Just Super

“Don’t have one what?”

“I don’t have a mark.”

“Of course you do. I’ve seen it glowing through your shirt when you go all out.”

Without any preamble, she stands up and lifts her shirt halfway, revealing up to the bottom of her bra. Wow. She’s—wow. No. Bad Frank. Focus.

There’s no mark. All that’s there is a very faint ring of pale scar tissue just off center, right below her rib cage.

“It’s somewhere else, then.”

The ring of scar tissue glows with a white light, like the light is inside her and leaking out. She holds up her left hand, palm toward me. The same ring glows there. The glow fades and I can see a very similar ring of scar tissue. She lowers her shirt.

“Your mark must let you make parts of yourself glow.”

“In addition to letting me fly, making me nigh invulnerable and inhumanly fast, and pulling me toward danger, among other things?”

“It might. That seems more likely than you being able to do all that without a mark.”

“Why would I be lying to you?”

“I don’t know. Why are you telling me this at all?”

“I’m not saying we’re ever going to be friends, but I am done being enemies. Think of this as a peace offering.”

“What do you mean?”

“Until a few minutes ago, seven people, including me, knew this. Now it’s eight. If it gets out to the public, I’ll get a ton of unwanted attention. People will want to study me. It will suck, big time.”

“I’m still not getting it.”

“I am declaring myself officially not your enemy. The only thing you could do with this information is hurt me, and I am trusting you not to.”

“That’s messed up.”

Emily shrugs.

“What makes you think I can be trusted?” I ask.

“Did you see that she has a gym?”

That is not an answer to my question.

“No.”

I follow her as she leaves the library. The gym isn’t far. It’s not huge, but it has several cardio machines and a nice weight system distributed around the walls. The center is a large, thick mat. It’s easily fifteen feet on a side. Emily turns to me.

“I got to hear your opinion of me. Do you want to hear what I think of you?”

“Will that answer my question?”

“Probably.”

“Then sure.”

“Okay.” She sits down on a bench near the free weights and starts loading weights onto a bar as she talks. “You know you’re an asshole, right? That’s sort of your thing?”

Rude, but true. I nod, but don’t say anything.

She’s filled the bar up to a little under six hundred pounds. She looks at it, seeming disappointed that she can’t fit more on it.

“I met you on my first day at The School. You and your cronies were tormenting that kid—” 

“He—”

”—I know. I found out later that he deserved it. But at the time, what you were doing, and the fact you practically radiated ‘jock’, gave me the distinct impression that you were a bully. I decided to keep an eye on you.”

“Why was that any of your business?”

“I protect people.”

“Why?”

“I thought we were talking about you right now?” She raises an eyebrow, waiting for confirmation.

“Fine.”

“By the time I found out what that kid had done, you’d already had a couple of different targets, so I kept watching you.”

She picks up the weight bar like it’s a styrofoam prop. She glares at it. She’s stalling.

“What I saw was you watching people. At first, you seemed actually interested in them as people. I figured out pretty quickly that you weren’t a bully. Not exactly. You didn’t pick on easy targets. You didn’t pick one or a few people and keep at them, making their lives miserable.”

She must have noticed the guilty look on my face.

“Present company excepted, of course,” she says. She sounds surprisingly not bitter.

“I’d even say that most of your targets deserved something, maybe not quite as much as what they got from you, but something.”

“I think they all—”

“Sherry Teague.”

“She stole my French fries.” That’s a true statement, but not the real reason.

“There are always French fries, they’re free, and you could have gotten more in thirty seconds.”

I’m not going to tell her the real reason. I am not going to tell her the things Sherry was saying about her. I may not like Emily, but I respect her. Sherry was not being respectful.

“But those fries were mine.”

“And she deserved for you to humiliate her in front of the whole cafeteria for that?”

“I didn’t—”

“No, you didn’t, but she wouldn’t have done it without whatever you said to her.”

“Okay, I may occasionally over-react.”

“My point is, you don’t pick on random people. You’re not a bully. A lot of your targets are bullies. Anyway, when you watched people, you used to seem interested. Over time, though, you started looking like you hated them. You started avoiding everyone, except when they were targets.”

“You seem to have been paying a lot of attention to me.”

“You’re dangerous. If you almost kill just one kid in front of me, you go on my list. It’s a short list. The second time, you go to the top of the list.”

“Second time?”

“Susan? When Louis threw the bench?”

“Then what was the first?”

“That time Derek almost blasted a hole in whatshisface. He ruined my second favorite jacket.”

I let out a short laugh. “That wasn’t me. I just let people think that.”

“Why would you…”

“I have — no, had, I guess — a reputation to maintain. And Derek was a little too preoccupied to correct anyone.”

She takes a moment to process this new information.

“If it makes you feel any better,” I say, “that’s when I figured out your danger sense. What I figured out of it, anyway.”

It doesn’t look like that makes her feel any better. She shakes her head.

“Then this happened,” she says, and gestures at me, “and you were different—not just in the obvious way. You went a week without messing with anyone, then two. You started walking between classes again. You started smiling. There was even once when you might have been smiling at me, but you probably didn’t even notice I was there.

“You were helpful. You started socializing. Look, I know enough trans people to know that transitioning never fixes everything, but I hoped that your problem had been dysphoria, and that you’d unclench your—jaw—and live and let live.

“Then Monday morning happened.”

Emily looks me in the eyes, and I can’t look away. 

“At first, I thought the whole thing was on purpose. I thought I’d been wrong about you, from the beginning, and over the last three weeks. It had all been some elaborate scheme to make everyone think you’d changed.”

She’s angry. I thought I’d seen her angry before, a couple times after I’d been particularly effective. Nope. This is anger. Her voice is completely level. Her expression is completely flat. I can tell that I’m the cause of the anger, but I can also tell that it’s directed at me then, but not at me now. Otherwise, I’d be terrified. As it is, it’s still scary.

“This time, you were really trying to hurt people. You didn’t know I wouldn’t be affected, so obviously you were trying to keep me from interfering. You wanted people to get hurt.”

She takes a deep breath.

“And then you saved Alex.”

The anger is gone. I could look away now, I think. I don’t.

“You risked your life to push her out of the way. Then when we got stranded here, you didn’t ditch me. When you decided you weren’t going home, you still came here with me to make sure I could.

“So I’m going to trust you, and if I’m wrong, and you use that to hurt me, at least no one else gets hurt.”

We finally break eye contact and she looks down at the bar in her hand.

“Crap,” she says.

The bar is warped where she was gripping it.

I need to do laundry.

I’d rather be listening to Emily explain how she has powers if she doesn’t have a mark, but she ran off to apologize to Tiara about damaging the bar—or possibly to avoid explaining how she has powers without having a mark.

So instead, it’s laundry time. I’m not nearly as stinky as I would have been if I were still testosterone-powered, but I’ve been wearing the same clothes for three days, and haven’t showered in that time, either. Luckily, Tiara pointed out the laundry room to us last night, which, now that I think about it, was probably a hint.

The process is proving to be more complicated than I expected. First, I need something to wear while my clothes are being washed. Luckily, there are a couple of fluffy white robes in the bathroom between my room and Emily’s.

I’m probably overcomplicating things, but my plan is to take a quick rinse in the shower, so I don’t get the robe gross, start the laundry, then take a bath. My bathroom at home only has a shower, and this one has an amazing tub. 

I’m about to undress for my shower when I hear someone moving around in Emily’s room. I would have heard if she knocked on my door, so it’s safe to say she’s avoiding me, but I have a good excuse, I mean reason, to talk to her.

“Emily?” I call through the door.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to rinse off, then wash my clothes. Want me to do yours?”

She hesitates, but then takes me up on my offer.

I rinse off, put on the robe, then walk through my room to stand outside the main door to Emily’s room. Her clothes are already sitting there in a heap, so I scoop them up with mine and head down to the laundry room.

It takes a few minutes to figure out the washing machine; it’s way more complicated than it needs to be. Once I get the load started, it’s time for my bath.

In my defense, I’ve never really shared a bathroom, and my brain is a bit fried from everything that has happened, and I have a tendency to not connect dots that should be obvious, when I’m not paying close attention. I flicker to the bathroom.

“Ah!” I squeak. “Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!”

I flicker back to my room, but not before Emily turns to see what’s going on. The bad news is that, as soon as she gets out of the shower she’s going to kill me. The good news is that any doubts I had remaining about her claim not to have a mark are completely gone.

I spend a few minutes entertaining fantasies of flickering away and staying away, even though I know I’m not going to. I give the idea of going somewhere else in the house more serious consideration, but I’d rather be yelled at up here in my room than elsewhere in the house where our host seems more likely to hear.

I’ve been scrolling through this world’s Wikipedia for half an hour, only pausing to move laundry, when there’s a knock on my door. 

“Come in.”

The door opens and Emily leans into the room.

“Do you know how long until the clothes are dry?” she asks.

At the same time, I say, “I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay. I can go check the machine myself.”

“No! I mean I’m sorry for popping in on you in the bathroom!”

Emily rolls her eyes.

“It’s not that big a deal. We’re both girls. You could have seen the same thing in the locker room.”

“No! I made sure—”

“Calm down. I’m not accusing you of anything. I know what time it was when you pulled your stunt. I’m just saying that girls see each other all the time in the locker room. Didn’t you see a lot of naked guys in your before times?”

“Well, yeah. Of course. But I’m not into guys.”

She raises an eyebrow. “So I shouldn’t go into the girls’ locker room?”

This conversation is going badly in a completely different way from what I expected. Then something comes to me.

“Wait,” I say. “How come there aren’t a bunch of girls who know you don’t have a mark?”

“Are our clothes dry or not?”

Without a word, I flicker to the laundry machines. The dryer still has five minutes on the timer, but I don't feel like waiting. I reappear in front of Emily a couple seconds later, already dressed, and hand her her clothes.

“I’m going to get dressed,” she says. “Meet me in the library in five?”

I’m back in the library. I got here first, so I get the comfiest chair again. Emily walks in and balances on the back of the other one.

“Figured it out yet?” she asks.

“Temporary tattoo?”

“See? You’re not just a pretty face.”

I know that can’t be flirting, but I don't know if it’s supposed to be an insult, a non sequitur, or what. I plow ahead. 

“How do you have powers?”

When she doesn’t answer immediately I go on.

“Are you a mage? Some strange visitor from another planet?”

“Definitely not a mage. I don’t think I’m a space alien.”

“You don’t think?”

She shrugs. “Fine, I’m definitely not a space alien. I’m not sure I’m human, though—not completely.”

“Not completely sure, or not completely human?”

She shrugs. “Pick one.”

I wait to see if she’ll go on.

She gives in first.

“Look, it’s a really long story that I really don’t want to tell right now. Any way I can think of to shorten it, you’re just going to keep asking questions until I tell you the whole thing anyway.”

“I won’t.”

“No questions at all?”

That’s a hard one, but I really want to know.

“None.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. At least until we get home. And even then I’ll back off if you tell me to.”

She considers, then nods. She collects her thoughts for another moment.

“I ate a poltergeist,” she pauses, then adds, “for its own good.”

Emily and I are seated as far away from each other as possible at a large table in the ‘back dining room.’ We’re waiting for Tiara, who texted us earlier to invite us to join her for dinner. I occasionally glare at Emily, but she just gives me an innocent look in return. I have to hand it to her, she got me. The answer she gave me was maybe worse than not saying anything at all, but I can’t ask for clarification without going back on my word. 

I’m still stewing over it when Tiara walks in, followed by a woman who looks vaguely familiar.

“Emily, Frank, this is my wife, Dawn.”

That tells me who she is. Or at least why she looks familiar. 

In our world, the Six were the first people to bear marks. The first superheroes. While Tiara fought the archmage, the six of them took down his remaining armies. There isn’t a lot of video footage, but Dawn features prominently in one of the best known clips. 

In the video, she floats above the ground, shining like the sun. Arrows fly toward her and evaporate in the radiance pouring off of her. Flashes of light which must be magic wash out and fade out of existence before they can reach her. A quick pan to the ground below shows a legion of skeleton warriors. Their metal armor melts away as they burst into flame. The final shot is her vanishing.

This Dawn is visibly forty years older. There’s something else different about her that takes me a minute to get. Right. This Dawn probably had to transition the old fashioned way. I’d been thinking about myself as trans for less than twelve hours, but I understand why the other trans kids feel about her the way they do.

I suddenly wonder how hard it is to be trans in this world, without one of the seven saviors of the world being trans. That has to suck.

“Frank!” Emily stage whispers.

Right, I was staring. I look away.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “It’s just—”

I switch my gaze to Tiara and ask, “Does she know where we’re from?”

Tiara nods.

I turn back to Dawn.

“It’s just, the you in our world is really, really important to people like me. If we had a patron saint …” I trailed off. I’m fangirling way too hard. At least now I know why she was always my favorite.

“Sorry,” I shut up.

“It’s okay,” Dawn says, “I wish I could have been that for kids here. I have to settle for using my wife’s money—”

“Our money,” Tiara interjects.

“—to do what I can,” she concludes.

Dawn takes a seat, and Tiara disappears through a different door. A moment later she reappears with a large pot.

“I hope you two like chili.”

It took a little insisting on our part, but Emily and I helped them clear the dishes. Now the four of us are seated around the table talking.

“Wait, there are states where it’s illegal for kids to transition?” Emily is horrified. 

I am, too, Emily just got there first.

Conversation has drifted to trans stuff, and by drifted, I mean I dragged it there, with all the enthusiasm of a recently hatched trans girl talking to an elder trans person, which is to say, a lot.

“So you didn’t have any problem getting appropriate treatment?” Dawn asks me.

“Um,” I try to figure out what to say, “I probably would have, since my Mom is pretty transphobic.”

Dawn looks puzzled.

 “There’s not really anything she can do about it,” I continue, “but I’m a little worried how she’s going to react when I tell her. She didn’t even want me to wear girl clothes when I showed up like this.”

Dawn looks more puzzled. I can't blame her; all this must be pretty weird to her.

“I’ll show you,” I say, then I flicker a foot or so away from the table, into the boy. Ugh.

“This is the old me, but I accidentally did this—”

I flicker back to my seat and myself.

“—to myself a couple of weeks ago.” I leave out the part where I just figured out I’m trans a few hours ago.

Dawn is, unsurprisingly, speechless, but I notice Emily has one eyebrow raised at me. Fine. I’ll spill the rest.

“I was stuck for a few days, but once I figured out how to turn back, I kept making excuses not to.”

Emily holds her phone where Dawn and Tiara can see it.

“This is how she was walking around school last week while she was still thinking she was a guy,” she tells them.

“Why do you have pictures of me on your phone?”

“I’ll answer if you’ll show me your photos.”

Tiara and Dawn exchange a look.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s nothing,” Dawn says, then turns to Emily. “Would you be willing to show us what you can do?”

“Sure.” Emily floats up out of her chair.

She floats over the table to hover next to me.

“May I,” she asks, indicating my chair.

“Fine.”

She lifts my chair effortlessly, with me in it, then she’s underneath me.

I lean over to see what she’s doing, which is balancing my chair on her forefinger.

“Show-off,” I say, and flicker out of the chair to stand next to her. I sort of hope the chair will go flying into the ceiling, but it doesn’t budge more than an inch. 

Once Emily sets it down, I resume my seat.

Emily and I answer a bunch of questions about our world, and ask a bunch about theirs. We end up talking until around eleven.

“You were manipulating me,” I say.

Emily and I are standing outside her room. 

“What?” Emily asks as she opens the door to her room.

“By telling me you don’t have a mark,” I clarify.

“Oh, that. Sure, I guess.”

She walks into her room, and when she doesn’t close the door behind her, I follow.

“You know I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Not for sure, but I’m hoping. I’m pretty sure that if you’d figured that out on your own, you would have had it up on the Wall five minutes later, though.”

“I’m wounded.”

“You wouldn't have posted it?”

“Of course I would have, but five whole minutes?”

“I’m sorry for underestimating you.”

“I wouldn’t have figured it out, though. Why would I have even thought to try?”

“True.”

“Then why did you tell me?”

“I thought I explained that.”

“So I can hurt you? If I were some kind of supervillain who wanted to hurt you, I could go after your friends and family.”

She turns to face me and makes direct eye contact again.

“I wouldn’t recommend that.”

I would definitely not be doing that. I never would have done that, but now, definitely not.

“I told you,” she says, “I am tired of being your enemy. I decided to try something new, and trust you.”

“What’s that supposed to do?”

“I’m really not sure. It felt right. I think it’s what I had to do to protect myself.”

“From what?”

“I don’t know, maybe from you?”

That’s ridiculous. I couldn’t hurt her if I tried. Except with the information she gave me herself.

She sits down on her bed.

“Goodnight, Frank.”

I close the door behind me as I leave.

It’s late morning, and I’m going stir crazy. After dinner, Tiara let us know it’s going to be at least another day, and probably two, before she has the materials she needs for the ritual to contact our Tiara. 

Emily and I agreed that we should stay in the house, rather than wander around. By “agreed” I mean that Emily and I argued for a half hour, with me on the side of not dying of boredom, but somehow she out-stubborned me. I could have gone out on my own, but, as much as I hate to admit it, Emily is my only connection to home right now, and I don’t want to get too far away.

So instead of touring a Los Angeles that was never devastated by the Invasion, I’m in the library again, flipping through a few books about the last forty years of history. It’s fun spotting what’s different, and what’s almost the same.

“We need to go!”

I almost fall off the chair when Emily comes storming in.

“What? You were very convincing about the whole staying here thing.”

“Whatever. We — well, I — need to go. Now.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.” She looks nervous and frustrated.

Oh. It’s like that.

“Is there time for me to check in with Tiara first?”

She thinks about it.

“Yeah. But don’t tell her why …” She trails off at my look.

“Right,” she continues, “I almost forgot who I’m talking to.”

I go looking for Tiara.