winning this game against me but just lost all her points. Then she holds up her hands, frustrated with both of us, and says, “If that’s what you want,” before storming off to find Alex.
“And that,” Mr. Fitz, our fourth-period history teacher, says, “is how the Daring Do-gooder defeated the evil Professor Doomsworth. With a matchbook and a pair of safety scissors.” He shoots the class a smug grin as he flips the book shut.
Everyone laughs. Ha ha ha. It’s so hilarious that a superhero defeated a supervillain. Even if that’s not how it happened. I don’t know what it is about superheroes that makes them all idiots, but I hope my supervillain genes cancel it out.
Not for the first time today, I raise my hand.
“Oh, my God, stop,” Amelia hisses next to me. She transferred into this class today after dropping some study hall for superpower practice that she said was a waste of time. Read: she didn’t like being reminded that she can’t fly. Especially since she told me last summer that she was basically going to become super fit once she could fly, since it’s an athletic power or something—I haven’t noticed, what with not using it—and that everyone would be jealous of her. And then she got a power that’s not only not athletic, but encourages laziness. Something I have pointed out to her many times over the past few weeks.
Her dyed black hair is frizzed out from walking with me in the rain this morning, and she tries to straighten it with her hands while she glances around at everyone, worried they might be judging her for knowing me. Which they probably are. “ Let it go .”
Mr. Fitz’s nostrils flare. He’s a short, balding man with bushy eyebrows and a mustache that looks like it’s trying to eat his nose. I’m pretty sure throwing his authority around in this class is his only joy in life. “Oh, look, everyone. It seems Mr. Locke has something to say. Again .”
Damn right, I do. “Well, for one thing,” I tell him, “Professor Doomsworth was one of the most brilliant supervillains of our time, but he wasn’t evil.” A stereotype I’m so sick of hearing. I swear, if one more superhero tries to tell me that supervillains are evil, I’m going to burn their house down.
A murmur runs through the class. A couple kids snicker.
Amelia covers her eyes with her hands. Like she might be regretting sitting next to me. Or siding with me this morning. Or ever having met me.
Yesterday, which Amelia wasn’t here for, was mostly an intro day. Mr. Fitz only hinted at all the really biased, hero-centric history lessons he’d be programming us with. But today he’s actually trying to tell us stuff that didn’t happen. Or at least that didn’t happen the way the book says.
“Well, Mr. Locke, supervillains are generally considered evil.” He shares another little laugh with the class at my expense. Like the fact that they’re dumb enough to put such a giant blanket statement on every supervillain who’s ever lived is some kind of hilarious in-joke.
I ignore him. “And Professor Doomsworth was never defeated. Especially not by some idiot with a couple of matches and some safety scissors. That’s just some story, probably made up by the Daring Do-gooder to impress people. Who I’ve never even heard of, by the way, so ...” I shrug. “He couldn’t have done anything that important. And everyone knows Professor Doomsworth went crazy. He was just, you know, too brilliant.”
“Too brilliant,” Mr. Fitz repeats, stunned.
“Yeah. So if he was defeated at all, it was by his own mind. He had a lot of phobias. The guy spent the last month of his life in a recliner. He never got up—not once. He thought the recliner was the only germ-free place in the universe.” Which probably wasn’t true, considering he spent a whole month in it. But that’s where the crazy comes in.
Mr. Fitz nods. “Driven to madness by his loss at the hands of the Daring Do-gooder.”
“Uh, no.” And
“And that,” Mr. Fitz, our fourth-period history teacher, says, “is how the Daring Do-gooder defeated the evil Professor Doomsworth. With a matchbook and a pair of safety scissors.” He shoots the class a smug grin as he flips the book shut.
Everyone laughs. Ha ha ha. It’s so hilarious that a superhero defeated a supervillain. Even if that’s not how it happened. I don’t know what it is about superheroes that makes them all idiots, but I hope my supervillain genes cancel it out.
Not for the first time today, I raise my hand.
“Oh, my God, stop,” Amelia hisses next to me. She transferred into this class today after dropping some study hall for superpower practice that she said was a waste of time. Read: she didn’t like being reminded that she can’t fly. Especially since she told me last summer that she was basically going to become super fit once she could fly, since it’s an athletic power or something—I haven’t noticed, what with not using it—and that everyone would be jealous of her. And then she got a power that’s not only not athletic, but encourages laziness. Something I have pointed out to her many times over the past few weeks.
Her dyed black hair is frizzed out from walking with me in the rain this morning, and she tries to straighten it with her hands while she glances around at everyone, worried they might be judging her for knowing me. Which they probably are. “ Let it go .”
Mr. Fitz’s nostrils flare. He’s a short, balding man with bushy eyebrows and a mustache that looks like it’s trying to eat his nose. I’m pretty sure throwing his authority around in this class is his only joy in life. “Oh, look, everyone. It seems Mr. Locke has something to say. Again .”
Damn right, I do. “Well, for one thing,” I tell him, “Professor Doomsworth was one of the most brilliant supervillains of our time, but he wasn’t evil.” A stereotype I’m so sick of hearing. I swear, if one more superhero tries to tell me that supervillains are evil, I’m going to burn their house down.
A murmur runs through the class. A couple kids snicker.
Amelia covers her eyes with her hands. Like she might be regretting sitting next to me. Or siding with me this morning. Or ever having met me.
Yesterday, which Amelia wasn’t here for, was mostly an intro day. Mr. Fitz only hinted at all the really biased, hero-centric history lessons he’d be programming us with. But today he’s actually trying to tell us stuff that didn’t happen. Or at least that didn’t happen the way the book says.
“Well, Mr. Locke, supervillains are generally considered evil.” He shares another little laugh with the class at my expense. Like the fact that they’re dumb enough to put such a giant blanket statement on every supervillain who’s ever lived is some kind of hilarious in-joke.
I ignore him. “And Professor Doomsworth was never defeated. Especially not by some idiot with a couple of matches and some safety scissors. That’s just some story, probably made up by the Daring Do-gooder to impress people. Who I’ve never even heard of, by the way, so ...” I shrug. “He couldn’t have done anything that important. And everyone knows Professor Doomsworth went crazy. He was just, you know, too brilliant.”
“Too brilliant,” Mr. Fitz repeats, stunned.
“Yeah. So if he was defeated at all, it was by his own mind. He had a lot of phobias. The guy spent the last month of his life in a recliner. He never got up—not once. He thought the recliner was the only germ-free place in the universe.” Which probably wasn’t true, considering he spent a whole month in it. But that’s where the crazy comes in.
Mr. Fitz nods. “Driven to madness by his loss at the hands of the Daring Do-gooder.”
“Uh, no.” And
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