Not Your Sidekick Page 2

  Great, she let the battery die again.

  It takes her another minute to find the charging dock on her cluttered desk. Jess plops the device onto the dock and it buzzes as it syncs with her desktop projector, which hums to life and throws multiple projections into the air—holopages from the Net, a half-finished homework assignment, pictures of Captain Orion, and a series of text messages from Emma and Bells. As the DED connects to the Net, it updates with new messages, and Jess is bombarded with rapidly scrolling notifications. The buzzing continues until Jess flicks the DED screen.

  Jess scowls at the largest open holopage, which is projected above her desk. She’d been reading it and rereading it before she left, checking the fine print to see if there was any way she could qualify as a meta-human.

  NORTH AMERICAN COLLECTIVE META-HUMAN REGISTRATION

  Section 4.2 Power Classification is determined by the total duration the citizen can utilize their meta-ability actively per twenty-four hour period.

  CLASS-A- More than two hours

  CLASS-B- One to two hours

  CLASS-C- Twenty minutes to one hour

  CLASS-D- Less than twenty minutes

  Section 4.3 Meta-Human Training Requirements

  The North American Collective understands that the meta-gene expresses itself in various and numerous forms and appreciates the documentation of all abilities. However, only abilities listed in Section 3.1 are currently accepted for application for Meta-Human Training. If you would like to register with a meta-ability not listed in Section 3.1, read subsection 3.1a and 3.1b on abilities that are not accepted. If your ability does not fall under the Unacceptable category, proceed to fill out the petition under Section 15.2.

  Jess brushes aside the holopage, and the text disappears in trails of blue light. Ugh, registration. Jess doesn’t even have one of the “unacceptable” abilities, like Emma’s cousin, who can make his breath go minty fresh with just a thought, or her neighbor down the street, who can change the color of his fingernails. Well, three of them.

  They’re still considered meta-humans, though, and are registered, even if they didn’t go through the training process to qualify for the League.

  The holopage has re-formed after Jess’ outburst, and she flicks the correct place to close it. All that’s left hovering in the air are her messages from today.

  From: Emma 1:22pm

  hey are u ok? are u having a down day?

  From: Bells 2:40pm

  YOU DIDN’T RESPOND TO EMMA SHE THINKS YOU MIGHT BE SICK I HOPE YOU ARE OK I GOT YOUR HOMEWORK ALSO THE PIC PEOPLE CAME THRU AND I PLACED YOUR CUTIE ON THE CLASS PAGE AND HER HAIR LOOKED FIIIINE YOU MISSED OUT AM SENDING YOU HOLO

  Warm fondness for her best friends distracts her from her disappointment. She clicks to open the attachment, and the DED projects a hologram. The likeness is indeed, very cute. How do French braids even work?

  To: Emma 5:23 pm

  i’m fine, just didn’t feel like school today <3

  To: Bells 5:24 pm

  thanks Bells it doesn’t beat the braids she did in september but this is pretty, i’m sad i didn’t get to see it in person

  From: Emma 5:25pm

  u sure, i can pick up bells and come over later?

  Jess chats with her friends until they’re reassured and she has caught up on what she missed today and then works on homework until Chả’s welcome chirp alerts her that someone is home.

  “How was your day at school, honey?”

  Jess shovels more rice into her mouth. She chews and points apologetically at her face. Her dad adjusts his glasses as he looks across the table, making Jess roll her eyes. Why does he keep on his “civilian” disguise when he’s at home? They all know he’s a superhero. Her mom says it’s something to do with maintaining appearances and practicing being normal, which is hilarious, considering their family. At least at home Mom doesn’t try to pretend that she can’t bench-press a car and doesn’t wear the dorky fake prescription glasses that match her husband’s. It’s funny how they approach being just Victor and Li Hua Tran differently.

  “All right, we’ll get back to you,” Victor says, giving Jess a doting smile.

  Brendan, Jess’ youngest brother and all-around genius, pipes up. “Today I made a lot of progress on my experiment! It turns out that the problem I had with last week’s sequence was that I didn’t properly isolate—”

  Jess has no idea what he’s saying, but her parents seem reasonably impressed. Brendan is thirteen and precocious; he attends the local college and has been upstaging Jess ever since he was born. He hasn’t demonstrated any meta-abilities, but Jess is sure he wouldn’t have wanted to be a superhero even if he had. Brendan’s more into… okay, Jess isn’t sure exactly what he’s studying. Something to do with plants and energy, but she has no doubt that Brendan’s going to make a name for himself in the scientific community.

  “That’s really nice. We’re very proud of you,” Li Hua says, smiling as she steals a piece of bok choy from her husband’s plate. “Jess?”

  Jess swallows, the rice sticking in her throat. “Been thinking about getting an internship or something. It’s bound to look great for college, right?”

  “Oh, that’s a great idea!” her mom says, nodding in approval.

  Victor perks up. “I know someone in the mayor’s office is looking for an assistant, and Mayor Bradley owes me a favor—”

  “Dad, I don’t want to get my first job because of your favors as Shockwave, okay? I want to do it on my own terms, because of me and my own abilities.”

  Her parents look at each other, and even Brendan has the audacity to snort. “What abilities, Jess?”

  “Shut up.” Jess feels her face flush hot with embarrassment.

  Of the three children in the Tran household, only one of them was born with the meta-abilities that are commonly known as superpowers. Claudia, the eldest, moved out of town after graduating from college and is now starting a fledgling life in Crystal Springs as a journalist slash superhero. Brendan is going to be a famous scientist and discover new things every day. Jess? Jess doesn’t have powers. After today, she’s exhausted every possible variable.

  The only way she can move forward is to focus on what she can do. A job is a good idea, but she doesn’t want it to be handed to her just because of who her parents are.

  “My abilities,” Jess says, determined. “I might not know what all of those are, but I’m going to be good at something, you’ll see.”

  She leaves the table before she gets too frustrated to talk. She doesn’t want this to turn into a conversation about her lackluster grades or her parents’ expectations and then a comparison to either of her siblings. She puts her dishes in the dishwasher and hurries to her room.

  As far as her high school career goes, Jess barely keeps a B grade point average as a junior and is fairly forgettable to all the faculty. She doesn’t play any sports, never had any more than a passing interest in clubs, and certainly isn’t winning science awards left and right like her younger brother or flying around fighting crime like her sister.

  Jess groans and flicks the desktop sync on her DED. It flickers, and then her desktop projects a large workspace screen and a keyboard. Jess flicks through her documents. She could get started on a paper for world history, but that’s not due till Friday. She can put that off. Besides, there are more pressing things, like following through with finding a job.

  It has to be something cool, something she’ll enjoy, and something that will look good on her college applications.

  Jess pulls up one of the holopages her guidance counselor gave her, one that sorts listings of internships and volunteer opportunities by geographic location. She scowls, scrolling through listing after listing, rejecting one after another.

  “Ugh, you need a job to get experience and experience to get a job!”

 
The Las Vegas Philharmonic needs someone for basic office work and to keep all their sheet music organized. It sounds okay, plus she’d be around creative people, and it looks as if they’re okay with a high school student with no experience. It’d be a terrible commute, though; at least an hour if there’s traffic. Andover isn’t quite big enough to merit its own stop on the hovertrain route, so everyone who drives to Las Vegas is bottlenecked onto one road. It would be a long drive there and an even longer one back with all the people leaving Las Vegas for the outer cities.

  Jess wants to do something more. She wants to make a difference somehow, even if her best talent is meticulously organizing things—which her mother says isn’t actually a talent—and stubbornness.

  Jess blinks when she sees the next company. “No way. Monroe Industries has high school internships?”

  Jess clicks the link and glances outside her open bedroom door, where she can hear Chả busily cheeping away, still trying to vacuum. This MonRobot model was revolutionary when it came out, and it still functions today, if albeit a bit slower and quirkier. Any other brand would have been defunct by now.

  Monroe Industries has state-of-the-art technology, and their products are everywhere from the home, to the office, to private schools. MonRobots can be programmed to perform any number of everyday tasks, from cleaning and cooking to being a personal assistant, although those advanced A.I. systems are incredibly expensive. Chả is one of the basic models, used primarily for household chores. The robots in the basic line aren’t cheap, though. Jess remembers her parents being very excited about the discount they got for being in the Associated League of Heroes.

  Jess scans the listing to see if she’s qualified, and while a few science and business internships require experience and references, one position catches her eye.

  WANTED: Motivated intern for administrative and office support in select experimental research division. Responsibilities include word processing, creating spreadsheets and presentations, organizing reports and research data, and filing. Computer experience, Net research abilities, and strong communication skills are preferred. Sensitivity to confidential matters and discretion is required.

  Jess taps her fingers on her chin. It’s a paid position, as are all the other internships, but this one is surely going to be in high demand because of the entry-level qualifications. The DED listed for inquiry is registered to a person named M.

  A quick search of the company’s website brings up absolutely nothing about this person or the experimental division, so Jess doesn’t have any other information with which to tailor her cover letter, but she’s willing to try anyway.

  Jess crafts what she hopes is a compelling cover letter and résumé and sends them in.

  Ch.2...

  On Saturday, Jess declines going to Crystal Springs with her parents to visit Claudia. Jess should be babysitting her younger brother, who also was “too busy” for a day trip, working on his project for an upcoming science fair, but Brendan is ridiculously self-sufficient. He hasn’t left his room all day.

  Jess is in the basement, looking over her collection of antique DVDs, when she hears a car pull into the driveway. Panic races through her. What if her parents’ nemeses have found the house?

  A door opens and shuts.

  “Hey, Jess! We brought you food since you couldn’t go out.” That could only be Bells’ voice, bright and exuberant.

  Jess grins and dashes up the stairs. She can see the Robledo’s cherry red car pulling forward at an impossibly slow pace. Jess laughs; Emma must be driving. She throws open the door, and Bells is waiting on the porch, holding two delicious-smelling bags and rolling his eyes.

  “Princess is still parking the car,” Bells says, shaking his head. His hair is a vivid red today, shaved short on one side and long on the other. It was purple the last time Jess saw him, but this is normal; Bells thrives on constantly changing his look. The crimson locks fall in an artful fringe, framing his face; the color is vibrant against his dark skin.

  Jess seizes him in a hug, and Bells exhales audibly. “Been working out, have we?” he asks with a grin.

  Well, yes, but it’s not like Jess has superstrength. She knows; she’s got the numbers to prove it.

  “Emma! What are you doing?” She calls to where the car is still moving.

  “Parking,” Emma says, flipping her dark curls over her shoulder as she reverses once more, her hand on the steering wheel. “It’s gotta be perfect, you know?”

  Jess shakes her head, takes one of the bags from Bells, and gestures inside.

  Bells unzips his boots and toes them off, tossing them where the rest of the Trans’ shoes are scattered in the entryway. He follows Jess to the kitchen, where they set down the bags and watch Emma park.

  Emma rearranges the car three more times before she’s satisfied and finally turns off the engine, steps out of the driver’s seat, and beams as the car locks behind her. She puts her hands on her hips, and her petite frame stands proudly in the driveway. She grins; her bright lipstick matches the car perfectly.

  The sleek and shiny vehicle looks out of place among the dull cars on their modest street, especially because of the steering wheel mounted on the dashboard. The driver-operated car screams of old money and connections; it’s incredibly difficult for citizens to be approved for the privilege of driving. Even with Emma’s parents both working in prominent government positions, it took the better part of two years for her license application to get approved.

  Jess also has a license, but she can’t tell anyone about it. The Smashmobile is driver-operated, and she’s qualified to drive it, but only in case of emergency. Claudia got her own driver-operated car for her eighteenth birthday, but that was a gift for being accepted into the League. Jess thought the whole thing was ridiculous: Claudia could only drive it secretly. It’s not like any of the middle-class Trans would have ever been approved for a license, let alone afford one of the coveted cars.

  Still, Jess can’t really be jealous of her friend. Emma has to share her car with her older brother, and she always offers to drive all of them.

  “You didn’t have to come over,” Jess says, even though she’s incredibly happy to see them. “I thought I told you to go to the movie without me.”

  Emma takes off her sandals and tucks them neatly into one of the cubbyholes in the entryway shelving. Jess’ dad designated it for shoes, but he’s the only one of the Trans who remembers to put them away in their proper place. It usually only has his shoes, and Emma’s.

  “No way,” Bells says.

  “You ditched school yesterday,” Emma points out. “And you’ve been acting weird all week.”

  Jess bites her lip. Emma’s very intuitive, but Jess can’t tell her about her superpower difficulties without revealing her family’s secret. She settles for looking at her feet. “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry…” Jess mutters.

  Emma shrugs. “It’s okay, I mean, you don’t have to tell us, you know? But I didn’t want you to mope all weekend about whatever it is.”

  Jess is seized by grateful appreciation and she wants to sweep Emma into a hug, but if she does that, she might burst into tears.

  Emma nods, smiles, and steps into the kitchen. Bells pats Jess on the shoulder and follows Emma in. The two of them grab plates and utensils and usher Jess back downstairs. Jess is handed a plate of steaming tamales, and Bells and Emma plop down on the old, battered couches next to her and start eating and talking about the upcoming literary projects in Ms. Rhinehart’s class.

  Jess can’t help but smile as the conversation surrounds her like a familiar and comforting blanket. She unwraps a tamale, inhales the delicious scent of the masa, and takes a bite. Jess nearly drops her fork when she tastes the seasoned beef. “Meat!” she says.

  “Yeah! My uncle is visiting from New Bright City, and it was his birthday last weekend, so we went all out. You’re luc
ky I hid the leftovers in the freezer when I did,” Emma says brightly.

  Jess takes her time, savoring every bite. “Your mom is the best. Tell her thank you when you get home.”

  “Of course,” Emma says, elbowing Jess. “You know that also means next time you come over, she’s not going to stop feeding you.”

  “I don’t have a problem with that.” Jess grins through her mouthful of tamale.

  “Uh-uh,” Bells says, waving his fork. “Do you remember when we were like, ten, and I said I liked that rice milk that one time? Now Mrs. Robledo always puts it out whenever I’m over, and I can’t not drink it, even if horchata is too sweet for me.”

  Jess laughs and then gets drawn into a conversation about their parents’ quirks. The afternoon might seem almost the same as it was before they arrived: no real plan, just hanging out in the basement. But instead of Jess flipping channels alone, she and Emma and Bells eat and make fun of Bells’ apt reactions to reruns of his favorite detective show.

  Even though they’ve seen this particular season finale many times, Bells cries out and throws up his arms in frustration when his favorite character dies. His empty plate flips over, and pieces of corn husk and sauce fly all over the holoscreen, distorting the projection.

  Emma and Jess groan in unison.

  “Really,” Emma says, rolling her eyes. “Did you think it would end differently this time?”

  “Shut up,” Bells says, picking up a husk and tossing it at her. He flops back onto the couch and winks a challenge.

  Jess grabs Emma’s plate before they start chucking food everywhere. “C’mon, guys, it takes forever to clean this thing.” She looks at the holoscreen. There’s sauce splattered all over it and pieces of corn husk everywhere. Jess picks up what she can, but the image is still distorted. “I’ll go get a rag,” she says.

  “You have a MonRobot, though,” Emma says. “Where is that thing?”