The Return of Meteor Boy? Page 8

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “That’s the Meteor Boy Atomic Oven.”

  “I doubt many boys are going to want an oven,” I informed her. “Even if you slap the word Atomic on it.”

  “It’s not for boys,” she replied. “It’s for girls. In addition to the usual stuff we can always get boys to buy, the plan is to make Meteor Boy appealing to girls, too.”

  I amused myself by imagining Melonhead’s appeal to girls.

  “So what is Plasma Girl making in the oven?”

  “She thinks it’s a cake.”

  “What do you mean, she thinks it’s a cake?”

  “She put a cake into the oven,” the Bee Lady explained between puffs on an inhaler she had just pulled out of her purse, “but then the kid with the tongue replaced it with a Meteor Boy action figure.”

  We both turned to watch as Plasma Girl donned an oven mitt and opened the door. As she retrieved the melted hunk of plastic she began hollering.

  “Tadpole, you are such a creep!” Her voice blasted through the speakers.

  “That girl has spunk,” the Bee Lady said. “Is she your girlfriend?”

  “No!” I whipped my head around and glared at her before turning back to watch Plasma Girl battering Tadpole with what looked like a giant inflatable pickle. Unfortunately for him, he still had his tongue—and Meteor Boy Taffy—wrapped around his head. He could barely see to defend himself. But it was hard to feel sorry for him.

  “If these are the kinds of toys you’re going to produce, maybe you should also sell Meteor Boy life insurance,” I suggested jokingly.

  “Don’t laugh,” she replied. “We thought about it. But AI himself nixed it as being in bad taste.”

  “Well, that’s gotta be a first,” I replied.

  “It would have been a reminder that the original Meteor Boy needed it himself . . . thanks to AI’s failure to save him,” she pointed out.

  Then it dawned on me. The Bee Lady was one of the original members of the League of Ultimate Goodness. Maybe she had been there the day Meteor Boy vanished!

  “Had you already joined forces with the Amazing Indestructo at the time he was working with Meteor Boy?”

  “We had just merged our operation with his,” she responded. “The entire league was there that day.”

  A million questions about Meteor Boy instantly came to mind, but only one popped out of my mouth.

  “What was he like?”

  She was silent for a long time as we both watched Stench stroll over and, despite its weight, effortlessly pick up the coffee-table-sized prototype of the Meteor Launcher catapult.

  “He was a great kid,” the Bee Lady said with a kindly smile. “When I met him, I was sick and tired of fighting crime, but I didn’t know what else to do. I had all this pressure on me to keep at it, because of my status as the first female hero. But Meteor Boy made me realize that the decision was mine to make.”

  “And what was your decision?” I asked.

  “For over twenty years I had used my talent to make weapons and gadgets for the league,” she informed me with a wheeze, “but what I really wanted to create was toys. Meteor Boy convinced me that I could and even encouraged me to work for AI in his new company. Don’t get me wrong. AI is a jerk, but the job is great. If Meteor Boy was here, I’d tell him it was the best advice I’d ever gotten.

  “In fact, here’s the first toy I ever created,” she said, reaching up to a shelf and grabbing a small tube no more than ten inches long. “In honor of him, I called it the Meteor Collide-a-scope. Go ahead. Try it.”

  I brought the toy to my eye and looked into it. Flaming meteors appeared suspended in the air, and then I realized that the tube could be turned. As I did so, the meteors began hurtling toward me. Instinctively, I jerked my head back from the tube.

  “Now, that’s the reaction I was expecting!” The Bee Lady laughed and coughed simultaneously. “The only person who ever looked into it without flinching the first time was Meteor Boy. He sure was something.”

  We both paused and watched silently as Hal picked up a Meteor Boy Bowling Ball (with flames on it, nat-urally) and loaded it onto the catapult.

  “It’s fitting that you’re going to be playing the role.” She turned and smiled at me. “And I have one item in particular that you’re going to love.”

  Before I could correct her, she lifted an object that made me gasp. It was the size of a small, flat backpack, and it was made of a shiny, gold metal. It had a single strange opening at its base.

  “Like it?” She smiled. “It’s one of a kind.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, “but what is it?”

  “Well, if you’re going to play the part of Meteor Boy, we have to have a way to make you fly.”

  I was so stunned by what she was saying, I never even noticed as Stench cranked back the arm of the Meteor Launcher. He had it aimed safely away from anyone. But he didn’t account for a blinded Tadpole attempting to escape from Plasma Girl’s inflatable pickle. He ran smack into the Meteor Launcher, which lurched around until it was facing in the opposite direction—right at the one-way mirror that the Bee Lady and I were standing behind.

  “But I’m not going to play Meteor Boy,” I blurted out. “Melonhead is.”

  “No, no, no!” she said suddenly agitated. “That would be a disaster.”

  She began hacking like crazy and bent down to set the flying device on the floor while she caught her breath. It was lucky she had. Just then a bowling ball came crashing through the mirror. If she hadn’t been ducking, the bowling ball could very well have knocked her head off, but instead it whacked the beehive smack out of her beehive hairdo. I only had a second to look up and see Stench, Hal, and Plasma Girl looking wide-eyed at me through the broken mirror.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Stench started to protest, “it was the Meteor Launcher—”

  Normally, I would have rushed to help the Bee Lady, but unfortunately, it just wasn’t going to be possible. A swarm of bees had begun rising from the battered beehive which now lay on the floor. The Bee Lady was too dazed by her near decapitation to control the little buzzers. They were angry and looking for payback.

  “Umm, guys,” I said, my eyes focused on the gathering, buzzing cloud, “I’ve got a lot to tell you. But for now . . . RUN!”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Cake-tastrophe

  Luckily for Tadpole, Plasma Girl didn’t hold a grudge. As Stench, Hal, and I ran, she grabbed the still-blinded Tadpole by the arm and dragged him along with her. I knew we couldn’t wait for an elevator, so I headed for the fire exit. Of course it was locked.

  “Stench!” I hollered.

  With barely a grunt, he shoved his shoulder against the door, and I heard the bolt snap. This is one of the benefits of having the strongest kid in Superopolis on your team. He, Hal, and I rushed through the door and held it open until Plasma Girl pulled Tadpole in behind her. I slammed it shut just as the front wave of the bee attack reached us. I heard dozens of them smacking into the door.

  “Man,” I gasped in relief, “only AI would keep the fire escapes locked in his building. Someone ought to report him.”

  “Maybe he does it so that he can look like an even bigger hero saving everybody if there’s a fire,” Hal said. He was probably right.

  It was then that I noticed I was still holding the Bee Lady’s Meteor Collide-a-scope. Thanks to the bees, there was no going back to return it now.

  “Cld smbdy hlp me?” I heard Tadpole’s muffled voice. Between his tongue and the taffy there was littleof his actual head to be seen. I shoved the Collide-a-scope into the waistband of my jeans and, with my teammates, gathered around him to begin removing the taffy.

  “Crfl, tht’s my tng,” he screeched once or twice. In a remarkably short time, though, we had him disentangled and most of the taffy off his face. Then we began the walk down eight flights of stairs. Everyone was silent at first, and then Plasma Girl asked the question on all of their
minds.

  “So what happened up there? Did you win the part?”

  I told them the whole story of my audition and my very brief career as Meteor Boy as we walked down. When I told them how Melonhead ended up with the part, they all thought it was hysterical.

  “It serves AI right,” Tadpole said, laughing. “Nobody is going to buy any toys that he uses Melonhead to promote.”

  “Besides,” added Plasma Girl, “those toys are all retreads of other things. The Meteor Boy Atomic Oven is identical to the Whistlin’ Dixie Cow Patty Oven-on the-Range Range Oven—right down to the same ten watt baking light.”

  “That’s hardly atomic-level power,” Stench pointed out. “That catapult sure packs a wallop, though.”

  “Hey you guys.” I stopped and turned to Tadpole and Stench. “Why don’t you do a science fair project on how balls move through the air? You already demonstrated it with the Meteor Launcher back there.”

  “I don’t think they’ll allow us to throw bowling balls at people,” Stench said.

  “Not bowling balls,” I corrected. “Dodgeballs.”

  “That’s it,” Tadpole’s face lit up. “We’ll use science to beat that creep Cannonball and his team!”

  When we finally reached the bottom floor, we pushed open the fire door to emerge into the crisp fall afternoon. We walked back to our neighborhood, discussing the Meteor Boy mystery as well as our various science fair headaches. I spent a couple more hours with Stench and Tadpole, helping them to develop their project, and then headed for home as the sun began to sink toward the tops of the Carbunkle Mountains.

  I hadn’t even gotten to the door of my house before my mom came running out to meet me.

  “Don’t go inside, OB,” she warned. “Your father has gone crazy.”

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  “It’s the cakes . . . every kind of cake you can possibly imagine. And there are hundreds of them. He and his team have taken over the kitchen,” she said, her fingers on her temples.

  Like I said, my mom is the picture of cool, calm reason, except when it comes to my dad. He seems to have a unique ability to push her over the edge.

  “I have to go look,” I insisted, eager to see the level to which my father had taken this latest mania.

  “Oh, fine,” she said. “But don’t be long. Then you and I will take a walk to Dinky Dogs for dinner.”

  “Excellent!” I loved Dinky Dogs—but almost never got to go there for dinner.

  I ran around to the back door to see what was driving my mother out of her home. The answer was obvious. The New New Crusaders had not only taken over the kitchen but also the dining room, family room, and living room. Everywhere I looked I saw cakes: layer cakes on top of the refrigerator, ring cakes stacked up on the dining room table, sheet cakes spread out all over the living room sofa. There was even something that looked like a tiered wedding cake sitting on the toilet seat in the downstairs bathroom. And amid these cakes, my dad and his team were busy making more.

  The Levitator was mixing up cake batter in about a dozen mixers that he had going all at once. The fact that the batter was splattering all over the kitchen didn’t seem to be a concern. The Big Bouncer was busily pouring the batter into a wide array of cake pans that he had scattered all around him. He then handed them to my father who had a pan balanced on each of his hands, supplying just enough heat to bake the cakes quickly without burning them. From there they went to Windbag, who cooled them with a strong burst of his breath before frosting them.

  If you didn’t consider the enormous mess they were creating, it was a fairly impressive assembly-line setup.

  “Hey, OB,” the Levitator greeted me. “What do you think of our little operation?”

  “It’s something,” I answered. “Are you almost done?”

  “Just starting,” he replied as he turned a mixer on too high and chocolate batter splattered everywhere.

  “Yeah,” the Big Bouncer added, “today we’ve been doing cakes. Tomorrow is pie day. Monday is cupcakes. And Tuesday will be cookies. We haven’t decided what to make on Wednesday.”

  “Maybe you should think about using that as cleanup day,” I suggested helpfully.

  “Oh, I’m sure your mother won’t mind,” my dad piped up, proving how clueless he could be when it came to understanding women.

  “You might want to rethink that idea,” I offered. “I’d hate to lose my father so young.”

  This time he got it, as the realization crept across his face.

  “Maybe you’re right about Wednesday,” he admitted meekly. “By the way, where is Snowflake?” He looked around as if just noticing her absence.

  “Mom’s taking me to Dinky Dogs,” I said happily. “So although you’re driving her crazy, I’m at least getting a good meal out of the situation.”

  “Glad we could help.” Windbag gave me a wink.

  I still had the Meteor Collide-a-scope tucked in my waistband, so I ran up to my bedroom and set it on my nightstand next to the Oomphlifier and the rock I had found at school the other day. Then I hurtled down the steps and back out the door, where I found my mother taking deep, cleansing breaths as she waited.

  “Ready, Mom?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she answered, her calm now restored. “Let’s take a walk.”

  It was a pleasant early evening, the sun just beginning to set, as we walked the six blocks to Dinky Dogs. But what should have been an enjoyable outing was ruined the second we walked into the restaurant. Don’t ask me why I was even surprised. Plastered all over the windows and walls were signs announcing that starting next Friday, all Dinky Dog Dinky Meals would come with a free Meteor Boy figure. COLLECT ALL SIX! the posters screamed.

  “Do you see this?” I asked my mom in disgust. “This is what AI is up to now.”

  Thinking about AI again almost ruined my appetite—but I still ordered a Dinky Dozen for my dinner. In case you’re wondering, Dinky Dogs are tiny hot dogs, each in their own miniature bun. My mom ordered a Slinky Dinky Salad. As we sat down to eat our meals, she saw that my mind had drifted off again.

  “Okay, OB,” she finally asked, “what are you thinking about now?”

  “I’ve just thought of something strange,” I said, as I popped an entire Dinky Dog in my mouth. “Who are Meteor Boy’s parents?”

  LI’L HERO’S HANDBOOK

  PLACES

  DINKY DOGS

  With over twenty locations scattered throughout Superopolis, Dinky Dogs is the city’s most successful fast-food operation. The ingredients that go into their hot dogs are a closely guarded secret. The fact that they’re triple-ground ensures that they remain a mystery. Perhaps the chain’s greatest success has been its ability to sell ever smaller hot dogs without ever decreasing their prices.

  My mom’s face went blank as she poured a packet of dressing onto her salad. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Now that I think about it, no one ever came forward and reported him missing.”

  “Doesn’t that seem strange?” I asked.

  “It does,” my mother agreed. “But what do you suppose it means?”

  “It makes me wonder if Meteor Boy really disappeared after all.”

  “How could that possibly be?” my mom asked. “Where has he been all this time?”

  “Think about it,” I said. “Why would his parents never have come forward? Maybe they never really lost him.”

  “But why keep his existence a secret?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted with a shrug as I stuffed the last Dinky Dog in my mouth. “Maybe there was a reason to keep him hidden. Maybe he would be in danger if people knew he was still alive. Or—or maybe I’m just grasping at straws.” I shook my head in frustration.

  “So seek out the truth,” she said matter-of-factly as she took one more bite of her salad and then set it aside.

  I stood up from the table, lost in thought as my mom emptied our tray in the nearest garbage can. I barely noticed as she guided me from the
restaurant with a hand on my shoulder. We walked several blocks in silence.

  “If Meteor Boy survived,” I finally spoke up just a block from home, “and went into hiding, he’d be an adult now, wouldn’t he?”

  “I suppose he would,” she said. “That doesn’t exactly narrow things down, but I have no doubt you’ll—hey, stop that!”

  I immediately looked in the same direction as my mom and noticed that Uncle Fluster’s ice cream truck was parked in front of our house. But that wasn’t what Mom was yelling about. No, the cause of her irritation was the five seedy hippies—the same ones from yesterday—who now had Uncle Fluster trapped on top of his ice cream truck.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Hippies on Ice

  My mom went into action instantly. Focusing her gaze on the rainbow that arced from the ground up into the air above Uncle Fluster’s truck, she froze it solid in under a second. The Hammer was standing atop it holding both the cone he had just ripped from its brackets and my uncle. Right behind him, Rainbow Rider slipped on her now icy band and crashed into him. Both of them, along with my uncle and the cone, came sliding down the frozen rainbow in a mass of tangled arms and legs.

  Uncle Fluster wasted no time getting to his feet, grabbing one end of his cone, and making a run for it. Unfortunately, he was stopped almost immediately by SkyDiamond and Bliss. It was now dark, so there was only one SkyDiamond, but then he pulled a flashlight from his belt and turned it on himself. Suddenly there were half a dozen other SkyDiamonds all closing in on my uncle. Meanwhile, the Hammer and Rainbow Rider were back on their feet, and, along with Aquarius, turned to take on my mom.

  “Hammer,” Aquarius shouted. “The hydrant!”

  Mom and I both turned our attention to the hydrant on the street corner as the Hammer lumbered over and swung his arm against it, knocking it loose from its metal bolts. A gush of water shot into the air and Aquarius instantly directed it toward my mom. She obviously had no idea who she was up against!