First Date (Minimum Wage Sidekick Book 2) Read online

  “All right,” said Rubberman. “Beams and I will work with you to find ZZZ. I’ll make sure the police know about his presence in the city. Hopefully, we’ll be able to capture him before he harms me or anyone else.”

  “Good idea,” said Myster. “Well, Charlotte, Cyberkid, and I must be leaving. We still have a lot of unpacking to do at my new base, which we left unfinished when we heard about Lord Mechanika’s attack.”

  “Speaking of Lord Mechanika, what was your daughter doing there?” said Rubberman, glancing at Charlotte. “I didn’t think you were the kind to bring your daughter into battle like that.”

  Myster cast a disapproving glance at Charlotte. “Normally, I don’t. In fact, she was supposed to stay at the base with Cyberkid while I went out to help you and Beams.”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” said Charlotte, looking at Myster with huge puppy dog eyes. “I didn’t mean to get into trouble. It’s just that when I heard that Beams was there, I had to meet him. I didn’t mean to get into trouble or worry you. I convinced Cyberkid to help me get to the scene of the battle so I could see Beams.”

  I gotta admit, Charlotte was really cute, but even I could tell that she was really playing up her adorableness to get out of trouble. I expected Myster—who seemed like a pretty stern father—to see right through her deceptions.

  Instead, however, Myster smiled a rather sickeningly sweet smile and, wrapping an arm around Charlotte’s shoulders, said, “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m not mad at you. I was just so concerned about your safety that I couldn’t help myself, but now that you’re safe, I’m not angry with you anymore.”

  “Thanks, Daddy,” said Charlotte, returning the sickeningly sweet smile. “You’re the best.”

  “And you’re the best daughter a father could ask for, sweetie,” said Myster. He suddenly looked at Cyberkid with a much harsher look. “Cy, when we get back to base, I’m going to have a talk with you about letting Charlotte out like that. She could have been hurt.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Cyberkid, who sounded slightly ashamed of himself, as if it was his fault that Charlotte had nearly gotten herself killed and not hers.

  I looked at Rubberman, wondering if he was just as puzzled by this as me. Based on his resigned expression, it was obvious that Rubberman had seen Charlotte pull this kind of trick on Myster before and paid attention only out of a morbid curiosity to see exactly how Charlotte would pull her father’s strings this time. I decided to follow his lead, though I made a mental note to ask Rubberman about this later when we were alone.

  My phone made a beeping sound like I’d just received a text. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and, glancing at the screen, started when I saw that it was a text from Greta Hammond, which read thus:

  Alex, where are you? I’m sitting outside the cafe.

  “Uh oh,” I said, not realizing I said that aloud until Rubberman said, “What’s the matter, Beams?”

  Looking at Rubberman, I said, “Uh, I’m late for my date with G—I mean, with that girl I told you about.”

  I felt relieved that I had managed to avoid using Greta’s name in front of Myster, Cyberkid, and Charlotte. Technically, it was not illegal for them to know who I was dating, but given how important it was for me to keep my secret identity, I didn’t want to leave any clues that they could use to find out who I really was, which would put my sidekick license in jeopardy.

  Charlotte’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “You’re dating a girl? Who is it?”

  Her tone was as cold as ice now, prompting me to say, “Uh, well, I—”

  “Beams, you can leave early to get to your date,” Rubberman interrupted. “I almost forgot about your date with that girl. I’ll see Myster and these two out, don’t worry.”

  I wanted to thank Rubberman for understanding my situation and giving me an out, but I didn’t say that aloud because of Charlotte’s attitude. I just nodded once and ran out of the office, hoping that I could somehow salvage this situation before Greta decided to go home before I got to the cafe.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I rushed through the streets of Golden City on my bicycle, my feet pumping the pedals as fast and hard as I could. I no longer wore my Beams costume; instead, I was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, but I paid little attention to that. My full attention was on navigating the streets of Golden City without crashing into anyone or hitting something and falling over, because the last thing I needed was to be even more late for my date with Greta than I already was.

  Perhaps you’re thinking I’m overreacting, but the fact is that I’ve had to reschedule this date several times already. It was originally supposed to be a month ago, but every time we set a date, something would happen that would force me to reschedule it, usually some kind of supervillain or criminal threat which somehow always happened on the day of my date. Greta was really patient with me, probably more patient than I deserved to be honest, but even she had limits to her patience and I was afraid that I was starting to wear them out.

  It didn’t help that my stomach still hurt from where Lord Mechanika had nearly squeezed me to death. Adams had used the Elastic Cave’s medical equipment to check my body for broken bones, but he had not found any. Even so, he had suggested that I rest and not do any physically taxing work for a while, but I had no time to lie around and sleep, not when Greta was waiting for me at the cafe where we had agreed to meet for the date.

  The sun was out today, but that did not stop the wind from being incredibly cold due to the fact that it was November. I realized that I had left my jacket in the Elastic Cave in my hurry to get to the cafe on time, but it was too late to go back now. Maybe Greta would even think I was awesome for being out in the cold with just a T-shirt; more likely, she’d think I was an idiot, a word that was starting to describe me more and more each day, it seemed.

  Using my knowledge of Golden City’s streets, I took several shortcuts through back alleys and streets. Thankfully, most people were inside thanks to the cold, so I didn’t run into anyone, though I nearly ran over a cat and I was chased by a huge dog that was chained outside someone’s back door. Despite the cold, I was getting sweaty, not helped by the fact that my stomach hurt from where Lord Mechanika had squeezed it.

  Finally, after several minutes of biking, I saw it: The sign of the Golden City Cafe, the place where I was supposed to meet Greta for our date. It was one of my favorite places in the city; coincidentally, Greta loved it, too, which was why I had picked it as the location for our date. It had a distinctive sign, displaying a stylized silhouette of Golden City with the words ‘GOLDEN CITY CAFE’ written above the silhouette in italicized lettering. I would have thanked God, but I was too exhausted from biking like I was in the Olympics to say anything.

  Instead, I nearly crashed my bike into the side of the street, but managed to regain control of it at the last minute, parking it against the bike rack next to the cafe. I hastily chained it up to the rack and turned around, scanning the outdoor tables to see if I could spot Greta.

  Relief flooded my heart when I saw her. She was sitting at a table near the door, her bright blue eyes focused on the phone in her hands, while her beautiful blonde hair was done in a simple ponytail. She wore a pink coat and was sipping a coffee, seemingly not noticing me yet.

  I almost said her name, but quickly shut up. I glanced at myself in the window of the building next to the Cafe and quickly patted down my unruly hair, which I had forgotten to comb before leaving Rubberman’s base. Then I walked quickly, almost ran, over to Greta, who must have heard me, because she finally looked up from her phone to see who was approaching her.

  “Alex?” said Greta as I fell into the chair opposite her, panting and sweating. She lowered her coffee cup and looked at me with concern. “You got here much quicker than I thought. What were you doing?”

  “Uh,” I said, trying desperately to think of an excuse that did not require me to tell her my secret identity, “I was, um, running errands for my mom. She asked me to pick up a fe
w things while I was in town and it took a bit longer than I thought. But when I got your text, I remembered the date and I came here as fast as I can. I can always pick up that stuff later; it’s not a problem.”

  Thankfully, Greta seemed to buy it, because she nodded and said, “Oh, I understand. My dad always asks me to pick up things when I’m in town, too. Not today, though, because he’s working on some projects that his boss gave him.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “On the weekend? Your dad must work hard.”

  “He does,” said Greta, nodding. “He works for a very, er, important man. And my dad’s boss is always working, too. It’s kind of annoying, because he calls my dad out of town pretty often and this was one of the weekends where my dad would stay home, but …”

  Greta trailed off, like she realized she was starting to tell me stuff that she wasn’t allowed to tell me. But that just made me more curious about what she was hiding from me. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen her dad before. I knew he was out of town pretty often on business, but I had no idea what company he worked for or what kind of work he did, exactly.

  I opened my mouth to ask, but Greta put her phone down on the table and said, “Why are you sweating so much? It’s very cold out. And why are you in a t-shirt?”

  “Uh,” I said, once more putting my brain into overdrive in an effort to come up with a convincing explanation. “I, uh, was at the gym.”

  Greta looked at me with interest. “Oh? Is that why you’ve become so much more muscular over the last month?”

  “Yes,” I lied. I flexed my arms briefly. “Going to the gym every day does that to you, heh.”

  In truth, while I was getting stronger and more muscular, it was because Rubberman was putting me through a hard physical training regime, not because I went to the gym. When I first went to work for Rubberman, I was pretty skinny and weak, which Rubberman told me was unacceptable, because I would need to be in top physical condition in order to be effective in helping him take down criminals and supervillains. As a result, I spent almost as much time lifting weights, doing push-ups, and running laps as I did training my eye beams. I was still pretty weak in comparison to Rubberman, but I had come a long way in a month, to the point where girls were even starting to notice me. That Greta had noticed my muscles getting bigger sent a pleasant tingle down my spine.

  “That’s so cool,” said Greta with a sigh. “Going to the gym and working out is so important, but so many people just don’t do it. I try to go as often as I can, though I don’t go as often as I should.”

  “Yeah, it’s important for sure,” I said. I yawned, not-so-subtly stretching my arms to show off my muscles. “My older brother always tells me to go to the gym, but I didn’t really understand how important it is until I started going myself.”

  “I know,” said Greta. She suddenly leaned forward, her hands clasped together. “Do you know if that Beams guy goes to the same gym as you? Everyone at school keeps speculating about his identity, but no one knows who he is, even though he has to be a kid here in the city.”

  I tried to smile, but I’m afraid it came out sort of weird, more like a half scowl than a full smile. “No, I don’t know if Beams goes to my gym or not. You know how the sidekick laws are. Sidekicks aren’t supposed to reveal their secret identities to anyone, otherwise they could lose their licenses. So even if he does go to the same gym as me, I’d never know it.”

  “Right, right,” said Greta, leaning back, a slightly disappointed look on her face. She sipped her coffee and sighed. “I was just thinking that superheroes and their sidekicks often do lots of training in order to stay in peak physical form and that maybe that meant that Beams went to a gym somewhere in the city. But I guess not, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding. “I bet Rubberman probably has his own gym on his base, so that’s why you never see him or his sidekick training in public.”

  “Yeah, that is probably true,” said Greta. “Still, wouldn’t it be cool to train alongside one of the most famous people in Golden City? I think it would be, anyway.”

  “It would be … cool,” I said, forcing myself to say that word. “Really cool, actually.”

  “It’s just that Beams was so brave going in and fighting that ice guy on top of the school like that,” said Greta. “He saved so many lives that day and, from what I heard, that was his first time fighting a supervillain. If I had been in that situation, I don’t know what I would have done.”

  All I could do was nod in response, because I did not trust myself to say something that might jeopardize my license.

  I shouldn’t have been so surprised, though. Ever since my debut as Beams a month ago, when I helped Rubberman defeat the supervillain Fro-Zen, I—or rather, my secret identity, Beams—had become a celebrity practically overnight. Especially at my school, Harold Golden High, where everyone and their dog was always talking about how awesome Beams was, mostly because I had saved the lives of several students and faculty by defeating Fro-Zen. There was even a Beams Fan Club, of all things, run by my best friend Franklin Maddox, who was also ignorant of my secret identity and didn’t understand why I didn’t want to join his fan club.

  Yes, it was nice to see pretty girls talking about how brave Beams was or to hear the jocks talking about how awesome he was for taking on Fro-Zen like that, but I couldn’t actually enjoy any of it, because I was not allowed to tell anyone my secret identity, so I couldn’t take any of the compliments or praise from other people. It felt weird to listen to someone’s theories about Beams’ true identity when I knew that I would need to head to the Elastic Cave after school to don my costume and help Rubberman with whatever he needed help with.

  As a result, I was actually starting to sour on the subject of my secret identity. I still liked the job, I still liked working for Rubberman, and I still liked getting paid, but if I had a penny for every time I overheard someone making some crazy theory about Beams’ real identity or origins that had nothing to do with reality … well, I’d have enough money to buy my first car, at least.

  One nice thing that had happened because of my sudden popularity was companies calling up Rubberman to make merchandise off me. Rubberman had even already signed a few merchandising deals for me, but told me not to expect much from them yet, because it would take time for the companies to design prototypes to send to him for approval and even longer for the products to come to market. I didn’t really care, because according to sidekick licensing laws, I would get a percentage of royalties from these merchandising deals in addition to what Rubberman paid me normally. That was one of the reasons so many kids wanted to be sidekicks; it was the only minimum wage job which also offered the possibility of getting paid royalties.

  In any case, I wanted to change the subject, because I’d had more than enough sidekick stuff for today. So I said, “Well, Greta, what are your family’s plans for—”

  I was abruptly cut off by a huge yawn that came out of nowhere. It felt almost forced, like the yawn was forcing its way out of my stomach. In addition, Greta was also yawning, which was strange, because she had just been drinking coffee seconds ago.

  “Whoa,” I said, blinking when I finished yawning. “What was that?”

  “I have no idea,” said Greta, who now sounded a little sleepy. She rubbed her eyes. “I feel tired all of a sudden, like I need a nap.”

  “I feel the same way,” I said. “Maybe I need to order a cup of coffee like you.”

  “I don’t know, I think there must be something wrong with this coffee, because I still feel sleepy even though I’ve been drinking from it for the last five minutes,” said Greta. She sipped her coffee again and grimaced. “Yep, something’s wrong with the coffee. I still don’t feel awake.”

  I was about to suggest that we call the waiter and let him know about the problem with the coffee when I suddenly noticed someone sitting at the table behind Greta. He looked homeless, with fingerless gloves, a torn jacket, and jeans with holes in the
knees. His face was hidden behind a newspaper, save for his eyes, which had big bags hanging under them like he hadn’t gotten much sleep.

  But then the man lifted the paper up in front of his eyes, completely blocking off his face to me. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that that man was watching us … or rather, watching me.

  “Alex?” said Greta. “What’s the problem? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I looked at Greta, who was staring at me with concern. She looked sleepier than she had even just a few seconds ago, and I have to admit, I was starting to feel sleepier myself.

  “Uh, nothing,” I said. I looked around Greta again. “But that guy—”

  I stopped speaking, because the homeless guy was nowhere to be seen. I looked around wildly, but I didn’t see any sign of the guy at all. It was like he had just vanished into thin air, which creeped me out.

  “Alex, what are you looking for?” said Greta. “Did you see something?”

  “There was a guy …” I pointed behind her. “A guy sitting at the table behind us. Did you see him?”

  Frowning, Greta nonetheless looked over her shoulder at the now-empty table. “I don’t see anyone sitting there.”

  “But someone was there like, just a second ago,” I said. “He looked like a homeless guy, with ratty clothing and everything. He was reading a newspaper. He was spying on us.”

  Greta looked at me again, this time with a little bit of fear mixed in with her concern. “Alex, are you sure you saw someone there? Maybe your tired mind is just playing tricks on you. I didn’t see any homeless man sitting behind us; in fact, I don’t think homeless people ever visit the Cafe anyway. Homeless people don’t spy on other people anyway; even if someone had been sitting there, they were probably just here for a cup of coffee like you and me. It’s probably nothing to worry about.”

  I wanted to argue with Greta more, but I realized that she was starting to think I was either paranoid or stupid, two traits which were hardly chick magnets. So I kept my mouth shut, but at the same time, I knew I had seen someone. That homeless man had been there, he had been watching me and Greta, and then he disappeared.