Please Don't Tell My Parents I'm a Supervillain by Richard Roberts

trying to come up with a good presentation for The Machine for the science fair,” I explained.
    “You deserve an A. You deserve a college degree, or something,” Claire whispered.
    “I’m not going to get it. I’ve decided to go Ray’s route. I can still get an A in the class if I get a zero on the science fair, so I’m not going to let it get to me. It would just be nice to make it fit the scientific method rules so it can win. I don’t think I can do it, but I’m trying.” I shrugged, and it felt surprisingly casual.
    Ray inched a little closer along the table and hissed, “It’s wrong that you can’t get a good grade on this. If it doesn’t fit the rules, then the rules are wrong. A student got her super powers right here in school. The principal should have declared a holiday just to celebrate!”
    I shrugged again. “I don’t need the grades, but they keep me in school and I need the classes. I can make stuff way beyond anything I understand, but knowing theory seems to be the spark. That happened yesterday. I thought about reaction equilibriums, and my brain took off to make that shell.” That popped another thought into my head, and I segued. “Where did you get the glycerol? Mr. Zwelf doesn’t seem upset, like he’s got ingredients missing.”
    “We only took a few ounces from a gallon bottle. He doesn’t know it’s gone,” Claire mumbled. Yeah, we should keep our voices low about this.
    Still, I had to glance over at the chemicals closet. “You really stole it? Did he leave the door open?”
    Claire unsubtly leaned up to peek inside our crucible. She wasn’t going to answer, so Ray did. “Guess whose mother taught her to pick locks?” he whispered with considerable glee.
    I gaped. “No way!” Then I felt a little dumb, because I shouldn’t have been surprised.
    Claire still didn’t say anything. Quietly again, I asked, “Claire, is something wrong?” Had we upset her? She was usually proud of being The Minx’s daughter.
    “Nothing big. I’ll tell you later,” she murmured back. Ray scooted down to the other end of the table, and Claire took our crucible down with the tongs and set it on the scale. I took the hint. Mr. Zwelf was watching us.

    Later came. Specifically, Ray and I were waiting to pounce when Claire sat down with us at lunch.
    “Spill the beans, girl. What’s wrong?” I ordered.
    She did not spill the beans. She took them out of her lunchbox in a big covered bowl, and scooped us both out a portion. How can cafeteria chili be meat goo, but this stuff is red and packed with whole beans and has a smell as sharp as a knife?
    I refused to be distracted with good food. I kept giving Claire the eye until she confessed, “It’s not a big deal. It’s just annoying. I can’t be a cheerleader because I’m out of shape.”
    Ray must have physically bit his tongue not to say anything. I wanted to hug Claire and curse the world for her, but, “I have to admit, that almost sounds reasonable.”
    “Almost, except the only reason Sue and Helga are in shape is because they attend cheerleader practice.” Now she was letting it out, at least enough to scowl angrily at her chicken salad.
    “And it has nothing to do with Marcia wanting to be tyrant princess of her own little clique,” Ray observed, his tone sharp with sarcasm and disgust.
    “Maybe. Maybe not. Just let it drop. It’s like you and the science fair. Cheerleading seemed like fun, but it’s not important. My best friend got her super power. That’s important. My second best friend’s winning streak with his junk yard abomination is going to end tonight. That’s important. This is a nuisance.”
    “It’s still not fair,” Ray said for both of us.
    “Topic over,” Claire told us firmly. “New topic: What should Penny build to surprise her parents?”
    That did make for a more pleasant lunch between bites of chili even more tangy than it was hot.

    Not that we got to discuss it much. We had to eat, and