay to fly?"
"I… I think so." He pulls his arm away. "You don't have to carry me. I'm indisposed."
"I think you mean independent. Indisposed means you're hurt, injured, blocked, or incapable of looking out for yourself."
"Right, right. Just hit my head. I should wear a helmet. Please don't tell."
"Great," she says, patting his shoulder. "I'm going to shut down that mind control machine and pursue Mr. Big and Leslie. Meet me by the food trucks in the park. Order a hot chocolate or something and I'll be there as soon as I can get away. WORD-"
Kid Math latches onto her elbow before she can kick off the ground. "WordGirl?"
Huggy squeaks the question first, but WordGirl repeats it aloud: "What is it?"
The young superhero boy stares up at her, his eyes lucid and reflective for the first time since before Mr. Big sank his hooks in him. Kid Math dabs his tongue around his lips. His throat bobs. She can hear saliva click between his teeth. WordGirl watches him in silence, her skin itching, until his gaze flitters down again. His fingers curl into her arm.
"… I did the most damage here. Am I going to go to jail?"
"Oh, uh… No. You're fine. It was all because of mind control and you can't be held responsible for it. We're the good guys." She tugs her hand free from his grip, backing away down one of the arms of the plus sign crater in the ground. "Look, we'll talk later. I've gotta go before Mr. Big and Leslie get away. Get to the food trucks. I'll meet you there."
He blinks, mouth a grimacing line. He definitely wants to protest. Insist on seeing this fight through to the end. But for once, he nods at her weakly, like a scrawny cat up a tree. "I gotta lie down."
Huggy squeaks in protest. WordGirl tilts her head. "Don't fall asleep. We need to check if you have a concussion."
"I know. I'll get a helmet." Kid Math takes a deep breath. "I won't fall asleep. But I need to subtract myself from this situation. I'll be late. I'll see you at 14 hours, quarter after."
"Okay, that's…" Wait. What time is that? She struggles to loop the numbers in her head. She's more accustomed to clocks that use the duodecimal system. She knows the word, but numbers don't stick easily in her mind. They blur. Her brain skips over them from time to time. She never really questioned it when she was young, even though she'd browsed Huggy's spaceship library and she's read a lot about Hexagon and the other (largely uninhabited) planets in the Erudite solar system over the years. Words were her thing and math wasn't, and she never overthought it.
But then she met him.
14 is two more than 12… And after 12 there's a 1… 12 is like a 0… but a quarter is 25%… so if it's a quarter after 0 that's… 25? Wait… 60 minutes in four parts… Okay, cut the clock in 4 pieces. I know it goes 12 to 3. That's a section. 12, 1, 2, 3… That's a few hours. How many minutes is that? 4 times 10 is 40, and 40 is less than 60, so a quarter of the clock is more than 10…
Kid Math blinks back at her, pushing Scoops' groping hand away from his shoulder. "That's 2-1-5 on the analog clock." (He means 2:15, but pronounces it "two one five," the same way Huggy does. The spaceship pilot code.) "That's 5 degrees past 2 on most sundials, though of course, shadows won't progress evenly around noon and I'm rounding up. If you measure time using the museum's clepsydra, it's-"
"2:15. Got it." Clocks, like healthy snacks and float pens, are one of the very few things both she and Kid Math can gush about for hours. The Fair City clocktower is almost repaired, you know, after what Tobey's misguided "time stopping" machine did to its face last week. Ha. She defeated that thing once, but that hadn't stopped Tobey from making the same attempt to extend winter vacation that he'd made over the summer. That runaway robot put a whole new spin on the idea of "punching out." Kid Math likes to take his lunch break on the flat, pigeon-frequented roof across the street from the city's prize clock, and he always knows when the tower's bells are meant to be pealing, even when they're broken and can't sing the noise themselves. It makes WordGirl wonder if he's sensitive to magnetic fields. The Earth's rotation seems inherently familiar to him, even if he's only been on his planet for a month.
Clocks are beautiful and romantic. Even though her brain struggles to organize numbers, there are only 12 to keep track of when you gaze at an analog clock's face. Translating the hour and minute hands to words in her mind is easier than staring at a digital sequence on the microwave screen. Clocks and weightlifting are like, the two things involving numbers that don't leave her feeling overwhelmed. It's sort of hard not to find clocks fascinating when you grow up with superspeed and can fly between time zones in a snap. She might not know everything about clocks, but they're more approachable than long division and easier to memorize than her times tables.
But then she met HIM. And nobody in Fair City can infodump about clocks like Kid Math can.
It's hard to wrap her mind around. How is this little kid so intimately familiar with Earth's systems, even though he grew up without Arabic numerals? He understands the day and night cycle and its measurements intuitively, even though his home planet of Hexagon is so close to their planetary system's sun, its days are actually longer than its years. How does he do it? It's like his brain adapted to a new environment faster than a piece of Velcro clings to cotton. He's flawlessly fluent in Earth's physics and equations without even trying. It gives her half a headache.
Kid Math takes a deep, shaky breath. The sparkle in his dark eyes fades back to wincing pain. Then he levitates off the ground, just out of reach of the mind-controlled Scoops, and sort of doggy paddles his way into the air. He starts to fly away. He'll be fine… probably. He's both independent and resilient. WordGirl moves Scoops to a safe place away from the fissure in the road. Then she zips towards the water tower where she'd seen Leslie, hoping to snag a good look at the fleeing criminals while she's up there. She glances back only once to see her injured friend straining like a dizzy bumblebee as he spirals through the sky.
He'll be okay. He's too tough to get physically hurt, and his body can heal itself in seconds. His wooziness is just the effects of mind control wearing away, little by little as he flies through the sheets of falling snow.
"Don't worry, WordGirl," says the Narrator overhead. "Once we switch scenes, I'll keep an eye on him."
"Must be nice," is her off-hand reply. She takes into the air in a spiral and shoots through the city streets. A blur of rubble, cars, and civilians passes by underneath her, and Huggy's squeak disappears behind them as she outspeeds the sound. She veers back long enough to plow through the mind control boombox device with her fist, then zips in a helix to catch every piece before they hit the ground. She'll keep them around long enough to be used in court, but when she's allowed to, she'll take them to her spaceship storage room with the rest of her battle trophies. She already has a nice box to dump the rubble in.
➕ ➖ ✖️ ➗
While WordGirl's been killing giant robots, it looks as though Victor and Victoria - AKA the Best siblings - have been killing time outside the city library.
At the sound of the Narrator's voice slicing through the bank alarm, both kids flick their eyes to the sky. Ihh. Victor wiggles one hand in his back pocket, gripping his hypnotic harmonica just in case he needs it. It's, you know… not always great when the Narrator takes a special interest in you specifically. He checks in sometimes, but not a lot. He's a fact of life. It's kind of his job. From the corner of his eye, Victor sees his sister mirror his motion, though a little slower and more subtly. Her hand slips in the pocket of her puffy pink coat. She leans back on her heels.
"I'm the older sibling," she tells the voice. "That makes me the best. You should be saying my name first."
"It says 'Victor and Victoria' in my script."
"Peh. I'll have words with whoever writes these things."
"I'll pass that along."
Victor exhales. Whatever the Narrator has planned for them, it's bound to be better than standing around like this. It's not even a great day outside. It's blustery, it's frigid, and the bank alarm is still searing. That is the right word, isn't it? If something really, really loud and obnoxious is tearing through the air? It's certainly burning his ears, and that sounds like the right context. Victor bites his lip, shifting his eyes between the library door and his sister's boot tapping against the ice-slicked sidewalk.
Their parents have kept them waiting a long, long time. This isn't unusual for the Bests (They do, after all, have busy schedules to keep, and occasionally a meeting with a very important investor will crop up at the worst of times; completely unavoidable), but… he's getting worried. It's really cold out, he feels like a dragon puffing smoke. He was in a rush this morning. He messed up and didn't bring his best winter coat. But oh boy, does he ever regret it. He and Victoria have been standing here for… What's it been now? 45 minutes? Ulp.
He needs to calm down. Someone might see his eye twitch and get the wrong idea about his mental health. Even the way he rubs his arm could be a dead giveaway that gossipy, doubting thoughts are seeping through his mind like split pea soup. But he sinks his teeth a little harder in his lip, brushing his arm off anyway. Touching his sleeve that way helps him stay focused on the here and now. Mostly, anyway. Okay. Not really. But it almost feels like a hug, and that sort of makes up for the way he left his coat at home.
They're not coming for us. Are they?
But they have to, soon. Right? Why would the Narrator swing by if there isn't anything new to narrate? It's his job to keep the story moving.
He'd really like his coat. His white shirt and red vest weren't made for January. Snowflakes seep down the back of his neck. Victor exhales a long, steady stream of warm air. It billows and twists in the air. He checks his pocket watch: an elegant antique passed down to him from his great uncle Maximillian Best. He'd moved to London last year and claimed that with Big Ben just down the street, he wouldn't need it anymore.
Ah. Okay, so he was a little off. 49 minutes. His parents were supposed to be here at 1:00.
Victoria's tapping foot slows to a scuff. She starts dragging her boot across the ice, using her heel to write her name in the thin layer of snow dusting the sidewalk. They saw the Whammer 30 minutes ago, and he did a very good job of clearing the sidewalk with bursts of sonic energy from his fists. Victoria had pulled Victor towards the library steps as soon as she saw him coming, muttering about how he goes through this "every year," and Victor had been too nervous to do anything except everything his sister said. So, you know. Why did he even need a lift home, because getting bossed around by the best sister ever is all he ever does when he's there, too.
Please let them be okay. My heart can't take another minute of this. I'm a wreck.
It's 1:52.
As much as he'd like to believe his parents are safe and cozy at home, enjoying hot chocolate and heavy quilts while they watch some of the best movies ever made, Victor saw giant robots battling WordGirl in the distance. And that other superhero kid too. It gets him antsy. He's spiraling just a bit. A skittish old man in a yellow shirt popped by not long ago, spreading the word of an active mind control field downtown and warning both kids to stay far away from it. It's kind of hard not to get worked up, tangled in his own nerves, even though he knows his dad would be the best at outmaneuvering any giant robot in his car.
Also, you know. Searing alarm. Even though he and Victoria can't see the bank from here, that alarm goes off a couple times a week. The whole town knows its sound by heart. Even if his parents did finish their movie, and even if they did get in the car on time, and even if they did fight their way through the snow and the mind control and the giant robots, who's to say they also made it past an escaping bank robber? Once word gets out that WordGirl's been spotted "doing something else," it's pretty common for villains all around the city to break out on crime sprees.
That's what Victoria says, anyway. She would know. She's been dabbling with the local villain community here and there, even though she wants nothing to do with EVA - the Evil Villains Association - and spits on all their meetings. Their parents are trying to get her into it or whatever. She mutters and scoffs as soon as they leave for tennis or the pool, flipping through the magazines they keep subscribing her to. Sometimes Victor sits quietly across the table from her, working with his modeling clay just so she'll have the company. Victoria may not have time to play anymore like she used to, but he feels better when he makes himself available for her. Just in case. He's been the listening ear to a lot of her venting sessions.
(Victor used to be his sister's only confidant. The only one she trusted with her pain, trusted to ever understand him, because he was the best at understanding her. That's something he never thought she could take away from him, because she used him as a backboard when she couldn't even understand her own messy feelings. Then she got a new friend. They go on walks along the river together and he doesn't get invited as often as he used to. He's not jealous. He's grateful to get his free time back.)
His watch ticks over to 1:53. Victor clenches his fingers in his arm and tries not to drop the watch. It's on a chain, but it could still shatter on the sidewalk. He's got clammy hands.
Another robot comes crashing down with a thunderous quake. It rattles the ground, showering icicles from the library roof. Even from here! Victor pinwheels his arms and grabs Victoria for support. She huffs into his hair.
Well. Even if it's noisy and cold out, and even though his feet hurt, at least they have entertainment. The view's not the best, but they still get to watch WordGirl and that other superhero dart around from a safe, non-mind-controlled area. That's kind of neat. When WordGirl activates her superspeed, she leaves a bright golden trail behind her wherever she goes- fiery like a meteor. The other hero, the boy, leaves a glittery blue trail like a frosty comet. Both heroes keep spiraling through the air, almost ricocheting off the buildings and giant metal constructs.
Is it fun? It seems like being a superhero would be fun.
"I'm gonna yank his stupid haystack hair out with my fists," Victoria mutters. Victor glances at her again. She stands there, pinching the upper part of her nose with thumb and forefinger and rubbing up and down. With her golden braids flopping in the wind, she looks like a Viking warrior princess. Yeah, that tracks. All she needs now is a battle axe or a sword. Maybe a horned helmet. Just to be on the safe side, Victor scoots a pace away.
"Uh, who are you talking about?"
"Tobey." She snaps her arm at the sky, gesturing vaguely towards the giant robots. Either that, or she's slapping invisible mosquitoes. "He was supposed to meet me here at the library. Our defense about the first text we chose is due on Monday. Now it looks like I'll end up doing this research project all by myself. Just me, Victoria Best."
Victor skitters his eyes away from her. "Oh. Right." To be quite honest, he'd sort of forgotten why Victoria had needed the library. He'd been up the street getting sized for new dance shoes. Then he performed a snippet of his routine for some of the younger kids waiting in line. He crushed it, naturally. He was, after all, the best at tap dancing. Well. More like the second best. Not that that's important.
"Don't 'Oh, right' me," Victoria mutters back. Victor bristles, grinding his teeth, and says nothing.
1:54. Yeah, their parents are definitely dead. It was probably Dr. Two-Brains, turning them to goop or cheese with one flick of a ray gun. Does D2B rob banks? Hm. He's gotta get the money for blimp helium from somewhere. You don't get paid for peer reviewing research papers, right? You definitely don't get paid for hovering around the pet store, squeaking at the mice in their cage. Yeah. That had been a weird day.
Maybe they're not dead. Maybe Chuck was the bank robber, and he paralyzed their parents with one blast of his condiment ray. Splatted them with relish. Stuck 'em to the ground. Maybe slammed them into the wall with sticky mayonnaise. Or maybe the Butcher buried them in a heap of chicken cordon bleu.
Victor checks the watch again. It's 1:56.
At that exact moment, a blinding beam of golden light zig-zags through the air above their heads. FWEEESH! Victor jumps, his sweaty hands fumbling the pocket watch. Whoa! Just being that close to WordGirl sends every pore on his arms prickling with goosebumps. It's been two, maybe three years since WordGirl started fighting for justice in Fair City - or something like that; he never really counted - and he's still not used to the way she can just, you know… appear. But Victoria rolls her eyes, not uncrossing her arms. She didn't flinch. She's the best at not flinching. The light trail fades away again, swirling away among the snowflakes. Gone, like it never was. Victor blinks after it in silence.
"I wish I could fly," he mutters. He certainly wouldn't be standing outside the library on a snowy day like this one if he could. Having superspeed must be…
… the best.
FWOOOSH!
There's that "hot and spicy" sound again. Coming right at them, but from the other direction? Victor spins around, Victoria spinning with him. Her boot skids on the ice. He grabs her arm, propping her back up again. She shoves him off so hard, he slips and smacks on the sidewalk. Pain shoots up his tailbone. Ow. WordGirl spirals back over the library and somersaults to a stop right in front of them. Her body morphs from "too bright and blurry to look at" to the face of a normal kid. Or an alien kid. She hovers a few feet off the ground. Her monkey sidekick, Captain Huggyface, peers at Victor over her back. The decorative antenna bauble on his helmet is drooping at a weird angle, like it's been snapped.
Victor wrinkles his nose, glancing over WordGirl. She's covered in snow and skid marks. Her skin's smooth and pretty - darker than his own - but it's difficult to get a good look at her face. Thick brown hair puffs out from the edges of her red helmet. He can recognize that much, but her facial features sort of... blur? It must be a superhero thing, because both she and MathBoy sort of… flicker even when they're standing still. You can look at their clothes, but if you stare directly at their skin, it'll leave you feeling wobbly. Like you opened your eyes underwater, or like you're trying to watch a 3D movie without wearing 3D glasses. You get used to it once you've seen them around, but they always look blurry in photos too, so Victor's pretty sure he couldn't make an accurate clay replica even if he tried his very best.
Which is saying something. He's the second best in the city when it comes to working with clay.
WordGirl doesn't even glance at him, her eyes only on his sister. Those eyes glitter black and hungry like a thunderstorm. "Hey, Victoria," she begins. Her voice sort of rattles and echoes, unlike anything he's ever heard. Like it's out of this world. "Did any villains come running past you in the last, like, 5 minutes? Say... Leslie and Mr. Big? Or anyone carrying a large sack of stolen cash? The Butcher, maybe?"
"Don't bother asking," Victoria sniffs back. "If anyone did, I would have stopped them. I'm the best at stopping crimes."
WordGirl's lips tighten like a writhing caterpillar. "Of course," she mutters. She doesn't even hide her disdain. Captain Huggyface (a little less blurry; easier to focus on) only nods and waves at them. With that, WordGirl liquifies to light and zooms away again. FWOOSH! Her departure ripples at their clothes. You know, it's weird. The scorching sound is so different from the tinkling icicle one you hear when Kid Math comes sweeping by. She's hot and fiery. He's icy cold.
(Well actually, she probably doesn't liquify, but it certainly looks like she does. Maybe she turns from a solid into a gas? Is that how her powers work? What a wild way to live. Aliens are neat.)
"Hmph." Victoria flips her hands beneath her braids, shaking out the freshly fallen snow. She doesn't glance at Victor, doesn't even acknowledge him, but goes on talking anyway. "Who does WordGirl even think she is? I'm a way better obstacle for her than that silver-haired, past-his-prime bunny lover. There was an article about him just a week ago, waxing on and on about some scheme he tried that totally flopped. I can't even be bothered to remember it, it was that unimportant." Then her fists clench like she's strangling the stuffed animals that fill her bedroom. "Tobey won't know what hit him when I'm through ripping up his sketchbooks! He's not even the LEAST bit prepared to face THE BEST!"
Yeah, probably. Victor doesn't really know Tobey, although the boy genius has swung by their house two or three times for a playdate in the past couple months. I mean, he did try saying hi to him once, but the cold side-eye Tobey shot him sort of ended the attempted friendship before it began.
And Tobey gets to be Victoria's best confidant now.
It doesn't really matter. The one thing he does know is that he definitely knows better than to argue with her. Victoria stands there huffing like that dragon Victor himself was pretending to be a few minutes ago. Is it 2:00 yet? Their parents often run late, but they haven't been this late to pick him up since there was a flash sale at a big clothing store. He forgot the name, but it was on a Black Friday. Understandable they got delayed. He's not mad. Really, he understands. His parents are just busy. He'll be the same way when he's a grown-up, too.
The bank alarm finally cuts off. Thank goodness! It's been ringing this entire time, and he's sick of it. Totally sick of it. Maybe having super-hearing wouldn't be the best, actually.
A few seconds later, a blue car turns the corner at the end of the road. Victor pushes himself back to his feet, squinting at the windshield. Between the snowflakes and sun glare, he can't get a good look at the driver. The car honks twice, then coasts to a stop in front of the library.
Right. In front. Of them.
Uhh…
This is NOT their parents' car. It's way too rustic, not to mention the wrong color. Their parents drive a green limo. This little blue car is definitely not that. Who's this creep? Victor glances at his sister. She glances right back at him. As one, they pull out their respective bright pink instruments: his harmonica and her recorder.
Yeah, no. No, no, no, no, no. They both got kidnapped for ransom a couple years ago - smelled like wet socks, lots of burly men, plus a snake - and that's not about to happen again. They never leave home unprepared to fight back.
But before either of them can lift the hypnotic instruments to their lips, the car's passenger side window rolls down. That seat is empty, though the woman sitting behind the wheel is… familiar, actually. Oh. Victor didn't even know he knew that many people. He's lived in Fair City since he was 5, but he doesn't get out much. Not lately, anyway. Now that he's getting older, his studies take up a lot more time than they used to. He has less time to play, and definitely no time to wander around.
Ms. Tobey's Mom? Okay… Victor starts to lower the harmonica, but doesn't tuck it back in his pocket. Okay. At least he knows her. This is slightly less creepy than a stranger parking in front of them. Maybe Tobey and Victoria will end up working on their research project today after all. Victor shifts his eyes to the little blue car's rear seat. Tobey sits slouched in the back, having slid so far down that his seatbelt presses against his throat. His hands are pinned over his eyes. Yikes. But Victor gets it. Right now, his sister's scowl could freeze a bowl of curry.
"Victoria?" Mrs. McCallister tilts her head. "On the phone, I thought you said you had a veterinary job shadow at 2:15. At the exotic animal clinic, right? That's all the way across town. Do you and your brother need a ride?"
Do they? Their parents could be here any minute. Victor finally does put the harmonica away, waiting for Victoria to speak for them both. She's the best at making decisions. She hesitates on the edge of the curb, glaring daggers into the back seat. No, not daggers. She's glaring fencing foils. Rapiers. Maybe bazookas. Tobey still does not pry his hands from his eyes. His glasses are askew, covered in gravel and thumb smudges where they rest on his fingers. His blond hair looks creased, like the pages of a book turned upside-down on the table. Yeah. Even if he hadn't heard the crashing robots, Victor's pretty sure he could've guessed that Tobey just got in a fight with WordGirl. It happens from time to time. He's a strange kid. Mrs. McCallister leans forward to get a better look at him. Then she glances at Victoria again.
"And I believe my Tobey has something to say to you. Right, Tobey?"
Tobey slides down a little farther in the back seat like the butter melting down a piece of upright toast. Victor grimaces, saying nothing. Victoria sighs, stuffing her recorder away in the pocket of her coat. It barely fits, but bulges at her side. The little colored strings she keeps tying around it flap like keychains in the wind. Speaking for them both, she says, "A ride to the clinic would be great, Mrs. McCallister. Maybe if it's not inconvenient, you can also drop my little brother off at home. And I would be happy to reschedule time to meet with Tobey to work on the next phase of our project. I'm the best at extending forgiveness."
"Something came up," Tobey tells them loudly. Mrs. McCallister swats at his ankle. Not hard, though he jerks his feet back as though a shark just bit at his kneecaps. Victoria wraps her fingers around the handle of the passenger side door.
"You're in charge of our citations page. It won't be the best, but it's just plugging in data and adjusting indents. Even you can't screw that up. It won't even take you as long as you left me waiting."
Tobey flops his head on his shoulder, glowering up from beneath his haystack hair. Victoria's the best at metaphors; she nailed that one. "Well, well," he drawls out. "A lecture from you, Victoria? Look who grew her angel wings! Victor, it would seem your sister - overnight, mind you - has become the most delicate and dignified of us all. Nobody else has ever been mildly inconvenienced from unwanted delays."
His mother cuts in, instructing him to apologize. Tobey seethes through his teeth, doubling down on the sandpaper in his tone.
"I'm terribly sorry I did not arrive as intended before our scheduled appointment at the library. Please do forgive me. See, 'I'm afraid if a man has no vices, he's at great risk of making vices out of his virtues, and there's a spectacle.'"
That's a play quote. Victor's lower eyelid twitches up. He reads a lot of plays, but the specific name eludes him. It's not called The Merchant of Yonkers anymore. Something else. Something beautiful and graceful. Elegant. Sophisticated. The best. But he forgets. Was it… A Day Well Spent? No, that doesn't sound right. Ugh. Geez. Yeah, he whiffed that one and he'll take an extra piece of broccoli at dinner. Stupid. Can't believe this. He needs to stop slacking in his studies. His cheeks burn, and not from the cold.
The allusion does not escape Victoria either, because Victor sees his sister's eyes narrow to slits as thin as paperclips. She says, "I already picked out our first book and wrote my sentences defending the choice. You'd better design some killer visuals, bolts-for-brains."
Tobey claps one hand to his heart with a thump, right under his bowtie. "Oh, how you wound me with your vicious schoolyard nicknames! Must you taunt me with the easiest of all assignments for the one and only boy genius in your class? Have you no sliver of grace nor pity in your heart?" Tobey adjusts his thick glasses with one finger in the middle, then pats the seat beside him. "Come, Victor. You can sit by me; I wouldn't want to blind myself in the glow of your sister's sacred halo. Anyway, this was a matter of collaboration or cancellation. No one can prove that meddling maniac on the roof didn't have me under mind control. It wouldn't be the first time."
His mother scolds him again, which receives a puttering of lips and a grumble from her son. Victoria wrinkles her nose. Her fingers tighten on the door handle. "Don't let the wipe effect hit you on the scene shift," she mutters.
"Your caution is admirable. I never do."
"I said I was sorry," the Narrator mumbles, shrinking back. Victor rubs an imaginary goose egg on the back of his head, just to be sure it really has faded since he last failed to step aside in time.
Before Victoria can yank the door open, Victor takes a breath and tugs her puffy sleeve. Just touching her shoots his heartrate into the 90s, but he manages to force the words off his tongue. "Hey, um… Is it really okay for us to get a ride? What if Mom and Dad show up and don't know where we went?" The nearest payphone is at least a block away. They could probably run back inside and ask Ms. Dewey for permission to use the library's phone, but that almost seems cruel after spending an hour standing in the cold.
Victoria gives him a milk-curdling sideways glance. "Why do you care? They're not gonna snap at you."
Well, that's true. And Mrs. McCallister's pretty nice. She gave him a bagel with pink cream cheese on it once. Also if this does turn out to be an elaborate kidnapping scheme, he and Victoria both have their hypnotic instruments. And WordGirl's around to scream for. She'll hear them. Victor is very aware that WordGirl and his sister have clashed on a couple occasions, but it's not like she'd just leave them in the hands of wacky old creeps.
On cue, WordGirl darts above like a golden comet, streaking downtown towards the police station. The zippy noise of her body flashing through the air hits like a mini sonic boom. Weird. She sounds a lot like one of those carnival games where you hit the paddle with a hammer as hard as you can and hope you manage to ding the bell at the top. Come to think of it, WordGirl would be really good at that. She has super strength. Speed, flight, strength, ice breath, a monkey sidekick… She has it all. Victor lifts a hand against the sun and snow, squinting after her. From the looks of it, she's got Mr. Big, Leslie, and the Butcher all dangling from her fists like giant plush animals from that same carnival with the strength game. Well. She's holding two of the villains. Mr. Big clings onto Leslie with his arms wrapped around her middle, his legs kicking in open air. WordGirl can do it all. She really is the best superhero this city's ever had.
"You can use my cell phone," Mrs. McCallister says, watching them fidget outside the doors. "The city was a mess today. There were disruptions all over the road."
Disruptions? Is that another word for 'robots?' Why not just say robots, then?
Never mind. Victoria slides into the front seat of Mrs. McCallister's car, so Victor climbs in the back next to Tobey and buckles up. Tobey scoots over, prickling with an insufferable "Don't pop my personal space bubble unless you want a porcupine leaping out at you" sort of energy. Victor, who's enjoyed a porcupine on only one occasion in his life and it was when he saw one nuzzle up to his sister at a petting zoo, opts not to push his luck. Mrs. McCallister guides the car back onto the road. As they roll out, Victoria starts off on a spiel about the "representation in modern literature" project. Tobey responds to that first with muttering and then vehement arguing. Absurd! He's innocent, he claims. Mrs. McCallister chuckles and gently scolds him to hear her out.
Victor ignores it all. He leans against the ice-chilled window, staring in silence as the library fades farther and farther behind them. WordGirl's flight trail gleams in the distance, sparkling with golden flakes. What's that like? To be adored by every person in the whole city? Every last one of them? Considered the best of the best?
I'll bet that new superhero with the blue costume, Logic Guy or whatever his name was, is actually her little brother. Everyone knows she has a brother, and this guy has superpowers too. I'll bet she never talks down to HIM by saying he's only the "second best" hero in Fair City.
Not his superhero. WordGirl would never.
Victor's fingers curl against the window, nails softly scraping. The cold glass stings his fingertips. He pulls his hand away. He checks his great uncle's pocket watch again. Huh. Did he set it wrong? You know, his sense of time's been weird ever since Tobey's crazy robot broke the clocktower again. Maybe that's why their parents never showed; maybe he's been off by an hour this whole time.
Yeah, that's it. His watch just needs adjusting. It wrongfully says it's already 2:04.
A/N - GeographyGirl was namedropped in the episode "Class Act" when WordGirl says she likes both words and geography, but that the name GeographyGirl was "already taken," so she went with WordGirl. When I was a kid and didn't know much about her background with Steven, it was always my headcanon that GeoGirl was a good role model for her (cool super strong lady who shares knowledge). GeoGirl won't play a large role in this 'fic, but you'll see a few nods to her because I wanted to pay homage to that old headcanon.
In this universe, GeoGirl is a charmed kid born with air, water, earth, and fire powers. She's associated with green, helped WordGirl master flying, and shared a lot of documents with her in the early days. Since GeoGirl lives across the country and isn't an alien, local Steven Boxleitner became WordGirl's confidant as she got older. He connected to her on the "Yeah, we both feel like outcasts" level, so they became friends. There's a soft place in WordGirl's heart for GeoGirl, but they were never as close as she and Steven were.
The Matchmaker is a Broadway play by Thornton Wilder, which was a rewrite of his play The Merchant of Yonkers. You might recognize its later adaption, the musical Hello, Dolly! The original material went by other names as far back as 1835, such as A Day Well Spent. I think the Bests would be big on classic literature and plays, and the line from Malachi Stack's soliloquy struck me as Tobey vibes. :)