Archive of Our Own ^beta

Flypaper

N. - Sticky, poison-treated strips of paper used to catch and kill unwanted pests

Convention Hall

Huh. So… Even at a superhero convention, she just can't catch a break?

Of course she can't. Two minutes before the "Learning Is Fun!" panel is supposed to start, Kid Math yanks WordGirl from the restroom doorway. He really jerks her too, almost throwing her spine against the water fountains with all the super strength in his 16-year-old body. Her elbow slams the fake white bricks. "Hey!" she yelps. Huggy squeaks from his position on the younger hero's arm and smacks the back of his head. Gently. Sort of.

Kid Math doesn't hesitate. He grabs her shoulders and shakes her back and forth hard enough to rattle her eyes around in her sockets. "Hey," he blurts, STILL shaking her. The word explodes in a bright yellow burst in her head (courtesy of eternal synesthesia). "Have you seen Super Why? He's been AWOL all day. Huggy and I even flew around to check all the flypaper strips, but there's no sign of him. He's going to be late!"

Late is one of Kid Math's favorite words. It's spiky and violet in her brain like a train caboose at the end of the rainbow. If WordGirl could play a reel of all the times her friend has called her phone, kicked in a door, interrupted date night, or slammed his hands down on a counter to ramble on about how if they don't leave in "exactly 4.218 minutes" then there will be heck to answer for, she'd love to. Well… "Love" is a strong word. And actually, watching a montage of his fretting sounds decidedly awful. That's not the point.

"What?"

"No one can find Super Why," Kid Math repeats, fussing with the collar of her cape. His gloved hands are rough, unintentionally aggressive. He's six inches taller than her these days (and his curls add another six inches on top of that). His icy breath smells like chalky candy necklace powder. WordGirl slaps his fingers away. Kid Math floats back, looking queasy. His brows form a carat on his forehead. "Do you think he's hurt?"

"I think I need a few seconds of personal space," she mutters. It's almost too bad that she put her gloves back on after washing her hands. She'd like to flick a bit of water at him. It might give him goosebumps. He deserves it.

Kid Math backs even farther away. Huggy tacks on another statement, gesturing across the convention center with a wave of his arm. Apparently, they've both been looking for Super Why for the last 15 minutes. In addition to the flypaper strips, they've also checked the bug zapper by the main entrance and did a search on ground level for mouse traps. No sign of the tiny superhero hanging out around those hot party spots either. Which is for the best, obviously, but… What's she going to do about this?

Focus. Super Why is missing…

WordGirl presses one hand to her temple, still centering herself after that dizzy shaking spell. It's a bad day for headaches. The lights and noises of the convention center have been pretty brutal on her super-hearing so far. Both she and Kid Math have been checking in with each other every hour, making sure they're drinking water and taking regular quiet breaks outside. She had lunch with TJ at a pizza place down the street. WordGirl tries to pull up the memory of the big glass windows, brick interior, and the scent of tomato sauce and garlic powder in the air. The alfredo pizza with the spinach mixed into the sauce? It's amazing.

Okay. So… No one's sure where Super Why went? Not that unusual; the convention center's pretty crowded and he's easy to overlook. There are a thousand reasons why he could be running behind, from waiting in line for somebody's autograph to struggling to push the button on a water fountain. Being his size can't be easy. He also doesn't have super speed. Maybe it takes him a while to get from one place to another.

"He's late," Kid Math says, drawing close again. Another violet blossom blooms in her mind's eye, back to back with the green circle that represents he in her brain. He's late, he's late, he's late…

Right. Also, Super Why could totally be at risk of getting crushed under someone's foot, but WordGirl doesn't point that out. She, um, doesn't really know Super Why that well and he'd probably get offended if either of them imply he can't take care of himself even at age 18, but… it is pretty weird that nobody's seen him. A flicker of anxiety shoots up her throat. How well has their non-invincible, 3-inch-tall (friend? associate?) been doing two days into the superhero convention without a proper bodyguard?

But she doesn't bring that up. "Calm down, calm down," she says instead. She pries Kid Math's gloved fingers from her arms, firmly pushing his shaking hands down by his sides. He's got hot sweat droplets dripping down his forehead. Kid Math always smells like mangoes and apricots now. Apparently, that scent's natural for Hexagonian sweat after puberty. She's more jealous than she'll ever let on. It's one of the most unfair aspects of his home planet over hers, second only to the fact that Rex grew up next door to a real, actual unicorn ranch. Garbage. Absolute atrocity.

WordGirl lets go of his wrists, drawing in a calming breath. "Hey. Super Why knows not to get too close to the floor. He's probably just in the bathroom, like I was. Let's take a loop around."

Huggy nods, situating himself a bit more comfortably on Kid Math's back. "Okay," says Kid Math, but his shaky answer doesn't peel the frown from his face. That tentative word is sparking and blue. He twists his hands, wrinkling his gloves as though making tiny snowballs. "But I can't find him, and everyone's waiting for us onstage. We're going to be late."

There are worse fates than being late. For example, despite Huggy's search check, Super Why could be inches from touching another bug zapper. He gets way too much enjoyment out of coasting along their edges, playing with cruel fate and bright blue sparks. No joke, but yesterday her heart dropped like a guillotine every time she heard him whoop and spiral. He'll definitely get his hair fried one day if he keeps that up, and he's cheeky enough that it probably won't stop him.

But again, she doesn't say that. Kid Math will worry. He's a natural analyst; he can't help himself. His nerves have only frayed more as he's gotten older. His brain absorbs data and calculates everything, even when he doesn't want it to. His heart's thumping faster than a racehorse's. She can hear every vibration; heartbeats hit with a deep royal purple in her brain, underlying absolutely everything. Right now, he's staying grounded by focusing his energy on their schedule and the ticking clock, but if he starts overthinking all the dozens (if not hundreds) of ways that a 3-inch-tall person could hurt himself in the convention center, he'll veer into a spiral. He knows that. She knows that. They don't speak the words aloud. Kid Math takes careful breaths, moving his hands like ocean waves as he inhales and exhales.

WordGirl lifts her feet from the floor, rising in the air with a wispy flutter of air. The convention center is packed. More so today than yesterday. The sea of unrecognizable faces almost leaves her dizzy. One malfunctioning hover boot could easily send Super Why careening into someone's open mouth.

She sweeps her eyes from left to right. Tables coated in merch of heroes she's never even heard of fill the floor. Tote bags, drawstring backpacks, stickers, bobbleheads (her brother TJ's booth), enamel pins, and reusable water bottles are just a few of the notable offerings. A handful of superpowered individuals drift through the air, peering at wares from above, but not one of them is the dragonfly-sized boy she's looking for.

Hmm…

Noise bubbles like lava across the convention center. Everyone's swapping trading cards, trying to get advice on available merch, or asking for photo opportunities. The world's awash in rainbow from every conversation. Not that that's unusual for her. WordGirl tightens her focus closer to the stage. Her ears pick up the thump of fingertips testing microphones. Drat. Kid Math's right; they're due to start their panel any second now.

Kid Math's bouncing on his heels, jostling Huggy. He wrings his gloves so tightly, he's pulling them off. She can see a slit of dark skin peeking beneath his sleeve. WordGirl combs her fingers through her wild curls, trying to think through a plan. "How about this: You take a look inside the boys' bathroom. I'll fly through the halls in case I pick up his voice with my super-hearing."

"Okay," he says, biting his lip. It's funny, really; Kid Math may be taller than her now, but he tends to defer to her when they're both floating, as if looking up at her still feels more instinctive to him. His dark eyes gleam like black holes rimmed with stars. His eye mask crinkles. "But if he's not there, we have to start the panel without him. Everyone's waiting for us."

Not / Without / Waiting… All three of those words gleam indigo on his lips, just like late. They share that kind of finality. Her heart thunks a little higher in her chest, throwing darker blots of purple into the mix. "We'll find him. I'm sure he's been anticipating this just as much as we have."

Kid Math nods, a little reluctantly. He checks with one hand to ensure Captain Huggyface is still clinging to his back, then darts through the boys' restroom door. His comet trail slices after him, bright and blue. White glitter shimmers at his heels. WordGirl waits a few seconds longer in case her friend gets so overwhelmed by old phone numbers scribbled on the walls that he comes rushing out again. When he doesn't, she flies on.

For her part, WordGirl zooms across the convention center to find their panel's host. Or… MC? Either word works. The MC's name is Gwen, and after exchanging a few words, WordGirl feels much better zipping off in search of the missing superhero. If they cut the panel a few minutes short, so be it. Super Why could be in danger.

Now, where is he?

Attuning to his voice won't be easy. She's only heard Super Why speak a few times. He's good at projecting despite his small size, but if he's talking to the other Super Readers, he probably won't be that loud. WordGirl spirals up to the roof of the convention hall. To this day, flying still makes her stomach flop. It's weird and ethereal, sort of like swimming and sort of like standing on the roof of a building or houseboat that overlooks the ocean. From here, she'd have a long, long fall to the crowd below. She feels like a dragonfly lingering above a swamp, hunting for bugs.

Hanging among the ventilation ducts, she surveys row after row of tables and tries to piece together a plan of action. Blue and red vendor booths fill the conference hall. In a way, floating from this height brings back memories of overseeing Fair City from the sky. WordGirl chuckles, low in her throat. TJ and Violet are just as recognizable from the tops of their heads as they are from their facial features.

The noise level leaves her grateful that she's spent years building up her sensory overload tolerance. Lights, sounds, conversations, flashing book pages, haggling, racing footsteps, high-pitched voices, and excited heartbeats fight for every ounce of her attention below, and the cold airflow on her skin doesn't help with that. Synesthesia has its perks and cons. Mostly cons, honestly. All kinds of noises trigger it. Her world's always popping with sparks of color, but that very, very specific shade of electric purple she sees in her mind's eye when the city alarms go off has been helpful across the years. So… there's that.

Now, where is Super Why? WordGirl purses her lips. Even if he's out here in the middle of the con, that doesn't change the fact that he's only 3 inches tall. He could be anywhere, and vision magnification is not one of her superpowers. This'll be like picking a peanut out of a pinecone factory.

(That's a hyperbole. Pinecone factories aren't real.)

Maybe Super Why's with his friends? WordGirl skims her eyes across the convention again, this time searching for all the Super Readers as a group. Maybe they're snapping photos at the photo booth? Or all sharing a slice of super deluxe cake? Hmm…

Well, considering how many vendors are around here, one of the tables is probably her best bet. Violet's selling copies of her and Kid Math's graphic novel in a row of fellow artist booths: writers, comic artists, photographers, costume designers… you know the type. Even Chuck came out here to browse, 30 years old and still happily as nerdy as he's ever been. It's nice that he's making friends. WordGirl's still keeping an eye on him, just in case his morals swing a hard left at the sign of a high price tag. And Tobey's here too (somewhere) with a notebook and the intent to hit up as many gadget presentations as he can. Some 10-year-old kid in a lab coat didn't leave him alone all day yesterday, which he pretended to loathe but secretly seemed to love.

Let's see… who else?

Oh yeah. Chuck said Glen carpooled up here with him, Brent, and Ms. Question, but WordGirl hasn't seen him yet herself. And… Captain Tangent's here. He's always yakking on in one corner of her mind: a constant rainbow firework on her synesthesia. He's the pin-up calendar of conversation. He draws the ear, ever unavoidable. Then there's Charlie and… Charlie's shorter friend, whose name WordGirl always, always forgets despite her best intentions. It's something close to Fiver or Ferris. Actually, their presence makes sense; those two like spreading their business cards at places like this.

TJ and his bobbleheads are a row south from Violet, so close to each other that Violet can practically turn around to tap him on the shoulder. He's tucked between a booth selling quilts with superhero logos stitched on them and another selling ornaments and knickknacks for assorted holidays throughout the year. Honestly, the existence of all this merch rides a wave of grayscale, but WordGirl explicitly gave TJ permission (in writing) to profit from his bobbleheads. He's her little brother, after all. If something strange does happen and someone starts cracking down, at least he won't be dealing with an explosive fallout.

No sign of Super Why from up here. No tiny darting figures. No faint, high-pitched voices. Huh. Is it worth asking TJ or Violet if either of them has seen the Super Readers today? Kid Math and Huggy probably checked with them already while she was in the bathroom. WordGirl takes a deep breath, ready to fly down and scour the outer hallway, when a yell cracks across her conscious mind.

"WordGirl!"

That's Kid Math. Is he hurt now? It sounds like he's near the stage. WordGirl zings down and skids to a halt in front of her fellow superhero. Well, as much as you can skid in midair, anyway. "What's going on? Did you find him?"

Kid Math hovers onstage near their panel table, pulling at the skin of his cheeks. When she blurts the question, he lets go. A strained smile darts across his lips. His hands clasp before his chest. As WordGirl stares at him, huffing softly, he whispers, "We're running late…"

Seriously? She could grab him by the collar and shake him. Even Huggy, still clinging to Kid Math's back, covers his eyes with one hand and sinks behind the younger hero. His fur prickles in secondhand shame, like I am not with him…

Once, back when Kid Math was 8 (and even up until he was 12 or 13), WordGirl would have hooked him by the arm and dragged him out of frame, or at least signaled a request to talk to him in another room. And then she'd shake him. A little. But their panel has already drawn quite a crowd of curious onlookers. Dozens upon dozens of people are taking their seats, and they'll all see her if she berates him onstage like that. Not a good look right before they present. Better to wait until they have a private moment. WordGirl takes a deep breath.

"Well, that's easily fixed." So saying, she grabs Kid Math by the shoulders and thrusts him and Huggy to the front of the stage. "Stall!"

"Stall!?" he splutters. His hands fly out in front of him, gesturing to the rows of people in their folding chairs. "With what?"

Huggy squeaks too, but WordGirl stays firm. "Just use your words. You're 16; you can totally do this. You'll be fine!"

"But words are your thing!"

"I'm flying away," she calls back, saluting as she goes. Kid Math huffs loudly after her. Then, carrying Huggy, he flies above the crowd. As she zooms off, she hears him whipping up a game of counting children in the crowd and trying to guess their age to the day. Cheater. Sure, guessing birthdays is easy when your senses are feeding constant calculations to your brain… but hey, the kids will have fun.

The hall is significantly less crowded than the main convention area, but not empty. With her super speed, WordGirl takes a lap past assorted Employees Only doors, restrooms, and vending machines. She ends up at the double glass doors that lead outside. Maybe Super Why went out for a bit? Maybe across the street to that café Brent and Chuck were talking about last night?

She's already acting on borrowed time. WordGirl pushes her way through both sets of doors, squinting against the sunlight. It's blazing hot. That's June for you… No surprise that it gets this hot farther south along the coast than it does back home. She should have packed sunscreen. WordGirl pricks her ears. Maybe outside the convention center walls, she'll hear Super Why's voice a little better. Probably not, but it's worth a try.

No sign of him…

But she does hear someone else. Someone familiar. WordGirl circles behind the convention center to its parking lot and stops. Ah. That's… Well. Um.

This is certainly a thing.

Tobey's minorly refined his giant robot designs over the years. They still mirror his favorite classic shape and always feature heart designs to the left of their chests, but he regularly fiddles with their functions, weight distribution, intellect, and the smoothness of their movements. Sometimes he swaps out one type of metal for another. Occasionally he feeds them completely different base programs. But she'll always, always recognize Tobey's robots, no matter how much time she spends away from home.

Tobey's robot is sitting on a grassy patch near the parking lot's curb. It should probably get ticketed for being there, though WordGirl's not sure anyone's brave enough to write it up. Black plumes of smoke pour from a gash in one side of its head. And, uh… You know those water tubes that boats or jet skis drag behind them in the water? Yeah. There are six of those tied to various joints in its body, like its neck and elbows. Its limbs keep twitching. Its antenna is sparking. Tobey stands on its shoulder, flapping his lab coat at the smoking gash and spitting some of the closest words to swears she's ever heard him voice (and that's saying something). Oh boy…

WordGirl drifts closer, squinting hard. The robot's sleek chassis redirects the sunbeams right into her eyes. "What are you up to, Tobey?" she calls. "And are you in cosplay or is the lab coat just part of your everyday outfit now?"

Tobey swings around, whipping his arms like pinwheel blades. He nearly slips off the robot's massive shoulder. A small flying sphere darts up behind him, catching him before he slips. "WordGirl!?"

Same old Tobey, 20 years old now. Apart from the lab coat, not much about his looks has changed since he was 17. His blond hair's gotten curly, but only along the right side of his head (for whatever weird reason). It's a little more rumpled than she remembered… and a little more singed. His glasses are long gone, though. He switched to contacts when they were both 14. He takes his red and blue goggles everywhere now- usually pushed up in his hair until he wants to look at a blueprints or complex wiring up close, and apparently one of those times is now. Considering the damage, that makes sense. Tobey glances at the smoking robot, then back at WordGirl. His face whitens (which she never thought was possible). His palms fly up defensively. "I- I know how this looks, but I swear it wasn't me. That little muskrat keeps messing with my stuff!"

"Yikes," she says. She can't imagine what laid into his robot's "skull," but it looks like a deep cut, as if it came from a massive octopus with axe blades lining its arms. It'd be gruesome if the robot were alive. "Is there anything I can do? I have my cooling breath and I can touch burning metal without a problem."

Tobey shakes his head, stuffing his arms back into his lab coat sleeves. "No, no… The fire's already out. I've set the cooling mechanism to max; it'll just take a few moments to kick in. Eyes will keep tabs on the situation" (Eyes is his little flying sphere bot, unless he's changed things up in the last few years). "I'll check on it again after your panel. Wouldn't miss it for the world. How's college life treating you, by the way?"

"Uh, hold that thought," says WordGirl, lifting one finger. "I'm in a huge rush; we'll talk later. Have you seen Super Why? Our panel's starting and no one's been able to find him."

"Super Why? The bookshelf kid?" Tobey pushes the blue-red goggles into his hair and rubs his eyes with his fists. He leaves smears of soot all over his cheeks. Typical. It brings back memories of 6th, 7th, and 8th grade all at the same time. "Hm… I'm not sure if he was with them, but I did see the pig and the princess zipping past in their mini airplanes about five minutes ago. They looked like they were in a hurry. And they were both carrying quarters."

Quarters?

… Oh. Maybe she knows exactly where Super Why disappeared to. "Thanks, Tobey!" WordGirl calls to him. She speeds off in a blur of golden sparks.

Back inside the convention center, WordGirl flies down the hall at low-level super speed. Kid Math's voice drifts through a sea of noise. He sounds like he's pumping up the crowd, but she can hear the nerves tingling from every fiber of his body. It's a good thing one of their alien traits isn't the ability to leak physical waves of distress in the air. She doesn't need another layer of that seeping over her. No thanks.

Tiny voices bounce off the walls of a hallway inlet. WordGirl coasts around the corner, moving slowly and being careful not to swat her arms through the air or tread on the floor. Not without looking first. Three restroom doors are waiting for her there… along with two shiny, sparkling vending machines. One's full of chips and packaged snacks, its front transparent. One machine is for a specific brand of cola, its logo swooping with cursive letters.

She sees Wonder Red first. She's wearing her usual roller-skating attire, which seems incredibly dangerous considering that she's also trying to stand on one of the restroom doorknobs. Her palms stay flat against the wood, her feet skittering beneath her. WordGirl can't imagine how she even got up there in the first place. Her first instinct is to put out her hands to catch Wonder Red if she falls, but… she forces herself to hang back. Sure, all the Super Readers together can fit in the palm of her hand with wiggle room left over, but they're also experienced superheroes who can take care of themselves. They don't need her touching them.

Princess Presto's standing on top of the chip machine, one hand on her flying machine. She's pretty; from the photos WordGirl's seen of her over the years, she's always loved the way the princess does up her black hair. Her tiara gleams. She stands with her tongue sticking out one side of her mouth, her wand aimed down at Alpha Pig. Alpha Pig bobs up and down in a bubble of silver telekinesis near the vending machine's payment slot, hugging a quarter to his chest. It's almost bigger than he is. His whole body's wrapped around it, his eyes squeezed shut. Is he okay? He's slowly rotating head over heels, which Princess Presto seems to be fighting her hardest to stop. He looks a little green… metaphorically speaking. Yikes.

WordGirl triple-checks to confirm the floor is clear, then touches down on the tile. She lifts one hand to wave. "Hi, Super Readers. What's going on? Is there anything I can help with?"

As soon as she waves, she winces. Was waving a bad idea? She doesn't want to infantize them, but she also doesn't want the wind created by her waving hand to send them flying. Her heartbeat scuttles like a scarab. She pulls her hand down again.

Alpha Pig lets out a gurgling noise and cracks his eyelids open to slits. He lifts one hand to wave at her. The quarter almost slips from his arms. "Hi, WordGirl… We've got a super big problem on our hands."

Princess Presto hisses, stretching her arm a little farther. Her telekinesis beam wobbles. Instinctively, WordGirl moves closer to Alpha Pig. You know what? Even if she offends the Super Readers, she'll take offending them over standing idly by while they break their arms in a 4-foot fall to the tile floor. She holds her gloved palms underneath Alpha Pig, just in case. Wonder Red, now perched like a gargoyle on the doorknob, points at the vending machine's payment slot.

"That machine ate all our coins. Super Why went in there to take a look, but he got a little stuck. We're trying to get him out. Any ideas?"

In response, a weak knock knock knock sound echoes from the inside of the machine. Huh. So that's where he's been? WordGirl glances over. The machine's solid front doesn't offer a glimpse of the insides. None of this tones down the flickering beating of her heart. She looks at Alpha Pig again. "Is it okay if I touch you?"

He nods, still wrapped in a ball around his quarter. Princess Presto releases him from the levitation beam. He lands with a small smack in WordGirl's glove. There's not really a table or a great place for him down low, so she moves him to the top of the chip machine with the princess. Once he's standing on solid ground again, she floats back to the soda machine.

This isn't her first time dealing with this kind of problem, actually. Fair City's always had a weird relationship with its mice. Back in the day, Dr. Two-Brains used to train them, befriend them, or try bestowing them with super intelligence. To this day, she still runs across a few mice who wiggled inside this type of machine and weren't able to get back out. While not a problem big enough to drag her out of school, she's helped the little critters out any time she's found them. Let's see…

The Super Readers are breathing all around her, sending tiny puffs of pastel pink across her mind's eye. She knocks one knuckle on the machine's top. "Super Why? It's WordGirl. What's the situation in there?"

At first, nothing. She hears shifting limbs and clacking aluminum. Then a small voice calls out, "Uh, I think I'm okay! Our drink got stuck and I was just trying to get it out. We paid for it fairly. I think I've loosened it up now. Mostly. I'm sort of hanging upside-down? My leg's stuck."

Okay… Not a ton of information there. She leans her fingertips against the plastic front. "Are you able to take off your boots or kick the can loose so you can wiggle free?"

"My leg's stuck," Super Why repeats. She hears his palms batting the inside of the machine. "It's sort of on top of me… I'm on my back. My arm's caught and I can't reach my pockets."

Wonder Red pipes up next: "We were trying to create enough momentum from another dropping can to push him down the slide. That's what we got the quarters for."

"Uh-huh," says WordGirl. That sounds like a great way to crush their friend under a second soda can, thus making it even harder for him to free himself, but she doesn't say so. She leans her ear against the machine and taps her fingers in a few different points. It's not exactly echolocation, but thanks to her super-hearing, this gives her a pretty good idea of how much empty space she's working with and how much solid metal there is inside. "Are you in danger of getting crushed if I rattle the machine a bit?"

"Is that safe?"

"Don't worry about me." WordGirl glances back at the other Super Readers. "I'm going to give the machine a little shake. Stand back and never, ever try this at home. This thing's easily over 700 pounds and could crush you flat. I have super strength."

The trio nod, holding onto each other and/or to the doorknob (in Wonder Red's case). WordGirl flies above the vending machine, grips its edges, and gives it a hearty shake. Just one. Super Why grunts. She asks if he's okay, which he affirms. He still sounds nervous, so she tries to be a bit more gentle this time. After a few more shakes, her efforts are rewarded with a series of clunks. Tiny hero and cola can plunk down the delivery chute to the claim box. The Super Readers cheer. WordGirl drops down to push open the flap. Super Why lies sprawled on the floor of the box, blinking away any stars streaking his vision. Then he forces out a smile.

"I'm okay. Thanks, WordGirl."

Is he okay? She appraises him with a skeptic stare. Super Why's no taller than her index finger and only as wide as two of them. She can't even imagine getting through life at that size… He could burn himself on a candle flame or freeze himself silly underneath an ice cube tray. He's worn the same superhero costume for as long as she's known of his existence: green spandex from neck to ankles, a dark blue cape, and sneakers way too big for his feet. His logo is a blue book right in the center of his chest. Honestly? Relatable. His eye mask is a little crooked, but he tugs it back into place while she looks him over.

"Are you hurt?" she asks him next.

Super Why tests his foot, kicking the air a few times. "I don't think so… Maybe just a little sore. I was stuck under that can for a few minutes. I guess my leg fell asleep. Thanks for getting me out of there."

"You had me worried."

"Yeah, but it was worth the time and trouble. We were really thirsty and we keep getting soaked at the water fountain. Now we have a delicious drink we can all share." He sits up then, clapping both hands against the cola can. He winces when he puts weight on his leg. WordGirl raises her eyebrows at him. But apparently, it doesn't matter. He kicks his hover boots on. "Um… That took a lot longer than I thought. Hey, are we late for the panel? Can we get a lift?"

"Uh, sure." She pulls the cola can from the dispenser box and holds the flap open until Super Why flies out. "Anyone who wants to ride with me is welcome to. You guys are okay with super speed, right?"

The Panel

The panel both is and isn't everything she expected. Years ago, she'd attended a Pretty Princess convention with Violet and TJ (plus more than her fair share of WordGirl-oriented celebrations). She's spoken in public several times over the years, but mostly during speeches to school auditoriums or while receiving yet another key to the city. She's also given testimony in court, done a few interviews, cameoed in public broadcasting announcements, and played her part in a wide range of school presentations.

But this is her first ever convention panel. And as if she isn't nervous enough, she and Super Why are showing up noticeably late, in front of everyone who's crowded into the rows of folding chairs. Maybe Kid Math had a point about how uncomfortable it feels to be the last one to arrive at your own appointment. Disappointment haunts the air. Yikes.

Super Why rides on her shoulder, clinging to her cape. WordGirl deposits the other three Super Readers off in their designated platform chair, then flicks her eyes across the crowd. Most people seem to be dressed in comfy clothes like everyday civilians. There are a few costumed individuals mixed in. She vaguely recognizes a few kids in color-coordinated, animal-themed pajamas at the end of one row. One of the kids sitting beside them reminds her of Rex, with dark skin and oversized glasses (plus a stack of curls on his head), but WordGirl doesn't remember seeing him around the con. She definitely recognizes the scientist kid with the white streak in his black hair who sits next to them, because he was tailing Tobey around the convention all day yesterday.

Her gaze locks with a young teenager in the back who leans against a large cement pole with his arms folded. He's wearing a puffy jacket. A row of silent, alert dogs - dogs of all breeds, shapes, and sizes - sit beside him, beating their eager tails against the floor. One of them licks his muzzle, rising to all fours when WordGirl glances at him. She looks away.

Great. Not only am I speaking in front of everyday people, but the entire Paw Patrol is hanging on my every word. No pressure, right?

WordGirl takes her seat at the table, her skin as sticky as flypaper. She may as well be under scrutiny in a furnace. When she sits, her cape snags beneath her leg and tugs in a weird way that made it press her throat. Her breath hitches up. Everyone can see. Kid Math shoots her a questioning glance. WordGirl just gives a small shake of her head. It's fine. She's fine.

The introductions are made, naming all three of them as superheroes and identifying their current place of work (Fair City for her and Kid Math, Storybrook for Super Why… It sounds like a small town, wherever it is). The panel host (Gwen) places a corded microphone on the table. It hums at just the right frequency to stay unforgotten. It overlaps with the hum of Super Why's hover boots. The floor opens for questions, and WordGirl steels her nerves.

We're only here for 50 minutes. Then my weekend is basically free.

To do what? She's not sure yet. Probably studying for finals, though her generals have been easy this year and one of her finals is actually an essay. She brought a few different things to read. Her novels are waiting for her at the condo. Those might be nice, although she doesn't get to travel often. Since she, Huggy, and Kid Math came all this way, they might as well tour the city. Decisions, decisions.

The panel's early questions are basic, voiced by people who are either curious about how they ended up as superheroes or maybe digging for clues about their secret identities. "What's your favorite book?" is an easy one (Princess Triana; The Unabridged Guide to Discovering Statistics Through the Use of IBM SPSS Techniques; Jack and the Beanstalk- no bonus points for guessing who said each one, though WordGirl did wince at how embarrassed Super Why looked to be whispering his as the follow-up to Kid Math's). "How did you get into superhero work?" (Wanted to take matters into her own hands because if she could hear the irritating alarms and had super strength and flight anyway then she may as well use them; defeating villains sounded way more fun than orchard work; sort of fell into it thanks to good friends and a love for solving problems)…

A young boy with untied sneakers and a striped purple shirt, sitting in the front row, raises his hand next. The panel host brings the microphone over to him. The boy is coated in freckles, his blue eyes wobbly and enormous. He says, "What's your work schedule like?"

Hmm… That's a tricky one. "Crime rarely follows a set schedule," WordGirl points out, trying to stay upbeat and polite. She traces one finger along the table and exhales through her nose. "I work out regularly, and I still go out on patrol every now and then. Kid Math and Huggy are both doing a great job looking out for our city while I've been on and off this last year."

"Thank you," Kid Math says, bowing his head gracefully as he plucks the microphone like an apple from her hand. "I have to say, I don't know how WordGirl ever managed it all for years without me. It's not easy fighting crime as a young hero, especially if you don't have many people to talk to. I think Captain Huggyface deserves a huge round of applause for helping her out all the time- and now for helping me! He's a hero if ever I saw one."

Clapping breaks out from the audience, and Huggy (standing off to one side of the stage with another panel assistant) shrugs modestly and takes a bow. WordGirl smiles back at him, leaning her hand against her cheek. Huggy's always been restless, and his heart beats for justice just as much as hers does. Maybe even more. When there's crime to stop, he never drags his feet. He's getting older now, showing his age in a few graying speckles around his mouth and hairline, but you wouldn't really know it from the way he fights. He's still got it.

Leaving him in Kid Math's care while she turned her attention to college homework had been… well, one of the hardest good-byes she'd ever said in her life. It wasn't really good-bye. Just a See you later. She visits almost every weekend, but there are still times late at night when she doesn't hear Huggy's breathing. It doesn't sit right. She can't help but wonder if he's sleeping at that moment, fixing himself a midnight snack, or maybe out fighting crime.

Huggy knows even more about being a hero than I do. He was piloting spaceships before I was even born. Maybe next time we do a panel like this, I'll have to ask him if he'd like to sit up here with us. He might be classed as a sidekick, but he's the best sidekick Fair City's ever seen.

"Does it ever get exhausting?" asks a girl in a black tank top, sitting behind the boy in purple. What's she referring to? Life and superhero work in general?

"Oh, all the time," Super Why answers first. WordGirl can't help the shock that flits across her face. Oops! She tries to choke it back, but at least half the crowd likely saw it. Judging from the strangled note in Kid Math's throat, his thoughts had hit the same mental block as hers: This from the one superhero at this table who doesn't actually fight crime?

But Super Why launches into it, rambling on for a minute there about how emotionally draining it can be to carry the weight of break-ups and make-ups on his shoulders. WordGirl listens, nodding along, even though her mind is reeling. Kid Math reaches out an arm and taps the table lightly with his fingertip, indicating he wants to speak next, so she passes the microphone to him when Super Why is finished.

"Of course, it's physically draining to be a hero too," he says. "Fighting crime really motivates me to stay in shape, but you can't go into this line of work and not expect to walk away with bruises. Why, just the other day…"

From the corner of her eye, WordGirl sees Super Why frown. The tiny hero leans his hand against the condensation-spattered metal of his cola can, propping the other on his waist. Then his eyes flick up to meet hers. WordGirl blinks. She looks away. Okay. Maybe they've all got their personal challenges. Super Why may prefer talking through his feelings to punching bad guys, but it's not like being an entire town's confidant is a cakewalk either.

They bounce a few more questions back and forth between them. "What's your favorite part of being a superhero?" ("Oh, definitely the people!" Kid Math gushes, clasping his hands below his chin. "I love hearing how I've helped better the lives of real, actual people by being a really awesome superhero.") "Are there any special tools you use?" ("Well, I couldn't do anything without my why-writer, and my jet boots are a blessing.") "If you weren't a superhero, what careers do you think you'd be working in?" ("Let's skip that one," WordGirl cuts in, waving her hands back and forth. "You know… We've got to protect our secret identities and all.")

A blond man in a gray shirt, sitting near the front row, lifts his hand. One of the con workers brings over a microphone, and he asks - looking directly at WordGirl - "So, what's it like to be a woman in your field?"

What's it like to be a…?

WordGirl's eye twitches up. Both Kid Math and Super Why lean away from her, taking great interest in their fingertips. "Well, I love the work I do," she decides to say first. "Becoming a superhero was an easier decision than you may think. I have super strength and can fly, and I really wanted to help people. Even though it can be draining, I've never regretted that decision. Through my work, I've made a lot of great friends. I'm glad to be an inspiration to other people, whether they're older or younger than me. I think we can never have too many women role models to look up to."

The gray-shirted man looks like he wants to say something else, but doesn't lift his hand. Good. There's vinegar on her tongue. Maybe it's unfair, maybe he didn't mean any offense… but she's much more comfortable discussing that topic with someone who seems genuinely interested in her answer. Something about this guy just rubs her the wrong way… like he's trying to center her in the crosshairs of a firehose.

The crowd's microphone moves to another man, this one sprouting the first hairs of a black goatee. He asks, "What's it like being superheroes and working alongside your friends? Do you ever fight?"

Uhh… WordGirl glances at Kid Math, who glances right back at her with a bitten lip. Without speaking, she passes the microphone down to Super Why. He hovers a few inches closer to her, leaning in to speak.

"Well, I'm in a great position! Even when we were kids, my friends and I built our superhero team around the idea of open communication about our problems. We talk constantly. We always make time for each other and work everything out as a team."

Polite murmurs bounce around the crowd. Super Why floats back, indicating he's finished, and WordGirl carefully brings the mic back to her mouth.

"I think Kid Math and I get along pretty well. We're always busy and I'm grateful for his help. Back when I was a solo superhero, I could hardly catch a break. Dividing our workload took a lot of time and open conversations, and it wasn't always easy, but we've settled into a system that works well for us." She doesn't divulge the details. Word could get back to Fair City (Word likely is getting back to Fair City), and it's easier for both of them if certain villains don't try to schedule their crimes in specific times or places.

She gives the mic to Kid Math, who wraps the cord briefly around his fingertip. Then he says, "I feel like the luckiest hero in the world to work so closely with WordGirl. She's taught me so much about what it means to be a hero, and I don't think I'd be half the good role model I am now without her guidance. I'm learning more and more from her and Captain Huggyface every day. If there's one piece of advice I can give someone, it's to find a mentor you respect and learn as much from them as they're willing to share. While also giving them their personal space and privacy!"

"Are you two dating?" someone calls, not bothering to wait for a microphone. The question snaps WordGirl so off guard, she jolts. Kid Math almost drops the mic.

"N-no," he squeaks out, his tone bending upward like a question. His sweat glands kick in instantly- she can tell from the sudden scent of mangoes and apricots in the air. "I'm only 16…"

"My team and I get that all the time," Super Why mutters into his hand.

"Kid Math!" someone else shouts, jerking the attention away from the awkward question. "Tell us about your graphic novel!"

Kid Math's eyes light like fireworks. At once, he launches into his elevator pitch about the Kid Math book he and Violet have been working on for the last 2 to 3 years. He leads the way through the next few questions (Dealing with rejection, where do you get your ideas?) before Super Why politely reminds the crowd that this panel is for superheroes in general and that Kid Math and Violet will both be signing books at their table throughout the convention. WordGirl catches his eye and gives a small nod. She'd been wanting to say the same thing, but Super Why said it with a bit more… tact than she would have, which is exactly why she'd kept her mouth shut. Sheepishly, Kid Math ducks his head and hands the mic back over.

"Sorry," he whispers. "I love books with pictures in them."

Another hand shoots up in the crowd, this one attached to a redheaded woman in a yellow shirt. When the microphone is brought over, she asks, "How do you manage to juggle all your responsibilities?"

WordGirl has a good answer for that one. "There's this metaphor - I'm afraid I don't remember who created it; I'll have to look it up - but I often think of my responsibilities like I'm juggling balls. Some balls are rubber and some are glass. You just have to figure out which ones will bounce if you drop them and which ones will totally shatter instead. It's a balancing act."

"And more importantly," Kid Math cuts in, leaning over to her, "you have to keep track of which balls have been bouncing longer than others, and which ones you maybe don't need to juggle at all. Sometimes my arms are full of rubber balls and I can handle a few more with glass. And sometimes I'm the one with more glass, and sometimes neither of us can lift each other's load and all we can do is be there to help each other pick up the pieces. Life is all about teamwork, and I couldn't ask for a better associate to work with than WordGirl."

She mouths Thank you at him as she hands the microphone down to Super Why. Kid Math gives her a subtle thumbs up, the heel of his hand still resting on the table. His shining eyes say what his mouth can't right now: I couldn't do any of this without you.

"Yeah, teamwork's super important," says Super Why, shining like a magnifying glass focusing a sunbeam. His smile could fry an ant's thorax off. "My friends and I always check in with each other to make sure we're on the same page. We schedule ourselves game nights, parties, and free time, and if someone gets overloaded in work or isn't feeling up to it when the day comes, we see if there's anything we can do to help. Communication is huge for us. I'd never want anyone to feel like they weren't safe talking to me about whatever they're going through."

It's pretty basic advice. You could squish "good communication" into any hole, patch up just about any leak with it. But somehow, hearing it from a superhero's lips, the concept smacks her across the forehead.

'I'd never want anyone to feel like they weren't safe talking to me…'

It sounds so simple when he puts it that way. WordGirl leans back, gripping her elbows so tightly, she pulls at her gloves. Huggy's always been her primary confidant, ever since she was a little girl. And like most people in this city (probably), she's spilled plenty of thoughts to the Narrator, when he's around. He's not a physical person she can hug, but he's given her a lot of great advice, especially with her identity and dating life (or whether the back of her hair looks like a wreck, or if there's a noticeable bruise that would show on her skin through the straps of her swimsuit).

As she grew older, she began sharing most of her secrets with Violet too. All except the WordGirl one, which bubbled out in the worst possible non-consenting way. Her heart still stings from that sometimes… at how close she came to losing her best friend for good. Because Violet didn't have to forgive her.

But she did. Her best non-monkey friend in the world.

And I share a lot of my life with Kid Math these days. No one else really knows what it's like to balance my secret life as WordGirl with my civilian identity of Becky Botsford. Huggy gets it, but it's not really the same. He isn't human. Fair City sees him as a pet. He doesn't have to balance his life at home with schoolwork or a social life. He's just… Captain Huggyface. Her dearest, most loving and patient friend.

Super Why takes another question, sparking pink and orange in her mind's eye. WordGirl keeps the microphone tilted towards him, holding it since he can't. But as he talks, she finds herself gazing at the glasses arm hooked behind Kid Math's ear. Not really seeing. Not really focusing. Just… wondering about things. The secrets she's shared with him feel safe and secure. He's proven himself reliable across the years. And he feels comfortable sharing things with her… sort of.

Kid Math's hard to define that way. He swivels between being chatty and closing himself off with his own private thoughts. Even after eight years of working alongside him, he's shared very little about his past life on Planet Hexagon. She's heard bits and pieces of his schooling. His superhero struggles. His relationship with Rose. His exercise routine. His dating life. But how would he describe her communication skills as a coworker? Or as a friend? To be perfectly honest, she tends to hover over his shoulder a lot, not always sure when he wants her advice and when she's backseat superhero-ing. And their friendship? Well…

I guess that's something I can work on.

They hear a few more questions, mostly focused around their superpowers, love of reading, love for math, and things like that. They all try to push the "You can be a hero too," part, gently nudging kids to stay in school. The panel wraps up shortly after that, amidst a round of applause. Kid Math gets up to bow.

Finally. WordGirl feels the weight of the convention lift from her shoulders. She stretches her arms across the table, exhaling, and bends her neck. Phew…

It's over. She's free now. No more anxiety, no more fumbling awkwardly through her own muddled thoughts. No more second guessing herself. That cold, crisp anxiety in her heart melts away like snow in spring. What's next on the agenda? There are still a few more hours of convention to enjoy, so maybe she'll buy herself some merch and a few tasty treats. And visit TJ at the WordGirl bobblehead table.

Kid Math welcomes Huggy with open arms, then descends from the stage to shake hands and offer words of advice to a swarm of eager fans. Two of the pajama kids trip over themselves in their hurry to meet him. She should probably leave too… although she might make a quick escape to the restroom, then circle back to meet Kid Math and Violet later at their table. If she lingers here, she might get roped into autographs. Now's not the time. WordGirl lifts her head, getting up from her chair. Her legs feel stiffer than she'd like them to. Maybe she'll do a little yoga tonight. There's a nice patio at the condo. The view's not the best, showing mostly buildings and a bit of road if you crane your head to the left, but the sky's supposed to be pretty clear tonight. It might be nice weather out. She cracks her wrist absentmindedly, rotating it around and around.

"Hey," Super Why calls up to her. WordGirl turns back. The tiny teenager clings to his cola can like a spider monkey, peering over the top with bright blue eyes. He lifts one hand to wave. "It was nice to get to know you two a little better. I've always admired your work. And thanks for helping me out of the vending machine."

"Sure, no problem. Always happy to lend a hand."

Super Why scoots around the edge of the cola can, never breaking eye contact. "I won't keep you long, but I have to ask… How long have you and Kid Math known each other? Are you related? Or did you just stumble into the same city by pure coincidence?"

WordGirl… hesitates, glancing at the microphone between them. She clicks the switch to 'Off' with her thumb. Super Why follows her gaze, then tells her she doesn't have to say anything if she's uncomfortable; he'll respect her confidentiality.

"I don't mind sharing. I've known Kid Math for eight years. Almost nine. Our home planets are in the same solar system, and I guess fate just has a quirky sense of humor." She shrugs. "We were kids back then. Sharing the city is a lot easier now that we're older. I don't know how I'd be able to keep up my hero work this long without his and Huggy's help."

Super Why nods, his eyes a thoughtful tint of sapphire. His bare fingers squeak against the rim of the metal soda can. He adjusts his feet against the sides. "Well, it sounds like he's lucky to have a friend like you. That's really cool. And I'll definitely have to look into those Princess Triana books- I'm kind of a big fairytale nerd."

"Your insight on Jack and the Beanstalk and how it's a story about making the best of your situation, but always being prepared to leap on opportunities, was really fun too. It's been a long time since I've dug into some of the classics. And that last bit of advice you gave about communication among teammates hit me hard. It sounds like you're a really good friend and a great team leader. If you're ever in Fair City for some reason, don't hesitate to look us up. Huggy, Kid Math, and I would love to show you around."

He beams. "I'm glad to hear that; honest and open communication is really important to me. And thanks! … Well, I'll still be here at the convention this afternoon and tomorrow too. My friends and I want to check out basically everything before we go home. Feel free to say hi if you see us around."

"Will do," she says, waving at him. He waves back, clinging to the edge of his cola. He's still smiling when he looks away, reaching out to pull the straw closer to his lips.

She's in the process of leaving when two kids crowd around her, begging with their eyes for a moment of her time. One is the bespectacled boy who reminds her of Rex. The other is the girl in the red bird costume, complete with dangling decorative feathers.

"I'm Owlette," says the girl, holding a notebook near her chest. Her reddish brown eyes shine behind her feathered eye mask. She bounces on her toes. "Big fan! You've always been a huge inspiration to me, and it was so great listening to you on the panel. Could I… could I get your autograph? I, um… I wasn't sure if that's okay, but I wanted to ask."

She speaks in French. WordGirl obliges, holding out her hand for the notebook. Owlette squeals a bit as she hands it over (along with a sparkly golden pen). "I think I've heard of you," says WordGirl, speaking French too. She surveys the open notebook. The lined page she's looking at is covered in bullet points, notes, and underlined bits of what was said on the panel. For two seconds, WordGirl just… just stares at them. At her own spoken words, penned down with such love and care by such an eager fan. Then she blinks and brings the glitter pen to the page. "Les Pyjamasques, right?"

Owlette nods, still looking breathless. "From Tarabiscoville. Catboy, Gekko, and I protect our city from mischief-makers like the Nighttime Villains."

All by yourselves? Owlette looks like she's only 9 or 10, if that, and she's certain she's heard the name PJ Masks in years prior. "Wow," WordGirl says, writing out a little personalized message in French. "It's amazing to hear you're doing so much for your city at such a young age. How do you avoid burning out your energy?"

Owlette tips her head. "My energy? Well, I'm trying to eat healthier this year… I guess it's helping. I like protecting the city, though. It might be a lot of work, but it's also super fun."

WordGirl makes a mental note to keep tabs on Owlette and her friends. Just because they live in France, that doesn't mean she can't check in with them every now and then. Technology's come a long way in the last decade. It's easier than ever to keep in touch. Maybe she will. And maybe she won't, because school and crimefighting keeps her plenty busy, but… You never know. "Well, thanks for coming all the way out here! I'm glad you liked the panel."

"I loved it." Owlette hugs the notebook. "Thank you so much! I can't wait to show my friends back home! … Do you think Super Why would give me his autograph too?"

"Uh, I'm not sure. I guess you can ask him."

Owlette considers this, then climbs onto the stage. If she's not supposed to be there, Gwen will handle it. WordGirl turns her attention to the bespectacled boy who'd come forward with Owlette. He holds his hands in his pockets, smiling thinly.

"My name's Newton," he says. "I didn't bring anything for you to sign. I just thought it would be cool to see you. I work with the PJ Masks sometimes; our organization is called the Power Heroes. I love books and outer space, and I've been a fan for a while too." He studies his face, tongue in his cheek. He looks like he wants to say more, then shrugs and simply thanks her for being here today.

"Well, I'll be around tomorrow too," WordGirl offers. "I'll probably spend most of my time at Kid Math's table. If you find something you want me to autograph, you're welcome to swing by. It's nice to meet you." Brief pause. "You know, I almost didn't want to join the panel. I'm actually on break from most of my superhero duties for a few years while I'm in college, and it's… It's easy to feel like I've lost my relevance. Kid Math is Fair City's hero right now."

Newton tilts his head to one side. "I think you're both great heroes. I'm glad you spoke here so I could learn from you both. Hey, are you selling books here at the con?"

"Uh… No. Not today."

He nods, looking mildly disappointed. They exchange a few more words before he leaves to try and catch Kid Math. WordGirl tucks loose curls back inside her helmet. Deep breath. A few faces in the crowd are looking at her, weighing the odds of starting up a conversation with her. One of them is Tobey's tagalong, whose eyes are slits behind his big goggles. Yeah, no thanks. She needs a drink of water. And maybe she'll find Tobey or Chuck and ask how the convention's treating them so far.

She zips away before anyone else can pull her aside.

The Condo

She, Rex, Bob, Violet, and TJ rented a condo for four days this weekend. Becky hates leaving the city unprotected for so long, but it is nice to take a breath of seaside air far, far away from her superhero duties.

She leans against the back patio railing, squinting at the thin sliver of beach she can see between the other buildings. It's nice out here. Seagulls line the rooftops, squabbling over a stolen fish stick. Their voices sound blue and translucent, overlapping the color of water and sky. A tiny white butterfly twirls through the air like a leaf. It looks like a flower petal. Far to her right, pebbles click together as tromping feet make their way down the street towards the sand. She can hear stroller wheels whirl.

No alarms here. No one crying for help. And even if they did, I'm outside my jurisdiction. It's not my job right now.

Bob braces his elbows on the wood railing beside her, squeaking a question about her mood that she answers in a thin murmur. His feet don't touch the ground, but he wraps the railing in his long toes, perfectly content to cling and hang there while he holds himself up by his arms and sips pink lemonade through a silly straw.

I guess… it really is nice to get away from it all for a while.

She's lived along the coast her entire life, but it's been far too long since she let herself enjoy a guilt-free beach day. Making plans is difficult when you live a double life as a superhero. You're always dropping projects halfway through, canceling reservations, changing plans on friends, or stepping out of long and painful lines. School's difficult. She can't duck out of her classes in the middle of the day and she can't keep scraping by with last-minute turn-ins on her homework assignments. It is nice to have Kid Math around to carry part of the workload, but… the everyday grind never stops.

TJ's on the phone with Mom and Dad in the room he and Rex staked claim on. Becky can hear him prodding for permission to hang out with Johnson tomorrow evening instead of "reporting back to Becky for curfew." Honestly, fair. His words dance across the color spectrum, wavering mainly orange.

In the living room, Violet shuffles through books, keychains, and posters, absentmindedly watching a documentary about chocolate playing on TV. The word chocolate is rosy red in the eyes of her synesthesia, though cocoa is purple-pink. The sounds of rollers and knives, however, grate gray and silver on her nerves. Violet's socked foot taps against the tile in time with the way she hums.

Loudest of all is Rex, though he doesn't mean to be. He heats his takeout leftovers in the microwave. Every button bleep is a dull knife pressed flat against her skin. His food bubbles and crackles faintly as it rotates. Bob slurps his pink lemonade. The seagulls trill and circle overhead. And it's all so real, it's all so present and physical beneath her fingertips. Becky could grasp a fistful of it, pulling sound and color from the world around her the same way you drag a handful of water from the ocean. Sensations drip and ooze down her hand, wobbly and unfamiliar, and yet it feels so much like home.

I'm free.

Which is foreign, and therefore undesirable. Not inherently. It just sort of is. A little. Bob grunts, adjusting his grip on the vertical rails. Becky breathes the salt-stung air, pressing all her weight against the banister. Her eyes skip along the walking path below, searching for the best way from here to the sand.

I'd really like to be on that beach right now.

Her hands fidget with a sliver of wood on the railing. Maybe she should just… do it. Divebomb the waves. Try a little surfing. Curl her fingers and toes in damp, mucky sand. Prod at abandoned crab shells. Tear down the beach as fast as her legs can carry her without any super speed. Race seagulls through the sky.

Oh, don't tempt me, Earth… I don't need all the reminders about the life I could have had.

It's not like her life is over by any means. Not at all! She's only 19. But ever since she was a little girl, being a superhero has meant disrupting plans. It meant struggling to focus in school. Never truly clocking out of work. Only rarely snagging a day off the job. Even then, she sometimes had to dart out for at least a few minutes to ensure the city marched along without her. Not even college has set her free. Sure, Kid Math is great and all that, and he has Huggy to help him out now, but… Deep down, she's still wrapped in self-inflicted obligations like a moth in burning flypaper.

But we're not in Fair City right now.

This city is a rental. She's paying for the right to wear her costume for convention purposes, not for duty. Out here? … The world is actually pretty nice. The air hums with salt and the underlying stink of oysters, rotting wood, and fish scales. She can hear sea lions grunting as they pull themselves up algae-covered rocks. Their slick bodies squirm. It's actually funny how different the shore here smells compared to the more smoky pine scents that fill her head up north. But will the clam chowder still taste divine? There's the question.

I'm not just here for the convention. This is my vacation time, every minute of it. I deserve to turn my mind away from homework for a weekend. Let's go down to the beach.

That will take effort. Planning. Hmm… She'll need to change into her swimsuit. Dust off her flip-flops. Slather on sunscreen. Wear her wide-brimmed hat. Maybe not the hat; maybe just her headband. Becky exhales, wandering her eyes across the other condos and their tightly drawn curtains. Is the mental load worth it? She can also crawl into bed and try catching up on sleep.

The microwave bleeps and whistles. It stings her ears. Rex tugs the door open and touches his leftover noodles, then hisses in that oh-so-predictable way he does when he forgets super durability doesn't necessarily override super sensitive skin. Violet asks him if he's hurt, if he wants any Aloe vera. Rex denies her. Becky listens to the way he shuffles around the kitchen on bare toes, always silent, never muttering to himself. He searches for silverware in the drawer. Metal clicks and rattles.

We should just go down there. Let's do it.

"Rex?" she calls, turning back to look at him. She sort of flops against the railing like a towel. Her arm falls against Bob's neck. The glass door between them is tightly shut, but Rex glances up with a fork in his mouth. Sometimes super-hearing has its perks. He hops across the tile to reach her, dancing around the floor cracks he doesn't like stepping on, and slides the door open.

"Yes?"

"I'm thinking I might go down to the beach. Do you want to come?" Louder, "Violet?"

Violet surveys the graphic novels, bookmarks, and sharpies in front of her. "The beach is nice…"

"Aww." Rex sags forward, taking the fork from his mouth. He sticks out his lower lip. "I can't fly for 30 minutes after I eat. I'll get cramps."

"We can walk," she says, shrugging back. "I need to get changed and put sunscreen on anyway. Plus TJ's on the phone and we should let him know we're going."

"I want to see the tourist shops."

Bob snaps up his head, asking - begging - to browse some of the outdoor fruit stalls. He's looking forward to coconut and pineapple. "Are you sure?" Becky asks him. "We're not really in a tropical area. All that stuff is exaggerated for the sightseers."

Bob nods anyway, so Becky shrugs and stretches out the cricks in her arms. The crunchy groan they make feels amazing. "That sounds good. I'll see if I can get a word in with TJ. Let's head out when you're done eating. Just… be smart and don't leave your money in the open."

"I'm not worried," Rex says, pulling the door open a little wider for her. He tip-toes his way back over the tile cracks to the counter where he left his lo mein. "I'm a superhero. No one who steals from me will dare try that again. I'll tackle them into the sand and whack them with a beach ball."

"Right…"

"Tackling sounds dangerous," says Violet, straightening a stack of books. "I don't think you're supposed to run so near the water. You could fall and get really hurt."

Rex frowns. "Really? I think that's just for swimming pools because the tiles get slippery. Sand's much easier to run on."

"Maybe there's a better way to resolve a theft than tackling someone with your super strength. I think a volleyball match would be fun."

"Volleyball is fun," Rex agrees. He taps his fork against his leftovers. "But I still think that if someone steals from me, they should be prepared to face the consequences. I'll piledrive them into a sand castle. I won't break their ribs, by the way."

Violet hums, not speaking further on the matter. She returns to the books, which smell just as fresh as they are. Their pages haven't been crinkled even slightly by eager hands.

As Becky scoots past Rex, heading for the hallway that will lead her to TJ, she gives him the signature 'coworker double tap of affection.' It's sort of their thing. Sometimes she pats him on the head or elbows his ribs, but this time she pokes him twice in the ear. Rex grunts around the fork in his mouth, trying to push her off with his shoulder even though his hands are full. He manages to kick her twice in the ankle. Becky sticks her tongue at him and makes an exaggerated show of flouncing off. He calls her a princess. She swishes one hand beneath her bouncy hair.

Thankfully, getting ready doesn't take too long. And even while the sun is setting, the beach is warm and full of life. Maybe it's the Lexiconian in her. Her skin was made for soaking up heat. Becky stands for three minutes straight at the edge of the water, holding out her arms as the surf slurps and tugs at her ankles. Then she throws herself into it - every gritty, muck-caked bit of the evening - and lets it devour her whole.

There's something soothing in the way the crashing ocean stings her legs. It's raw, biting, and she can kick it without remorse. She can stomp her feet in the wet sand and doesn't even crack the sidewalk. The only evidence of her existence is a small footprint that the waves soon wash away. The salt-speckled wind tugs her curls loose from the soft fabric of her headband. It twirls into knots. But that's okay. Not many people are here tonight. It feels like they have this stretch of beach to themselves.

Violet stands a ways down the beach, snapping back to back photos of sleepy pelicans. Her flowery sundress looks gorgeous in the orange sunlight. Becky can hear crabs scuttling near her feet. TJ's still slathering himself up with globs of sunscreen. He put up a fit about it for a while, demanding to know the point when the sun is setting anyway, but the heat seems to have changed his mind. He looks like he could use a popsicle. He's so funny, balancing on one foot and slapping goop along his leg, his tongue sticking out to one side. It's so nice to see him again. She spends far too many of her college breaks with Kid Math and Huggy, and not nearly enough with family. She misses their late-night chats through the bedroom wall.

No one brought any plastic buckets or shovels or any other beach toys, but Rex has his weird boogie board / skateboard / hoverboard / surfboard adjustable tech thing. Bob and Becky scrape together a sand castle with their hands and watch Rex inch a little closer to the water every few minutes, pressing the board to his bare chest and gathering his courage to wade in (even though he dislikes open water and swims with all the grace of an untrained manatee). "You look like an assistant to an apprentice lifeguard!" Becky calls out to him, and he responds by charging into the surf with the metal board above his head. A huge wave catches him in the neck and topples him over, and she and Bob get a good chuckle as their friend washes up on the sand like beached driftwood. The board conks him on the head with the next slosh of water and tumbles end over end before stopping at TJ's feet. Rex raises one fist from the sand to shake in mock rage, and Becky and Bob practically fall over each other in their rush to cover him in sand.

It's so freeing out here, in a way the beach back home in Fair City never is. And never will be. Becky tilts back her head, spitting soggy hair from her mouth. The wind tries to slap it back into place. She ties it away with her headband. Out here, outside the convention and the invasive questions that bit her on the panel, she feels as free as the seagulls pecking at the rocks down the beach. Becky sits back on her knees, gazing out at the setting sun. Violet must love the sky tonight. It's a big orange splurt of paint, smeared with a brush that gives the clouds a blurred and fluffy look.

I wonder how far across the ocean I could fly before my strength gives out.

She already knows the answer. She's skimmed above the water several times before. It takes a lot of energy to fly at the speed of sound, so she often doesn't go as fast or as far as she used to as a kid. She likes watching leaping dolphins, silver tuna, and diving albatross. She's flown close enough to brush the barnacle-encrusted back of a blue whale with her hand.

There's so much beauty in the world… And here I am, 19 years old. I have super speed. I can travel almost anywhere I want. Am I living my fullest life?

Things are weird right now. She spends her days away, attending college. Has for a year. Rex (as Kid Math) is handling the brunt of crimefighting back home. He's doing pretty well. He's made a lot of friends, even with the villains. Becky doesn't even recognize two or three of the names he lists when they chat these days- newbies making names for themselves, connecting with Kid Math because they never met her.

But even with college on her plate, she's never quite far enough away that she can't speed back if he gets in over his head. Years and years ago, not long after Kid Math started helping her fight crime, they added communicators to their superhero belts to make it easier for one of them to signal the other for help. These days, she lowers her guard in class, focusing on her studies… but only enough to get by.

Removing herself from the city doesn't make her any less jumpy. Cutting contact cold turkey is probably the only thing that will. But she could never abandon Kid Math that way. She can't just… dump her workload on him. If she asks whether he can handle it, he'll say yes. Even if he can't.

I guess Super Why was right. I do need to think about communication. How would a good team leader approach this?

Becky stretches out in the sand, combing her fingers through the grains. The beach looks and feels like crushed up graham crackers. Just, you know… a little warmer. The scent of shellfish permeates the air. Becky burrows herself in the sand like a snake. It doesn't leave a comfortable position for her neck, but it's fun to dig holes sometime. The sky is breathtaking from this angle (Hyperbolically speaking). The clouds look so dark in their centers, tinted orange and white along their rims.

"Smile!" Violet calls, holding up her camera. Becky holds her hair aside, fighting the wind, and smiles in a lopsided way. Rex tries to sit up, spitting sand, only for TJ to place a teasing foot on his head and push him mostly down again. Bob chirps and forms a heart shape with his hands. Violet snaps the picture, giggling the whole time. The wind is cold and blustery. They're all shivering, clinging to the sand and to each other for all the warmth they can get.

After leaving the beach, they all browse silly tourist shops just like Rex and Bob wanted. And it is pretty fun. Every store's a little too cramped, the fruit displays are picked over or nonexistent this late in the day, and the shelves are full of knick-knacks, but the boys love it. TJ buys a spritzer bottle with a fan attached to it. In one random shop selling Chinese trinkets, Rex and Bob ooh and aah over carved zodiac animals (mostly monkeys) and Becky entertains herself by comparing Mandarin and English translations on different signs and pieces of fabric.

TJ insists they load up on corner store snacks. They tour a stuffy pottery gallery (Violet's favorite), then another trinket shop devoted to geodes and crystals in all shapes and sizes. "We should go to the aquarium," TJ says at one random point, staring at a poster, and Becky cuffs him lightly on the back of the head and reminds him that they have an aquarium back home. He huffs back, protesting the beach, and then they're both pushing and "Nyeh!"ing each other until Rex ruffles their hair in his palms and tells them he'll dunk their heads in the ocean if they keep this up much longer. Violet grabs their hands and suggests they all go out for gourmet ice cream. Rex contents himself with the cinnamon bread he bought at the café instead (lactose-intolerant and all), but Becky walks away from the scooping counter with two scoops of the most delicious mint ice cream cone she's ever tasted in her life.

And it's real. It's all so very real, like a glass ball in a china cabinet. Life inside a snow globe would feel like this. No responsibilities for anyone outside keeping tabs on TJ for Mom and Dad.

The last drops of sunlight fade away. Becky stands outside the ice cream shop while she waits for Bob and TJ, one foot flat to the earth… the toe of the other lightly pressed into a sidewalk crack. Beautiful cool, coastal air dances between her, Violet, and Rex… The latter leans against the window, wolfing down his cinnamon bread like a starving chipmunk.

Maybe I can make moments like these into glass balls I don't want to to drop… I'm TIRED of pushing away these fun weekend adventures for homework or superhero stress.

Becky tilts back her head. A drip of mint ice cream plips on her hand. The streetlamps are warm and rosy. Other than two fluffy clouds, the sky's so clear tonight. And despite the city lights, she can see a decent amount of stars. On an evening like this, it would be easy to lose herself and float away. She tastes every breath that leaves her lips

"Mars is out," Rex says through a mouthful of cinnamon bread. Becky doesn't look at him, but she can hear him stick a finger in his mouth, fishing crumbs from between his teeth. He steps closer, tall and swaggering. "You know, I've always wanted to get a nice telescope. Rose keeps telling me to stop twiddling my thumbs and pick one, but I'll never be satisfied." He pats Becky's shoulder twice in their ingrained double tap of affection way. "Anyway, when I was a kid, I used to look at Lexicon through the big lens at my Learning Facility. I always wanted to touch the Iron Star… Iron's such a beautiful metal, especially when it's oxidized. Staring at the red rocks of Mars always reminds me of when I was a kid and daydreaming about your home planet."

"Hm. You're still a kid, Rex."

"Hardly fair. I'm 102.1 years old in my home calendar. And in two weeks, I can start telling Earthlings I'm 17."

Becky rolls her eyes good-naturedly and doesn't push away his hand. Rex drums his fingers absently on her shoulder, sort of leaning his weight on her as he stares at the sky. She can feel one of his feet levitating. He's using her to stay grounded so he won't forget himself and start floating away in public, and she's all right with that. Rex says, "Lexicon's so pretty. We should go to Mars again."

"Nah, I don't think so. Space is cold."

"Huggy will come with me. And maybe I'll check up on how Tobey's robots are doing."

He's sweet as apple pie, innocent and logical as he's always been. Rex never tries to force her into adventures when she's already told him no. He just moves to the next person on his list, as elastic as a balloon. Becky chuckles.

"Becky?"

That's Violet's breathless voice. A light hand brushes across her other shoulder. Rex's fingers slip away. He steps aside. Becky turns, still holding her mint ice cream cone. Violet's misty blue eyes are soft, searching her face. Her mouth twitches in a faint smile. Her fingers squeeze Becky's upper arm.

"Wow…"

"Uh, what do you mean by 'Wow?'"

"You look so relaxed. I'm glad." Violet glances around the sidewalk and lowers her voice. "Even though you're on break from being WordGirl for a few years… college life keeps us both pretty busy and stressed. I think this is the first time I've truly seen you take off the 'superhero by proxy' mantle for a while."

Becky blinks. The wind blows her hair forward, tickling the feathery ends of her curls against her lips. Her eyes keep adjusting in and out of focus like binoculars.

I look… relaxed?

She does feel relaxed. A little. It's complicated. Her jurisdiction boundaries are always in a state of flux. She's protected the Earth from space debris, she's flown out to visit other planets, and occasionally she lent a hand in neighboring cities. Not often, but some weekends when she was bored or killing time before a Pretty Princess marathon or working through feelings she didn't want to confront, she'd take an extra long patrol outside of town to see if there was anything she could do to make the world a better place.

Not this time. She's way outside her usual boundary and this weekend has been blocked off for her alone. This city's probably the safest, most crime-free area on the planet right now, because only a total idiot would commit a crime while there's a superhero convention in town. Then again, I kept running into "my" villains for YEARS back home, even though they knew perfectly well that I would always be there to stop them…

She carries Violet's comment with her for the rest of the night, softly nibbling at her ice cream cone. She dabs her lips on a napkin printed with seashell patterns. She really can just melt away from her duties out here.

Back at the condo, Becky helps Bob rinse caked-on bits of sand and ice cream droplets from his fur while Rex takes a shower. Then they switch off, and Rex makes Huggy a grilled cheese using his cinnamon bread. Gross.

Rex only takes cold showers because he's insane (and/or because he grew up extremely close to their solar system's sun and cold water was a blessing), so before she turns the water on for herself and starts fogging up the mirror, Becky takes a minute to check her reflection. Her eyes still carry gray bags, but the wrinkles are a little fainter. Not too bad. Her Lexiconian healing abilities don't prevent acne from forming, but they do erase pockmarks and scars.

She should probably wipe her mascara off with the proper make-up removal pads. She just doesn't want to. Her tongue's a little brown and fuzzy from the chocolate chips in her ice cream, but her teeth look nice. Becky examines her nails. They're all uneven. The ones on her left hand are always a bit longer than her right, less likely to get chipped and broken if she punches robots or lifts heavy things. She has a blister on her pinky. Hm. She doesn't pay as much attention to her hands as she probably should (seeing as they're often gloved or smeared in graphite during the busy work week), but… maybe she'll see if Violet wants to get mani-pedis together next week. That might be fun.

Well, maybe the weekend after next. I should patrol with Rex and Huggy…

You know what? No. Next week. Violet said it herself: You look relaxed. Finals are right around the corner. She's earned a little leisure time after all her years of fighting supervillains.

I deserve to have fun.

She cranks up the shower heat. The water blasts her skin like stinging chunks of salt or hail. It feels like pixie teeth down her arms, but there's a weird sort of beauty in it. It helps her detox… even though she keeps checking to see if the water's ripped her skin.

She towels off, air dries for a few minutes, then dresses in her favorite constellation pajamas. When she steps into the kitchen, tying back her hair, Rex clucks his tongue and announces that he can't imagine how she can stand broiling herself like that. He's wearing his "chalkboard pajamas," like the nerd he is, which are covered in equations he could solve in his sleep. Becky just shrugs and goes off to tell Violet she can take her turn in the bathroom. TJ grunts from his place on the couch, one arm thrown across his eyes. The bottoms of his feet are caked with grains of sand, which he pretends he's trying to smear across Becky's arm as she scoots past him. She smacks his ankles with the back of her hand.

And this world is tangible. Every ticking second of it.

They end up watching two "scary" black and white movies back to back. TJ makes popcorn with way too much butter and salt, but it's still delicious. Rex spends the first movie on his belly, kicking his legs and talking loudly about each twist he expects the movie to have, but that's typical of him. You get used to it. Bob sits on Rex's back the way he used to sit on Becky's. And… you know what? That's okay. It doesn't sting her the way it used to. After all, Huggy is Kid Math's sidekick now. He digs his fingers into Rex's curls, squealing and yanking when the movie gets intense.

Becky shares a blanket with Violet, who has her sketchbook balanced in her lap. The movie's a little old-fashioned for her. Even without Rex's commentary, she can predict most of the twists and turns. The special effects are more than a little outdated, but it's fun. Honestly, she can't even remember the last time they all watched a movie together like this. Yesterday, they played card games until 1:30 in the morning.

It's fun, hanging out like Becky Botsford now and then.

Becky Botsford can do this all the time.

No one's up for games after nearly three hours worth of movie-watching. Violet fell asleep on Becky's shoulder, her legs curled underneath her. TJ rolls onto his back, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Becky wakes Violet and Rex lifts TJ off the floor by his foot until TJ screeches like a pterodactyl and tries to whack him with the plastic popcorn bowl. Bob ducks as a shower of popcorn kernels rain down on his head. The two boys scamper off, chasing each other in circles around the kitchen island. Becky just rolls her eyes.

Finding a two-bedroom rental with four separate beds this near the coast had been more annoying than Becky had expected, but… it's worth it. Hanging out with the gang is a lot of fun. Violet's bed is near the window, blanketed in a coral pink comforter. She snuggles up beneath her sheets and is out again like a snuffed candle. Typical. She scrunches her nose up when she sleeps, tucking her head against her shoulder like a hen upon her nest.

Becky stays up a little longer. For one thing, she'd never be able to sleep through the sounds of skidding feet and playful insults echoing through the condo. She rinses off her face at the bathroom sink, double checking for any smears of make-up she might have missed in her rushed attempt to shower. Out of bored curiosity, she looks for any wrinkles or early gray hairs. There aren't any, but who knows for how much longer? She's due for a skunk stripe any day now. She can tell.

She brushes her teeth, flosses, and the boys still aren't finished horsing around. Becky steps outside her room to shush them, pointing out that it's incredibly late and they still have another day at the con tomorrow. TJ apologizes and hurries off, calling dibs on the bathroom. He slams the door shut more loudly than Becky would like. Whatever. At least he's one step closer to bed. She leans a little farther past her doorframe to see Rex standing a foot away, rubbing one hand sheepishly behind his neck.

"Sorry. We were just having fun."

"Fun is fine. But human chronobiology is different than ours."

"I know… I'm sorry. I'll let Violet get her beauty sleep. She doesn't need it, though."

"Well, I do," she snips at him, which almost sends him sideways in laughter. Becky shakes her head and stretches out her hand. "Good night, Rex."

"Good night," he says, reaching out to her too. They lock their pinkies together, he pulling up and she pulling down the way they've always done. Their fingers pop apart. He turns to duck into his and TJ's room. And… three footfalls later, Becky stops him.

"Rex? Can I talk to you for a sec? It's about the panel."

He peers with one bespectacled eye around the edge of his doorframe. His bare toes curl against the floor. "Uh-oh… Did I say something wrong?"

"No, no! You were great! I really like what you said; it meant a lot to hear you speak so fondly of me in front of the crowd." Becky steps from her room and back into the hall. Rex stays where he is, hugging the frame and staring quietly back at her. "I just thought Super Why made some great points about communication. His words stuck to me like… like… like marshmallow flypaper. I wanted to ask how you're feeling about being Fair City's solo superhero while I'm away."

"I have Huggy," he says, absolutely not moving. His one visible eye searches her face. His fingers clench against the wall. "Am I doing okay?"

"I think you're doing great. You're an excellent superhero." She takes a seat on the arm of the sofa. "Is there anything I could be doing to help you out a little more?"

Rex blinks at her. He's a wild prairie horse searching for possible traps before he even considers nibbling a sugar cube from her hand. "I'm fine."

"I'm glad. I just want to be there for you. If you ever want to talk about superhero stuff, you can always bring it up with me. I'm incredibly grateful that you've been carrying the duties I used to worry about while I'm adjusting to college, but I don't want you to exhaust yourself at the expense of your education or personal life just because you're afraid to talk to me. I'm always here for you. We're a team, even while I'm on break."

He nods, still peering at her in that shy and skittish way he always does when he's bracing himself for a scolding. Even after 8 years, he still enters a conversation expecting criticism. And he's really bad at receiving compliments. It splinters her heart. Becky pushes herself off the sofa, walking over to him with her arms out for a hug. Puberty hit Rex big time in the height department, but he'll always be her little protégé deep down. Rex steps away from the door, sweeping her into a hug. Becky hears Bob tapping his foot lightly nearby as though reminding them not to "get into any trouble" while they're here tonight. Pfft. She rolls her eyes, then slides her arms away from Rex. She gives an awkward wave of good night.

"Becky?"

"What?"

Rex hovers on his toes, pressing his hands together. His eyes drop to the floor. "I'm sorry if I rushed you when we were getting to the panel. I just don't like being late. Time is calculated in numbers. I can feel every passing second ticking in my head."

"You did fine. Thanks for being my friend and hanging out with me. I had a really great time today. I'm glad we came out here for the weekend. Thanks for doing this. I know you were nervous about leaving the city."

"I've had fun too," he says. Becky waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. He just sort of… stands there. Because he's Rex, and he's infallibly awkward that way. Rex returns her little good night wave, then disappears inside his and TJ's bedroom. This time, Becky doesn't stop him.

She calls softly out to Bob, asking what his plans are for the night. He affirms he wants to watch "one more show" before bed and that he's fine on the sofa until he's ready to tuck himself in for the night. Okay… If he's sure. Becky spends a few seconds more just gazing at him… then finally turns away. I miss you, she thinks in his direction, but doesn't say so. Huggy is Kid Math's sidekick now. And it's prickly and painful to spend so many days apart from him… but at least she knows he loves her all the same.

It'll be nice when college is behind her. Or more specifically, it would be nice to skip forward a few years and feel more grounded in where she stands and where she's going. She'll have two degrees. Maybe she'll have a book ready for publication. She might even be married, or at least seriously dating (Probably). She's soaking up these years of living away, living alone, but she'd like to sink her fingers in Fair City again as soon as possible. That'll be nice. WordGirl will roam the skies again, Huggy in her arms again while they give Rex the chance to figure out where he wants to take his education.

Just a few more years of this. Then it's back to the daily grind… for the rest of my life.

Yeah. That'll be great.

Becky stares at the wall for a long, long time, listening to the soft rise and fall of Violet's breathing in the dark.

The Sandwich Shop

As fate would have it, she and Tobey pick the same sandwich shop across from the convention center to have lunch. The whole place smells like warm grilled cheese, soup, and cinnamon rolls. Plus soda syrup. Tobey smells like motor oil and fried sparkplugs, which is clear even from across the room. Is it a good or a bad sign if he's wearing rubber? Can he conduct electricity that way?

WordGirl lines up behind him and taps his shoulder twice. Tobey swings around, brows all scrunched. Then his eyes fly wide open. His brows shoot up behind the goggles crowning his hair. "WordGirl!"

Second verse, same as the first. She waves, not… not really sure how to act, come to think of it. Should she offer him a handshake? Or is that too formal, too cold? TJ hadn't wanted to join her today; he's taking a second crack at the pizza restaurant with the alfredo sauce. Is it weird to walk up behind Tobey like this and spark a conversation out of nowhere? "Hey," she decides to say, because it sounds non-threatening. "I popped in here to get lunch and just thought I'd say hi. Did you fix your robot?"

"Ol' Hopscotch? He'll be all right. He was due for an upgrade on some of those parts anyway; he's one of my pre-teen designs, you know. Not nearly perfected." Tobey's words tumble out of him like they're falling down a ladder. His arms fly forward. He looks like he's gesturing at a chipmunk or something clinging to her boot. "And how are you? I hardly see you anymore since you went away for university."

"Yeah, I only pop in every couple weekends right now to check how Kid Math and Huggy are faring in my absence. I'll be on duty again after I graduate." His eyes are probing. Hungry, and not only for sandwiches. He longs for information. Answers. Banter, maybe. She deflects the question with one of her own. "How's the convention?"

"Oh, marvelously informative… though I've hardly had two shakes to myself with Romeo on my coat tails. He's across the street right now messing with Hopscotch again. I've decided to let him at it. Anything he tries to pull, I'll reverse when the conference is over and he galivants off back to France. It's easier than arguing with him." He rolls his eyes. "I suppose it's exactly what I deserve for dressing like a mad scientist at a convention like this. I wouldn't say I'm mad at all, but won't deny it's more tempting every minute to fling him into the sun."

"Yeah, don't do that."

"I would never! He's a minor. But if he's still yapping at me 8 years from now, I can't promise I'll take responsibility for my actions." Tobey sighs, combing his fingers through the curls that line one side of his hair. "He envies me. I can't say I blame him."

This comment explodes in a shrieking cackle from across the street. A huge KRSSSHH! of metal slams against the ground. A car alarm starts blaring. WordGirl blinks. Tobey looks at her, an entire weekend of exhaustion dripping from the wrinkles beneath his eyes. He shakes his head very slightly.

"Don't. It's not worth it. I'll fix it when he leaves."

"If you say so…"

They order their sandwiches, then make the hesitant decision to find a booth together. WordGirl sits where she can keep watch over the café door, crossing one leg up on her knee. She opted for a sandwich dripping with tomatoes and lettuce. Tobey went for a grilled cheese. "Remind me what you're studying?" he prompts her. "English, I assume, but Kid Math said you're double majoring."

"That's right. I'm still mostly doing generals. I took a lot of AP and concurrent enrollment classes in high school." She has to stop herself from pointing out that he was in a few of those too. Tobey got wishy-washy in high school, torn between rushing on to university like the boy genius he wanted to be or holding himself back so he didn't squander his free time and lose his passion for robot building. Honestly she doesn't remember what year he graduated- only that he's out of university right now, living at home with his mom and dipping his hands in a little bit of everything. Tobey leapfrogs from one idea to the next- construction (with robots), demolition (with robots), space travel (with robots)… commitment's never been his strong suit. But his anger issues have toned down a little over the years. They flare up now and then, but he's gotten better. He doesn't fly into rampages anymore.

"I took some of those," he says, and launches into a recap of several classes they both attended. WordGirl listens politely, munching through her sandwich. When he winds down, she nudges the conversation in another direction.

"How's your mom, by the way? I heard she was in a car accident last week?"

"Nothing horrible, thank the Lord," Tobey says, fanning his collar at his neck. "She has a few bruises, but she wasn't at fault and insurance should cover most of it. I'm afraid I'm not up to date with all of the details, but she's quite shaken up. She didn't even want me driving all the way out here. That's why I took Hopscotch. No destroyed buildings on my way over, though. McCallister's honor."

The café door swings open. WordGirl glances up and Tobey turns around. Chuck wanders inside, laden down with swag bags and stickers. His fanny pack's covered in shiny enamel pins. Ms. Question trails behind him, holding her son's hand. He's like… four now? Five? Rex would know. For once in his life, Luther's sucking on his thumb instead of screaming, though WordGirl knows better than to keep her hopes up. There's a reason everyone in the Evil Villains Association back home keeps gifting that kid exclamation point-themed toys and clothing. Tobey's clearly thinking the same thing, because he leans a little farther over the table to murmur, "Is it too late to request our order to go?"

Brent files in last. While Chuck and Ms. Question peer at the menu, Brent's eyes sweep across the café. He sees her and Tobey sitting together and stops. Dead. Then his arms go out in a distant hug.

"WordGirl! Tobey! Well, this is enough of a recommendation for me. I can't wait to try the sandwiches they serve here."

Chuck lurches around, almost knocking the entire rack of chip bags to the floor. He's wearing his civilian glasses instead of his old goggles. WordGirl always smiles when she sees him dressed like that. It's just… one of those "little steps" that keeps him an arm's length away from devolving back into his villainous ways. Ms. Question's a bit more tactful in her movements, though less so in her words.

"Oh? Are we interrupting a lunch date?"

Tobey shakes his head, bringing his root beer glass near his lips. "Just catching up. We've fallen out of touch in recent years."

WordGirl nods, flicking one finger Tobey's way. "We just picked the same café to grab lunch. It's our first time meeting up again since I left for college."

Ms. Question looks mildly curious and slightly disappointed, her curled lip bouncing. She brings her fingertips to her chest and swings her gaze to Brent. "Do you remember our first day of getting to know each other?"

"Edible Edible's Sandwiches," he says fondly. He leans in to kiss his wife on the forehead. From the angle WordGirl's sitting at, Chuck is visible standing behind them. He stares in WordGirl's direction like he'd rather be anywhere else. WordGirl takes another bite of her sandwich, scraping for something else to ask Tobey while she has him here. Ah.

"Hey, how are things with you and Victoria? I've been hearing rumors and wasn't sure what to believe, but Kid Math said he saw you collaborating a while back. Is paradise in effect again?"

"We broke up a week after New Year's." Tobey doesn't sugarcoat it- just drops all those words like they're bowling balls on sheetrock. WordGirl blinks, to which he only shrugs. "We've been having discord for a while. Eventually, we realized we were only staying together for the publicity of it. I like to think we're still on good terms, but she's like flypaper glue pulling at my skin. I was invited to an advertisement project for the civic development business her family owns and that's where Kid Math saw us. She's dating a guy long-distance right now. From Massachusetts. He runs in her social circle; her parents approve of him more than they ever liked me. Do you know the heir of Gibble Enterprises?"

"I don't think so."

He laughs dryly and takes another slurp of root beer. "It's better that you don't. His name's Gordie. Victoria's parents deserve him."

"Sorry… I didn't mean to bring it up." One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Careful breath. "You two have been together for ages. That must be rough."

Tobey shrugs. "I've had a few months to myself. Frankly, I really don't care." (He does care. She can see it in his burning cheeks and evasive eyes.) "I spent too many years of my life trying to date her potential instead of dating who she really was. I'm as much at fault for the fissures between us as she is."

"That sounds very mature. I'm glad you're all right."

"Yes, well…" He cleans his grease-stained fingertips with his napkin. "I suppose it's… a bitter blow after so many years together. I'll miss her family's Christmas parties. I'll miss hanging out with Victor. I'll miss our riverside walks. I always used to… Well. Never mind. I suppose I've lost that too." Tobey makes a fluttering motion with his hand. "Don't get all personal with me now and then wiggle out of the question yourself. Tell me what the lovely WordGirl's been up to lately. Do you meet any interesting people outside the costume? It doesn't have to be a romantic venture. Simply entertaining."

Her nerves blossom like snowflakes spreading along a windshield. Her heart beats a little faster. Although Tobey specified that romance was optional, it's a doozy of a question regardless. She wants to kick him under the table for asking it, but he'll probably take that as a sign of flirting. That, she doesn't need. Especially not in front of Chuck, Brent, and Ms. Question, who've just set down their trays a few booths behind them. She hates not being able to keep an eye on them from this angle. Tobey seems to realize that. He lowers his root beer glass without taking another sip.

"They're not looking this way. I'll let you know if they so much as get up to grab extra napkins."

"Thanks… I almost didn't come out to this, you know?" She doesn't expand on that, and it's completely possible he doesn't know. It doesn't matter. She picks at the crust of her sandwich, exhaling into the curled fingers of her gloved hand. "I've had a few dates… Nothing's really come from it. Maybe I'm doing it wrong."

Tobey snorts. "Well, I highly doubt that… Why, you're WordGirl! When I was 11 or 12, I'd have given my left arm to go out with you, even only once."

His sentence slams into her in two separate punches:

- You're WordGirl.

- When I was 11.

"I wasn't- I wasn't WordGirl on those dates," she scrambles to explain. Her fingers move to tuck loose hair behind her ear. But she can't. Her nails tap against her helmet instead. Because her hair is locked away… locked behind the costume. The thought cinches her throat. "I went out on those dates as my- my secret identity."

"Oh," says Tobey, his cheeks flushing pink again. "That's, um… Well, I don't really have any advice for you on that front. Just the traditional mantra of 'be yourself.'"

"I guess."

Tobey's eyes comb her face again, looking more thoughtful now. Sort of squinted. "Um. I don't mean to pry, but… didn't Kid Math have a crush on you all throughout high school? … Would it be insensitive if I asked where you two stand on that? You're clearly, um… still comfortable working together. Now that Victoria and I have gone our separate ways, I'm open to advice on how to set aside feelings for professionalism in the workplace, if you're offering."

Oh, geez. WordGirl stares at the ice cubes in her water glass, wondering why on Earth she thought getting mixed up in a conversation about romance with Theodore Tobey McCallister III was ever a good idea.

Hm. What to say? What to say…

"Kid Math and I are sort of non-romantic partners, in that we make our decisions together and function as a team - and there's no way one of us would make plans to up and leave Fair City without talking long and hard about it with the other first - but it also doesn't bother me if he dates around."

"If he dates?" Tobey asks.

"It goes both ways," she backpedals. "He wouldn't mind me going out with someone either. It's just… You know how he is. He collects phone numbers." That's a loaded conversation in itself. Rex is… Rex. He likes numbers more than emotions, and if he likes a number enough, he'll remember to call the girl or guy he got it from. He's a walking PR disaster; she or Huggy always needs to be there to remind him whether he picked up a certain number in his Rex or his Kid Math identity. He's doxxed himself a dozen times over the years. Maybe more.

But Tobey laughs. "I remember. He even took me out one time. He flew me to the science museum three cities over. Of course, it never crossed my mind that it was a date until he dumped me on my doorstep and just sort of stared at me."

She had no idea. Rex certainly never passed that information on to her. She just… shrugs. "Yeah. He's like that. He can be a lot to handle, but once you get the way his mind works, he's really not so bad. He's just out of his element. This isn't the culture he grew up with. Earth life still feels almost fake to him, so he basically walks and talks like he's playing House."

"My gosh, that's exactly what he does. So where does that leave you in all of this?"

Mm. "He's been wanting to ask me out for ages. In the Hexagonian calendar, I'm still a minor like he is, but I keep telling him to wait until he's 18 so we won't get any weird looks. I don't know. Look, it's… it's complicated." She leans forward then, massaging her fingers around her forehead. Her thumb snags in a springy curl of hair. "I've always been a hopeless romantic and I can't imagine living my life without getting married someday. I know 19 is still young in the grand scheme of things, but it still stresses me out when I feel like… everyone around me is moving to take those next steps." I turn 20 at the end of July. Still young. Doesn't change the fact that adding a '2' to the front of my age makes me feel so much older than I used to be.

It's easy to get sucked into it, right? Let's say she wants to date someone 3 years before she marries. Then maybe be engaged for 8 months or more before the wedding. She isn't even in a relationship right now. She might be 25, 26 if she doesn't jump on that train.

And yet she stalls, lingering behind the yellow line painted across the station platform. Train after train rushes past her, blowing its whistle and spitting smoke. Because love is difficult. She doesn't know how to wrap it around her shoulders. It feels sometimes like there's a whole crowd of people boarding that train, brushing past her and bumping into her shoulders… and she just stands there, head down while the crowd flows like salmon upstream. Waiting for someone to extend a hand.

It's so, so wrong that she still daydreams sometimes that the hand reaching for her will come from Scoops. She can see him in that metaphor: fighting through the crowd for her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her close against his chest. It hurts. It really hurts that he's still, to this day, the only person she can imagine pressing her lips against. It's messed up, it's so stupid, because he's not on the market anymore… but Scoops is still an unconditioned stimulus she just hasn't unlearned. Understandable. You're supposed to replace one behavior with another. Eliminating cold turkey is agony.

She'll never tell Scoops any of this, of course. It's not worth the potential fallout. Words are dangerous, and speaking up is never worth the fallout between friends. And so she waits. And she waits and she waits and she waits.

How do you train yourself to fall in love again? It's not as though she hasn't tried. She's really putting herself out there, even when her heart is pounding and her legs are weak. Violet and Rose are there to nudge her in the right direction, and she's doing her absolute best. She's had two dozen dates in the past nine months alone. They just… don't know anything about her.

Tobey leans back against the cushy booth, exhaling through his nose. "I know what you mean by implying time is slipping through our fingers. I have two childhood friends getting married in August. I can't even imagine."

"Eugene and Emma?"

"Are those their names," he asks, feigning like he doesn't care. WordGirl stares past his ear, watching pedestrians and cars pass by outside the window. Romeo's rambling on about something, loudly addressing one of his robots (aptly named "Robot," apparently, which is French and English). She can hear wires sparking and wrenches twisting.

"I mean, I've had a couple dates since starting college, but never a serious relationship. I just haven't found a spark with anyone I've gone out with at university, so sometimes it's… easy to think about Kid Math staying part of my life forever. We live together half the year anyway. But there's a lot I need to think about. Like safety, publicity… And then, I don't want kids, he does… Or maybe I just never wanted kids with someone whose life and stability would be in danger because of me? When I used to envision my future, pregnancy and kids were just never an option on the table. They weren't even in the same household! I'm a superhero. But maybe I'd change my mind if I considered dating him seriously? He's done a good job overseeing the city without me. I could probably stomach maternity leave if kids are really that important to him. I haven't really thought about it. I don't know. Half the city thought we were dating for years when we were younger. We weren't. I've never liked him that way. It's just… Kid Math's always been the safe choice."

Because she's the one who waits and waits and waits. Because for all the definitions flowing like raindrops through her head, she still can't weave together the words she wants to say. Love is like art. Undefinable. Even for her.

Or… because I'm me? Is something wrong with me?

Tobey blinks in slow motion, like a cat who's been making biscuits with his paws. "I see."

He doesn't. He's just being polite. Why is she even dumping this on him? This is stupid. Sigh. WordGirl stretches her arms forward, fingers groping. One foot taps against the tile. "I don't know. It's not really on my mind right now. At least, that's what I keep telling myself. Right now, I just want to focus on university. I have a year and two weeks before Kid Math turns 18 anyway. That gives me time to think."

Tobey says nothing, and WordGirl mentally shakes herself for oversharing. Really? On Tobey, of all people? She remembers Chuck, Brent, and Ms. Question a heartbeat later. Cheeks burning, she swings her head around to see if they're looking. They aren't. Brent and Ms. Question are making lovey-dovey eyes at each other over their food, he telling a story while she listens in rapture. Chuck sits beside his brother, his legs turned sideways so they hang over the bench instead of under the table. Luther's already done gobbling his food, now trying to scramble over his uncle. Chuck holds him down, one hand on his back. His eyes are glazed over, staring through his glasses at nothing and everything.

You know, Chuck's 30 years old and he's not married either. And he's not old and gray. At least, she's never seen him that way before.

I guess I've still got time.

Tobey starts brushing his scraps together, including his napkins. He piles everything on his plate and brushes crumbs off his hands. WordGirl lifts her eyes from his sandwich crusts to his stoic, unreadable face. For years, it felt like everyone in Fair City knew of Tobey's crush on WordGirl. The news would probe her for details. Fans would bring it up. On rare occasions she even got yelled at, told she was being a… particular type of female dog for not agreeing to "just one date" with the guy, because "it couldn't hurt." "He's just hurting you because he likes you. We know you like him back; it's the only explanation for why you haven't broken his hand at the wrist." As if she's that vindictive.

It bothered her. She always tried to brush those comments off, venting to TJ, Violet, Scoops, Huggy, Rex, her parents, or whoever else was around about how furious their assumptions made her. Sometimes, no one but her ever knew the little ways that Tobey touched her, his fingertips gliding across her arm or back, his eyes glued like flypaper to her face. It gave her the creeps when they were kids. He left her feeling unsafe, which half the city didn't seem to believe. And even after he began to waffle on his villain status, playing more openly with the idea of "going good"… that creepy feeling never really left.

But for the first time in her life… she looks at him there, brushing off his hands across the table. At his dark blue eyes. At the calm, collected way he carries himself now that he's 20 instead of 12.

For the very first time… if he asks her out, she might not say 'No.'

Once again, Tobey proves adept at reading her mind. He answers with a non-answer. He drops his palms on the table and pushes himself up. "Well," he says, "I have to be going. Cornelius Robinson is hosting a break-out on time travel and I'd hate to miss that one. In theory, so long as I catch this one, I can catch everything else I'm missing at a later date."

She always does this. Drizzles herself in the "hopeless" part of "utterly hopeless romantic." WordGirl jerks her neck in a series of nods, getting up too. They throw out their trash, set their plates aside, and say good-bye to the Sandwich family. She gives Chuck a hug. He's doing so well for himself since he moved on from villainy; she's so proud of him. Maybe she'll throw together a "lunch date" with him soon too, just to catch up on how things are going in his life. She might ask him if he too feels like life is flying past him with his brother getting married. His nephew's growing up fast. WordGirl even gives Luther a smile and shakes his little fist. He blinks at her, sucking on his thumb with intent to morph it into permanent raisin skin. She and Tobey chuckle about it as he holds open the café door: Can you believe it? We made it through an entire lunch in his proximity and he didn't even scream! That's GOT to be a first.

"Oh, hang on," Tobey says, digging in his lab coat pockets. "Romeo's out there. Let me stick my translator in. Ah, here we go."

"Want me to stick around?" She owes him that much; she sort of left Romeo in his hands all day yesterday. And the day before. And this morning.

"Honestly, if you wouldn't mind. I have my suspicions about what he wants, but let me hear it from him first."

Outside, Tobey pulls his goggles over his eyes and shields them with one hand. WordGirl lifts hers too. Romeo's been busy. That much is obvious. Across the street, Tobey's giant robot is once again decked out in boating tubes. Six of them. The head is no longer smoking. Romeo's gloved hands, eyes, and wild black and white hair peer over the robot's shoulder. As soon as he sees them, he springs to his feet, throwing a finger in Tobey's direction.

"Mwahahahahaha! I've outfitted your pathetic creation with the speediest speed boosters known to mankind! Now nothing can stop me from joyriding all over town, spreading chaos, panic, and my own brand of Romeo-related mischief everywhere I go!"

"Is he allowed to do that?" WordGirl asks, still squinting up at him. "It's the middle of the day. I thought he only came out at night."

Tobey turns to WordGirl, stuffing his hands in his lab coat pockets. In complete deadpan, he says, "He wants me to take him sky tubing. I have seven minutes before I need to be at my break-out. If I rocket off with Hopscotch at full speed, would you do the honors of tailing us so you can catch this child when he goes flying off the back? I'm not going to make this easy for him."

He looks exhausted. WordGirl raises her brows at him. "I think I can help with that."

Romeo's still waiting for them, leaning one hand against the robot's massive head. With Tobey's consent, WordGirl hooks her arms around his chest and carries him to the robot's top. Romeo doesn't hesitate. He leaps down to one of the dangling tubes, cackling up a storm. He snags a handle mid-fall in a way that jerks his arm. Geez. Where is his seatbelt? Why did he go through the effort of hooking six different tubes to Hopscotch? Where did he get six boating tubes? And where are the cops who should definitely be handing this robot a parking ticket at this point? This entire set-up is insane. Romeo doesn't seem at all concerned that Tobey will just slice the rope and let him fall. Tobey touches down on Hopscotch's shoulder and gives the bot's cheek two taps with his palm. WordGirl swoops lower, lingering beneath Romeo. The kid's practically standing on the tube's back support cushion, twirling like a kite as it spins on its cord.

"So you want to play a game?" Tobey calls down, speaking English. Romeo punches the air.

"Un! Deux! Trois!"

Tobey shrugs. "Fair enough."

WordGirl doesn't see exactly what he does, but knowing Tobey, he probably had Hopscotch's remote in his lab coat pocket. The giant robot braces its hands against the grass and lifts to its feet. It positions itself just right, then blasts into the air. White smoke billows behind it, leaving WordGirl blinking. She zips higher to get a better look at what's going on. The robot swings forward, blasting horizontally across the city. The tubes along its body thrash in the sky, spinning like rotisseries set to max speed. Romeo's shriek splatters the air. His body flaps up and down, up and down, up and down like a worm on a fishing hook that's been hooked to a firework, and he clings to the tube for dear life.

Uh-oh.

Tobey takes a single divebomb towards the road and the momentum launches the kid over Hopscotch's head with a snap. Romeo's gloved fingers break loose from the tube handles. He goes sailing through the air, flipping head over heels. His screech flares into full-on panic. His arms flail. WordGirl darts ahead of him and catches him like a pile of laundry. He hits so hard, she drops about three feet in the sky. Romeo gasps like all the breath was knocked right out of him. It likely was. Then he droops in her arms, huffing and clutching his chest. His goggles are askew. He lost one of his rubber gloves. He stares blearily at the clouds above. A heartbeat passes in silence. Then he curls in a shaking ball, wrapping his arms and legs around her.

"I… I think I want to get down now."

"You know, this probably wouldn't happen if you didn't go around messing with robots that aren't yours."

He mumbles something she doesn't catch. WordGirl makes her way back to the convention center at a slow, even pace that won't jar the shaking kid. Tobey flies up to them on Hopscotch's back, smirking wide. He has the decency to look away before Romeo lifts his head, flapping his collar to fan his face. WordGirl stops above the sidewalk and lets the 10-year-old untangle himself from her arms. Romeo steps onto solid ground again. His legs are wobbly, but he brushes off his lab coat just to ensure everyone knows that this was all his own idea. He drops to his butt in the grass, then flops on his back with a small "Oof." His pupils are the size of graham cracker punctures. He stares into the sky, unmoving and unblinking.

He'll be okay. Tobey got at least that much whiplash from falling off his robots when he was a pre-teen. WordGirl gives the kid a small salute and spirals off to catch up with Tobey. She'll walk with him to his lecture. Maybe after that, she'll go wandering for cute merch to buy in the artist alley.

Convention Browsing

Huggy comes with her on her shopping adventure. It feels like old times to have her best friend riding hanging on her back, even if she's not on duty in the superhero world right now. Every booth is captivating, though it doesn't look like any are manned by actual superheroes (except the one Kid Math is sharing with Violet). That's too bad. She scans the tables for business cards, itching to network, but no such luck. Oh well.

It's not like there are many other heroes my age anyway. Or maybe there are. It's too bad there's not an alumni list for things like this.

Twenty minutes into her wandering, WordGirl crosses paths with Chuck again- this time without his brother, sister-in-law, and nephew. He smiles when he sees her and they chat for a while, roaming past the vendors together. Chuck does most of the talking. WordGirl nods, smiling through it all. It's just a fun convention to him. He's here for merch and to admire the cosplay. Nothing else.

She does work her courage up eventually to ask about his brother. Her heart flutters back and forth like a caged hummingbird, especially with Huggy as a witness, but it's… it's important. She just wants to know. So she stops waiting and waiting and waiting and she asks him, point blank: "So… With your brother married and like, busy being a dad now… do you ever feel like your friends and family are waiting for you to get married and have kids, too?"

Chuck blinks like an anglerfish from behind his glasses. She's in his spotlight, the secret of her Trojan horse blown wide open. "Gee, WordGirl… That's kind of a sudden question. Uh, what brought that on? Are there rumors going around about me or something like that?"

"No, no," she stammers, waving her hands back and forth. "It's just… Some old classmates of mine are getting married this year. It's been weighing on my mind a lot. I've never dated anyone seriously, you know, being a superhero and all… and I guess I feel like if I don't get on that, then all my friends will leave me behind. I might not see them anymore."

"Oh," he says. He fingers one of the enamel pins on his fanny pack: presumably the logo for a superhero she doesn't quite recognize. "I guess I know how that feels. A little. I don't really hang out with a lot of my old villain friends since I dropped out of EVA. I, uh, always knew stepping away from villainy would be hard to do. I suspected for a long time that they wouldn't try to keep in touch with me if I left. That's why I stayed as long as I did. I didn't have a social safety net outside the Evil Villains Association. I wasn't ready to lose everyone. But…"

He heaves his shoulders in a shrug. "I think you learn who your real friends are when you go through hard things like that. My situation was different, though. I was trying to cut ties with a lot of people who I knew were a bad influence on me. Maybe you should try talking to your friends. Just because they're getting married, it doesn't mean you have to end up low on their priority list. My brother Brent still hangs out with me all the time. We still do things together just the two of us, without Ms. Question and their kid."

"I guess that makes sense." Her words are vapid, though. She doesn't really know what she expected him to say. She can't think straight. His advice sounds good to the ear, but it won't stop the snowballing fear that she's only getting older, that she'll be that weird sweaty girl in class forever, that she's never good enough to be asked out on a date in person and she's doomed to make the first move forever… that no one will ever love her.

Huggy tightens his grip on her shoulder and side. WordGirl stares off down the row of vendors and their books, pins, and bags for sale. You know, as an alien… You'd think she'd be used to feeling so out of place in the world. But her heart keeps thunking, velvety purple in her mind.

"I hope you stop feeling sad," Chuck says, which is an incredibly Chuck thing to say. He pats her elbow gently, slightly knocking her sideways like she's a balloon. "I think you will. And hey, if you ever want to know what it's like having a kid… you can always babysit Luther."

"No thanks. I've, uh… got to protect my super-hearing." She rubs her fist across her eyes then, breathing through her teeth. "I'm not planning to have kids. But I still want to get married. I… I don't know. I wish I knew right now how drastically different my dating pools will be. I'd like to skip several years into the future."

Chuck rolls back on his heels and forward on his toes a few times, lost in thought. Then he nods. Slowly. "Well, marriage is a really big decision. Don't rush into it if you're not really in love. That's what I think, anyway. I know my mom's always got her fingers crossed that I'll settle down with a nice girl who likes sandwiches and has a good career and I'll give her grandchildren too, just like Brent, but…"

He pauses. Looks her over, toying with the words like he's not sure how much he wants to say. WordGirl tilts her head.

"I'm not in a hurry," is what he ends with, adjusting his glasses with care. "Choosing to marry someone is a really big deal. And I guess I drag my feet a bit because… dating - even if it's just one date - feels like a big deal to me too. I want to be sure I really like someone before I make any moves. It's a little… What's the word? Starts with an n?"

"Nerve-wracking. It means you feel anxious, particularly about an event in the immediate future."

He nods. "It's never been as easy for me as it was for Brent."

WordGirl stares at her boots for a moment, tapping the toes together and then the heels, over and over again. A small part of her wants to push back, protesting that Chuck just doesn't understand her. Of course he's okay with dragging his feet. He likes having his own space. He likes living alone. Why change that? But she actually wants a partner in her life. She wants to get married. Because cuddles. And gentle kisses. And true, fairytale love. She's probably supposed to chase after something more… but it's an uncomfortable thought to voice. Even in her own head.

She doesn't say any of that.

"If it feels right," Chuck says, starting to walk again, "it'll feel right. But I'm going at my own pace. Plus, I don't really think the world's in a rush to get another Luther. He's a little too loud, you know?"

"Yeah. I guess you're right."

They circle around the tables, eyeing books, paintings, posters, cosplay accessories, huge prints, t-shirt designs, water bottles, and so much more. Huggy delights in spinning colorful giveaway wheels and stocking up on bits of candy. Eventually, Chuck splits off because "He's running late to catch Brent before the next break-out," (though WordGirl notices he leaves out Ms. Question's name). They exchange waves of farewell.

Without Chuck to talk to, her passion for browsing the vendor booths dies off fast. She changes course, veering back to check on TJ and his bobbleheads. He's doing just fine. He's sold a decent number, although he admits that he "may have overestimated" how much stock he'd need. Which is fair. Not too many people know her outside the bubble around Fair City. Live and learn. TJ also got a little face painting done, apparently. He's now boasting her star logo on one cheek and Kid Math's equals sign on the other, not a care in the world.

She needs a drink, but she left her reusable water bottle at the condo. She moves instead to the hallway. Huggy chirps in her ear, asking for a snack, so WordGirl makes her way down the hall to the vending machines. She's not even halfway there when a soft thunking sounds jerks her forward. She rushes the rest of the way and almost slams straight into the machine she's looking for.

"Super Why? Are you stuck in there again?" That's concerning. None of the other Super Readers are here to witness his problem this time.

The thunking of a tiny fist against the plastic and metal dies away. "This thing hates my quarters."

"You really like playing with fire, don't you?"

"I can change my story any time!"

"Uh-huh." WordGirl grips the machine's top and shakes him out again. Super Why tumbles down the dispenser chute and hits the claim box with a whump, face down and chest first. As before, WordGirl flies down to hold open the flap for him. He stays sprawled for a few seconds, trying to get his bearings back, before lifting a shaky thumbs up to indicate he's fine. His tiny pen lays beside him, topped with a familiar red question mark. She remembers that from the newspaper photos.

"I see you opted for vanilla-flavored this time," she says, removing the can from the chute. She's stuck in an awkward position right now, sort of crouched for Super Why's benefit… and for Huggy's. He's standing on her spine, peering into the chip machine as he searches for a good snack. So she stays on her knees while Super Why pulls himself over the edge of the exit flap and swings his legs over one at a time. He's clearly winded, definitely dizzy. WordGirl darts out a hand to catch him as he tips over the edge. That's not a good sign. Either his hover boots aren't working or he's really out of it.

"I'm okay," Super Why insists again, sticking out another thumbs up. He rubs his palms across his eyes for a moment, then gives his head a shake. "Thanks for getting me out of there. I guess super-hearing really comes in handy."

"Well, you're lucky your voice is so soft, almost all your words register as pink. I saw it before I heard it."

"… What?"

He's holding one hand to his head, squinting up at her. Yikes. Maybe he took a heavier thud to the noggin than he really wants her to know. "Are you okay?" she asks again.

"I'm fine."

"All right… Well, I have synesthesia. Mine's pretty intense, so pretty much every sound I ever hear registers as a color in my brain. There are exceptions, and some things blend together in ways that would be tricky to explain out of context, but that's how it works for me. Your voice is so soft, most of your words register as monochrome in my brain."

Super Why nods, still massaging his temple. His eyes flick over her from head to toe. At least, as much as they can while she's crouched like this. "Is something wrong?" he asks. "You look… sad."

You're one to talk. I'm not the daredevil bashing my head around in there. WordGirl shrugs, saying nothing, and sets Super Why on the tile. She's still stuck as Huggy's footstool. It seems easier to use her hands to brace herself than to hold him. "Just thinking. Mostly about my future. My finals are coming up and I'm ready to be done with this semester."

"Oh, me too," he says, nodding like one of the bobbleheads on TJ's table. "Yeah, everyone told me university wouldn't tolerate me like middle and high school did, but I've actually found it easier in a lot of ways… I can come and go as I please and I won't get written up if I'm late. But the exams? Well… Those have never been my strong suit. I get better access to accommodations now than I used to, though. That helps."

WordGirl shoots him a sideways glance. The image of Super Why in university definitely wasn't one she'd mentally prepared for. How exactly does that work? Does he attend a school for people of his size, or… does he just show up for class in a regular university? The question claws at her in the same way Huggy's opposable toes are driving her nuts as they shift around and dig into her back. Super Why, oblivious to her stare, starts fiddling with the pull tab on the cola can. What, no waiting for his friends? Okay. Maybe this one's all for him.

"Hey," she says. Her fingers tighten in the tile grout. "I don't want to break your confidentiality or probe you about your secret identity or anything, so you don't have to answer if you don't want to… but what are you studying?"

Super Why laughs, throwing back his head so hard, the cola can sways. WordGirl blinks, not quite sure what he finds so funny, until he kicks on the hover boots and straightens out in the air. He's still grinning. He throws one arm out to the side. "No, no… We don't do that where I'm from. See, I don't really have a secret identity. Everyone back in Storybrook knows who I am. Remember, I live on a bookshelf full of fairytales. My villains aren't like yours. No one's out to get me; I've been dressing in costume ever since I was a kid."

"Oh," she says, not totally sure how to respond to that. Before she can put together anything else, Super Why puts out his hand to shake. He doesn't even wear gloves. That seems a little dangerous. His fingerprints could get on everything at a crime scene.

"My real name's Whyatt. I just started university last fall, actually. I'm undeclared right now, but I'm studying to be an English major. I want to be an editor. I've been talking to some of the older students and so far, I've learned you shouldn't stack too many English courses in one semester or you'll be reading literally 600 pages every night for homework. I get pretty absorbed in the books I read, so I'm not really cut out for that."

Ah.

He's still holding out his arm. Tentatively, WordGirl brings her hand to his. Both his palms together wouldn't be enough to cover even one of her fingernails. She does her best to give a firm handshake that won't make him feel like she thinks he's made of glass, but she's well aware of her super strength and, um… his notable lack of invulnerability.

"I'm an English major too," she tells him. "Well… I'm planning to double major, but I just keep going back and forth. Two of my friends are going into journalism. I haven't decided if that's my calling too. I'm more interested in creative writing."

Super Why whistles and withdraws his hand. He kicks his feet forward, floating back. "Double majoring sounds like a lot of work. That's so cool. I think I'm content chasing my lonely editing degree, but it sounds like there's a lot you want to do with your life. I gotta say, I really admire how you manage to balance your hero work and personal time."

"Well, I couldn't do it without Kid Math. He's a lifesaver. I'd crumple like a tissue if he ever moved away."

Huggy squeaks in agreement, sliding down from her back. The snack machine rattles, then starts dumping snack bags down the dispenser chute. WordGirl gets up, just glad to get off the floor. Super Why rises with her, using his hover boots to keep a short distance from her face.

"Oh yeah," he says. "I'd like to take a look inside his book. I mean, I've gotta check it for triggers first before I get eaten alive, but I've always loved picture books. Graphic novels are basically picture books for big kids." Idly, Super Why spins his pen around his fingers. It clicks and clicks and clacks. It sounds like a train spinning its wheels on rails that lead to freedom. "You're into creative writing too? Are you signing books this weekend?"

She looks away. Her blood flares with magma, but her skin stays cold. No pretty metaphor. Just plain old-fashioned cold. It's a good thing she's wearing gloves. Her nails bite through them to her palms, but at least this way, it's a lot less noticeable.

"Oh," he says. The word plunks through the air between them. It's the same deep, dark sapphire blue you'd find in the ocean depths before the world fades to black because it's distant. She does not respond. Her chest beats, gnawing at the emptiness around the place her heart should be.

And WordGirl does exactly what she always does, which is pluck out her soul, wring it by the throat, and stuff it back inside like she's throwing a casserole in the oven. Sometimes her soul needs a good whack against the wall, but it'll be "as good as new" by the time she's slapped the salt out of it. No one can ever know. They are not allowed to know. She'll wait and she'll wait and she'll wait, gouging gashes in her palms before she ever voices the faintest hint of disappointment. Because she can't just throw a tantrum over the cruel irony of the world.

Still, it sounds like a twisted alternate universe to check who's paying attention, or else it's just the coldhearted set-up to a joke. Kid Math? Publishing a novel before WordGirl herself has even gotten close to finishing a solid first draft? Kid Math can barely even read… though he's one heckuva marketing guru. With Violet's boundless creativity, Kid Math's storytelling, her mastery over drawing action scenes, and his passion for crunching numbers, they're a whirlwind of a team that can leave the Big Five publishers drooling. Which is fine.

Envy isn't a flattering color on anyone, but especially not on her. She's Fair City's beloved vocabulary-wielding superhero. And more importantly, she's Becky Botsford. Speaking up would break her best friends' hearts.

Don't read into this, by the way. It's fine! She's really happy for Rex and Violet! It's just…

… She waits and she waits and she waits.

Super Why bobs faintly up and down in front of her, studying her with something in his gaze that's almost like… pity. Which stings. WordGirl brings her mind back into focus. Super Why draws a circle in the air with the back of his pen. Then he says, "You've heard the phrase 'kill your darlings,' right?"

Where did that come from? WordGirl blinks at him. "Yes… It's good advice for eliminating superfluous words from a manuscript."

"Maybe there are superfluous things in your life that aren't making you happy."

Ow. The way he says it makes her skin crawl with invisible centipedes. Super Why's gaze flickers down to the pen in his hand. He tightens both fists around it. His voice stays even, though. Even, smooth, and careful on every word, like he's a hiker heading downhill fast and trying not to trip.

"You know, those 'rubber balls' you're juggling don't have to stay rubber. I know I can't see the full situation, but… if creative writing is important to you, then maybe you should think about making your writing projects into glass balls. At least for a while." He shrugs. "I hope that makes sense. I really liked that metaphor you gave at the panel. I think it'll be good help for evaluating my own life. And the other Super Readers liked it too. We've built our lives around this idea that we should always drop what we're doing at a moment's notice when one of us needs to talk. And for a long time, I didn't mind that! But… I think some work-life boundaries would probably be really good for us." A wry smile twists up his lips. "Even though I really, really like talking through my problems. I can't imagine going more than a few days without calling my friends."

"Well… Thank you for saying that. By the way, I looked it up last night. I think it's Bryan Dyson who first publicized that glass and rubber ball adage." When Super Why looks blank, she points at the logo and cursive brand name scrawled across the vending machine behind him. "He's a former CEO for a very popular drink company."

"Oh. That's cool." Super Why glances down at the cola can on the floor between them. "Maybe I can turn that into a visual cue. Now every time I see this kind of soda, I'll think of you and the panel. I'm glad we did it. I was nervous at first, especially this close to finals week, but it was fun. And I got to learn from you and Kid Math in person."

"Yeah. Kid Math's great."

"You both were," Super Why insists, floating down to his cola. He lands on the lid, clicking off the hover boots. "I had a great time. I'll have to check out his graphic novel. Actually, before you leave…"

It takes him a moment to find what he's looking for. He checks the tiny pockets in his costume and finally comes up with a folded scrap of paper. It looks like one of those waxy papers you end up with if you peel a sticker off them first. Super Why spins his pen between his fingers. He scrawls something on the paper, then switches the hover boots on again and floats closer to her face.

"Here. You might end up losing this, but if you don't… Call me when you publish something. I'd love to read a book written by WordGirl herself."

His phone number came out surprisingly clear for something written on such waxy paper. Not for the first time in her life, she feels a flare of jealousy for that cool question mark-tipped pen. WordGirl lifts the paper from his hands with care. Uh… Should she pocket this? Or will that smear the fresh ink? Maybe she'd better hold it.

It's sticky on her fingers. She stares. It's… it's flypaper. What, does he just carry that stuff around? Has he learned nothing from his death-defying spirals near the bug zapper? What is wrong with him?

"Yeah," she says, not… not really sure what the proper procedure is in this situation. Should she hand over her number too? What would she even say? Call me if you get an editing job and need a coming-of-age contemporary fantasy standalone with series potential? That approach won't go over well. She says, "I guess we'll see what happens. It'll be a few years, though. I don't even have an agent yet."

"Do you know Bruno the Kid?"

"Okay, no. No, no, no." She tries to pry her fingers from the flypaper, though it clings with fervor. "There's no way I'm cold-calling Bruno. Last time I ran into him, he asked me and Kid Math point blank what our track record was with villain deaths. He always stares through me like he's haunted by ghosts. I'm like, 95% sure he's killed someone. In fact, every time I see him, he's hanging out with Danny Phantom. That doesn't assuage my nerves."

"Yeah, probably… But he's a really good agent."

"I'll take your word for it. You know what… Here." WordGirl pats herself down too, checking for paper scraps. As luck would have it, she still has the receipt from when she went out to lunch with Tobey. She manages to loosen her fingers from the sticky flypaper long enough to pull it out. "Can I borrow your pen?"

Super Why looks at her, looks at his pen, then at her again. "Uh, this isn't a pen. It's my why-writer."

"… Can I borrow it?"

Reluctantly, he bobs closer to her hand and lays the pen on her fingertip. It's the size of a splinter. Pretty design, though. It definitely gives off editorial vibes. Trying to write with it is agony, but she pushes through it. She doesn't have anything else. She decides against revealing her secret identity, even though he shared his real name with her. The pen really is that much of a hassle, so it's not worth writing her name. Once she's done, she passes the receipt to him.

"Here's my number. Next time you get stuck in a vending machine, just call me."

"That's only happened twice," he sighs, taking back his why-writer as soon as she's done with it. The receipt's way too big for him. It's at least three times as long as his body. Maybe four times. WordGirl takes it back, rips off the edge where she wrote her number, and hands it back to him. It's still oversized for a 3-inch-tall superhero, but definitely more manageable. Super Why folds it up, clearly less concerned than she was about smearing the ink. He tucks it under his arm. "Thanks for being there for me, though. Like… seriously. I was kind of worried the other Super Readers wouldn't know where to find me."

"No problem."

"Super big problem. The answer is just 'Call WordGirl' every time." He taps two fingers to his head in a salute, drifting backwards. "It was great getting to know you better. And if you ever want to talk about anything - English major stuff, superhero stuff, things like that - you're always welcome to call. Anything that's a super big problem for you is a super big problem for me. Seriously, don't worry about infodumping on me. I can take it."

"Oh. Uh… Thanks. I'll have to think about that."

He waves good bye, then flies off at his puttering hover boot speed, like a mosquito weighed down by wet wings. WordGirl watches him go for a few seconds, then glances down at Huggy. He meets her eyes, saying nothing, and tears the wrapper off a granola bar.

"You okay here while I use the bathroom?"

He gives the affirmative, so WordGirl ducks inside the nearest restroom door. It's one of those single person rooms. That's good. She simply locks the main door.

She doesn't need the toilet (though she probably should take advantage of it while she's here). Instead, she floats over to the sink counter and sticks the bit of flypaper down on its edge. She stares at her reflection in the mirror for several long seconds. At her cracked lips. Her wrinkled nose. The gray bags beneath her eyes. Then… she pulls off her helmet and looks herself over again. Her hair tumbles out in a wave of bouncy curls.

"Kid Math and Captain Huggyface are Fair City's on-duty heroes," she says aloud, never breaking eye contact with her reflection. Her fingers squeeze around the helmet's rim. "They protect the people from physical harm. And because the people are safe, they don't have to live in fear. The world is scary and full of supervillains, but thanks to superheroes, everyday civilians get to enjoy their leisure time. And Becky Botsford, who's just a regular 19-year-old girl, has earned the right to enjoy herself too. My superhero duties are a rubber ball. Living a happy, healthy life with stable boundaries should be a glass one."

The words are… just words. They're not going to change anything unless she does something about her life. But it does help. A little.

I'll go back to superhero work one day. Because I love what I do, and making sure my family doesn't have to live in fear is worth all the hard work I put in.

But Fair City's safety isn't her responsibility right now. She's a university student double majoring in English and something unknown. Being the city's superhero is Kid Math's job. And he's doing phenomenal at it. She could maybe learn a thing or two from him. After all, not only have he and Huggy been protecting the city without her, but Kid Math even collaborated on a graphic novel with Violet… all while he's in high school. He even has time for dating. And the beach.

The mirror is streaked with smudges from fingerprints and a low-quality cleaner. WordGirl peers into it anyway, hugging the helmet to her chest.

I have the rest of my life to be WordGirl. Violet and Super Why are right. I don't need to micromanage what Rex is doing. Why not enjoy being Becky Botsford for a while? If I want to commit to double majoring, that gives me a few more years of college. I've focused on the city for the past ten years. I don't need to feel guilty if I focus on me.

And you know what? Maybe she'll wait in line for one of Kid Math's and Violet's signed graphic novels. They're her best friends, after all. She should support them instead of dancing around the topic, playing hard to get just because it tore her up inside to imagine Kid Math signing his name right in front of her. And maybe she'll browse the vendors again. Do a little shopping. What for? No idea, but that's part of the fun.

She starts to replace her helmet… then stops. She looks in the mirror again. She looks down at her scarlet costume. Hmm.

WordGirl's had two and a half days at the convention, you know. She spoke on a panel with Kid Math, signed autographs for Owlette, caught the terrified Romeo, ate lunch with Tobey, wandered around with Chuck, and chatted a bit with Super Why. That's a lot of juggling. Maybe it's time Becky Botsford took her turn out front. Why keep waiting and waiting and waiting if she doesn't have to?

She changes clothes, stuffs away the flypaper, and rejoins Huggy by the vending machines. She buys a vanilla-flavored cola with a bill instead of quarters. The machine drops a can without complaint, condensation coating it on every side. Impressive… and it tastes just as cool and delicious as it looks.

Thanks for reading!

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Tumblr post with fic links for those who like reblogging - HERE