“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Except that Ajay’s older cousin had a girl totally stalking him after they did it. She slashed his tires and everything.”
“Well, now,
that’s
crazy.”
“Yeah.” Josh waves the comic pointedly. “And so is distributing a
very
well done yet embarrassing comic that features you beating up the guy you slept with.”
“Mark and I did not sleep together. And the comic is just a Blazing Goddess origins story. I’ve been meaning to write her one.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“Well, Mema will be proud of you.” I grin. “If you’re really waiting for marriage to have sex.”
Josh gives me a serious look. “Really, sis. Are you honestly okay?”
I turn my attention back to the road, “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”
“You want me to kick Coach Mark in the balls for you?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Well, are you about finished turning things pink?”
I reach over and give Josh a shove. “I’m done,” I promise. And I am.
• • •
Looking at my website, I’m smacked with a wave of happiness that it looks even cooler than I remember. I wonder how many other folks are looking at my work at this very moment. It feels good to think I’m providing such a valuable public health service. I mean, just think of all the innocent virgins who can avoid being harpooned by Mark because of my little exposé!
The phone rings. I have a fleeting fear it’s him, calling to ream me out some more, but I can tell by the way Mom’s mouth tenses when she checks the caller ID that it’s our dad. Mom holds the phone toward me, and I take it into the kitchen so she won’t have to hear me talk to “that man.”
“Hey, Dad,” I say happily.
“Hey, kiddo!” His voice is upbeat. “How goes it?”
“Good! I’m almost done making that comics list for you.”
“That’s great, Sweetie!”
“Have you ever read any recent
Ghost
Rider
s? ’Cause I just took a look at a few issues from Volume 5 and I have to say the artwork is…”
“Hey, that’s super, Blaze. Listen, I don’t have a lot of time to talk, but I wanted to see if I could get you to go ahead and ship those boxes of comics to me here in the city.”
What!?
“Oh, I, um…”
“I know it’ll be expensive, but don’t worry. Your mom can lay out the funds, and let her know I’ll be getting that right back to her. Save the receipt.”
“So you’re not coming here to pick them up?”
“Coming there? No, no. I’ve got lots of stuff happening here. Great stuff. Really big stuff.”
I glance at Josh and can tell he’s trying to listen in without seeming like he’s listening. I tell Dad, “So, I’ll just try to get that out to you next week. Um, what’s the address?”
“It’s the same. One-sixty-two West Sixty-Fourth Street. Apartment four F.”
“Right, I remember, like the Fantastic Four,” I joke as I wonder again about Ice Girl’s fate. It strikes me as funny that her boobs seemed like her source of power, and my boobs were the source of my demise, in a way. Or at least, Virgin Girl!’s demise.
“I really need to have them here A-sap.” Dad says. “Do you think you can get them to the post office by early this week?”
“Sure, Dad. And I drew a new comic that’s—”
“That’s great, Sweetie. You be sure to keep that up. You never know where things might lead. I’d better get going, thanks again for sending those along.”
I pause and brace myself. “Do you want to say hi to Josh?”
“Sorry, honey, I’m on my way out, but do give him a hug from me, will you?”
I look over to where Josh is watching me expectantly. I mentally kick myself for asking right in front of him.
“Right, sure. I’ll get that out, and we’ll talk soon.”
I watch Josh’s face crumple ever so slightly before he recomposes and we roll our eyes at each other. I hang up with Dad and Josh says, “Yeah, I didn’t really want to talk to him either.”
We laugh, and Mom looks up from her paperwork. “So, what’s going on with your father?” She doesn’t sound like she honestly cares.
“Oh, nothing,” I say. And because I’m annoyed that Dad made me hurt Josh’s feelings, I add, “He wants me to ship him the boxes of comics. He said you’ll be okay with laying out the money.”
“The hell I am.” Mom stands up and storms out of the room, presumably to call Dad and tell him off.
“He is super-busy,” I tell Josh. “I feel like I just caught a minute of
The
Dad
Show
. You okay?”
“Well, I’m not about to go dye my hair pink, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” Josh laughs. When I continue with my patented worried-big-sister look, he adds, “Seriously! I’m fine. But if you want to take me and the guys to the mall, that would totally make up for my shitty relationship with our father.”
“Yeah, right,” I laugh. Then, because Quentin has been texting me to come hang out, I add, “You can let the guys know Superturd will be leaving in oh-minus-half-an-hour to shuttle your stinky asses to the mall.”
Josh lets out a whoop and scrambles to alert the cretins of their good fortune.
• • •
Once I’ve steered the boys away from Lucy’s Lucky Lingerie I set them free and head toward Sector Comics! It’s strange, but I can’t seem to shake the odd sense I’m forgetting something really important. Something lingering just outside my conscious thoughts, yet somehow weighing me down. I’ve tried to focus on what it might be a couple of times, but—
“You left your headlights on.”
I blink dumbly at the red-haired girl standing in front of me. I have no idea who she is, and I’m so thrown off that I actually look down to make sure my nipples aren’t showing through my T-shirt.
“It’s okay.” She’s smiling. “I turned them off for you. The door was unlocked.”
“Wha… ?” I say, “Um, do I know you?”
“You drive the minivan with the pink flame job, right?” She grins.
“Yes?” I glance around, looking for the boys, wondering if they’re setting me up in some way.
“Well, I saw your headlights were on, so I tried the driver’s side door.” She shrugs. “I turned them off for you. Didn’t want you to drain the battery.”
“Uh, thanks?” I say, and the girl spins and disappears as quickly as she showed up.
Okay, that is weir—
“Oh, and by the way.” She reappears suddenly. “I love your hair.”
This time, when she turns to go, I stop her. “Hey, hang on,” I say. “Do you even go to my school?”
It turns out she doesn’t, which means my hair and my minivan have achieved Small Town Infamy.
Wow
, I think,
I
have
an
honest-to-goodness
fan!
Who would’ve thought putting soft drink mix in my hair would put me and my turd-brown minivan on the A-list? After talking to my fan for a while, I give her the web address for
The
Blazing
Goddess
vs. Mark the Shark
.
“Check it out, you’ll like it,” I tell her. The girl looks wide-eyed, like she can’t wait to take a look at my pages. She’ll probably share them, and then Mark won’t be able to sucker innocent girls from her school either.
Not that I think he’s a total rapist or anything. It’s just that I would’ve appreciated a heads up before canoodling with him in the back of Superturd. Like, maybe seeing a comic drawn by one of his post-canoodling ex-blondes would’ve helped. So you can just see how important my work to raise Male Slut Awareness is to the community.
“Just sold out of your comic,” Quentin greets me at the store.
“That’s awesome.”
“No, your comic is awesome, and you need to work on your next installment.”
“Oh, yeah?” I scrunch my nose at him. “Who should the villain be?”
“How about a new ally?” He scrunches his nose back at me. “A certain geeky comic book guy?”
I grin happily. “I thought of you as Comic Book Guy before I knew your name!”
We’re interrupted by a man rapping on the glass counter with his keys. He’s wearing a gray business suit, and we didn’t notice him come in.
Suit Guy is giving off a vibe. He is not one of us.
Quentin shifts back into Comic Book Guy, turns to Suit Guy and gives a sneer. “Can I help you?”
“Actually, I believe I can help you,” says Suit Guy. He opens his briefcase with a flourish and produces a comic that I recognize the moment I see it. “I’ve been sitting on this for a long time, and I am now ready to part with it. That is,” he pulls it away as if we’d just lunged for it, “only
if
you make a decent offer.”
Comic Book Guy and I look at each other and burst out laughing.
After a full minute of laughter, I ask, “May I?” Quentin gestures toward the very confused-looking Suit Guy as if to say “have at him.”
“Well, sir,” I start with mock-politeness, “what you have there is a Superman number seventy-five from 1992, otherwise known as ‘Death of Superman.’” The man clutches the comic, still sealed in its original black polybag with the red S insignia dripping with blood.
“Yes,” he says, “And I’m not some stupid kid, so don’t think you can rip me off. I never opened it. Preserved its value. Thing must be worth a fortune by now.”
I glance at Quentin and smile evilly. “Problem is, those polybags were actually made with cheap, acidic plastic that by now has turned the comic inside an ugly brown. But that doesn’t really matter anyway, since so many folks invested in this publicity stunt and also never opened their bags. What you’re left with is a rather unremarkable item worth about twenty bucks, if you’re lucky.”
“Twenty bucks!” Suit Guy’s face goes red. “Nice try! It must be worth at least five hundred!”
At that, Quentin and I help ourselves to another fit of laughter. Finally he catches his breath enough to tell Suit Guy, “I wouldn’t even give you two bucks for that piece of shit issue. That stupid promotional gimmick pissed off a lot of people and wrecked the comic market. This store was lucky to keep its doors open through the nineties, thanks to that stunt. Lots of stores weren’t so fortunate.”
I want to hug Quentin, but instead I rest my hands on the counter and watch Suit Guy stammer and sputter. “Nice try,” he finally says as he turns to go. “Ripping me off. We’ll just see what it’s really worth.”
“Good luck,” Quentin says. “Now get the hell outta here and don’t come back.”
I. Love. It.
As Suit Guy storms off with his valueless treasure, I ask, “Should we have warned him that Superman came back to life?”
Quentin grins, shaking his head. “Probably the only comic that meathead ever owned, and he never even bothered opening the bag.”
By the time I step out of Sector Comics! I’ve managed to hold my own in a heated discussion over which Wolverine costume was the best. I actually got Quentin to agree that I made a strong case for the old brown and yellow, since it had a different feel to it that separated Wolvie from the other X-Men. Not to mention that it’s the suit he wore when he defeated the hell out of Apocalypse. When I’m with Quentin, I remind myself over and over to take things slow, but our debates are almost as titillating as having my breasts massaged. I’m still buzzing from my victory.
As I walk through the mall, I can see my future so clearly. Working at Sector Comics! with Quentin. Flashing my pink hair as I show customers my latest
Blazing
Goddess
comics and then laughing shyly as they rave about her awesomeness. Watching Mark fall into a depression for letting me get away. Once and for all losing my identity as eternal chauffeur to the gang of Soccer Cre—
“Oh my God, you guys are so embarrassing!”
I just walked up to the fountain in the center of the mall to find Josh, Ajay, Andrew, and Dylan busy dipping their hands in the water and flicking it on each other.
SPLASH!
Suddenly, one whole side of my shirt is dripping wet. I stand there eying them all as my wet top drools all over my jeans.
Josh holds his palms out toward me as he stammers about it being an accident. The rest of the guys all stare, waiting for me to explode.
“Oh, no, you did not.” Before I even think about it, I slam my cupped hand into the cold fountain water. I manage to create a wave that arches up and breaks over Josh’s head.
Dylan immediately adds to Josh’s soakedness by giving him a few extra swipes of water and then Ajay has to bring it to a new level by sticking his face in the fountain and spewing a stream directly into Dylan’s ear. Andrew is the last one to join in, and it takes me practically shoving a wall of water into his face to get him going. The next thing I know, all five of us are laughing and soaking each other along with half the marble tiles around the fountain.
Now, I know that people are always making jokes about mall security guards being cop wannabes, but let me tell you, it is a total matter of reality in small-town malls. The boys and I have had to defend our behavior with the mall cops on more than one occasion. Which is why I quickly shift from one of the hooligans playing in the fountain, to the mostly grown-up adult-type figure yelling at the other hooligans to haul ass outta the mall.
“I’m freezing!” Dylan complains as we drip our way across the mall parking lot. His glasses are streaked with water.
The other boys are all hugging their arms tight across their chests, but that doesn’t stop them from jumping all over Dylan’s manhood for complaining about being cold. He’s harangued with accusations of “wuss” and “poor wittle Dylan chilly?”
Josh is hunched over, walking next to me and calls over his shoulder, “Hey, Dylan! Do you need to borrow one of my sister’s tampons to plug up that vagina of yours?”
And I stop. Dead.
My legs go numb as my mind locks onto the something that has been bothering me. I picture the bag of tampons sitting unopened in my closet. I should’ve needed them by now.
What
the… ?
Why haven’t I needed them?
BAM! POW! SPLAT!
My life just got dropped into a vat of toxic waste.
“Blaze? You okay?” Josh turns back to see why I stopped so suddenly. I try to veil the open terror that must show on my face.