Just Super

I watch the sun set over L.A. from Griffith Park. That’s the only place, other than the Hollywood sign, that I could get a clear enough feel for to flicker to. The damage from the Invasion was completely repaired back in the nineties, and it shows up in enough movies for me to get a mental fix on it.

I find the bench Emily and I picked, and take a seat, trying to ignore my hunger.

I don’t have to wait that long. About twenty minutes after sunset I see movement out of the corner of my eye, and Emily is there. She has bugs in her hair for just a second, then her hair sort of writhes, and the bugs fall to the ground. She brushes a couple off her shoulders.

“It’s going to be creepy showing up at her doorstep a couple hours after dark,” I say.

“I’d rather not break into another hotel room, if we can avoid it.”

She orients herself with the maps app on her ill-gotten phone and turns her back to me again, floating slightly. I climb aboard Air Emily and prepare for departure.

We descend into the darkest spot Emily can find in the front yard of what easily qualifies as a mansion. I look around warily, convinced large dogs will soon be attempting to explain politely that we shouldn’t be here, with their teeth.

Emily walks up and rings the doorbell.

“I’m not expecting anyone,” a voice comes over a speaker next to the door.

Emily steps back to make sure she’s in full view of the camera, also by the door. I follow suit.

“Tiara Martinson?”

No answer.

“I’m Emily English. This is Frank Doyle. We’re from another world.”

I do not say “What the actual fuck” out loud. I figure it would be counterproductive. I don’t know what I expected Emily to say, but that was not even in the top ten possibilities. 

Instead, I whisper to her, “Do you even know how to lie?”

“Yes, but my mark won’t let me.”

I can’t tell whether or not she’s serious. A few seconds later, there’s still no answer from the speaker.

Emily takes her phone out of her pocket. Not the stolen phone, but her own. She unlocks it, and slides it through the mail slot. I wince at the sound of it hitting the floor on the other side. She then presses the doorbell again and speaks.

“Please look at the phone I just dropped through the mail slot.”

There are footsteps on the other side of the door. It’s less than a minute until the door opens. There is Tiara.

She looks much older than the version of her I met in the office. Our Tiara looks like she’s in her early twenties, even though she’s in her fifties. I didn’t think this Tiara looks like she’s in her fifties, but at least thirties and maybe forties. Then again, I’m not really an expert on how old people look.

She motions us in.

We follow her silently to a room that brings to mind the word ‘parlor.’ We take the seats she indicates, and she sits down opposite, placing Emily’s phone face up on a small table between us. On the display is a selfie of Emily and our Tiara, with Tiara in full superhero mode.

Of fucking course Emily hangs out with Tiara. They probably have a standing brunch date.

“I knew she’d look younger,” Tiara says, “but damn if it isn’t another thing to see it.”

Our Tiara, it seems, is in occasional contact with other versions of herself across several parallel Earths. At least twelve of them, as far as this Tiara knows. She isn’t certain that’s an accurate number, though.

“I’m not any world’s most open person,” she says.

The intelligence and determination that let our Tiara, over the course of just two years, become a powerful enough wizard to defeat an evil archmage and prevent his ascension to godhood, made this Tiara an extremely successful businesswoman. Occasional tips from her other selves didn’t hurt, either.

“Wait,” I ask, when she reveals that aspect of her connection. “Is that why we both have Google?”

She looks vaguely embarrassed when she answers, “Yes. Sorry about that, and a few others.”

Our hopes that this connection means we’d be home this evening don’t last long.

“I can’t open the connection from this side,” she says. “Your Tiara has tried to teach the rest of us a little magic, but it doesn’t work here. We had our monthly check-in two nights ago.”

I do not want to be stuck here with Emily for four more weeks.

“I can try to make enough noise that she’ll notice, though,” she adds.

She explains that, although the spells our Tiara tried to teach her didn’t work, one of them had caused some barely perceptible ‘ripples’ that all twelve of her could feel, sometimes. That spell needs some supplies she doesn’t currently have on hand, and it will take a couple of days to gather them.

“You’re welcome to stay here in the meantime.”

Emily and I both thank her a lot. 

After letting us stuff our faces from her fridge and pantry, Tiara led us to two adjacent rooms and showed us where to find linens for the beds. We’re sitting on my bed discussing our situation.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the Tiara network, and that our Tiara is your friend?” I demanded of Emily. 

“Honestly? If this Tiara wasn’t one of the ones ours is connected to, I didn’t want to share that information. And we’re not friends; I’ve met her like, four times.”

“Why—”

“If it wouldn’t have helped us, it would have been none of your business. You don’t exactly have the best record for keeping secrets, and that’s not my secret to share.”

I wouldn’t be nearly as angry as I am right now if she weren’t completely in the right.

“Then why’d you let me know at all?”

“Because you’d find out eventually?”

“Only if you’d let me come with you!”

“Are you seriously mad at me for something you’re imagining I might have been going to do, but definitely didn’t?”

When she puts it like that, it sounds sort of stupid. I take a minute to compose myself. I know what I was doing, and I don’t like it. It’s time to stop.

“I’m sorry.”

Before she can speak, I continue.

“For all the yelling at you, yeah, but for getting you stranded here, too.”

I should apologize to her for all the times she got involved in my stupid shit, too. But she didn’t have to come. That was on her. And I’m doing it again—deflecting blame.

“I’m not the main one you need to apologize to. That was you, back in the auditorium, right? You made that happen?”

I’m actually glad she said it. I knew she knew, and now I don’t have a choice.

“That’s not what I meant to happen—”

“I guessed that.”

“—but, yeah. That was on me.”

“That’s going to be a lot of apologizing.”

“If I write it out, will you give it to the office?”

“Afraid to face the consequences in person?”

“No. Well, maybe, but that’s not why.”

She waits patiently.

“I’m not going back.”

“What?!”

“I’m not going back.”

“When did you decide this?”

“Last night.”

“Then why did you come with me here?”

“To make sure you have a way back.”

“Oh.” She seems surprised by that. “Why don’t you want to go home?”

“Like you said, I’m afraid to face the consequences.”

“I don’t believe you.”

This is the reason I don’t lie much. Sure, it’s handy to never have something someone can point at and say, “See? She’s a liar,” but mainly, I’m just not very good at it. Not if it’s about anything that matters, anyway.

It’s none of her business, but it won’t matter once she’s gone, so—

“Fine. I don’t want to turn back into him.”

“I thought you couldn’t.”

I flicker. I don’t even have to go anywhere, just to him. I stay sitting on the edge of the bed that way for a moment, then flicker back.

“I”ve been able to do that since a few days after I changed,” I continue. “I’ve been making excuses to myself to stay this way, but I finally admitted to myself last night that this is who I want to be.”

“Then stay that way. It’s not like anyone can make you change back.”

“My mom will flip out when I tell her. She’ll make me.”

“How?”

“She’s my mom.”

“It’s your body.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“No, but that’s what it comes down to.”

I start to protest, but she interrupts.

“How are you even going to make a life for yourself here? Do you plan on stealing to get by?”

“Of course not!”

“So if things get tough, you’ll have the willpower to stay hungry instead of stealing when it would be so easy for you?”

“Of course I will! You seemed pretty okay with us stealing those phones and staying in that hotel.”

“I was. We had no other way to stay warm and stay connected. You do have another way to get by. You can go home.”

“Why do you even care?”

That one seems to have her stumped. There’s something going on, but unlike when I’m watching other people, I’m crap at reading people when they’re interacting with me. While I’m trying to figure it out, she finally replies.

“You know what? Fine. You want to stay here, so stay here.”

She goes to the door.

“Goodnight, Fr—wait, is it still Frank?”

Even when she’s mad at me, she’s respectful. What’s wrong with this girl?

“I haven’t really thought about it, so for the moment, yeah.”

“Then good night, Frank. And congratulations on figuring that out.”

She closes the door behind her.

It takes me a long time to fall asleep. At first, I think about different ways I could get by if I stay here. Every single one of them is either a very long shot or very dangerous. I hate to even think the words, but Emily is right. If I stay here, odds are I’ll have to steal again. Each time it will get a little easier. He would have done it, but I don’t want to be him. The whole point of staying in this world was to not be him. 

Then there’s Mom. She’s probably worried sick right now, and, even if I don’t think she’ll accept me, shouldn’t I give her the chance? I have to go home.

Fuck.

I’m in the kitchen eating a bagel for breakfast when Emily comes down. She stops and looks at me.

“I can eat later.” She turns to leave.

“Don’t be ridiculous. We can eat at the same time without killing each other.”

“Thanks.”

“Tiara left a note. There’s cereal in the pantry, more bagels over there, and cream cheese in the fridge.”

She disappears for a moment and reappears holding a bowl and a box of kids’ breakfast cereal. She gets the milk from the fridge and takes a seat across the little breakfast nook from me.

She inhales her first bowl and pours another. By the time I finish my bagel, she’s pouring her fifth bowl.

“Five bowls? Seriously?”

“It’s Frankenberry. This stuff was discontinued six years ago back home.”

I put my plate and knife in the dishwasher, then sit back down at the table.

Emily looks up. “What?”

“I can’t stay. Not being that person anymore is about more than just having this body. If I stay here, there’s nothing to stop me from being him in the ways that really matter. If we can get you home, I’ll go, too. You were right.” There’s venom in my voice that I didn’t intend.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she says. “May I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you hate me?”

“What?” I heard her, but I never expected that question. She seems calm and sincere. I guess I owe her an answer. 

Before I can answer, she continues.

“For a while, I thought it was because I was getting in your way. I thought you actually wanted people to get hurt. But you don’t. You want me to get in the way. You count on it. So why?”

“You sure you want the answer?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

“Of course you wouldn’t, because you don’t have any flaws. You’re perfect. You’re Emily.”

It seems like she's going to say something into my pause, so I rush forward.

“No, you wanted to hear this. You are a fucking Mary Sue. You are the best at everything.”

She raises one eyebrow. Ugh, she’s cute when she does that.

I push on. “Okay, no, I’ll be more accurate. You aren’t the strongest, but you’re in the top six. You aren’t the hardest to hurt, but I’d be surprised if there are three kids tougher. I can think of maybe four kids with faster reflexes. You’re depressingly smart. Oh, did I mention that you can fly at the fucking speed of sound? No? Well, let’s add that then.

“On top of all that, just… just look at you!” I sputter.

I have to pause for breath, but this time she just waits, head cocked slightly to the side.

“And you know all this. I know you do. But most of the time you don’t act like you’re better than anyone. You’re helpful. You’re kind, whether someone deserves it or not. You’re even kind to me. I got you stuck on this gods-forsaken parallel Earth, and even when I’d pissed you off last night, you took a moment to make sure you got my name right.”

“Most of the time?”

There’s something going on behind her eyes. I don’t care. I started. I have to finish.

“Yes, most of the time. Because apparently you think you’re the only person qualified to save people. Every time I start something where someone is about to get hurt, you show up.”

“Wait, so you do want people to get hurt?”

“Of course not. But you could just tell somebody. You could call the office and have them send a watcher or a teacher. But no, you think it has to be you. And then you have the nerve to act all mad at me, like you’re not part of it.” 

“Oh my goddess.” She laughs. It isn’t a happy laugh. “Seriously? I thought you had figured it out. I figured it out partially because you did, or I thought you did.”

“What are you talking about?”

“How do you think it works? My danger sense.”

“That’s what you call it? I don’t know. You get some premonition that something bad is going to happen, so you show up and stop it?”

“Wow. No wonder you have such a low opinion of me. So you thought I was playing along with your stupid games? That I was pretending to be mad?”

“What else could it be? You never tell the office about it first. You always show up personally. You always wait until right before something would go really wrong.”

She lets out a deep sigh.

“I’m going to go be somewhere else now.” She clears her place and leaves the room, ignoring me when I ask how it does work.

I want to go ask her what she’s talking about. About how her mark really works. That seems like a bad idea, but I still don’t do it. Instead, I explore a little bit.

Tiara said we were free to wander the first floor, but asked us to limit ourselves to the two bedrooms and their adjoining bathroom on the second floor. That’s not a problem, since the first floor has enough interesting stuff on its own. 

My first stop is the library. It’s huge. The ceiling is at least twelve feet high, and at a guess, I’d say it has more books than my elementary school library. A lot of the fiction looks interesting, but I head for the history section. I wonder if she’s actually read all this. 

Before I reach my target, another section catches my eye. The books there are on queer topics. Quite a few of them are specifically about transgender people, including a collection of essays by trans teens. That’s not me, but maybe I can learn something. 

I pull the book of essays from the shelf, drape myself across the comfiest chair in the room, and read.

“Do you really want to know how it works?”

Emily has found me. I didn’t even hear her walk up.

“Hey, it turns out I’m trans.” I definitely learned something from the book.

She stares at me and blinks.

“Did you not know that when you decided to stay like this?”

“Nope. Turns out that if you want to be a girl, and are happier that way, well…”

To her credit, she doesn’t miss another beat. “Well, congratulations, then.” She sounds sincere. “She/her?”

“Yes, please.”

“Still Frank?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

I wonder what she’s waiting for, then I rewind the conversation in my mind. She wants to know if I want to know how her ‘danger sense’ works. I’m torn. I want to hear this, but for some reason, I also don’t. She wants me to hear, though, and if she’s telling the truth, I guess I owe her that.

“Go ahead.”

She plops down in a chair across from me.

“I don’t get premonitions. When the danger sense kicks in, I need to go. I don’t know where, just that I need to move, and in what direction. When it first started, I’d rationalize the feeling. ‘Oh, I want a stick of gum. I’ll get off the bus and go looking for a convenience store. Oh, look, that man has a gun pointing at the cashier.’

“Unless I’m already pretty much there, I never know where I’m headed, only the next steps I need to take. I don’t know what’s going to happen, or what I’m going to need to do.”

That sounds awful. I wait for her to go on.

“So I didn’t know that you were going to bait Louis into attacking you. I didn’t know I was going to need to catch a quarter-ton bench to keep Sue from getting crushed. About the only thing I did know was that there was a fifty-fifty shot that you were involved, but that’s just experience talking.”

“What happens if you don’t go?”

“Whatever bad thing was going to happen.”

I open my mouth to ask a question, but she interrupts.

“That’s only happened twice, and I don’t want to talk about either of them.”

Going by the look on her face, I don’t want to hear about them, either.

“So you have to go.”

“Or live with the consequences. And I do tell the office when it’s a really bad feeling. It’s not like I’m invincible, and that way, they know to be ready.”

I don’t want to believe her. I want her to be lying. I don’t want to imagine what that would be like, what I’ve been making her deal with it, over and over. “Well, fuck.” I’m even more of an asshole than I thought.

“You— I—” I can’t form a sentence. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

This is too much. I can feel part of my brain trying to wriggle out of responsibility. I didn’t know. She never told me. Except she probably tried to. I always shut her down when she tried to talk to me afterwards.

“Hey,” she says, “are you okay?”

I sniff. I can feel tears rolling down my cheeks. I’m not stupid enough to think I’m a good person, but I can suddenly imagine what I’ve been putting her through. I’ve made it a point not to pick on any one person. I mess with them, I move on. No repeat customers. Except one, apparently. And she’s sitting here worried about me.

“Why are you being nice to me? I’ve been tormenting you for over a year. I got you stranded here, and right before that I almost got you killed.”

“What, the collapsing ceiling?”

I nod.

“I’ve survived worse than that.”

“But something there was scrambling marks. Alex’s bugged out. Mine wasn’t working at all until suddenly it was. Your mark probably wouldn’t have protected you.”

“I promise, that wasn’t an issue.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

She takes a deep breath.

“Are you going to keep causing near disasters that I have to deal with?”

“No.” Wait, I should be honest, here. “Not on purpose.”

Another deep breath. This seems to be a big deal.

“I don’t have one.”