Free Sidekicks by Dan Danko, Tom Mason, Barry Gott

Chapter One
    Evil Never Sleeps In

    “What are you tugging at?” Spelling Beatrice asked.
    “Nothing!” I said, and stopped tugging.
    I hate Spandex. I mean, I guess like a million years ago in the forties when all this superhero stuff really started, it was a cool idea. But man, that crud is always creeping up on you, y’know. Not that you really wanted to know that, but I just had to tell you in case, y’know, you ever see me tugging or something.
    “Have you gotten any assignments today?” Spelling Beatrice asked, sitting next to me at the Sidekick Clubhouse Super Computer. Spelling Beatrice has the typical sidekick out fit. Bright yellow colors that scream “Kidnap me!” That same cruddy Spandex and double-thick glasses that make her look closer to Owl Girl (who looks nothing like an owl and only picked that name because she likes owls). Beatrice is seventeen. She’s been a sidekick for almost three years, but what she really wants to do is act.
    My sidekick costume is pretty cool. I wear these totally hip goggles to keep the bugs out of my eyes when I run. My outfit is midnight blue with yellow highlights and this glittery lightning bolt striking across my chest.
    There isn’t much science to being a superhero sidekick. You have to have a legal waiver from your parent or guardian unless you’re eighteen. Ever since that ugly court battle with UnderAge Albert and the child labor laws, it’s just plain impossible to become a sidekick without a bundle of legal paperwork. I’m thirteen now. So once a year, me and my parents have to go file more paperwork. You wanna talk about a life-or-death battle? Try standing in line at City Hall.
    The only other thing you needed to be a sidekick is a super power. I run fast. Real fast. Before me, the fastest man alive was Fastest Man Alive Man. He could run 63.4 miles per hour. I don’t know what that is in kilometers. I’m American. We hate metrics.
    Except with soda bottles. Those
only
come in metrics. One liter. Hey, don’t ask me. I just run fast.
    Anyway, Fastest Man Alive Man was the . . . well... fastest man alive until I got my powers last year. Now I can run 92.7 miles per hour. Then Fastest Man Alive Man changed his name to Almost Fastest Man Alive Man, but who really cares about the
almost
fastest man alive? I think he retired with about a million leftover boxes of t-shirts that said I LOVE FASTEST MAN ALIVE MAN !
    “No assignments worth mentioning, unless you count finding new batteries for Pumpkin Pete’s utility gourd,” I complained, holding out eight triple-A’s.
    “I thought that thing was nuclear-powered,” Spelling Beatrice commented.
    “It was, until he dropped it at the Corn State Mall grand opening in Des Moines and had a core leak.” I turned the yellow gourd over and showed her a small crack covered by a Band-Aid.
    “Wow. What happened?”
    “Let’s just say they’re calling Iowa ‘the Popcorn State’ now,” I said.
    The two of us sat and watched the Sidekick Clubhouse Super Computer monitor. Okay, maybe it wasn’t
really
very super and was barely even a computer. It’s a Vic-20. If you’re wondering what the heck that is, just go to your local computer museum. It’ll be the computer they’re using as a doorstop.
    “No action tonight.” I sighed.
    “Wanna play Scrabble?” Beatrice asked, pulling the game from her utility backpack. I could already hear those little letter tiles mocking me from inside the box.
    “Might as well,” I said, nodding. “It beats monitor duty.”
    And it did. It had only been three weeks since I became a superhero sidekick, but I already knew anything beat monitor duty. You just sit there staring at the monitor waiting for something to happen. They won’t call us on our cell phones or pagers. Every day one of us sidekicks has to sit in front of the Vic — I mean Sidekick Super Computer — and wait for a signal from the League of Big Justice. Then, and this is the best part, whoever is on