Not Your Sidekick Read online

  She turns back into town and drives to the hardware shop to get Brendan his things. At least he knows what he wants, knows what he’s doing in his life, and he’s only thirteen. He doesn’t have any powers and it doesn’t bother him.

  Then again, he’s also a super-genius.

  * * *

  Jess is grateful when Monday rolls around; she’s impatient to hear back from Monroe Industries, and Bells and Emma were both busy on Sunday. Being around both her parents is exhausting. She always feels like a disappointment, even if they don’t say anything about her lack of powers.

  And they’re around a lot more now ever since the Mischiefs went missing.

  The resident villains of Andover, Master and Mistress Mischief, have been her parents’ archenemies as long as Jess can remember. They’ve had countless confrontations over the years, all of them well-documented in the Andover Gazette, the local news holo.

  The Mischiefs haven’t been around the past few weeks—no ridiculous electronic shenanigans, nothing flying through the air, no chaos whatsoever. It’s been strange, and while the rumors are that Smasher and Shockwave caught them and sent them to Meta-Human Corrections at last, Jess knows better.

  Her parents have no idea where the villains are.

  Even the usual sort of hero-work has declined since Chameleon was introduced, and with the lack of pranks from the Mischiefs, there’s been woefully little for Jess’ parents to do. Her father in particular has been using his extra time at home to focus uncomfortably on Jess’ future.

  At least there were only a few awkward conversations over the weekend. Jess can’t say she’s looked forward to a lot of Mondays, but this is definitely one of them. She hopes, whatever the Mischiefs are up to, that things get back to normal soon.

  School is routine, as always. In her classes, Jess takes notes idly and drifts off into daydreams. She’s fairly forgettable as a student. Freshman year she was known simply as “Claudia’s sister.” Her teachers were all excited at first, exclaiming different versions of “Claudia was so spectacular; I’m so excited to have you in my class!” But Jess fell short of all their glowing expectations.

  Jess hunches down in her usual seat in the back of the classroom. The other kids greet each other as if they haven’t seen each other in ages. Elizabeth Phang sweeps her friend Denise Ho into a hug, and more friends swarm the two girls. The group talks eagerly before the bell rings for third period. Jess snorts; Elizabeth and Denise just saw each other during first period. But it’s not as though when lunchtime comes around Jess won’t be doing the same with her own friends.

  Unfortunately, Emma and Bells aren’t in most of her classes. Now, they’re in AP World History, while Jess is in regular.

  The bell rings, and the class comes to order; Mr. Liu starts by asking questions from the reading last night. Even though she knows the answers, Jess doesn’t bother raising her hand.

  She’s given up trying to stand out. People tend to forget her and remember the Elizabeths and Denises of the world, that combination of confident, smart and pretty that always draws people in.

  Jess is certain she’s none of these things. She could probably pass for cute if she tried hard enough, and smart, well, she works hard for her grades. She’s working on developing confidence, but it’s a constant effort. The only time she’s come close to being “known” was when she accidentally came out as bisexual during sophomore English class while talking about her favorite poem.

  That’s old news now. No one really cares, but it was exciting at the time. Jess had a few overwhelming weeks of curious looks and some intrusive questions from over-curious students until Emma and Bells put an end to it.

  The bell rings, and Jess shuffles off to her next class, only to be accosted by Darryl Flemings, Andover Heights’ most out-and-proud student. He smiles with teeth dazzling white enough to rival an Eversparkle holo. Darryl’s brown hair is slicked back with a copious amount of gel. He waves at her in greeting; his DED display is on, projecting distorted images and messages everywhere, and Jess can read a half-finished AHHS Club Event proposal flickering in the air. She doesn’t say anything, even though it’s incredibly impolite to leave your personal display on when you’re not using it.

  Darryl’s nice enough, but he’s also incredibly intense, especially about the Rainbow Allies club. It’s not a terrible idea for an organization; the twenty-second century isn’t perfect, after all. Jess attended a few meetings freshman year but found, like most of the clubs on campus, it’s more a social organization than a service one. She doesn’t feel too bad about it; a lot of students identify but don’t participate in the club.

  “Heyyy, Jess,” Darryl says, smiling at her.

  Jess looks at the floor. “Hey, I’m on my way to class.”

  “So, did you hear we’re raising money for—”

  Jess pushes past him. “I’m not in Rainbow Allies.”

  “I know, I know! It’s just that, you know, you’re always welcome, you know, and I know you’re part of the community—”

  “Get to the point.”

  Jess makes a quick turn around a corner. Darryl, to his credit, manages to keep up with her.

  “We just need more volunteers to help us meet our fundraising goal for the quarter—”

  “You’re fundraising for new T-shirts,” Jess says. “You guys don’t really do anything other than hang out together at lunch and occasionally wear the matching T-shirts.”

  “Oh, c’mon, we totally petitioned the school board about—”

  “It’s a ‘no,’ Darryl; I’ll see you around.” Jess steps into her English class. She frowns, hearing Darryl curse to himself before the door shuts.

  The room is peaceful; lining the wall are familiar colorful posters about books she’d loved discussing or projects she had fun working on. This is an AP class, and it’s her only one. She loves Ms. Rhinehart, an eccentric woman who favors circular seating patterns and has no problem when students curse in class or even eat snacks. Ms. Rhinehart makes up for leniency with frequent written quizzes, challenging projects, and interesting reading assignments.

  The door opens again, and Darryl follows her into the room. Ms. Rhinehart is the advisor for Rainbow Allies, but she’s got a laid-back attitude in contrast to Darryl’s gung-ho persistence, and raises her eyebrow as Darryl keeps talking about the fundraiser.

  “Darryl, you’re not in this period,” Ms. Rhinehart says.

  “I know, I just wanted to see if Jess wanted to help with—”

  She places a firm hand on Darryl’s shoulder and points him toward the door. “Bell’s about to ring.”

  Darryl casts Jess a frustrated look before he leaves, not before saying something sharply under his breath that Jess hears with a cold pang of hurt.

  “Sorry about that,” Ms. Rhinehart says. “He gets a little carried away with his president duties; for some reason he thinks trying to raise money is the same thing as annoying people into helping him, even if they might not be interested.”

  “I’m not a traitor to the cause,” Jess says softly.

  “Did he call you that?” Ms. Rhinehart clicks her tongue. “I’m going to have words with him after school.”

  Jess sits down and, with a sigh, pulls up the holobooks for class on her DED. The class starts with ten minutes of quick writing in their journals, and then moves on to a discussion of The Wasteland. Jess eagerly starts planning the visual project for their current assignment.

  Lunchtime is much more fun, and she waves brightly to her friends in the cafeteria as they join the throngs of students lining up for food. MonRobots are distributing the lunches in an efficient fashion, ladling out government-issue vegetable chili with sides of tater tots and wilted salad greens. Andover Heights isn’t a particularly rich neighborhood, but a few students scattered throughout the cafeteria have brought their own lunch. Jess can smell the rich a
roma of roasted chicken wafting from a nearby table.

  She thinks about one of the twenty-first century movies she saw last week, where hamburgers were served at a typical high school lunch, and wonders what that must have been like. Not just the availability of meat, either, but the abundance and diversity of fresh fruits and vegetables. Ever since the Disasters, it’s been a struggle to grow enough food to feed everyone. Now everyone makes do with what can be grown from the little fertile land left.

  The Nevada region is fairly lucky; they’re close enough to a huge swath of unaffected farmland from the California region, but most of the best quality produce is still sold to the highest bidder.

  It’s always guesswork, which line has the most palatable food. Most of the produce sold to AHHS is just about to spoil, and the food usually borders on inedible. But it’s hard to ruin a simple potato, and Jess is fond of all its forms, particularly tater tots. They’re consistently good here, and by good Jess means not terrible.

  Emma makes a beeline for the shortest line, but Jess redirects them to a slightly longer line to the right and is pleased when this particular line yields a fresh batch of tater tots.

  They grab their lunches and find their usual spot outside. Students mill about, talking and laughing, and the orange-red of the landscape shimmers in the desert heat beyond the city. Jess steals Bells’ portion of tater tots and leaves her chili on his tray. She picks at her food as Emma talks about her morning.

  Emma’s crushing on a different guy this week, having abandoned her previous idea that Carter on the basketball team is the most adorable person to ever exist. Today she thinks Jimmy from chemistry is the one for her. Bells listens while sketching a picture of a dragon and tosses his hair casually out of his face. It’s blue today, with dark purple streaks.

  “The red not work out for you?” Jess asks.

  “Too loud,” Bells says.

  Emma laughs. “I didn’t know you understood what that meant.”

  “Just liked the idea of two colors and wanted to try it,” Bells says. “Jimmy has streaks in his hair.”

  “Yeah, so?” Emma says.

  Jess shakes a container at them. “Who wants the rest of my tater tots?”

  By the time school ends, a light drizzle is falling wearily. Bells and Emma get on the bus to their neighborhood; Jess boards her bus. It’s crowded, and Jess has to sit on a “seat” that already has two students on it; she’s mostly hovering in the aisle. The bus smells of damp hair and wet clothing, and a rhythmic rat a tat tat pings on the metal roof of the bus.

  The route goes through Old Town Andover, a colorful area with signs in many languages. Even in the rain, a bunch of people mill around on the sidewalk. Jess catches sight of her favorite sandwich shop, and her stomach makes the decision for her; she follows the students getting off. She can always take the city bus home later.

  Old Town is dominated by businesses run by immigrants. Nha Trang Bánh Mì is no exception. Jess has heard plenty of stories about the scenic coastal city in Vietnam for which it was named. Her dad was born there and has many fond memories of it. It's far from idyllic nowadays, especially with the recent conflict over joining the Southeast Asian Alliance. And this little sandwich shop isn’t the only nostalgic business; plenty of stores in the area are named for cities in countries to which there’s no way back, countries that are wasteland now.

  Clutching the strap of her backpack, Jess waits in line. The bánh mì shop is crowded, and she can pick out snippets of Vietnamese here and there, phrases that she can recognize, mostly, and conversational bits and ends about people picking out snacks and chatting about their days. It’s a familiar cacophony of women behind the counter shouting out order numbers and menu items, scanning receipts quickly, handing out fragrant bags full of food.

  Behind her, the in-restaurant patrons read newsholos and sip slow-brewed coffee; elderly men argue vehemently in Vietnamese. Amused, Jess watches as one man her grandfather’s age exclaims loudly while the other sighs in exasperation.

  A woman steps in front of her and orders in Chinese—two specials, pickled vegetables on the side.

  Jess gives the woman a cross look; she was here first, but to argue would be pointless.

  “Also how much is this?” the woman asks, holding up a wrapped container of roast chicken and broken rice.

  “Thirty credits,” the cashier responds in Chinese.

  The woman scowls, cursing softly. Jess winces; didn’t she see the same entree last week priced at twenty?

  The cashier shrugs and jerks a shoulder to the sign behind her that reads: ALL MEAT ITEMS ARE SUBJECT TO MARKET PRICE. “Do you want it?”

  The woman makes a remark under her breath about the freshness of the entree and sets it down.

  Finally it’s Jess’ turn. She smiles at the woman behind the cash register and gets an inpatient look and a jerk of the head.

  “Hai nam đặc biệt,” Jess says.

  “What?” the woman says in English.

  Jess flushes, then says, “Two number ones, please.”

  “You want everything inside?” The woman frowns, pointing at the picture of the sandwich on the menu behind them.

  Jess knows the cashier is about to explain that the sandwich comes with pickled vegetables and raw jalapeños. “Yes, I know. All the extra vegetables and the peppers, please.”

  The woman nods; the explanation is complete. Jess noticed she hadn’t asked anyone else to confirm their order.

  The cash register dings, and then at the last moment Jess adds, “And a Thai iced tea.”

  The cashier sighs but restarts the order, adding her tea and then ringing it up. “Five credits.”

  Jess waves her DED at the scanner and then flops down at an empty table to wait for her order. She tugs self-consciously at her sweater, stares at the table, and listens to the other customers order their food. It’s a mix of Chinese and Vietnamese, and Jess can also pick out a few words of Malay and Thai. Everyone is ordering in their own language. Jess mouths her order to herself, taking note of how noticeably different the words sound when she says them.

  It’s not that her pronunciation is terrible; it just that she should have known it was easier not to try in the first place. It’s as if they just look at her and know. Or assume that she doesn’t know, because of her age, which is mostly right, because Jess can count how many Vietnamese words she can say that aren’t food items.

  But it’s her favorite sandwich, and her favorite tea drink, and it’s cheap and filling and the perfect afternoon snack.

  Jess loves this area of Andover; the old neighborhood is a bit run down, but it’s part of what makes Andover wonderful and not just another a medium-sized town in the region that was once known as Nevada. Andover is a haven amidst this vast desert, far enough inland that tidal waves and earthquakes aren’t an issue. The city attracted many people fleeing first the uninhabitable nuclear meltdown sites immediately after the Disasters and then the epic third world war—the grand battle over resources.

  It’s been about a hundred years since the war ended, but the world is still recovering, slowly. New countries and alliances were formed, and people are stronger than before. In the face of dwindling resources and lost farmland, innovative minds and new technology made survival possible.

  Unlike Emma, Jess doesn’t have surviving relatives who lived through World War III, but her grandparents on both sides grew up while the Southeast Asian Alliance was still being formed. Unlike the original United States, Mexico, and Canada, which took only a few years to come together as a single Collective, the many small countries in Southeast Asia, still smarting from WWIII, didn’t reach a united front until 2108.

  The conflict was long and bloody, and Jess’ parents were among many refugees. Although Vietnam and China no longer exist as they remember them, Jess’ parents try their best to pass on the language and custom
s of their forebears. Jess tries her best, but she wasn’t raised speaking the language; her parents only spoke English with her because they didn’t want her to have an accent.

  The solar flares started a horrific chain of events—a number of disasters and the ensuing war—but it also awoke something strange and new, a latent gene that catalyzed a number of fantastic abilities in some people. The heroes who came after the flare and helped people survive became idols.

  Jess opens her backpack and thumbs lovingly through her newest comic book, grinning at the unbroken spine, the glossy cover. She had splurged last week and ordered the newest edition of Captain Orion, and it just arrived in the mail. She’s been saving it to open and read this week, one page at a time so she can digest the newest story slowly.

  Her friends always tease her for buying the print comics and not just the holos. Emma says that it’s just art celebrating the most recent and epic battles of the greatest superhero in the North American Collective, but Jess loves the comics even if she already knows all the stories. It’s completely different from seeing the events unfold on the news.

  Jess takes out her journal, decorated with a blue sky and a few fluffy clouds; “Dream big,” in script in an inspirational font floats across the dream sky.

  It’s old-school to write by hand, but Jess likes the way the words blossom under her fingertips. It’s not as if she’s ever going to type it up and send it anywhere. These scribblings and imaginings are for no one else.

  Jess opens the journal to the last blank page and scrunches her nose. She left her character Xyra in a rather unfortunate predicament. An idea comes to mind, and Jess grabs a pen from the backpack pocket and starts to write, lost in the scene.

  “Take that, and that,” Jess mutters to herself as her main character fights off a herd of bad guys.

  “Number twenty-four!”

  The crowded little sandwich shop has disappeared. Jess is in a forbidding forest filled with looming trees—and a little bit of sunlight, Jess decides, because it would make for dramatic lighting. Xyra does a spinning kick, sending another guy into unconsciousness, and Jess makes a note that she will probably have to name all these evil henchmen later. Some sort of army. Does the villain have a name yet?