Not Your Sidekick (9 page)

Ch.5...

“Don't you guys have any organization at all?” Jess curses as she trips over a box, toppling forward. She winces, trying to catch her balance.

There's a heavy
flop
as something is dropped behind her and she hears the whir of a mechanical suit.

M catches Jess before she hits the floor. Jess expects the metal to be cold, but the suit is pleasantly warm, with a thrum of electronics. They're both suspended in the air for a few seconds before M lands neatly on the ground and the thrusters turn off.

“Are you okay?” M asks, the electronic voice sounding a lot less electronic than any time Jess has heard it.

“I'm good, it's kind of a walking hazard, all these boxes.”

“I'm not good with paperwork,” M says, and the voice is back to the even electronic cadence Jess remembers. She imagines M flying around the office in the mecha-suit, dropping paperwork everywhere, trying to hold files in the clunky hands of the suit.

Jess laughs, and M's panel flickers in pink and yellow.
Do the colors these correspond to mood?
She should start keeping a log of what the colors might mean.

After a moment of studying M's helmet, Jess realizes she's still being held. “You can put me down now.” she says.

The panel lights blink white, and then M sets her down gently and waits for her to stand upright before moving back.

“Thank you. I did mean to say thanks first,” Jess says. “Could have brained my head on that other box, but you saved me. My hero.”

M laughs. “I don't think I'm anything of the sort, not here at least.”

Jess grins. She doesn't try to be funny often; it's better to leave that to Bells and sometimes Emma. “You're not exactly a villain, are you? I mean, you work for Master Mischief, and you're… sorry, my friend Bells would probably get me for not asking sooner, but um, what are your pronouns?”

“Oh! Sorry, I—I forget that I look like a robot.”

“No, not really. I mean, the suit's really cool—and it
is
Master Mischief's suit, right, but I want to make sure I don't misgender you or anything.”

“She and hers are fine, thanks for asking,” M says. “We should probably keep that between us, though, because some of the other employees here—um, well, I'm trying to take care of some stuff for Master Mischief in the interim, and so he… asked me to work some things out in his place. So it's important that some people think I'm him.”

The secret sends a thrill through Jess at being trusted with this information. “Ah, so you're pretending to be your boss—”

“At his request!” M sounds indignant, and the electronic voice skips and suddenly it sounds much younger.

“Wait, are you my age? Oh my God, I thought you were a senior employee, wearing the mecha-suit and everything! Please tell me you're not an intern.”

“I'm a
senior
intern. And I wear the suit because I need to make sure it stays functional. I have a job to do. You just… Yeah, I'm gonna get more boxes.”

M flies off in a hurry, leaving Jess standing there puzzled. She's just getting back to work on the file system she's created when M starts bringing in box after box. The room smells strongly of dust and rocket fuel.

Jess recalls that Master Mischief used his powers to operate the mecha-suit—was this one modified so a person without abilities could use it? It does seem a bit unwieldy to walk in. But really, is it necessary to fly
inside
the building?

The mechanical suit clanks stiffly as she sets down another box.

“Why are you wearing that thing anyway?” Jess asks. “It's not like you're gonna be doing battle with anyone in here.”

“Upkeep. And it's helpful. For protection, you know, in case—”

“Right, because I'm super-powerful and dangerous.” Jess waves her hands in a mock imitation of her father manipulating magnetic fields. It's his standard pose for all his press stuff.

M must not get the reference because she just stands there with one green light blinking, watching Jess flail about, until Jess realizes how absurd she must look and stops.

M's visor panel is all green now. The lights keep blinking.

“Are you laughing at me?” Jess asks.

M shakes her head, and the panel lights are still green.

Jess snorts. “Fine, you can just say it; I know I look ridiculous. You're the one who didn't stop me.”

“Maybe I found it entertaining,” M says.

“Well, we're both interns and on the same level. I think it's perfectly reasonable to tell me why you have to wear the suit. It can't just be a pretending-to-be-the-boss thing because this whole experimental lab is just you, me, and Abby.” Jess is talking to herself more than to the robot, but she follows the idea until she finds the next most logical reason. “It's a secret identity thing, isn't it?”

“You could say that.”

“But you already told me you're pretending to be Master Mischief. And for Abby too, I'm guessing, since she's not freaking out that you're not the actual Master Mischief. Where is Abby, anyway? She could be helping me with this.”

A few lights on M's panel blink blue, and then yellow. “She's busy. In her own office. Doing some important letter-writing.”

Jess laughs. Abby, who she knows is in all AP classes, who writes essays on the wrong topic in English class and still gets an A because of her “impeccable style” and being “irreverent,”
that
Abby is doing secretarial work? While Jess is being trusted to handle all these old files and secrets?

She sets down an old box, sending dust through the air, and laughs until the laugh turns into a cough.

“What's so funny about that?” M demands.

“I dunno. It's
Abby Jones
!”

M's suit is silent, and Jess realizes unless she also goes to AHHS, she has no idea what this means.

Trying to find the words describe Abby, Jess waves her hands. “We go to school together. That girl, I swear, would never be satisfied with just letter-writing. Unless it's like, epic scale change-the-world letter-writing. I dunno. She's like…” Jess sighs, unable to explain the amazing combination of idealism and determination that is Abby. “Why don't you have me do the letter-writing and Abby do all this important stuff? I mean, you hired her, you know what she's good at, right?”

Green, pink, and white lights flicker across the entire visor panel. Jess isn't sure what that means. Every time she's seen M, the panel has been blank, just a sleek black metal casing, mirroring the surroundings. It's blinked a few colored lights before, but today's the first time she's seen the whole panel light up.
What does it mean?

“That's an interestingly take on Miss Jones,” M says finally.

Jess shrugs. “I don't know her that well; we just have the one class together.” She looks at the box, grateful that Emma and Bells aren't here to tease her about her crush. It had been a thing freshman year when Emma first got onto the JV volleyball team and she and Bells would go watch all of the games.

Jess didn't understand the sport, and she would clap and cheer whenever Bells did, but her attention had always wandered to the other side of the gym, where the varsity team was playing. Abby was captivating. She was demanding, angry, so vibrant and full of life. The one freshman on a team full of juniors and seniors, she somehow bypassed all of them in energy. She took toss after toss, spiking and standing tall at the net, yelling at the other team. Abby was formidable and beautiful and Jess could not look away.

It was a thing. And it kind of still is. Jess never planned on acting on it; she's not the kind of person who would just go right up to someone and ask them out. Plus, she doesn't know if Abby is into girls, and asking just seems rude.

Jess deftly changes the subject. “Anyway, where's Master Mischief? Or Mistress Mischief? I'd love to meet them. I like how both their outfits don't really match but they're complimentary, you know? But my—I mean, you know Shocker and Shockwave, they have the whole coordinated colors and everything. Everyone knows they're a couple so it's not really necessary and it's super-cheesy. But yeah, the Mischiefs are really cool. Are they around?”

“It's not of import,” M snaps. She walks to the other side of the room, opens a box, and starts sorting.

Jess guesses even though she's working in the secret lab, she's still probably not important enough to meet the Mischiefs themselves. Mistress Mischief is telekinetic and, with Master Mischief's technology manipulation, they could be quite a formidable team if their power class wasn't so low.

It takes ages for Jess to sort through the files, but her diligent perseverance and tendency to obsession pays off; she creates a cohesive file of robbery successes, and even starts an electronic log of all the valuable items Mischief wants to steal.

In the background, M clinks and clanks, bringing more and more boxes, and sometimes taking things away.

“I don't know what's the point of stealing this trophy,” Jess says, holding a fat file filled with details on all the times Mischief has stolen the large silver cup and her parents have retrieved it and put it back in the museum. She stares at the picture; what is it for? The photograph of it doesn't say what it is. It took an entire group of those men—a sports team—to lift it into the air. Jess has no idea why it looks as if knives are strapped to the men's feet. She flips through the current plan to steal it and the protection details once it is stolen. “Whenever the Mischiefs steal this thing, either Shockwave or Smasher is just gonna steal it back.”

“I know, right? It's the stupidest thing to fight over,” M says, giggling.

The visor on M's mechanical suit is dark, but green and blue lights flash and then the electronic voice is back, noticeably deeper. “I mean, yeah, I tell Master Mischief that all the time.”

“Okay, I made a search system where you can just look up the plan by date or location or object focus. And I'm gonna update everything that's in this room.”

“Perfect,” M says.

Jess yawns. “Hey, can I take a quick break?”

“Sure.”

“Just gonna ask Abby if she remembers how many chapters of
The Awakening
we're supposed to read for English.” Jess gets to her feet.

“Oh, okay,” M says, “You do that. I'm just… off to the bathroom.”

Jess snorts. “Must be difficult with the suit.”

“You have no idea.”

Jess takes her time as she walks down the hallway, checking the rest of the offices. They're empty aside from one office with two strange-looking robots cheeping at each other. When Jess opened the door, they both made high-pitched noises, so she just closed it. She couldn't tell what they were doing, hovering over a metal frame—possibly building another mecha-suit?

There aren't many employees, but because this is Master Mischief's secret lab within Monroe Industries, that does makes sense. The criminal mastermind could have a whole crew working away to help plan his elaborate pranks.

But using just robots makes sense, too. The two robots down the hall didn't look like any MonRobots Jess has ever seen.

Experimental division,
Jess reminds herself.

She walks through the main lab to the elevator, but the receptionist's desk is empty. “Abby?” Jess calls out.

Abby's desktop projector scrolls a line of text, which reads: “Running an errand on the seventh floor, be right back!”

“Hm.”

She plops down in Abby's swivel chair, spins about playfully and hums. She sits upright, curling a loose strand of hair behind her ear. What it's like to be Abby Jones, beautiful and put together all the time?

Footfalls echo down the hallway, and Jess jumps. Abby appears, sprinting.

Did she take the stairs
?

She's not dressed in the stylish skirt-suit combo Jess has come to associate with her at work, but in what looks like a black fitted shirt and yoga pants with a funny-looking dot pattern running down the sides; her stockinged feet make soft noises against the tiled floor. Her hair isn't in a French braid or any other complicated style, but is pulled into a messy ponytail with strands of red curls escaping in a frizzy red cloud. Abby blushes and grabs a sweatshirt from her desk drawer.

“Hey,” Abby says, her face flushed with exertion.

“Hi,” Jess says. “Um.” She's never seen Abby look anything other than picture-perfect; even at volleyball games her hair has always been done and her makeup simple but elegant.

It's strangely intimate that Abby is okay like this in front of Jess.

“I uh, I was working on a mechanical project for M, and my clothes got singed,” Abby explains as she struggles to put her arm through her sweatshirt.

“Oh okay, neat. Mechanical project?”