The Caped 6th Grader (11 page)

“The comic-book thing came about quite by accident,” Electra went on, taking us back to a less personal topic, much to my relief. “It wasn't that I didn't enjoy my superhero job. I did, very much. Saved this planet more times than I can count. Went all over the world … saw everything I'd ever want to see, and plenty of things I'd rather I hadn't seen. On my fiftieth birthday, after a rather amazing bash thrown for me by the Superhero Federation, I sat down and took stock of my life. After deep thought and long deliberation, I came to this profound conclusion: I was tired. Just plain tired.” She paused to sip her cocoa.

I smiled, remembering how I'd felt the day I saved the little boy from the tiger, not to mention just moments ago, after we'd moved the bus. “Yeah,” I said. “I can relate.” Maybe too many days like that would get to you in the end. Not that I was in any hurry to get through my next thirty-eight years of superheroism!

“The funny thing was that while I was sitting there thinking and deliberating, I had picked up a marker and begun doodling. Without even realizing it, I had covered several pages, depicting my superhero beginnings. And that's when I knew what I wanted to do. The next day, I submitted a letter of resignation to the Superhero Federation and submitted my doodle pages to an editor at Fusion Comics.

“Well, the editor loved my concept and bought the series. The Federation, on the other hand, had a less enthusiastic response.
They were okay with my retiring, but they absolutely forbade me to publish a comic book about my adventures.”

“Why?” I asked. “No one would ever believe they were based on your real-life experiences. People read about Superman and Spider-Man and no one believes they're real.” I raised an eyebrow. “They're not real, are they?”

Electra laughed. “Pure fiction. Which was what I tried to tell the Federation. But they were afraid someone out there would figure out that the superheroes I was writing about really existed. Well, I'd been a hero long enough to respect their decision, so although LG number one had already been published, I had to pull it from circulation.”

“So that's why no one can find it!” I said, thinking of the hours Connie at Connie's Cosmic Comic Shop had spent searching for that one particular issue. “So what happened? How come you published the rest of the series?”

“I had to promise to be very careful not to give too much away. I could use my own adventures as inspiration, but I could never use real superhero names or descriptions.”

“I have to ask …,” I began, placing my empty cocoa mug on the counter. “The other day when you sent me home—was it because you had snooped through my backpack and used my grandpa's scrapbook for inspiration for all those storyboards?”

Electra didn't seem at all angry at the accusation. Instead, she held up her hand and used her pinky to trace a lightning bolt over her heart—the Lightning Girl pledge sign. “I promise you, Zoe, I did not look in your backpack.”

“But the storyboards were almost identical to the adventures I read about in Grandpa's books.”

“Well, there's a good reason for that. You see, Zoe, you remind
me so much of your grandfather that having you around these past two weeks has made me very nostalgic. It really got me thinking more and more about the old days, and I started remembering a whole bunch of adventures I hadn't thought about in years. I didn't have to look at those books to know about those missions, because I was there for most of them.”

I wanted to hug her! She hadn't betrayed me after all. Then another question came to me.

“If you retired all those years ago, why did you use your powers today?”

Electra blushed. “To tell you the truth, lately I've missed the hero gig, and I'm thinking about asking the Feds to reinstate me. Zack seems to be having such a wonderful time training you— I guess I wanted to get my hand back into the rescue game.”

It occurred to me that Electra didn't have a grandchild of her own to train. “You never got married?” I said, hoping it wasn't too personal a question.

“Never found the right guy,” she replied softly. “I came close once, but it didn't work out and he found someone else. Someone perfect for him.”

I wanted to ask who that almost right guy had been … but I didn't.

Electra looked out the window. The rain had almost stopped, and the wind had died down to a vigorous breeze. “C'mon, Kid Zoom. Let's get you home.”

MY
parents were a nervous wreck.

I wasn't surprised. They worried about me when the weather was perfect—naturally they were in major panic mode to think I could be out somewhere in that crazy storm.

“Where have you been?” Mom cried, throwing her arms around me as soon as I walked through the door.

I let her hug me and didn't even complain. It had been a rough day and I needed a little TLC. I was back in my school clothes now; I'd changed out of my supersuit at Electra's house before she drove me home.

“We tried calling you at Electra's, but the storm knocked out the phone lines. Daddy sent a police cruiser over there, but they said no one answered the door.”

“Her studio is in the attic,” I said, thinking fast. “I guess with all the thunder and wind and being all the way up on the top
floor, we never heard them at the door.”

When Mom finished hugging me, Dad came over and hugged me, too.

“I'm just so glad you're home safe.” His voice was troubled. “When I think of all those children on that school bus, and how badly they could have been hurt …”

“School bus?” I echoed, opening my eyes wide. I'm getting used to acting like I don't know about some things. “What school bus?”

That night Grandpa and Gran came for dinner, fresh from their vacation, with suntanned faces and lots of presents.

While Mom and Dad cleared the table, I sat in the living room with my grandparents.

“I heard you had a busy week,” Grandpa said, straightening the giant sequined sombrero I was wearing, my favorite souvenir from their trip.

“How did you hear?”

“Thatcher and I go way back,” he replied. “I had a whole string of messages from him when I got home.”

Gran raised her eyebrows at me. “And what about the bus that almost went over the bridge during the storm? The one I heard about on the news on our drive home.” I could tell from her voice that she'd already guessed I'd been involved.

“Was that you?” Grandpa asked, his face filled with pride.

“Er, kind of. Me and … Electra Girl.”

I looked from Grandpa Zack to Gran, then back to Grandpa. They both looked totally shocked.

“It's okay, I know all about her,” I went on. “How she was a great hero in her day, and how she retired and how the Federation got angry over the comic books.”

“But Electra has been classified inactive for decades,” Grandpa said.

“Well, she wants to become active again. She misses the excitement and she misses helping the world.”

“She always was an unpredictable one,” Gran said, shaking her head.

I was glad to hear Gran describe Electra as unpredictable and not … well, something worse. I wasn't exactly sure where we all stood at the moment. It seemed as if maybe Gran felt kind of jealous about Electra and Zip's past connection. And I was afraid Grandpa might be angry with me for working with her without his (or the Federation's) permission. And then there was the whole comic-book thing. I decided I might as well address that issue here and now.

“While we're on the subject of Electra,” I began carefully, “why didn't you just tell me who Electra was from the beginning?”

Grandpa sighed. “I've been mistrustful of Electra since the whole comic-book brouhaha,” he said. “I was afraid that if you knew, you might be tricked into telling her all your superhero secrets.”

“But she would never do anything to endanger me … or any of us. She's a real hero at heart. And now that I've worked with her, I can tell you for sure that the comic books aren't as bad as you think. She really doesn't give away anything about the real heroes. Sure, she draws from her experiences, but she changes the names and swaps the powers around. You'd never know they were real stories unless … well, unless you
knew
they were real stories, like we do.”

I could tell from Grandpa's expression that he wasn't ready to accept that yet. I knew him well enough to know that if he had reservations, they were probably for good reason. This was not an issue that was going to be ironed out in one quick discussion. I'd just have to wait and see.

Then Mom and Dad came in with a tray of coffee and dessert and the conversation turned to Gran and Grandpa's not so super but very entertaining adventures on the cruise ship.

After my grandparents left, I went upstairs. It had been a crazy day; I needed some time on my own. And there was something I wanted to do.

I sat down at my computer and wrote an addition to my Superhero Federation essay. I would e-mail it to the Federation and tell them I wasn't looking for extra credit or anything—but then again, if they wanted to give me some bonus points, I wasn't about to argue.

I read it over, feeling pleased, then got down to the other business at hand: my work-study report. I had totally forgotten about it in the confusion of thinking that Electra had betrayed me and fearing that I'd exposed the whole superhero community!

It wasn't going to be easy to write. There was so much to think about—for example, how I now had two completely different pictures of Electra Allbright in my head. There was Electra the writer—a hip, chatty, fabulously creative woman who created comic books—and Electra Girl, the superpowered crime fighter. I wished I could mention both Electras in my report, but of course, I couldn't.

Settling in for yet another report-writing session, I pulled out a piece of loose-leaf paper and began.

On Monday, Mr. Diaz called us up one at a time to give our reports. All my classmates had visual aids and cool props that had to do with their jobs.

All except me. In the rush to save a busload of schoolkids on Friday, I hadn't had a chance to ask Electra for anything like that—no storyboard, no sample comic pages, not even a freshly washed ink bottle. I felt annoyed with myself for forgetting about the presentation, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

Howie went first, telling us all about the brave work done by the Sweetbriar Police. Then my dad arrived with the chief, and they awarded Howie a special medal for his part in bringing down the counterfeit handbag ring.

When Howie passed my desk on his way back to his own his
seat, he gave me an apologetic look. I could tell he felt bad that I wasn't getting any of the credit. But I'd sworn him to secrecy about my being at the boutique, and I knew Howie was going to keep his promise. I gave him a wink and a thumbs-up. I promised myself I'd tell him that I really didn't mind, and that I was just as proud of him as everyone else was, since he'd done all the investigating that led to the arrest.

Next, Caitlin gave a flower-arranging demonstration using chrysanthemums and roses. Unfortunately, Ethan Danvers, who'd done his apprenticeship at the ice cream shop, turned out to be highly allergic to chrysanthemums and sneezed through his whole report, which included a sundae-making lesson. At the end of the demo, he offered the sundae to Mr. Diaz, who (since Ethan had sneezed on it at least fifty times) politely declined.

Josh's presentation was a big hit. He brought in an aquarium-sized glass tank filled with insects. Allison Newkirk nearly fainted when he put it on her desk, but other than that, everyone enjoyed seeing all the weird bugs. I couldn't help thinking that he was a lot braver than I am around creepy-crawlies! As Josh headed back to his desk, he gave me a grin over the top of the tank. I blushed so hard it felt as if my cheeks were fizzing.

Emily talked about the fast-paced world of magazine publishing and gave us some helpful fashion tips to get us through that difficult spring-to-summer wardrobe transition period.

And then it was my turn.

I slid out of my desk and walked to the front of the room.

“I did my apprenticeship with Electra Allbright,” I said, “author and illustrator of the Lightning Girl comics. Um … I learned a lot about—”

A knock on the classroom door interrupted me. Mr. Diaz
opened it and someone in the hall handed him a large cardboard box. He opened the lid, peeked inside, and smiled at what he saw.

“I believe these are for you, Zoe,” he said, bringing the box to the front of the room.

I looked inside and gasped. Smiling broadly, I reached into the box and pulled out what had to be just about the coolest thing I'd ever seen.

There were enough copies for the whole class. So proud I felt like bursting, I began passing them out. Everyone oohed and aahed as they flipped through the pages. The comic-book-character Zoe looked just like me, of course. Electra had drawn her flying, and shooting electricity from her fingertips and making herself invisible, all while she did various tasks and chores in a comic-book artist's studio! But there was no need for Grandpa Zack to worry. None of my actual powers was illustrated—in the interest of secrecy and security. Hey, now I was a comic-book superhero as well as a real one!

I passed out all the comic books, putting the final one down on Josh's desk. He looked at the cartoon version of me and grinned. “You make a great superhero,” he said.

“Thanks!” I said with a smile. “I'd like to think so. Too bad it's only make-believe.”

But even as I said it, I felt a tiny thrill knowing that I'll be putting this comic book into
my
scrapbook, and someday, years from now, a twelve-year-old superhero will have a chance to read it. My grandkid, maybe. The next Super from the Richards family.

HOW COOL IS THAT?