Blaze (15 page)

As I head toward Sector Comics! I quickly stuff the big box of tampons into my messenger bag. They don’t quite fit, but I’m determined to avoid a “most embarrassing moment” with Comic Book Guy.

When I walk through the archway, there’s a Stan Lee look-alike standing behind the counter. I’m more disappointed than I mean to be when I see Quentin isn’t here. When I ask if he’s working tonight, Stan’s twin tells me, “No,” as he eyes the buttons on my bag. “Hey, you’re not Blaze, by any chance?”

“Um, yes?”

The older man gives me a huge grin. “Quentin told me all about you. Says you might be looking for a bit of part-time work?”

I nod and shrug.

“Well, he gave me his full recommendation. Said you’re a total wiz with the oldies, and I can tell you,” he leans in close, “I’ve known Quentin a long time, and it takes a lot to make an impression on him. You, my dear, have made an impression.”

I smile and blush. “He’ll be mad he missed you.” Stan-alike picks up his phone. Before I know what’s happening, he barks, “Got Blaze here for ya,” into the receiver and thrusts the phone in my face.

“Um, hello?” I say hesitantly.

“So, you met Stan, huh?”

I give the old man a closer look and falter, “He’s not really…”

“Ha, no.” Quentin laughs. “We just call him that. What’re you doing at the mall?”

I smile quickly at “Stan” and walk away from the counter. “Oh, just dropped my little brother off to see a movie. Thought I’d swing by.”

“Sorry I missed you. Copy my number from Stan so you can text me next time. I’m working now, but I would’ve met you if I’d known.”

“Where are you working?” My mood starts picking up as Quentin explains he does a nice side business selling comics online. “I do a lot of trade shows, actually. You’ll have to come sometime.”

“I’d love to,” I say honestly.

“I’ve stayed pretty local so far. The one in Pittsburgh is the furthest con I’ve made. San Diego has the biggest, coolest one of all, but I’ll be happy to make it to the one in New York sometime. Google Comic-Con, and you’ll see how awesome they are.”

The two of us talk for a while until Stan gives me a knowing smile, and I start to feel self-conscious and hyper-aware that I’m packing a giant box of tampons. Before saying good-bye, Quentin asks if I’ve read the
Ghost
Rider
s yet. “Um, gotta go.” I laugh. “But I promise I’ll get to them.”

“What is
wrong
with you, girl?” Quentin teases. “He’s your frickin’ badass namesake! I’d kill to have your coolness factor.”

“I know, I know. I’m awesome,” I say. “To be honest I’ve been going through a rough patch. Haven’t really been in the mood for comics.”

“Blaze, that’s when you need them more than ever.”

I laugh. “You just might be right, Quentin.”

“Of course I’m right. Give it a shot. And text me when you’re done. Don’t leave me hanging.”

I can’t help but return Stan’s warm smile as I hand him his phone.

“We’ll be seeing you around, I hope,” Stan Lee says as he writes down Quentin’s number. And he makes my whole week when he adds, “’Nuff said.”

• • •

I nestle into the quiet protection of Superturd as I click on the dome light and start rooting around for the
Ghost
Rider
s. Finally, I find them under the passenger seat, still in the bag. Putting them in order, I see I have a few in the teens and then issues 19 through 22 in the 2007 series. Looking at the covers, it’s obvious they made some creative changes as the series progressed, which is usually not a great sign. At least this series features Johnny Blaze, since over the years other guys, like Danny Ketch, have become Ghost Rider. All I can say is, thank goodness Dad didn’t name me Ketch.

I start with the earliest issue in my stack, which is number four. The cover has Ghost Rider standing in the midst of what appear to be corpses with horns as his burning skull pleads toward the heavens.

The first page has the usual recap of what is going on with the story, which is good since, as I said, I’m looking at issue number four. It starts out…

Motorcycle stuntman Johnny Blaze has always had his heart in the right place… and made all the wrong decisions.

It goes on to explain how Blaze made a deal with the devil and ended up as the Ghost Rider, a spirit of vengeance who hunts down the guilty. And distributes bloody justice.

The truth of all that pierces my chest. It’s me. The heart in the right place. The wrong decisions. I even feel like I made a deal with the devil. In the form of a certain shark. Of course, I already know the origin story of Ghost Rider. It’s just that having it written out like that makes it seem so real. So much like a prophecy for a girl named Blaze.

I flip the page to see Ghost Rider in a graveyard, trying to revive some guy he accidentally killed with his penance stare.

As Ghost Rider tries to get the dead guy to “Breathe, dammit, breathe!” a bright light suddenly fills an entire panel. “You have more power than you know, Johnny Blaze!” says a woman with flowing pink hair and white eyes. She actually sort of resembles my sketches of
The
Blazing
Goddess
, except for the missing pupils. Her name is Numecet. The rest of the comic is just a lot of Numecet telling Johnny about Lucifer’s evil plan to escape Hell and walk the earth. I’m a little disappointed in the issue overall, since there isn’t really much action, but I’m interested anyway, what with the potential divine personal message and all.

Numecet tells Johnny only Ghost Rider can stop Lucifer, and in the end Johnny Blaze takes off with a
KKRRROOOOMM!
on his Hell Cycle. His mission is to thwart the devil’s plans. I smile at how right Quentin is about my namesake. I mean, sure, fighting Juggernaut or Venom is tough, but my guy is taking on freaking Satan himself. How badass is that?

I go on to lose myself between the other glossy covers, each depicting some form of flames or fire. It’s strange to be reading comics created this century. I miss the ads for all the junk they have in my dad’s really old ones, like joke gum, hand buzzers, and “the insult that made a man out of Mac,” promoting Charles Atlas body-building. My favorite though has always been an old Tootsie Roll ad that ran a contest to win a “Jog-a-long Stereo,” which according to the picture is basically an enormous iPod with headphones that look like plastic earmuffs. These newer ones have things like Got Milk? ads and video games. Overall, I have to say, the parts that I read have pretty solid storytelling with some nice-looking art and escalating action.

But more than that. They’ve given me an idea.

Not only am I ready to take vengeance, but reading Blaze’s short origin story repeated at the opening of each comic gets me thinking about origins. About a good origin story for
The
Blazing
Goddess
. And maybe one for me.

It’s about time for my real story to begin.

By the time the boys get out of the movies, I’m in such a good mood I take them cruising around back roads until the Walmart closes so we can fling each and every shopping cart one-by-one into the parking lot. The carts look like ridiculous metal cattle bumping into each other and sometimes falling over on their sides.

And here’s the best part: On top of getting out any and all aggressive energy you have—no matter how terrifically awful your day has been and even if your plot to score a boyfriend has been thwarted and your life seems stuck in a Gamma Bubble—winging shopping carts into each other makes it impossible to keep from laughing hysterically.

I get to work on my super-secret three-step plan straight away. This plan makes my hairspray and stalking routine seem pathetic.

I tell Terri the whole Mark thing was just a big prank, and she pretends to believe me. And Amanda goes ahead and starts speaking to me again now that I’ve completely humiliated myself. But I don’t tell either of them my new plan.

Everything seems totally back to normal, so the first outward sign that anything is even up with me is my hair. It’s sort of hard to miss, seeing as how I dyed it pink using twelve packets of tropical punch Kool-Aid.

Amanda squeals for a straight minute when she sees it, and Terri declares me crazy. But it gets Mark’s attention. Because I know his schedule, I realize he’s come entirely out of his way when he stops me in the hallway between third and fourth periods.

“Hey, Blaze!” he says. “Cool hair.”

I tilt my head at him. “That would be Kool-
Aid
hair, since that’s what I used to dye it.”

He laughs. “You’re joking, right?”

I lean in. “Have a sniff.”

He bows his head to smell my hair and when I pull away he gives a few bops. “Mmm, fruity.”

“Tropical
punch
,” I say pantomiming a big punch in his arm. He gives a sarcastic laugh, but then, before he can say anything else, I waggle my fingers good-bye and walk away. Glancing back over my shoulder, I see he’s watching me leave.
I
guess
maybe
pink
is
the
new
blonde.

The biggest unforeseen side effect of my new pink hair is that Ryan stops stalking me entirely. I don’t get his aversion to the pink, but I take his sudden rejection as a really good sign.

• • •

“Kickass hair,” Quentin says when I walk into Sector Comics! later that day.

“Thanks!” I grin at him. “Stan’s not making another cameo?”

“He’s not around but has authorized me to officially offer you a position organizing comics after school. Two or three days a week, whenever you’re free. Pay’s not great, but come on, you belong here.”

“Well, gee, won’t that mean you and I will—”

He nods slyly. “Yes, we will be caught in our own comic sector. Sentenced to spend time together.” I give him a geeky grin, and he goes on. “We can be like Hawk and Dove, playing good guy, bad guy with the customers.”

I pull back and wrinkle my nose. “Hawk and Dove?”

“They’re DC.” Quentin shakes his head. “You really haven’t read anything besides vintage Marvel, have you?”

I shrug. “What’ve you got to show me? These days I’m open to new things.”

• • •

Part two of my plan upsets the Soccer Cretins a bit. The season is over, and Mom has gotten much better about pitching in, but I still end up running the weekend shuttles about town and to the mall when she’s at work. When I show up at each of the boys’ houses to gather them up for a bowling party, one by one they give me the same dumbstruck reaction before climbing into Superturd. Make that the
All
New!
Flaming Superturd of Fierceness! The boys each whisper to Josh some form of, “Dude, what’s up with your sis?” As if I’m not right there listening from the driver’s seat.

I guess I can’t blame them. The awesome flame job I hand-painted on the sides of the minivan is so cool they’d probably love it if it wasn’t hot pink. Josh just sinks down lower and lower in his seat, shooting me a look that says, “
Really, Blaze? Really?
” It’s the same look I got when I dyed my hair.

I wouldn’t say he’s outright worried about me anymore, but he’s definitely watching for signs of a breakdown. Mom reacted with an, “Oh, wow. Um, okay…” before hustling off to the hospital, which makes me glad all the pink is not an actual cry for help.

It takes me a few weeks to get everything set up for step three of my plan. Not that I mind. In fact, I’m enjoying my time organizing the stock at Sector Comics! and hanging out with Quentin. Even Josh gets into poking about the store now and then, although he is drawn to the strangest indie comics. I’m grateful Comic Book Guy is actually really nice to my little brother when he’s at the store despite Josh being under the age of fourteen. Of course, Quentin does tease him mercilessly for having such quirky taste, but Josh seems to enjoy the attention.

Finally, I’m ready for step three of my plan. The part where vengeance kicks in. While getting attention for my pink hair and my pink flame job and basically turning into a female version of Comic Book Guy, I’ve also been working overtime on a new set of sketches. Quentin doesn’t fully understand their purpose, but when he first sees my artwork,
KaPow!
I pretty much blow his mind.

“Blaze.” His brown eyes flick over the page. “These. Are. Amazing.” He starts rattling off a detailed critique that’s so positive it’s embarrassing. “Your lines are so bold and yet clearly show a feminine point of view.”

“Wait a minute. Are you trying to say girls can’t draw like boys?” I ready myself for a rousing debate, but this time he just puts his hand on mine and looks me in the eye. “No, Blaze. I’m saying that your style and voice are fresh and unique. And important.”

I blush and look away, wishing I could share the meaning behind this particular project. But I’d be mortified if he ever found out. “When you’re ready for a manager, I’m your guy.” He smiles. I wonder for a moment whether or not I should see this thing through. I look over and catch Stan Lee watching the two of us with a slight smile. I take a step back.

I can’t let myself get distracted by a messy-haired boy with a teasing dimple and great taste in comics. I have to see my plan through. It’s what Ghost Rider would want me to do.

Finally, I’m satisfied with the results of all my hard work and ready to show Mark that he messed with the wrong former blonde. I upload my scanned images to Kinkles Kopies at the mall and feel deeply empowered as I flip through the pages of the finished product. It’s a comic titled
The
Blazing
Goddess
vs. Mark the Shark
. It’s an origin story.

The adventure begins with Blaze as an ordinary girl whose father just so happens to be a mad scientist. Let’s face it, what origin story is complete without some form of crazy genius pseudo-science, right? So, anyway, Blaze’s dad asks her to drive to his laboratory to deliver a bunch of chemicals but warns her to be careful. If combined, the chemicals could become fatally toxic. The next page shows boring, blonde Blaze loading a bunch of glass beakers filled with rainbow-colored fluids into the back of her black Mustang. Because, cool flame job or not, there is no way my origin story is featuring a turd-brown minivan.

Blaze speeds happily along until she comes upon a handsome boy wearing soccer shorts who’s hitchhiking. She debates, but decides that the road is so long and deserted she might be the boy’s only hope of rescue. He’s thankful when she stops to pick him up and explains that his truck broke down a few miles back when he made a wrong turn into a cornfield. The boy is a bit awkward and makes Blaze uneasy as they drive along. Suddenly, he leans over and announces he’s going to kiss her. Blaze is so shocked, she slams directly into a cow that has wandered onto the road.

The glass vials in the back seat shatter, showering the pair in a dangerous cocktail of noxious chemicals. Everything goes dark for a few panels, and then we see a close-up of Blaze’s eye opening. When the scene draws out slowly, panel by panel, it shows that she has transformed into the Blazing Goddess, complete with pink, flaming hair and suddenly exposed cleavage. The hitchhiker has transformed as well, into a horrible man-shark. With his words muffled through layers of teeth, he announces his new name: Mark the Shark! And an epic battle between the two of them ensues.

The panels with them going at it were the most fun to draw. Blaze puts up the fight I wish I had when Mark the Shark tries to bite her again and again. In the end, she wins of course, with the Shark left in the middle of a mown field, tangled in a large soccer net—squirming like a caught fish.

Blaze soars away in her mustang, which has been completely transformed with pink flames shooting out all around it. The epilogue explains how the combination of chemicals created a serum that always reveals a person’s true inner nature. Blaze’s father is able to recreate the formula and concocts a new batch so Blaze can carry around a spray-canister of the serum. So now she can turn back into the Blazing Goddess whenever she wants. Plus, with a simple squirt she can reveal the inner nature of others and thwart all the evil genius plans to destroy the earth and all that good superhero stuff.

Okay, so maybe the random chemical combination is a little lame, but hey, it’s tough to come up with an origin story while taking out real-world revenge on a boy you wish you hadn’t had sex with. I’m sticking it to him good too, since anybody who knows Mark or even knows
of
Mark will know right away he’s the shark guy. Going public with this comic is seriously going to hurt his game, and I’m not talking about soccer either.

It’s a vengeance so absolute, Ghost Rider himself would surely be proud.

• • •

My Blazing Goddess comic book starts out as an intimate little mailing. A copy goes to the vapid blonde junior Mark’s been pursuing as well as a few other girls he’s dated. I also upload the files and post scans of all the pages on a web address I bought for ten bucks: http://blazing-goddess.com. And Quentin absolutely insists on selling physical copies at the store under the talk bubble sign “Up-and-Coming Artists.”

Amanda can’t believe I actually did all this, and Terri thinks it’s the most spectacular thing she’s ever seen. “Way better than primping and stalking,” she says. It feels really good to shock people who’ve known you most of your life.

Before I know it, things take off and people I didn’t send the comic to are stopping me in the hallway to tell me how much they like it. I didn’t bother to put a hit counter on the web page, but I know it has gone big when I catch glimpses of printed-out sheets getting passed around the school. It makes me kind of wonder how people got revenge before the Internet came along.

Finally, the reaction I’ve looked forward to the most lands directly in my path. I just re-applied more Kool-Aid last night, so I’m particularly pink when Mark walks up to me. He’s holding a copy of
The
Blazing
Goddess
vs. Mark the Shark
.

“This is supposed to be funny?” He shakes the comic in my face, and I have to suppress a laugh. I was nervous that Mark might feel flattered in some way when he’s supposed to be humiliated. “What the hell, Blaze!”

Or, okay. So anger works too.
“What?” I give him my most innocent look. “You don’t like my artwork?”

“Why would you make me look like such an idiot?”

“Look like an idiot?” I savor his delicious rage. “I thought I went easy on you.”

“Wha—? Easy?”

“I could’ve made reference to your little guppy guy there.” I nod toward his crotch in a direct hit to his ego. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all the time spent with the boys, knocking the size of a guy’s genitalia is the ultimate in low blows.

Mark’s jaw drops as he looks around at the gathering gawkers. “Blaze!” He covers his crotch with my comic.

“Oh, come on, I’m kidding,” I say. “It’s not like I even have anything to compare it to, now do I?”

“I’ll have you know I’m above average in that department.”

“I’m sure that you believe that you are.” I pat the side of his handsome face. “Oh, and Mark?” He still looks bewildered over the way his confrontation is failing. “You really shouldn’t fuck with people who helped you out when you needed a ride. It’s not very sportsmanlike.”

I spin on my heel and stride away. Perfect exit.

I can’t believe I actually gave it to Mark that hard core.
Well
, I think,
maybe
that
will
teach
him
to
be
nicer
to
the
girls
he
sees
as
Shark
Bait
.

I’m grateful to be done with any and all association with him.

• • •

“Blaze, what the hell is going on between you and my coach?”

Josh waves a copy of my comic in front of my face as we get into The Flaming Superturd after school.
Oops
.

“Hey there, little brother,” I say cheerfully. “How was your day?”

“Do not change the subject, Blaze.” Josh grabs my arm and asks earnestly, “Did you actually sleep with him? You only went out, like, one time!”

“Josh!” I can’t believe he’d ask me such a thing.
Besides, there was no sleeping involved.
“We had two dates, for your information.”

“You see, that’s why I’m waiting till I’m married to have sex.” Josh shakes his head and slumps into his seat.

“What the heck do you know about sex?” I ask.