Curse of Arachnaman Page 16

  I scowled at the stack. “Am I eighteen yet?” Yeah, yeah, I know. I'd been going on and on about being eighteen, but what else was there to look forward to? Of course, if everything I'd heard about being eighteen turned out to be a total lie, there'd be some blood that'd be spilled.

  "Last time I checked, no. Any more questions?"

  "Can I come? I promise I won't get in the way. Can we just turn these essays into something like P.E. or hands-on stuff? I don't mind being graded for helping out in superhero work."

  "Nope. Have a good day, Mr. Eric. And be sure to make good use of the dictionary. I assume that you know how."

  I stared at him. “Of course I do! What's all that about?"

  Dr. Dibbs didn't look ruffled at all. He merely cocked an eyebrow. “You'd be surprised, young man, at how many adults don't know jack about using the dictionary."

  "Whoa. You said ‘jack.’ That's cool.” I grinned. I couldn't help it. Dr. Dibbs said “jack."

  He booted me out.

  * * * *

  First contact with Mrs. Zhang made! With police activity spreading all over Vintage City, I figured it was safe for me to saunter on over to Uncle Chung's after “class,” and sure enough, they were open. There are no words to describe the relief I felt at seeing the familiar neon sign and foggy interior through the windows.

  "Hey, Mrs. Zhang!” I called out, and I saw her silhouette wave at me from behind the steam counter. “Good to see you again!"

  "Yeah? Well, it's not good seeing you still skinny. What the hell's wrong with you? You not bulimic, are you?"

  I just shrugged, totally relieved, and sat on a weathered stool while waiting for her to finish swapping a couple of empty food pans with new ones that were packed with freshly cooked stuff. Mrs. Zhang recently put the stools there, saying that they were for customers who had to wait for their food to be cooked. To be more competitive, she expanded their menu and added special dishes that her husband could whip up for anyone who might not care for the usual ready-to-go offerings, especially if they had health-related limitations. When Dad found out about it, he said it felt like he'd just died and gone to stir-fry heaven. Since Scanlon Frankie Avalon'd into our lives, we had to make good use of her new policy as well.

  "So what happened to you guys?” I demanded. I slid off my stool when she waved at me to come close, and to my train wreck delight, she gave me a small bowl of hot and sour soup. “Wow, thanks!” Oh, I could feel my arteries constrict from all the grease I was set to ingest, but I loved her soup and its turn-your-ass-into-an-organic-flamethrower-when-you-fart spice levels.

  "All trouble around here!” she cried, waving both hands above her. She scowled under her massive hairnet. “Innocent families attacked, and all buildings around them searched inch by inch! I'm glad they didn't rip up my kitchen, but they were close! I have pepper spray. I can use it on cops."

  She'd've done it, too. I nodded, happily sipping my soup. “Any leads, though? Have they found anything yet?"

  "If they did, they don't say anything. Not to me or other businesses around here.” She paused and looked thoughtful. Sad and thoughtful, really, which I was never used to seeing from her. “Don't understand. Innocent families attacked. Why? They were minding their own business. Like hot dog restaurant. Good owner, I know him. Very nice and honest. Hard-working. Why make his life hell?"

  I could only listen in sympathy. “You know, Mrs. Zhang, I'm gay. I've put up with so much crap from other kids before and after I came out. I've never done anything to piss them off. I guess simply existing is enough to offend some people, but my mom and dad have always told me that they're the ones with the problem. Not me. Sucks to be them, Dad used to say, with their heads stuck up their asses."

  "Your dad said that? Cool dad!"

  "Well, he made sure that Mom wasn't around when he made that point.” My dad had his moments, yeah.

  She grinned, nodding. “You're a good boy. Difficult sometimes, but good boy.” She took my bowl when I was done and promptly filled it with rice and black bean chicken. “Now eat. Hunky boyfriend won't be too happy if you don't take care."

  I went home all full and happy. I actually looked forward to doing my homework, which was kind of a sick sort of situation, but that was the magic of free Chinese food. Too bad that magic lasted as long as the food lasted in my digestive system. Eventually the charm wore off, and I was Cinderella, sleeping in soot. I actually took a nap and woke up in my bed, but the feeling of the remainder of the day being spent in academic drudgery latched on to me like brain-sucking leeches. I managed to do a little work before giving up and getting online for some Asteroids action.

  Staying home and doing my homework bit hard. It was boring, and there were too many distractions. Yeah, Mom and Dad were all excited and tickled to see that Dr. Dibbs trusted me enough with a stack of take-home tests that required blue books, but once I was left alone the next day, I couldn't get myself to make some kind of dent. I was only able to work on one-and-a-half tests before I gave up, dug around for loose change hidden in the dustiest, grossest pockets under our sofa cushions, and ran off for some ice cream. I figured that I might have to go elsewhere to make sure that I'd be able to concentrate. Somewhere quiet and closed in, sort of, with nothing anywhere to distract me.

  So I went to the public library after scarfing down my treat. And then promptly fell asleep on my notes. I must've drooled up Lake Loch Ness by the time a librarian shook me awake to let me know that it was time for me to go home.

  "Your parents will be worried about you,” she said while handing me a box of tissues. That was embarrassing. I had to wait till after she left before using the handful I pulled out. I went to the men's room before leaving to check out how I looked in the mirror.

  Lopsided hair aside, my face looked as though someone just stamped a road map on it. Creases from my shirt- sleeves, my pens, and a crumpled ball of paper that happened to be in the way when I conked out, all made a pretty strong impression—literally.

  "Damn,” I groaned, running my fingers over the marks. Good thing I didn't have a date planned later that day.

  It took me a few minutes to wash up, comb my hair, and restore my dignity before leaving the library. I still had a lot of time left before everyone came home from work. I was also not at all interested in catching up with schoolwork. Wandering on to the downtown area was more of an act of desperation than anything else. I hated having unfinished work hanging over me, and I hated feeling unmotivated.

  I wandered kind of aimlessly for a while. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the downtown area. Then again, any Vintage City resident wouldn't think twice about all the construction work that now littered the area.

  A visitor might ask, “Hey, what's with all the crappy traffic jams and the screwed-up buildings around here?” To which a resident would say, “Oh, those? They're nothing. Just good and evil going head to head. Same old, same old in Vintage City. You get used to living in a battleground between superheroes and supervillains after a while. Here, have a truffle."

  In short, I totally ignored the damaged areas and wove my way through the crowd, sidestepping stray debris without even looking at it. Yeah, I was that used to the carnage. It wasn't unusual for me to stand in front of a store, ogling the merchandise, while swiping at bits of brick or plaster or even broken glass falling from a nearby casualty of a recent battle. Hell, I wasn't even surprised to see a number of folks, mostly seniors, walking around with umbrellas, rain or shine. There was a little group of old-timers, too, who wore hard hats, though I saw that one of them wore a brainsaver skateboard helmet. He must've borrowed it from his grandkid or something.

  I just wandered around the main square, completely zoned out, I guess. Nothing registered in my mind, though I was pretty much aware that I stopped in front of a bunch of store windows, checking out stuff. I even stood in front of the founder's statue, which finally got itself a replacement head.

  "Dude, that's lame,” I muttered, frowning at
the thing. Seriously, whoever the artist was, he didn't do a good job with keeping proportions consistent. His replacement head matched the rest of the statue in terms of color, texture, and amount of weathering, but size-wise? Yikes. Looking at the statue seriously made me think of the Powerpuff Girls, vintage-style, and in male drag. From where I stood, I figured that the new head was about three sizes too big. I didn't know how they'd managed to secure it to the statue, but I sure hoped that whatever stuff they'd used to glue the two separate parts together would hold for a long, long time unless the city was prepared for one lawsuit after another.

  Imagine getting brained by the founder's new head in the middle of your lunch break. What a sad way to go.

  Eventually I picked up where I left off, wandering around again without any purpose or direction and feeling more and more bored by the minute. I stopped in front of a small electronic store, blandly staring at their computer display. They had a little group of used computer monitors and keyboards sitting on a display table in front of the shop door, and for one crazy moment, I toyed around with the idea that I might need a new used computer for my room.

  Then all the computer screens suddenly flared to life, flashing a bright white, pulsing a few times, before growing dark again. Then text appeared across them, marching from end to end. Oh, great.

  Bingo night's upon us! they screamed at me in flashing colors. I'll call you when Doomsday comes. Dude, I'm already breaking out in hives. Good to know that I get share the trauma with a buddy.

  I'd been so bored out of my mind that I'd lost track of time. Apparently school was done for the day. I rolled my eyes and gave the computers the middle finger.

  I might not be able to see you, but I can feel your vibes. Because, you know, I'm just a really sensitive young lady.

  I gave Althea a double middle finger dose with both hands.

  Smartass.

  Oh, this was getting way fun. I could just feel her working hard to break right through the screens and push out her electricity-lights-colors-digital-whatthehellever hands, and strangle me. Were the computer monitors actually shaking from her efforts? Ha-ha! But she had to behave herself, obviously, so no one would know she'd possessed those things.

  "Shouldn't you be hunting criminals or something, not harassing best friends over bingo night?” I said, exaggerating the way my mouth moved in case she couldn't hear me from those old monitors. One can never tell with these superheroes. I was also in the mood to annoy the living daylights out of her.

  Yanno, when I said I can sense your vibes, I wasn't messing around. Stop making all those faces when you talk. You're so weird. And you know I can hear you.

  "Wow. Pot and kettle,” I snorted.

  A certain superhero wants me to tell you that if I catch you loitering around downtown at around this time, I have to play Mommy and tell you to haul your ass back home. It's too dangerous for you to be out here. So...haul your ass back home, mister. Or so help me, you're grounded for a month.

  I made a face. “Quit babying me. God, you guys are worse than Mom."

  Well, you're not supposed to go east of the main square. There's trouble brewing. That's why we're all out, and you really shouldn't be. Now scram. Or I'll have to use my power cables and play giant slingshot with you.

  Aha—superhero action time. “I don't have plans of window-shopping in that direction. Lay off."

  Dude. Watch your back.

  "Oh, yeah, what're you gonna do? Take over someone's cell phone and ring me to death?” I snorted.

  I said, watch your back!

  I shook my head, chuckling. “Whatever, Horace,” I said, waving a hand at the computers and turning away.

  "Watch out!” someone yelled.

  I barely noticed something large and flying—more like tumbling crazily through the air as it dropped from the sky. It wasn't coming in my direction, but it was about to crush the area where the founder's statue was, which also included a bunch of benches packed with people enjoying the sunny afternoon.

  "Oh no! Look out!"

  "Run!"

  It was all I could do to gasp and reflexively dive for cover, though there wasn't any cover for me to dive to. I just rolled over the ground in front of the electronics store and then balled myself on the pavement as I pressed against a wall. Around me people yelped and ran, most diving for cover.

  "Oh, my God!"

  I pinched my eyes shut and waited for a loud thud or a sickening crunch, but nothing happened. People still yelled and ran, and I heard a few trip and stumble, but whatever had been falling a few seconds ago didn't make any noise.

  "What happened? What's going on?"

  "Did you see that?"

  "What? What is it?"

  "I don't know!"

  I opened my eyes and turned in the direction of the main square. It was a small sports car that had flown down on us. It was obviously picked up and then thrown from another point, but I didn't know who did it or how. Actually, I didn't care. What mattered at that moment was the fact that the car hadn't crushed anyone in the square. How could it?

  A force field had formed above the area, a giant bubble that I could barely make out. It was a massive dome that cocooned the people who hung around the founder's statue, and resting on its highest part was the car. It lay on its side, not moving.

  "Look!” someone called out, and the familiar whooshing sound reached my ears.

  Magnifiman swooped down and picked up the car, flying away with it. I was sure that he'd be back within a few seconds. In the meantime, everyone stood around and gaped at the force field, none daring to move forward and inspect it. Those who were inside eyed it in shock, and they looked just as frozen as everyone else outside.

  A low series of firecracker-like sounds broke through the confusion, but there weren't any signs of the Puppet's mannequins anywhere. I looked around, poised for flight. No, no one was around, shooting at people in the square. It could only mean that the noise came from the eastern part of the city, where Althea warned me against.

  Another sound grew louder, a familiar one that always made me catch my breath in anticipation. I looked up in time to catch Calais and Miss Pyro sailing above us, following Magnifiman's trail. I loved the little flame bits that Miss Pyro always left in her wake. They marked her progress with tiny dancing little fires that eventually faded and left nothing but faint black smoke.

  Then the force field slowly vanished, its near-invisible domed silhouette fading gradually till nothing was left. Pretty soon people were moving again, walking cautiously forward and reaching out to feel around. Apparently the force field was completely gone by then. Everyone started talking at the same time, voices raised in shock and amazement.

  I looked around me and found nothing out of the ordinary. No one looked as though he or she was responsible for either the car-throwing or the force field.

  I hurried back to the electronics store display table and knocked on one of the computer monitors. All the screens were black, occasionally crackling with white light.

  "Althea!"

  I told you to go home, didn't I? You're grounded for a month.

  "Did you see that?” I asked.

  No, but I knew what was coming. Why do you think I warned you? Heads up. I'm going offline—sort of. It's action time.

  "I was talking about the force field, not the car, dummy!” I said, raising my voice and knocking on the computer monitor again. “Hey, are you still there? Can you hear me?” I kept knocking till my knuckles felt a little raw.

  "Ahem."

  I gave a start and looked around. A guy had walked up to me and probably heard me talking to a computer display. He stared at me with that familiar WTF look, his lower lip hanging open.

  "What're you looking at?” I retorted, adjusting my bag and walking off. Man. Some people could be pretty weird.

  * * * *

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 20

  * * * *

  I think my whole family spent
the rest of the day glued to the TV. Even Mom didn't pitch a fit when Dad said that he needed to watch the news. We ended up carrying dinner trays to the living room, finding our favorite spots, and watching Bambi Bailey tell us how much Vintage City sucked because of its out-of-control supervillain problems, while looking like a Hollywood star on the red carpet.

  Ms. Bailey, bless her, must've gotten some kind of flack from her bosses or something over her TV reporter glam thing. She'd toned down her outfits and recently had taken to more sedate business suits, which impressed me at first till that fateful moment a couple of nights ago, when the camera made the mistake of including her in the shot when it panned out for a wide-angle type of view of the crime scene. We all saw her wearing the shortest, tightest little skirt that could ever be worn by a woman. You know, the kind of micro-mini power suits that only prime time lawyers on TV could wear and make everyone believe that all professionals looked like that. Yeah, right.

  How she managed to move around without getting arrested or psychologically knocked up was beyond me. I was sure, though, that after the news report, all the straight men in the city had to lie back, light cigarettes, and drawl, “Baby, I hope that was as good for you as it was for me."

  It was also pretty clear that she didn't like the idea of dumping her jewelry, but it did shrink. At least she stopped wearing those mini chandeliers on her ears. Her makeup also went a little more neutral, which bummed me out because Liz and I were deprived our “Where's Waldo” moment regarding her forever-moving fake beauty mark.

  I could only conclude that since her obvious femme-fatale thing hadn't enticed Magnifiman, she probably thought that there was something to being a little more, you know, subtle about physical beauty in snagging a man. In addition to getting chewed out by her boss, I suppose. Okay, maybe that thing about her super-short, super-tight skirt was one of those “maybe he's a leg man” types of siren call; props to her for using every trick in the book. Too bad she just didn't seem to be willing to admit that maybe Magnifiman was plain not interested in mixing business with pleasure. Or that he was so seriously stuck to his job that any attachment he might have to a woman would go up in flames within half a day.