Joshua Dread (5 page)

“So did you stand up to these bullies?” he asked. “Did you show them that just because they’re big and powerful, they can’t get away with pushing around the little guy?”

“Not exactly. They tried to shove me into a locker.”

“Hmm. Never gonna change the power structure that way.”

“But something happened while they were trying to get me into the locker. This weird feeling came over me. And that’s what I wanted to ask you about. It was like—”

“I have an idea.”

“Huh?”

“An idea. For dealing with these jerks.”

“That’s okay. I actually was more curious about this other thing. The weird feeling.”

“You can’t run away, Joshua. You have to stand up for yourself.”

I took a deep breath. There was no point in trying to explain myself to him. Not when he was swept up in his
big idea
.

“Fine,” I said, crossing my arms. “What’s your idea?”

“The next time you see these bullies, go up to the biggest guy and punch him in the nose. Then run as fast as you can. By the time they realize what happened, you’ll be long gone.”

Dad nodded once, as if he’d just handed down a piece of great wisdom.

“Uh, okay,” I said. “But, Dad? When Brick grabbed my arm, I felt this—I don’t know how to describe it—this powerful surge of—”

“Joshua!” My mom was standing in the doorway. “You can’t allow yourself to be intimidated by bullies. Whether it’s kids in school or governmental agencies.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind. But I wanted to tell you that—”

“I’m sorry, but it’ll have to wait,” Mom interrupted. “I just came up to get some food for the zombies. And you know how zombies get when they haven’t been fed. You can tell us all about your problem over dinner. Okay, honey?”

I was on my way into the dining room when a green arm reached out to grab me.

“Agh!” I screamed, jumping backward. It wasn’t an arm at all. It was a branch.

Micus.

“What’s
he
still doing here?” I yelled.

“Where else would he be?” Mom asked innocently. “We’re in the house, and Micus is a
house
plant.”

“A houseplant that tried to kill me this morning!”

“Micus didn’t try to
kill
you. Did you, Micus?”

I couldn’t be sure, but it looked to me like the tree shrugged.

“Can’t we at least put him in another room?” I asked. “Your lab or something?”

“There’s no direct sunlight in the lab.”

“I’m sure he can handle that.”

“Joshua! I spent months developing Micus. He’s a biological breakthrough.”

I noticed Micus nodding proudly in the background while she said this.

Dropping down into the seat at the table that was farthest from Micus, I shook my head in disbelief. First I got attacked by a potted tree. Then my mom took
his
side.

During dinner, I finally got a chance to tell my parents what had happened at school. While Dad served spaghetti, I described the tingling in my fingertips, the feeling of electricity that pulsed through my body.

“I think I might’ve shocked this kid so bad that he flew into a locker,” I said.

My parents stared at me. A noodle slipped off the spoon my dad was holding. It landed on the table next to my plate.

“And that’s not all,” I said. “Other weird things have happened lately.”

“What kinds of things?” Mom asked.

I took a deep breath. “Lately I’ve been accidentally causing stuff to … explode.”

Another noodle landed on the table with a wet
splat
.

“Explode?”

I nodded.

“How long has this been going on?” Dad asked.

“Just the last few months.”

Dad scratched his head. “Well, you
are
at the age when—”

He stopped speaking when Mom cleared her throat loudly.

“Perhaps it’s best if we discuss this some other time,” she said.

I pushed my plate aside. “What are you hiding from me?” My voice came out louder than I’d intended. “I know there’s something going on. I heard you talking about it last night.”

“You heard us?” Mom asked.

“You said there was something you needed to tell me. Something I deserve to know.”

Mom sighed. “We wanted to tell you, but we also wanted to wait for the right time.”

“It’s perfectly understandable that you’re curious,” Dad said. “Anyone in your situation would be. And it’s probably best that you find out the truth before your ability becomes too powerful for you to control it.”

A long pause settled over the table. My parents glanced
at each other, as if trying to decide who would go next. My dad’s words stuck in my mind like a splinter.
Before your ability becomes too powerful for you to control it
. What was that supposed to mean?

“The truth is,” Mom said, “you’re different from other kids—other
people
.”

I felt my shoulders tighten. I didn’t like the way this was going.

“You’re Gyfted,” Dad said, and he spelled the word out for me. “
G-y-f-t-e-d
. It stands for Genetic Youth Fluctuation, Triggering Extraordinary Development.”

“What does
that
mean?” I asked.

“It means …,” Mom began. “Well … it means that you have a …”

“A
what
?”

Mom took a deep breath. “A superpower.”

I
looked across the table at my parents. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” I asked.

There’d been a time in my life when I’d almost expected something like this to happen. I mean, both my parents had powers, right? But whenever I’d brought it up, they’d always changed the subject. I’d started to think I wasn’t like them after all, that I was a normal kid. Or maybe I’d just wished to be normal so much, I thought it would eventually come true.

“We wanted to tell you,” Dad said. “We really did. But your mother and I … we—”

Plots to destroy the world, mutant houseplants, life-threatening inventions—these are the things you deal with when your parents are two of the most fearsome supervillains on earth
.

“We wanted you to have a normal childhood,” Mom said.

“Normal? In case you forgot, you tried to destroy the world yesterday. You call that
normal
?”

“It’s true that our situation is a little … unconventional. Which is exactly why we wanted to wait until the right moment before telling you about your Gyft.”

“You see, at this stage in development your power is referred to as a Gyft,” Mom explained in her most professorial voice. “Your abilities haven’t fully advanced to maturity.”

“For the first ten or twelve years, a Gyfted child is just like any other child,” Dad went on. “The Gyft doesn’t surface until a certain stage of hormonal development.”

“In other words, around your age.”

“So what is it, then?” I asked.

Mom gave me a quizzical look. “What is
what
?”

“My Gyft?” The word sounded strange coming out of my mouth. “What kind of power do I have?” A whole list of possibilities scrolled through my head. Invisibility. Flight. Mind reading.

My parents looked at each other again. A long silence hung in the air around us. Finally Dad spoke. “From your description, it sounds like … spontaneous combustion.”

I blinked. “Spontaneous combustion? You mean … I can make things blow up?”

“Exactly,” Mom said.

“Spontaneously,” Dad remarked. “Your Gyft is extremely unique. It has the capacity to be more powerful than anything we’ve ever seen. But it’s also volatile, difficult to control.”

I thought back on all the strange things that had happened to me recently. The exploding pencil. The butt-shaped burn mark. The surge of energy. This explained all of it.

“We know this is a lot to take in,” Mom said. “And we have something we’d like to give you. We’d been waiting for the right occasion, and … well, this seems like it.”

She left the room for a minute. When she came back, she was carrying a book. I glanced at the title as she handed it to me.

The Handbook for Gyfted Children
.

“We thought this might be useful,” Dad said.

“It’s an instruction manual for kids like you,” Mom added.

I opened the book and flipped through the first few chapters. I could feel my parents watching me, waiting for some kind of a response. To be honest, I didn’t really know what to say. The past two days had been pretty rough. My parents had tried to destroy the world, the houseplant had threatened to kill me, and now I’d found out that I was a human microwave oven.

I’d had no idea sixth grade would be so stressful.

And I doubted a
book
was really going to make everything better.

“About this power,” I said, thinking out loud, “I don’t have to use it for evil, right?”

My parents looked at me like I’d just said that the moon was made out of mozzarella.

“What do you mean?” Mom asked.

“I mean … I wouldn’t
have
to be a supervillain. I could just be an ordinary person. Who sometimes makes things explode. Spontaneously.”

I could see a look of disappointment come over my parents’ faces.

“What’s so wrong with being a supervillain?” Dad asked. “
We’re
supervillains. Your grandparents were supervillains.”

“Yeah, but … haven’t you ever thought about what would happen if—if one of your plans actually succeeded?”

Mom’s eyes dropped to her plate. Dad fiddled with his silverware. I could see that the question made my parents uncomfortable, but I pressed ahead anyway.

“What if Captain Justice
hadn’t
shown up yesterday?” I asked. “Were you really gonna flood the earth?”

“The government was close to meeting our demands,” Dad said. “If we’d just had a little more time …”

His voice faded into silence. No matter how they tried to explain it, my parents knew the truth. If they actually got their way, the rest of the world would suffer.

“We realize this is hard for you, Joshua,” Mom said. “But just give it some time. If you decide you want to do something else, then … that’s your choice. We only want to help you make an educated decision.”

“That’s why we wanted you to have this book.” Dad pointed to
The Handbook for Gyfted Children
.

“And why we were hoping you might come with us to the Vile Fair tomorrow,” Mom added.

The Vile Fair was some kind of big supervillain convention that happened every year in New York City. My parents always went, but this was the first time they’d invited me along.

“I don’t know,” I said. “That’s not really my thing.”

“How do you know if you’ve never been?” Mom pointed out.

“Most people have a very narrow idea of what a supervillain is,” Dad went on. “There’s so much more to it than costumes and elaborate plans for world domination. It’s a very diverse industry. And it wouldn’t be right for you to dismiss a future in supervillainy without even knowing what the business is all about, right?”

“Think of it as a learning experience,” Mom added.

I didn’t like the sound of this. Learning experiences usually turned out to be boring experiences.

“If you really don’t want to go,” Mom said, “you could stay home and take care of Micus while we’re gone.”

On second thought, I decided the Vile Fair wouldn’t be that bad.

I
watched the trees and power lines blur past the window of my parents’ Volvo. It was two hours from Sheepsdale to Manhattan, which gave me some time to read
The Handbook for Gyfted Children
.