Normal's Relative

by Molly <MPSL27@aol.com>

Rated: PG

Submitted: September 2003

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[Author's Notes: This story is the third chapter in  the Kaylie Kent series, the first story being  "Perfectly Not Normal," and the second being "My  Almost Perfect Life." I would strongly recommend  reading at *least* MAPL before proceeding with this  story. This chapter takes place a few weeks after the  final events in MAPL.

Please send comments, suggestions, criticism, or  questions to MPSL27@aol.com :)]

* * *

"Kaylie?"

I looked up from my homework to see my nine-year-old  sister Jenna standing in the doorway to my bedroom. I  was lying on my stomach on my bed -- papers, pencils,  and my algebra book strewn across the bedspread.

"What do you want?" I asked, propping my chin on my  fists.

Jenna scratched the back of her left knee with her  right sneaker and sniffed twice. "Can I come in?" she  asked, sounding both hopeful and scared.

"I guess so."

Jenna pranced over to my bed and plopped down on it.  I think she sat on a pencil. She sat there for a long  time, saying nothing... just staring at me.

"Do you have a reason for being here, or are you just  trying to annoy me?" I asked, finally.

"I want to hang out in your room. It's farther away  from Mom and Dad's room and--"

"Farther from the baby?"

"Yes! I'm so sick of her... all Kiranay does is cry.  Except when she's eating. But that lasts five seconds  and then she's at it again... it never stops...  never...."

"I know, I know. I live here, too, remember?"

"But why does she cry so much?"

"Because she's possessed."

"Really?"

"No, you weirdo!"

"Oh... you were kidding."

"Yes," I said, rolling my eyes. "But actually... if  you ask me, I don't know why she feels the need to  cry so much. She's only a month old! Thirty days on  this planet is just not ample time for a person to  develop any serious, significant issues. If she was  my age -- well, then that'd be different. You hit  fourteen and you have every right to feel mopey. But  babies have it so easy! They get carried around all  the time and they don't have to go to school or do  chores... life is good for babykind."

"Is being fourteen really that bad?" Jenna asked.

"Every year is worse than the last."

"Really?"

"Yes. Fourteen is worse than thirteen and I expect  that fifteen will be worse than fourteen. By the time  I'm seventy I'll be--"

"As cranky as Grandma Lane?"    "If not crankier."

"Is ten bad?"

"No, ten's not too bad. I'm guessing your transition  from nine to ten will be mostly painless."

"Good," she said, sounding honestly relieved. "Was I  as annoying as Kiranay when *I* was a baby?"

"I don't vividly remember you as a baby."

"Oh."

"I remember Michael though... I *was* almost eight  when he was born. He was a quiet baby. Too quiet. I  think Mom and Dad were kind of freaked out about his  quietness...."

Jenna giggled.

"Listen, I have to finish this assignment... it's due  tomorrow. Why don't you go bug Michael?"

"I'm not bugging you!" she said, sounding insulted.

"I didn't say you were. Now go bug Michael, okay?"

"I need to talk to you, though."

"About what?"

"Superman."

I felt my heart jump. "Uh... what about him?"

"Oh, you know... stuff."

"What stuff?" I asked warily, wondering if Jenna knew  something... or suspected something about Dad. Lately  I've been ultra-paranoid that she or Michael will  figure out the truth about him. I mean, they should  be told he's Superman eventually, but not until  they're a little older... maybe when they've grown  out of being such blabbermouths. Right now, they'd  never be able to keep it a secret. The whole world  would know within a week. Then there'd be criminals  after us and TV reporters hounding us... no thank  you, I'll pass on *that* little scenario!

Jenna cleared her throat. "Well, see, my teacher gave  us an assignment the other day, and it's about  Superman... we're supposed to do some kind of  project...."

"Why?" I asked. I mean, Dad -- er, Superman's -- great  and all but he's not exactly the kind of historical  figure kids study in school. And anyway, he's not  historical.

"Because of the Superman celebration," Jenna  explained.

"Oh... that." The Superman celebration. I overheard  Dad and Mom discussing it the other day, in fact.  Apparently, the month of May will mark the 20th  anniversary of Superman's arrival in Metropolis... or  his first good deed... or something. The city council  and the mayor want to have a whole week devoted to  Superman and Metropolis pride and all of that.  There's going to be a parade, a carnival, a Superman  look-a-like contest, auctions for a dinner with  Superman to raise money for charity, and all this  other stuff. I heard Dad tell Mom that, while he's  touched that people still appreciate him after all  these years, he really wishes they wouldn't make such  a big deal out of it... that the whole thing's kind  of... too much. Embarrassing, I guess.

"I know, Clark," Mom told him, "But the events will  raise money for charity..."

"Yeah... I know."

"And I know you don't like people going nuts over  you, but in all honesty, you *are* responsible for  saving everyone's life at least once."

"I doubt that."

"Oh, excuse me -- are we forgetting the whole  Nightfall Asteroid thing?"

"Well, okay, but that was nineteen years ago,  and...."

"People appreciate Superman, Clark... save for a few  psychopathic nutjobs... and I think giving into a  couple days of nonsense and celebrating will be good  for civic pride... and the economy...."

"Yeah, I guess...."

"What's the matter with you, anyway? You seem  depressed."

"I'm all right. Just feeling... well, there was that  house fire earlier, and..."

"I thought you rescued everyone."

"I did, but... still... the house was almost a total  loss. All their memories, up in smoke...."

"I know what'll make you feel better," Mom said  slyly, and they started to kiss. At which point, my  brain went *ew!* and I quickly shut off the  superhearing. Which, to be honest, isn't an easy  thing to do -- and sometimes impossible!

Actually, I was discussing that very thing with Dad  the other day. We talk about my superpowers a lot.  He's been giving me tips on how to control them. My  superhearing is definitely the most aggravating  ability. One day I was sitting in Art Appreciation,  and, all of a sudden, I heard this sound blast  through my head, kind of like a whoosh-zip... like  someone tuning a radio and suddenly finding a  station. And then I heard a baby crying.

"Do you hear that?" I whispered to Meghan Corner, who  was sitting at my table, next to me.

"Hear what?"

"That baby..."

Meghan shook her head, giving me a 'you are a huge  freak' look.

The baby sound didn't let up, and it took me a few  minutes to realize... it was Kiranay. I should have  known... her cries are very distinct. And then I  thought, Oh great. It's bad enough that she cries  constantly at home, but I can't even escape from it  when I'm at school? Damn superhearing! What am I  going to do?

I put my hands over my ears and pressed hard. I took  three deep breaths. The crying faded out slowly...  the volume diminished. At last, I couldn't hear the  crying anymore.

Later that evening, I told Dad about it. I was  helping him wash dishes; we were the only ones in the  kitchen.

"I heard Kiranay crying today," I said, as I put a  stack of plates away in the cupboard.

"I'm not surprised," he said, smiling. "Isn't that  what she's usually doing?"

"No, Dad, I mean I could hear her at school...."

Dad looked at me, surprised. "Are you sure it was  *her*?"

"Oh, I'm sure," I said dryly.

"Well," Dad said, "your abilities seem to be a little  different than mine... not as strong... yet... but I  *do* have a hearing range of hundreds of miles...  depending on the conditions... although there are  several weird things about it...."

"What things?"

"It's selective... and unpredictable. Sometimes I'll  want it to be... um... *on*, I guess you could say.  And I'll purposely *will* myself to turn it on. Like  if I'm trying to hear something specific, I can focus  myself to concentrate on *only* one thing, like a  particular conversation across a crowded room. Or if  your Mom's been kidnapped -- not that that's happened  lately, but there was once was a time when, well, it  was a pretty common occurrence -- anyway, I could  have it so that I would be listening specifically for  her cries for help... or her voice... and everything  else would be tuned out. Because think of how useless  superhearing would be if your Mom's cries were  amplified... but everything else was too... car  horns, motors, people talking... it'd be worthless."   "So is that why I can hear Kiranay and not... you  know, like, traffic or other things going on  outside?"

"I would assume so. She's your sister so you're  attuned to her -- both genetically and emotionally --  and I don't think it's crazy that you heard her  today... she *is* loud...."

"But... I mean, if Mom was kidnapped you'd *want* to  hear her, but I didn't want to hear Kiranay, I just  *did*."

"When I first started getting my superpowers, I heard  a lot of things I didn't want to hear."

"Like what?"

"Like my parents talking about me."

"Oh... were they saying bad stuff?" I asked, though I  could hardly picture Grandma or Grandpa Kent saying  bad things about anyone!

"Not bad things... just things they wouldn't have  wanted me to overhear. When I first started getting  superpowers, they were very worried about me. They  knew my body wasn't developing like a regular human's... and at the time, they didn't *know* I  wasn't human... although they must have assumed,  what with the fact that I arrived in the ship, that  whatever I was, I wasn't from around there....  Anyway, they were worried... concerned... and, when  I heard them so worried, it made me tense."

At that moment, I felt very fortunate to have Dad as  my parent. Sure, sometimes I get mad because he's not  around very much... he's always so busy with his  work. And sometimes when he's home, he wants to spend  time with just Mom. Or he's busy with Kiranay, or  he's helping Michael with a project. But it's times  like these that make me appreciate him. After all,  when he was my age, he had to go through all this  weird stuff with no one who really, really  understood. His parents loved him, but they didn't  have a clue as to what he was going through. Now that  he's been there and done that, he can help *me*.  Okay, so I can't tell him *every* little thing about  my life, but he is a good person to talk to and he's  always happy to answer my questions... unless they're  about boys, and then he tries to flee.

Anyway, so Dad and I talk about superhearing a lot  and how to control it. We also talk about the  pitfalls of heat vision. I admitted that I've  accidentally incinerated a few things. It usually  happens when I'm very upset about something. I glare  and then... smoke, flames, the works. The only  superpower I haven't really felt the need to discuss  with him is my X-ray vision because that one hardly  ever happens on its own, and when it does, the  consequences are hardly devastating. Okay, so I once  saw Mrs. Biederman's underwear by accident... and I  guess you could say the effects of that little look- see were devastating -- for *me*-- as in *trauma- inducing*!

He made me feel a lot better about my accidents by  telling me about all the things he accidentally set  on fire as a kid. "But by the time I was seventeen or  eighteen," he told me, "I had my powers pretty much  under control."

"Do you think I'll have mine under control by the  time I'm that age?"

"Sure, except...."

"What?"

"Except you might be getting more. More than you have  now."

"I will? Oh... you mean flying?"

"That... and other things."

"What other things?" I asked, because, for the life  of me, I couldn't think of any other powers Dad has  besides superhearing, heat vision, x-ray vision,  strength, invulnerability, and flying... and except  for flying, I've got all those others.

"Speed reading, for one," Dad was saying. "Or have  you gotten that ability?"

I shook my head. "I'm still a slow reader."

"I can get through a novel in about five seconds," he  said. He didn't say it in a bragging tone, just in a  matter-of-fact one.

"And remember what you read?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes... my brain can process things very quickly. But  before I started getting my powers, I read at the  same rate as the next person."

"Wow, I hope I get that power -- that'll make English  homework so much easier!"

Dad grinned. "Okay, what else... well, there's this  thing I can do with my breath... where I can  either... do a really strong gust, or a freezing  one...."

For some reason, that power was seriously amusing. I  started laughing like crazy.

"There's super-speed," he continued, ignoring my  laughter.

I stopped laughing. "I'm faster than I used to be," I  told him. "In P.E., I can run the mile in under five  minutes now!"

"And I can see very, very far... I can train myself  to actually zoom in on an object, like a camcorder  does."

"But Dad... none of these powers you just mentioned  seem very dangerous... I mean, to other people. I can  see how heat vision might accidentally hurt  someone...."

"Oh, you have no idea. Try blowing some dust off a  picture frame and having a door across the room slam  closed... try explaining that to other people who  happen to witness it! Oh... and whatever you do,  cover your nose if you should happen to sneeze...  just in case."

"I usually do."

"No, I mean *really* cover it... don't take any  chances."

"All right."

"And then there's super-strength."

"Yeah... I can lift my dresser now."

"Which is great, Kayls, it really is... but you also  need to watch yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"I could lift dressers when I was your age... and  then freezers... and then my parents' pickup truck...  and lifting those things was all well and good... of  course, it wouldn't have been if anyone besides my  parents had seen me lift them...."

"So... you mean, I shouldn't do any strong stuff in  front of people? Okay, that sounds easy enough."

"That's right. You need to pay close attention to  what *other* kids your age can and can't do, in terms  of lifting and pushing and... just... their strength.  Same with your speed. Running the mile under five  minutes is fantastic, but... pretty soon, I'm  guessing, you'll be able to run it in four, then  three, then two and...."

"That'd be really good, wouldn't it?"

"Not even the fastest human in the world can do it in  two, Kayls. It would look too suspicious."

"Oh, I get it. So I should always let someone else  beat me in every sport?" What a rotten deal, I  thought. I get to be faster and stronger than  everybody, but pretend that I'm not. Where's the fun  in that?

"Kaylie, I know it's hard to let other  people win when you know you could easily beat  them... but when we're talking about sports, and  superpowers, you'll *have* to hold back. Because if  anyone sees you using your powers, they may begin to  suspect that there's something different about you.  Maybe their first thought won't be `hmmm, she's got  to be related to Superman!' but they *could* suspect  you of being on some kind of enhancement drugs."

"Steroids? Ugh."

"You never know. And the last thing I want is the  school board investigating you. But," he said, taking  a deep breath, "there's another thing you've got to  think about. And that is... not hurting people. Now,  I know you're not the kind of person to pick fights  or anything. But every day, you're getting a little  bit stronger. And sometimes it's difficult to know  how strong you are."

I nodded. "But I'll be careful."

"You have to be *so* careful. Think about it --  before you started getting superpowers, you could  have been joking with one of your friends and  playfully slapped him or her on the arm. Back then,  it wouldn't have hurt them one bit. Now... or before  long... one little, playful smack from you could send  them flying across the room."

I nodded again, this time feeling very scared.

"And then there's the reverse," Dad continued. "If  someone playfully slaps you...."

"What?" I said, shrugging. "It wouldn't hurt."

"It might hurt *them.*"

"Oh no," I groaned.

"Being invulnerable is like being... a brick wall. If  someone hits you... it'd be like them hitting a  wall."

"So... what? I can never let anyone touch me again?"

"No... see, normally, as long as I'm fairly relaxed,  my body lets it's guard down... and if someone hits  me or bumps me, then they don't feel anything  different than if they'd bumped into any regular  person. But when I am tense, or when I am facing a  criminal, my body senses that and my guard goes back  up... and *those* are the times when, for example, if  a person punches me, they'll end up with a broken  hand."

"So you're only invulnerable when you want to be?"

"No... even when I'm relaxed and my guard is down, if  someone were to come behind me with a gun and shoot  me, for example, the bullet wouldn't penetrate my  skin... it'd bounce off... it's hard to explain, but  all I'm saying is... just *try* to be relaxed when  you're around people. If you're tense, you're more  apt to injure them should they touch you."

"Okay."

"And there's one more thing...." Dad trailed off, his  voice sounding uncertain; his expression was pained.

"What?"

"Well, I don't know if you've ever heard about  this... but there is one thing that can hurt me."

I looked at him, surprised.

"There's a substance... a meteorite... called  Kryptonite. A bunch of it traveled to Earth when my  ship did. It comes in two forms: green or red... and  *most* of it has been destroyed, but not all of it.  I'm not sure who is in possession of the remaining  chunks, but I'm positive it's out there. I haven't  been exposed to it in several years. For a while, I  had a scientist at Star Labs working on an antidote,  but he never could come up with an effective one...."

"I don't get it," I said. "What does this Kryptonite  stuff do?"

"The red Kryptonite is completely unpredictable. One  time, it caused me to lose my powers... another time,  it made my powers go completely out my control. And  the green Kryptonite? It's completely predictable,  which is also why it's so terrible. When I'm exposed  to it, I become very weak. My powers begin to fade,  including my strength and my invulnerability. It  depends on the size of the particular rock. If it's a  large one -- and I think, I *hope*, all the large  chunks have been destroyed -- I may lose my powers  within minutes. Once I even lost consciousness.  However, if it's a smaller chunk -- or if the  Kryptonite has been diluted, somehow -- it's not as  potent. But it can still weaken me to the point that  I can't do much of anything -- effective, anyway."

"And people use this stuff on you?"

"Like I said, it has been a few years since I was  exposed to it. But when I am exposed, I can pretty  much forget about stopping the criminals or whoever  has it. Plus, if there's enough Kryptonite, and I'm  vulnerable enough, anyone could attack me and...."

"Can this Kryptonite stuff kill you?" I asked, almost  afraid to even say the words... it was such a  horrible thought.

"Once, I accidentally ingested some. That time, it  probably would have killed me. Otherwise, no... there  has to be something else. Someone would have to use  the Kryptonite to weaken me and then use a gun or  whatever and--"

But after that, I didn't want to talk anymore. I was  too freaked out. I wanted to go up to my room and  think. But Dad stopped me. "Kaylie... I'm not trying  to scare you... believe me... I just don't know if  the Kryptonite is only something that can affect  full-blooded Kryptonians or if... if you and your  sisters and brother are in danger, too." He was  speaking urgently now... he sounded almost panicky.  He grabbed my hand and said, "I sincerely hope it'll  never happen to you... I hope you'll never be exposed  to it... but if you are, you'll need to know what  you're up against. You'll feel weak, all of sudden,  and your head will start swimming. You might feel  intense pressure in your temples... you might feel  sick to your stomach... you might feel like you're  going to pass out. If you *ever* feel that way...  just run. Get out of there -- quickly. If you can  figure out where the Kryptonite is, great... but get  away from it as fast as you possibly can. You can  recover your strength once you're far enough away  from it...."

"Dad, I don't think--"

"I can't *not* tell you this!" he said. "I have to...  just in case it ever --"

I nodded, feeling numb... scared... terrified.... I  couldn't believe that I, just a few months ago, was  offering to help Dad with his Superhero activities.  How could I have possibly been serious? I could  *never*... I mean, think of all the bad things that  could happen... all I wanted back then was for my Dad  to have an easier workload, but....

"I understand, Dad. And I'll be careful...."

"Kaylie?" Jenna's voice broke me out of my reverie.  "Kaylie, you're not even listening to me!"

"What? Oh sorry, Jenna... what were you saying?" I  blinked a few times, and tried to snap myself out my  daydream state. My algebra book lay open on the bed,  taunting me. I snapped it closed and sat up, then  looked expectantly at my sister, ready to listen.

Jenna sighed and shot me a bitter, hurt look. "You  were spacing out while I was talking!" she said  accusingly.

"So what if I was? Anyway, I'm listening now, so if  you've got something to say you might as well say  it."

"I was saying I need help on the Superman project.  Everyone at my school, even the Kindergarteners, are  going to do *something*. And then, on the Wednesday  of Superman Week, we're going to have a show -- in  the gym and cafeteria -- and everyone will get to  show off their projects... and then the principal is  going to pick the best one... and the winner gets to  have a flight over Metropolis with Superman! Kaylie,  you've *got* to help me think up a great project... I  want to win sooo badly!"

"Why? You've flown with Superman -- lots of times."  Ever since I was a little kid, Dad's been carting our  family to Smallville donned in the Superman costume.  My parents put on this pretense that Superman is a  really good friend of the family, and therefore is  happy to do those kinds of favors for us. In reality,  he just wants to save money on travel... but hey, so  the man's economical... and sneaky... but who can  blame him?

"I know I have. And I've *told* people that I have,  but no one believes me. If I win the contest, then  I'll get to fly with Superman in front of  *everybody*... and they'll believe me after that!"   I sighed. I couldn't really argue with Jenna on that  one... I know how it is... sometimes it's not about  the thing itself. Sometimes it's all about impressing  your friends.

"So, can you help me?" Jenna asked hopefully.

"You should ask Mom and Dad," I said. "They're the  experts."

"I did. I asked Mom and she said, `Ask Daddy.' So I  asked Dad and he just got all weird and changed the  subject, like he didn't want to talk about Superman!  How could he not want to talk about Superman?"

"What kinds of projects are the other kids doing?" I  asked quickly.

"Matthew J. is making a mural with a timeline going  from 1993 to 2013, and it's going to list all of  Superman's most important feats, in the order that  they happened... Madelyn is going to do a working  model of a volcano and have this electronic arm with  a little Superman doll on it, flying towards the  volcano, and then the volcano is going to blow up,  but the Superman doll is going to blast the volcano  with dry ice... just like that time Superman saved  the village of Ontuba from that volcano in South  America, remember? Oh, and Emily is going to make a  diorama with Superman inside, only instead of using a  shoe box she's going to use a refrigerator box...."   "Wow," I said. "Sounds like people are going all  out."

"They are. Kaylie, I have to win... if I don't win,  I'll never forgive myself!"

"All right," I said calmly. "First off all, you've  got to consider your assets."

Jenna looked blank.

"Okay, it's like this... that Matthew kid's assets  are, like, whatever books or resources he's going to  use to get the info. on Superman's feats. Emily's  assets? A refrigerator box. How many people do you  know who have a refrigerator box just lying around?  Emily's probably got one -- so she's going to use it.  Now think -- what do you have that you could use?"

"Maybe I could convince Mom and Dad to buy a new  refrigerator...."

"Jenna!"

"Okay, okay... I don't *know* though."

"Then I suggest you think about it," I said, sounding  scarily like my History teacher.

"All right."

"Come back to me when you've thought of some  assets... then we'll talk."

* * *

Two nights later, we were eating dinner when Mom made  an announcement. Dad had Kiranay on his lap and was  rocking her ever so slightly. She was, of course,  crying. Jenna was shoveling baked potato into her  mouth. Michael had a chicken leg in one hand and a  biscuit in the other. I was holding a fork, ready to  stab my potato, but I put it down when Mom cleared  her throat.

"I have something to tell you all," she said.

We looked up.

"You know your Aunt Lucy? Well, she called me earlier  to tell me that she's getting married. Again."

After dinner, I wasted no time in calling Crissy. She  answered the phone with a kind of droning, listless,  "Hello."

"Crissy? It's Kaylie."

"Oh."

"I just heard."

"Mmmm," she moaned.

"Crissy, are you okay?"

"As good as can be expected," she said in a voice  that sounded so weak I could have sworn she was  currently being strangled.

"Crissy... do you want to come over?"

"Yes!" Finally, she spoke vehemently.

"Okay... hold on a second."

I ran and found Mom, who was now in the den, nursing  Kiranay. "Mom, can you or Dad go pick up Crissy? She  sounds really upset and I think it would be good if  she came over for awhile."

Mom raised an eyebrow. She looked at me, then  Kiranay, who was chowing away, and said, "Perhaps  when I'm a little *less* busy!"

"Sorry... I'll ask Dad."

"He just left."

Ugh! I got back on the phone. "Cris? Neither of my  parents can come but --"

"It's okay," she said. "I'll take the bus."

Forty-five minutes later, she arrived, carrying a  backpack and a pillow. I met her at the door and led  her to my room. She threw the pillow on my floor and  then collapsed on it. "My life," she said weakly, "is  over."

"Crissy... I'm so sorry."

"Yes... I'd be sorry for you, too, if your mother was  insane."

"How long has she known this guy?"

"Ben? Two, three weeks, if that. But she's sooo into  him... she says he's `the one.' Of course, she said  the same thing about Paul... and about my dad,  so...."

"Ben? Isn't he the one who--"

"Yeah, he's the one you met at my house the night my  mom was supposed to bring home pizza. Mr. Kissy  Face."

"When are they... um... you know, getting married?"

Crissy gave a melodramatic sigh and said, "June."

"That's two months from now!"

"No kidding... although it might be enough time..."

"Are you sure? Aren't these things supposed to be  planned way in advance? Not that I know a lot about  weddings, but don't they have to rent a reception  hall, hire a caterer, get a dress... that sort of  thing? Two months doesn't seem--"

"Oh, they've got it all worked out. But I wasn't  talking about that. I couldn't care less what they  plan. What I meant was, two months might be enough  time for *me*."

"For you? To do what?"

Crissy gave me a look. "What else?" she said. "Break  the two of them up!"

"Oh."

"Although that didn't work with Paul... `course, I  was only eight at the time...."

Paul was Aunt Lucy's second husband. They just got  divorced last year. Crissy never liked him, not from  day one. Lucy's first husband, Rick Larson -- the  biological father of Crissy -- had an affair with  another woman when Crissy was two. Then he and Lucy  divorced. In between Rick and Paul, and since Paul,  Lucy has been dating like crazy. She goes from one  man to another. Since she moved back to Metropolis  earlier this year, she's dated, like, six guys. The  worst of which was named Truce Kipley -- the worst,  that is, until Ben.

"How do you plan to break them up?"

"I don't know. I'm working on it..."

"Right... well, okay."

* * *

I just about died the following Friday, when I showed  up to Carson McElhen's fourteenth birthday party. He  had the place decked out with Superman garb. Red,  yellow, and blue streamers... napkins with S-shields  on them... and a life-size cardboard cut-out was  there to greet guests at the door. Luckily, the  cutout was not of my dad, per se, but a drawing of a  cartoony Superman. Still...

"Superman fan, huh?" Lianna Staples asked, giggling  alongside Kasey Blake.

"Yeah," Carson said, proudly. "He's awesome... did I  tell you about the time he saved my life?"

"Really?" I asked, surprised.

"Yeah, when I was five... we were in a car  accident... this truck broadsided our mini-van... we  hit the guard-rail of the freeway..." he imitated a  crunching sound "... my mom was knocked  unconscious... she was driving... and my little  sister and I were in these booster seats, and we  couldn't get out of them... and then our van caught  fire... we were freaking out... I thought I was gonna  die... then suddenly, Superman shows up... puts the  fire out... gets me and my sister and my mom out of  the car... he even stayed until we were all in the  ambulance... they had to take my mom to the  hospital... she regained consciousness... but if it  wasn't for Superman...."

"That's really cool," Kenny Lingheim said, sincerely.

I smiled.

Carson's birthday party wasn't the most exciting  event I've ever attended, but it was pretty fun. He  had dragged out his mom's old karaoke machine and we  all messed around with it. It had these special  effects options that could make your voice really low  or really high, plus other effects like `boings,'  thunder crashes, horses neighing, glass breaking...  you name it. Mitch McConnell hit the button for glass  breaking just as Abby Joleston hit a high note on `I  Will Always Love You' and we all about died laughing  -- even Abby.

"Aw come on," she argued, "I'm not *that* bad!"

Carson's mom had three pizzas delivered -- one  cheese, one pepperoni, and one with everything. Even  sardines. Kenny Lingheim was the only one brave  enough to try that one. "Whoever had the idea to put  sardines on pizza," he said after his sampling,  "should have been committed!"

People started to leave around 10. But I hung  around... avoiding calling my dad to pick me up... I  wasn't sure why I was so reluctant to leave...  except, perhaps, that Carson was... well....

"Want to see something?" asked Jessie McElhen,  Carson's 12-year-old sister. She'd been hanging  around during the party.

"Sure... what?" I said.

"I've got baby pictures of my brother! Wanna see  `em?"

"Oh... uh, that's okay," I said quickly. I knew I  wouldn't want *my* little sister showing anyone *my*  baby pictures!

At that moment, the doorbell rang. It was Kenny  Lingheim's ride. He left, making me the last guest at  the party.

"Want to play video games?" Jessie asked hopefully.

"Hey Jessie," said Carson, coming into the living  room. "Scram, okay?"

"Can't make me."

"No... but Mom can."

"Fine," Jessie pouted and left the room.

"Hey, you're still here," Carson said to me. He  sounded surprised... but also happy, which I took as  a good sign.

"Yeah... I guess I should call my dad."

Carson looked at the carpet. "I guess so...."

So I called Dad and he told me he'd be there in  fifteen minutes.

After I hung up, I sauntered over to the couch and  sat down. I smiled at Carson. He turned eight shades  of red, looked at every single object in the living  room, and then kind of crept over to the couch. He  sat on the other end and looked sideways at me.

"So," he said in a tight voice, kind of like the  strangulation voice Crissy had used last weekend.

"So," I said.

"Did you have fun tonight?" came a voice. Carson's  mother had entered the living room. She smiled at  us and took a seat on the couch between us,  separating the two of us like a big wall o'  motherness. Carson looked mortified.

"It was great," I said politely.

"Good... sure was a noisy group of kids, tonight."

"Mom," said Carson, through clenched teeth.

"Mmmm?"

"Maybe you could...."

"Okay, okay," she said, standing up, "I can take a  hint." She smiled at us and walked back into the  kitchen. But I had an odd feeling she was going to  continue spying on us, or, at any rate, monitor our  conversation. Some parents act unnecessarily  chaperonal! It's not like Carson and I were even  anywhere near each other... we were on opposite sides  of the couch... sheesh!

"It *was* a good party," I said to Carson. "I'm glad  Courtley Miller didn't come."

"I didn't invite her."

"That was nice of you."

He laughed. "Well, she *is* a pain."

"Tell me about it."

"But then, I guess I am too, sometimes...."

"Oh?" I said, pretending I had no clue what he meant.

"Yeah..." He looked down at his feet. He looked sort  of sad.

"You're not... not really...." I said.

"No, it's okay... I *know* I am... everyone says  so... my sister, my mom, girls at school. I don't  *try* to be annoying, honestly... it just happens.  Sometimes I'm just trying to be funny. Other times,  I'm not trying to be *anything* and I end up ticking  people off anyway. People are always telling me how  immature I am... I hate that."

"People tell me that, too," I said.

"You?" He sounded shocked.

"Lisa's always telling me that... whenever I don't  want to do something with her, like go to the mall or  hang out with Courtley. And Courtley attacks me every  time I open my mouth and tells me how completely dumb  I am."

"You're not dumb!"

"Well, I should hope not! Believe me, I don't take  much stock in what Courtley says."

"Good," he said.

I smiled at him.

And Dad knocked on the door.

Carson opened it.

Dad made a very strong effort to pretend not to  notice the Superman decorations. "Hi, I'm Clark  Kent... I'm here to pick up Kaylie."

Carson nodded. "I'm Carson... remember me...? From  Kaylie's party a few weeks ago?"

"Oh, sure," said Dad, and I saw a lightbulb go on in  his head. He was probably going, *Ohhh so this is the  kid Kaylie's so insane over!* *Please don't say  anything embarrassing, Dad!* I begged silently.

"Ready to go, Kaylie?" was all he said.

I smiled, relieved. "Yeah... let me just grab my  sweatshirt... bye Carson."

"Bye... see you in school Monday."

"Well," said Dad, when we were in the car, driving  toward home. "Anything you want to tell me?"

"Ha," I said. "Like you want to hear it...."

"Well... uh, well... y-you know...."

I shook my head. Dad still can't talk to me about  stuff like boys without stuttering. Which I find  weird, since he *is* one.

"Carson says you saved his family from a van fire  once."

Dad raised his eyebrows. "Van fire... there've been a  few of those... okay, *lots* of those...."

I nodded. "I guess it'd be hard to remember all your  rescues."

"Some I don't want to remember," he said quietly, and  I knew which ones he meant -- the times where there'd  been someone he was unable to save.

* * *

I woke the next morning to the smell of  French toast and eggs. I slipped on a sweatshirt and  went downstairs to the kitchen. I could hear Kiranay  crying. Dad was at the stove. "Hey," he said when he  saw me. "Look who's here."

Crissy was sitting at the kitchen table, one elbow on  the table and her head propped on that. She looked  awful. Her eyes were puffy and she was dressed all in  black.

Kiranay was lying in a bouncy seat, which was sitting  in the center of the table, not far from Crissy's head.  Kiranay was, of course, bawling.

"I have a question," Crissy said. "Does that child  ever close her beak?"

"Never," I replied, as I walked over to the table. I  unharnessed Kiranay from the bouncy seat's straps and  picked her up. I held her in the crook of my arm and  watched as her face turned beet purple. "Shhhh, Nay- nay... it's okay... you're not in mortal danger...  life is good...."

"No, it isn't," said Crissy matter-of-factly.

"Okay, it's good for everyone but Crissy," I  corrected myself. "Crissy has issues... but you're  *fine*, Nayster... please stop crying."

But Kiranay, as I knew full well, didn't understand  one single word I was saying and continued to bawl.

"I'm sure," Dad said, as he brought over a plate  stacked with French toast, "that when Naya's a few  months older, she'll be a lot happier... one can  hope...."

Michael came into the kitchen then and flashed a grin  at Crissy. "Hi, Crissy, guess what? I lost a tooth  yesterday... and look what was under my pillow."    "Five bucks?" Crissy said. "What are you going to  spend it on?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Michael seriously. "Maybe  some bubble gum... then I'll get cavities and lose  more teeth and pretty soon I'll have enough money for  a dog."

Dad raised an eyebrow. "Michael, your  teeth are all going to fall out eventually, don't  worry. Now put that money away before you get syrup  on it. Here you go, here's a plate." He handed  Michael a plate and some utensils and then looked  around. "Lois?" he called. "Breakfast is ready."

"I'm here, I'm here..." Mom said, coming into the  kitchen. "I was looking for my story notes...." Mom's  maternity leave ended last week and now she's back at  the Daily Planet... back in the swing of things...  back to being a headstrong investigative reporter,  like always. Kiranay now goes to the Daily Planet  daycare -- baby division.

"Lois, it's Saturday -- your day to relax, remember?"  Dad set a plate and utensils down at Mom's place and  poured her a cup of orange juice. "Who else wants  orange juice?" he asked, and went around filling  cups.

"Thanks, Uncle Clark," Crissy said,  listlessly spearing a piece of French toast.

"Crissy's here?" came Jenna's voice, as my sleepy- eyed, pig-tailed sister entered the kitchen.    "Good to see you too, Jenna," was Crissy's response.

Jenna slid into her seat and grabbed a banana,  unpeeled it, and ate it.

"`Morning, Jenna," Dad said.

"Hi."

"Still sleepy?"

"Naturally. How can anyone sleep around here?" she  asked, with a dirty look in my direction. It took me  a moment to realize the comment wasn't aimed at me,  but rather at Kiranay, who was still nestled in my  arms... only now, instead of giving off full-blown  howls, she was whimpering softly.

"We'll get you some earplugs, Jen," Dad offered.    "I doubt that will help," she said. "She's so loud  I'll bet the *neighbors* can hear her!"

"Hey, she stopped," said Crissy. I looked down and  saw that Kiranay was nodding off.

"Good," said Mom, "she's been awake since three.  Better not try to move her, Kaylie."

"Are you telling me I have to sit like this? Until  she wakes up? My arm will fall off!"

But it didn't -- fall of, that is. Although I'm sure  it would have if not for my whole invulnerability,  super-strength thing! I ended up holding Kiranay like  that for three hours... during which time Crissy and  I watched an hour of Saturday morning cartoons with  Michael and two recorded episodes of my favorite TV  show, `Hanna & Company.'  And when Kiranay woke  up, she made some funny sounds but didn't cry.

"Kaylie, I think you might be doing something just  right," said Dad, eyeing my arm situation and  Kiranay's position. "Either that, or she just really  likes you."

"Have you held her often?" Crissy asked me, when Dad  left the room.

I looked at my baby sister. "A couple of times...  right after she came home from the hospital... she  didn't cry so much then...."

"That's it?"

"That's all I've felt like holding her."

"Well I bet your parents are going to make you hold  her all the time now... too bad for you."

After lunch, Crissy helped me spread a blanket on the  rug and I laid Kiranay on her back. Then I sat on one  side of her and Crissy sat on the other. We played  with her fingers and toes, gently rubbed her tummy,  and tried to entice her with rattles and teething  rings. She didn't seem too impressed with the toys,  but she did seem pretty content -- at least she  wasn't howling!

Before long, Crissy grew bored with trying to  entertain Kiranay and laid down on her back, on the  blanket, next to my littlest sister. She closed her  eyes and was quiet for a long time. At long last, I  said, "Crissy -- are you awake?"

"Yes," came her reply.

"Well... are you okay?"

"No."

"Thinking about your mom?"

"What else?"

"Look... I know you're upset about it... but I  thought you were going to *do* something... try to  break them up... instead you're over here, feeling  sorry for yourself. Not that I mind having you here,  but... shouldn't you be sabotaging them or something?  The wedding's only two months away..."

"I wanted to break them up," she said, her eyes still  closed. "But not anymore... I don't care anymore."

"Have you told your mom how you feel?"

"What's the point? She doesn't listen. And if she  does listen, she just tells me I'm being ridiculous.  It doesn't matter... if she wants to get married, let  her get married... what do I care... in two and a  half years I can get emancipated and get the heck out  of there... then everything will be great."

"What will you do then?"

"No clue, but I have two and a half years to think  about that, don't I?"

I sighed.

* * *

On Monday, I skipped lunch and went to the library  during that period to find a book for a History  assignment. After lunch came P.E. Lisa Muff  approached me in the locker room and said, curtly, "I  hear you went to Carson's birthday party."  "Yep," I said, wondering where this conversation was  going to lead. You never know with Lisa... I mean,  she used to be my best friend, but ever since the  school year started she's been hanging around with  Courtley Miller a lot and acting like a snob. In  every other conversation she ends up insulting me  somehow. She's not the most pleasant person to hang  around with... but since I don't really have any  other close friends here at Metro Jr. High....

"I didn't go," she said, "even though I was invited...  and do you want to know why?"

"Okay... why?"

"Because he didn't invite Courtley. He purposely  snubbed her!"

"Hmmm."

"Well, you shouldn't have gone either."

"Lisa, I'm not friends with Courtley -- what do I  care if she's 'snubbed'?"

"You're friends by association, that's why. You're  friends with me and I'm friends with her.  Therefore...." she trailed off in a tone that  strongly suggested I should know what she was going  to say next. Except I didn't.

"Therefore... what?"

"Therefore you should have boycotted the party!"

"Mitch McConnell was there... isn't he dating  Courtley?"

"Not anymore!"

"Well you missed out on a great party."

"Well, *you* shouldn't have gone because now  Courtley's mad."

"When isn't she?"

"Kaylie, grow up!" Lisa yelled, as she turned and  stormed off to the other side of the locker room.

"Yeah, whatever," I muttered.

That day in P.E. we were playing volleyball. First  things first, we had to sit in our pods while Mr.  Pacman called attendance. Then he divided us into  four groups and sent two groups to one of the  makeshift volleyball courts and the other two to the  other court. I was very happy to see that both  Courtley and Lisa were assigned to the other court.  Carson was assigned to the team *my* team was  supposed to play against.

Right away I could tell that my team situation did  not look promising. My teammates were: Lowell  Montgomery, who can't hit a ball to save his life;  Brian Finkel, who can never get a serve over the net;  Meghan Corner, who just stands there with her arms  crossed and refuses to even try for the ball; Kasey  Blake, who *can* hit a ball, but usually hits it *so*  hard that it goes out of bounds; Brad Kelker, who  tries to get *every* ball that comes over the net,  whether it's near him or not, and end ends up mowing  everybody down in the process; and Amy Green, who  screams like a banshee if the ball even comes within  five feet of her.

So my team was terrible, and I was in a bad mood left  over from my conversation with Lisa. In addition to  those two things, I was mad because Carson's team had  Abby Joleston and Katlin Freedman, who are on the  girls' varsity team (well, during volleyball season,  at least) and are, naturally, two of the best players  in our entire P.E. class! There was no way our team  would even win. There was no way we were even going  to score a point, unless some weird fluke happened.

So yeah, I was in a bad mood.

But I honestly didn't mean to do what I did. Why  would I do it on purpose? I feel awful about what  happened... I feel like the biggest jerk....

The score was something like 11 to 0. One of Carson's  teammates had served the ball and it didn't go over  the net... so it was our turn to serve... Brad  Kelker's turn, to be technical. He threw the ball up,  whacked it, sent it over... Abby Joleston returned  it... and it came straight toward me. I was in the  front row, center. In a perfect position to spike.  Incidentally, Carson was directly opposite me...  ready to hit the ball back... there was the ball... I  thrust my body into the air, arm raised... whack! I  hit the ball, hard, sending it downward over the  other side of the net. I saw Carson's hand reach to  hit it. I saw the ball hit his middle finger and,  with a sickening sound that perhaps only I could  hear, his whole hand snapped back. The ball hit the  floor.

My entire team erupted into cheers -- everyone, that  is, except me.

Carson was standing there, as if in shock, staring at  his hand.

"Are you okay?" I started to ask, but my voice was  lost in the commotion that was now occurring on the  other side of the net.

"Carson, are you all right?" Abby Joleston was  saying. "Are you hurt?" Katlin Freedman asked.

"I... don't know," he said shakily.

"Does it hurt?" Thomas Demarro asked.

"No... it just... feels funny."

"I think it's starting to swell!" cried Madison  Ambrose. "Someone get Mr. Pacman!"

Mr. Pacman was summoned. He took a look at Carson's  finger, sucked in his breath, and said, "This doesn't  look too good, McElhen... it might be broken, or  fractured, perhaps... you'll need to see the school  nurse. I need someone to go with him!" he said  loudly.

"I'll go," Thomas Demarro offered.

I felt hot tears forming, and I struggled to keep  them from emerging.

"Back in formation!" Mr. Pacman called to us. "Kelker  -- switch teams and take McElhen's spot. Keep  playing, you guys."

Keep playing? Was he insane? I shook my head and  walked toward one of the benches.

"Kent, what do you think you're doing?" Mr. Pacman  yelled.

I didn't answer him.

"Kent, do you want a detention?"

What did I care?

"That's it, Kent -- Friday detention for you."

What-freaking-ever, I thought. Sometimes there are  more important things than playing volleyball.

* * *

For some odd reason, I didn't think Carson would be  in school the next day. The night of the disastrous  volleyball game I had daydreams where I pictured him  lying in a hospital bed, his arm wrapped in a white  bandage, an I.V. dripping into his one good arm.

But he was there at school Tuesday, third period, Art  Appreciation, his middle finger in a splint.

"Does it hurt?" Katlin Freedman asked.

"Not really."

"Is it sprained?"

"No, broken. They didn't have time to put a cast on  it yesterday so they're going to do that today."

"A cast for a finger?" Amy Green laughed. "Well... I  hope you won't expect us all to sign it... there  wouldn't be room."

I had been hoping... truly hoping... that everyone  would have conveniently forgotten the fact that I was  responsible for Carson's grievous injury. But in case  anyone had, Meghan Corner reminded them by saying,  "So Carson... you gonna sue Kent for doing this to  you?"

"Nah," Carson said, but I noticed he didn't look at  me when he said it. "It was an accident... things  happen."

I felt like a freak for doing so, but I spent lunch  period in the bathroom, crying my head off. I'm not  normally a crier... well, at home sometimes, but not  at school... but I just couldn't help it. I felt so  bad about Carson... I was sure I'd ruined everything.  Just when I was starting to like him... just when he  was maybe starting to sort of like me... I had to go  and give the poor kid a battle wound... real nice,  Kaylie.

Why hadn't I been more careful? Dad warned me about  this! Super strength is nothing but a nuisance!

That night I didn't come down for dinner. I was too  busy sulking. Afterwards, Mom came up to check on me.

"Did something happen today?" she asked, sitting on  the bed next to me, putting a hand on my arm.  "No," I said. It was true... nothing had happened  that day... it had happened the day before.

"Kaylie, if you're upset about something, you can  tell me."

"I think... I should... but... I think I need to talk  to Dad."

"You know," she said, "if it's about... superpowers-- " she said "superpowers" in a whisper"--I *do* know a  thing or two about the subject."

"You do?"

"Didn't I ever tell you about the time I got his  powers?"

"Oh yeah... you told me... you had them for like two  days... you said you wore pink spandex and called  yourself Wondergirl or something."

"Ultrawoman," Mom laughed.

"I know you told me about that... but you didn't go  into much detail. What did you actually get to *do*  when you were Ultrawoman?"

"The usual, I guess you could say. Nothing your  father doesn't do on a daily basis. There was a car  accident, I remember that... and a bridge  collapse...."

"That must have been scary."

"Yes... and if there's one thing I learned after  having those powers, it was that they are *not* easy  things to have... Superhearing, especially, can be so  annoying...."

"You hear a bunch of stuff you don't want to hear,"  I said knowingly.

"I was always hearing cries for help... sometimes I  would hear a cry for help when I was in the middle of  saving someone... and I couldn't leave... sometimes I  had to make spur-of-the-moment choices as to who I  would save... choices that meant the difference  between life and death for certain people."

"And then what happened? You lost the powers?"

"It's a long story, but... eventually we transferred  them back to Clark... the way it should have been...  not that things are any easier for him... but your  dad is stronger than most people. And I don't mean  literally. We all know he's *that.* But... inside."

I nodded. "Sometimes I wish he didn't have them,  though," I said. "Sometimes when he has to leave in  the middle of dinner, or miss important events... or  he might not be missing anything in particular but  he's just not here... it makes me mad. Is that  selfish? Because I know he saves lots of people and  that's important... he saved Carson once." As soon as  I said Carson's name, I choked up. I took a deep  breath and said, "When you had Superpowers, did you  ever... like... hurt anybody?"

"I hurt someone's car... I had to rip off this guy's  car door to rescue his wife, who was trapped  inside... he was sooo mad! But no... I never actually  hurt anyone." She paused. "Are you worried you might  hurt someone, Kaylie?"

"I kind of already did."

"How so?"

"I broke Carson McElhen's finger," I said, barely  able to contain myself. I wanted to burst into tears  -- again.

"Were you fighting or something?" Mom sounded  confused.

"No, it was during volleyball... I hit the ball and  he...."

"Oh, Kaylie," Mom said, a smile playing on her lips.  "If that's what you're worried about... listen...  volleyball, dodge ball... those games are like  accidents waiting to happen. I had a friend in high  school who got her finger broken during volleyball...  and she recovered just fine... Carson'll be okay."

"So it wasn't--"

"Just because you're stronger than the other kids...  okay, stronger than most adults, even... doesn't mean  you're a maniacal force, waiting to clobber everyone  in your path! What happened was an accident. Anyone  should be able to see that. It wasn't your fault. My  friend, Paige... the one who had her finger broken in  high school... do you know who served the volleyball  that hit her finger and broke it? Not a kid with  Superpowers, I'll tell you that. It was Susan  Donaldson... just a regular student...."

"But, Mom... it wasn't under normal circumstances...  I was in a bad mood... I was mad about Lisa and my  teammates and all this other stuff... what if my mood  made me more aggressive and that made me more likely  to hurt someone?"

"I guess it would be a good idea to try to put  aggression aside when you're playing games in P.E.  class... just to be on the safe side."

"I will. From now on, I'm going to be extra careful,  I promise."

"So how's Carson -- is he okay?"

"Yeah... I mean... his finger's broken, but other  than that...."

"Does he blame you?"

"I think so."

"Have you talked to him?"

"What am I supposed to say? I tried to apologize  right afterwards, but... I just feel so *bad* and  it's so awkward."

"Talk to him," Mom urged. "You'll feel better...  really."

* * *

I was planning to talk to Carson before Art  Appreciation, but I lost all nerve when I walked into  class and saw a group of students surrounding him,  admiring his new cast. There was no way I could talk  to him in *front* of everybody, so I waited.

Lunch period came, and as I entered the crowded  cafeteria I saw Carson at his usual table, with his  friends... and Lisa and Courtley at our usual table.  I didn't really want to be anywhere near Lisa, and  Courtley -- well, I never wanted to be anywhere near  *Courtley*. There was always the Loser table... and  actually, Emily, Devin, and Chloe aren't losers at  all, they've just been dubbed that by people like  Courtley.

I don't know what got into me, or where I got the  nerve, but instead of going to Lisa's table and  instead of going to the Loser table, I marched over  to Carson's table, tapped him on the shoulder, and,  when he turned around, said, "Can I talk to you?"

For about half a second, a million horrible thoughts  ran through my head. I managed, in that half-second,  to come up with half a dozen possibilities for things  Carson might say in response -- things like, "Buzz  off," "Can't you see I'm eating?", or, worst of all,  "Hey look, it's the freak who thought it might be fun  to break me... quick, guys, run for your lives!" But  he didn't say any of those things. To his credit, he  nodded, quickly tossed his sandwich and apple into  his lunch sack, got up and followed me out of the  cafeteria, all the while ignoring the stupid calls  and comments his so-called friends were making.

He followed me all the way out to the courtyard,  where I stopped abruptly and turned around. He looked  at me expectantly.

"I am *so* sorry," I said, and after that I had  absolutely no idea what else to say. I felt dumb for  dragging him out of the cafeteria and I half expected  him to just acknowledge my apology, do a 180, and  head back to the cafeteria.

Instead, he broke into a grin and said, "forget about  it." He walked over to the fountain and sat on the  edge. I followed him and sat, too, unsure of what was  to happen next.

"It hurt like hell when the doctor set it," Carson  said, dipping his good hand in the water and wiggling  his fingers around, causing ripples. "But afterwards  it wasn't so bad. The doctor said it should heal just  fine.... My mom's so whacked... she told me not to  blame you for what happened. She was like, `this sort  of thing happens all the time' and she went off about  how, when she was in grade school, some boy she knew  got *his* finger broken playing volleyball, too. But  I was like, `Mom, I don't blame her.' I don't know  why she thought I would."

"You don't blame me?"

"No... why would I?"

"Because... I hit the ball."

"It's not like you were doing something you weren't  supposed to be doing! We were playing volleyball. The  object of the game is to hit the ball! I could tell  you were about to spike it... I could see the ball  was going to come down hard... I should have just let  it go... but... I mean, I thought it would be so  great if we could win a game 15-0, you know? Of  course, later, I realized how selfish that was... I  was trying so hard not to let you guys score any  points that I put myself in the way of a fast ball...  what *I* did was stupid... so, really, it's my  fault."

"Why *should* you let us score? The object of the  game is to *not* let us score... you were just  playing the game."

"And so were you."

"Right," I said, and I laughed.

"Why are you laughing?" Carson asked, smiling.

"Because... I thought..." Now I was giggling like a  lunatic. "I was afraid you hated me... that you'd  never want to speak to me ever again... that'd I'd  spend the next four years, `til the day we graduate  high school, being remembered as `that horrible,  violent girl who broke Carson McElhen's finger during  P.E.'"

"I don't hate you... hell no...  actually...."

"What?" I asked, hoping he would continue in the way  I wanted him to.

"Nevermind," he said quickly.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch period.  "Want to walk to P.E. together?" I asked.    "Sure," he said with a grin.

And so we did.

* * *

The next day marked the first day of May, and the  official kick-off of Superman month. Jenna still had  no idea what do to for a project, and she came  whining to me about that very fact that evening.

"The project fair is in two weeks -- what am I going  to do? I thought about my assets, like you said...  but I seriously and honestly can't think of  anything!"

"Jenna, come on... think! What advantage do you have  that none of the other kids... well probably none of  the other kids has?"

"I...."

"Your parents... know...." I said it slowly, hoping  she'd catch on.

"My parents... know... Superman! They know Superman!  That's perfect! Maybe they could call Superman and...  and...."

"And what?"

"I could interview him?"

I shrugged. "That could work."

"But how would I present that? Write everything he  says on a poster? That would take forever... and  that'd be boring...."

"So, how about a video?"

"But I'd need a camcorder...."

"Well, you're in luck, lunkhead... cuz we *do* happen  to own one!"

"Oh yeah!"

I swear, my sister can be so dense sometimes!

I really didn't want to be present when Jenna was  going to ask Dad if she could interview his own  alter-ego for her school project, so I told her to do  it herself and then I went upstairs to my room and  concentrated very hard on turning my superhearing  off.

Five minutes later, Jenna came running upstairs,  barged into my room without knocking, jumped onto my  bed, and squealed. "Dad said he'll talk to Superman  about it but he's `99% sure' it'll be okay. Isn't  that great? Now it doesn't matter if I win that  stupid contest, anyway... if I interview Superman,  then the other kids will *have* to believe that I  know him."

Mom came into my room just then, holding Kiranay, who  was screaming. "Kaylie, could you...?"

"Yeah, okay." I took Kiranay in my arms and she  immediately stopped crying.

"You're not offended, are you?" I asked Mom.

"Why should I be? I'm just glad she likes *somebody*  in this house... or else things would be very  intolerable around here!" She grinned and left,  closing the door.

"Mom says Naya's just going through a phase," said  Jenna.

"Let's hope so! I'm kind of hoping to go off to  college in four or five years... I don't want to have  to take her with me." I was joking, and Jenna knew  it.

"I can just picture it," she said. "She's four years  old and still cries alllll the time... and Mom and  Dad take her down to the preschool to enroll her and  they won't let her enroll because she's too loud and  scares all the other kids!"

"Miss Kiranay," I said, looking down at my baby  sister. "You'd better stop this craziness soon...  you're driving everybody bonkers!"

Jenna started giggling and laughed so hard, she  rolled right off the bed.

* * *

My detention came and went, as did the  next two weeks of school. They passed pretty  uneventfully, actually. I didn't break any more  people's fingers -- but I did sign Carson's cast. It  covered his whole hand and extended to his middle  finger with a little metal rod and a leather harness.  It looked like he had a robot hand. I signed it  *Kaylie M. Kent*.

The second full week of May, May 13 to 17, marked the  biggest week of Superman Month, appropriately titled  Superman Week. The parade was Monday. Dad -- as  Superman -- got to sit in a special stand to watch  the parade. The mayor and the governor were there,  too, plus some people I didn't know. Dad somehow  managed to procure seats there for Mom, Jenna,  Michael, and me as well. The parade started at noon,  so my siblings and I were given permission to leave  school early, as were a lot of other kids.

"Where's Daddy?" Michael asked after we'd been  seated, noticing the absence of the Clark Kent half  of dad's personas.

"He's covering the parade for the Daily Planet," I  told him, before Mom could say anything. "Don't worry  -- you'll see him later tonight." Or, I thought, if  you just, you know, look over there, a little to your  left.... But, of course, I couldn't say that.

The parade was pretty lame. Oh, I don't mean it was  pathetic. It was more like... cheesy. Metropolis had  really gone all out for this. There were marching  bands, dance troupes, baton twirlers, floats, city  officials on horses, the works.

After the parade was over, the carnival officially  began. It was held down at the waterfront. I hung  around with Jenna and Michael for the most part, and  we rode the tilt-a-whirl and went through the fun  house. We were just getting in line for the Big Slide  when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned  around.

"Hey, Carson!" I said.

"Hi... what's up?"

"Oh, you know... just enjoying the fun that IS the  Superman carnival."

He smiled. "I saw you sitting up in the booth," he  said.

"Oh? Yeah."

"Really prime seats."

"They were okay."

"Did you get to talk to Superman?" he asked, sounding  excited.

"Oh... I guess I didn't really talk to him." Well...  I hadn't! I was too busy watching the parade.  Besides, I talk to him every day... not that I could  tell Carson that.

"You're sure lucky... sitting there by Superman...."

Jenna, who'd been listening to our conversation,  blurted out, "Our parents are friends with Superman!"    Carson looked at me. "They are?"

"Oh sure," said Jenna breezily, despite my attempts  to nudge her and shut her up. "We see him all the  time... we've even flown with him!"

Carson blinked. "You're kidding," he said to Jenna.

Jenna's face crumpled. "See?" she said. "He doesn't  believe me... no one ever believes me."

"It's true," I told Carson, sighing. I didn't really  want to get into it right then, but at the same time  I felt I had to back up my sister.

"Why have you flown with him?"

"Oh... just because... I mean, like Jenna said, my  parents are friends with him."

"I interviewed him for my school project," Jenna  boasted. "And he said that when he first came to  Metropolis, my mom and dad were some of the first  people who were really nice to him."

"I think it's great!" said Carson. "But why didn't  you ever tell me?" He directed that last question at  me.

"What's there to tell?"

"You knew I was a fan of Superman! You could have  maybe mentioned the fact that you guys are close,  personal friends with the guy! You could have maybe  offered to introduce me to him!"

Sheesh, Carson, I thought. You don't get the least  bit upset when I break your finger, yet you go  psycho-angry on me when you find out I didn't tell  you we happen to know Superman!

He must *really* be a Superman fan.

"But you said you've met him before!" I argued, not  wanting this thing to rest quite yet... I did feel  that Carson was being slightly irrational about the  whole thing... and I didn't like the accusatory tone  he was using. "You told us all about how he saved  your life, remember?"

"I met him under harrowing circumstances! I'd kind of  like to meet him under normal ones, if you know what  I mean!"

"Fine. You want to meet him? Then we'll  go meet him. Come on, guys," I said to Jenna and  Michael.

"But we wanna go on the slide!" Michael cried.

"Later, I promise. Come on... Carson wants to meet  Superman."

I felt *so* stupid approaching Dad, who was wearing  the whole red-and-blue ensemble. He was over by the  Ferris Wheel -- I'd seen him there earlier -- and  people were coming up to him to talk. He was signing  autographs, posing for pictures, that sort of thing.

And as we got near Dad, I noticed some of Carson's  confidence slipping away. He began to fall behind my  stride. Finally I had to stop, turn around, *wait*  for him to catch up, and then I continued toward Dad.  Jenna and Michael lingered behind Carson, interested  to see what was going to happen.

Dad noticed us approaching. His eyes lit up and he  smiled. I waved and he waved back. Carson stopped in  his tracks so I grabbed his good hand and pulled him  forward. "Hi, uh, Superman," I said, almost slipping  and calling him you-know-what. "There's someone here  who wants to meet you."

Carson was very pale by that point. "Hi," he  squeaked.

"Carson wanted to meet you under non-harrowing  circumstances," I explained.

"Are you sure these aren't harrowing?" Dad asked,  jokingly. "Carson, it's nice to meet you..." he said,  putting out his hand.

Carson nervously reached out his hand and shook  Dad's. "H-hello," he said. "It's really nice to meet  you."

"Are you friends with Kaylie?" Dad asked, as if he  didn't know.

"Yeah... we're friends from school."

"Hi Superman!" said Michael, running up to him and  jumping up and down in front of him. "Hi! Hi!"

I pulled Michael back and said, "He's had a lot of  cotton candy."

"And a pretzel," said Michael, "and an icee!"

Dad smiled.

"We're gonna go on the Big Slide!" Michael announced.

"Oh, fun," said Dad. "Well... I won't keep you."

"`Bye, Superman!" Michael said, turning and  scampering off toward the slide.

"Michael, wait up!" I yelled. "`Bye," I said quickly  to Dad. He nodded in response.

"`Bye, Sir," Carson said over his shoulder, as he  turned to follow me. "Thank you for... meeting me."

When we were all back in line for the Big Slide  Carson slapped his hand over his eyes and moaned, "I  can't believe I said that!"

"Said what?" asked Jenna.

"I thanked him for meeting me! Aughh... he probably  thinks I'm the biggest moron!"

"No, Superman's cool," Jenna said knowingly. "He'll  know what you meant to say. Don't worry."

I had to give Jenna credit for saying that, because  it obviously made Carson feel a lot better. After two  rides down the Big Slide he said to me, "I'm sorry I  was all weird earlier... about Superman... about you  not telling me you knew him... I overreacted... I  mean you and I have only had like, four or five  serious conversations, right? Okay, so that little  fact about your family never came up -- so what? I'm  sure there's probably lots of stuff I still don't  know about you."

"And lots of stuff I don't know about *you*," I said.

"Right."

I smiled.

"Well," Carson continued, "I just want to say...  thanks for introducing me to him... I didn't really  think you would... I guess I could have gone over  there myself and talked to him, like all those other  people were... I probably wouldn't have though... I  would have been too nervous... but with you--"

"Dragging you over there?"

"Yeah... I mean, that's what it took... and I was as  nervous as anything but I'm glad I met him... under  non-life-threatening circumstances. It was pretty  cool."

"You know," I said, "there's nothing to be nervous  about... except for all the powers, he's just an  ordinary guy."

"Yeah... easy for you to say...."

* * *

Wednesday was the project fair at Jenna's and  Michael's elementary school. Jenna's interview with  Superman was a big hit, though it didn't win the  grand prize. That award went to some fifth-grader  named Oliver, who had designed his own computer game  with Superman as the main character.

Oliver got to fly with Superman. Oliver got to be on  the eleven o'clock news.

"I don't care," Jenna told me the next day. "Oliver  got to fly with Superman -- but I'll bet you anything  *his* parents don't *know* Superman! So ha ha..."

"Uh, Jenna--" I began. I was going to tell her that  her attitude probably wasn't the best one to use  around people, but I thought better of it. Who cares?  She's only nine... why not let her have her moments  in the sun?

Thursday was just plain weird. There was a Superman  look-a-like contest at the carnival, on one of the  pavilion stages. Crissy came to the carnival with us  that day and she, Jenna and I got good seats in front  of the stage. We watched as one guy after another  paraded across the stage wearing spandex. Crissy and  I rated them, and to be honest, most of them looked  *nothing* like Superman. One of the so-called look-a- likes was about 5'5" and couldn't have weighed more  than 140 pounds. Another one was at least 300 pounds.  Another was blonde!

"This is pathetic," I whispered to Crissy, and she  agreed.

In the end, the honors went to some guy named Barry,  who, oddly enough, did bear a scarily striking  resemblance to Superman. He got a gift certificate  and a ribbon.

After the look-a-like contest there was a talent  show, with all the talents having something to do  with Superman. Three kids did a magic act in which  two of the kids made the third kid fly. Well, he  looked like he was flying, anyway, and I'm guessing  if I had used my x-ray vision, I could have seen how  they did it, but I don't intend upon using my  abilities to ruin *all* of life's little mysteries,  thank you very much! Besides the magic show, there  was a woman who sang "Fly Me to the Moon," two girls  who rapped about how cool Superman is, a teenage girl  who juggled red, white, and blue scarves and bouncy  balls, and a twentysomething guy who dressed up like  Superman and recited a poem about the rain forest. He  was definitely the weirdest entrant of all. Crissy,  Jenna and I agreed on that without argument.

Friday was the last day of Superman week, and for  once, no one needed Superman to be there. That's  because the city had officially declared the day  "Superman's Day Off."

When Mom first heard they were going to do that, her  response was, "Oh great -- every criminal in town is  going to have a field day!"

To which Dad replied, "It's technically Superman's  day off... but he'll still be around if said  criminals should try anything... and I hope they know  it!" I think, by "they," he meant the criminals. To ensure against anything bad happening on  Superman's day off, the city put a ton of police  officers on duty that day. More than usual, I think.  Criminals beware!

So on Friday, after school, Dad and Mom took Michael,  Jenna, and me to the carnival. (Grandma Lane had  offered to watch Kiranay.) We went on a bunch of  rides and ate a ton of junk food. Mom was in seventh  heaven when she discovered the existence of  chocolate-covered Elephant Ears.

As the afternoon turned to evening, I couldn't help  thinking how great it was that the city had given  Superman a day off. Even though Dad has no legal  obligation to help Metropolis... he does it  voluntarily anyway... it was still a nice gesture. I  wondered what the Metropolis city council would think  if they knew Superman was using his day off to spend  it with his family... I wondered what they would say  if they knew he *had* a family? Before I knew Dad's  secret, I never really thought about Superman having  a personal life, or a love life, or a family... I'll  bet most people don't stop to think about that,  either. Most people probably just assume that all he  does is work, work, work. Like that's all he's good  for -- doing deeds for people. Saving people.

Shows how much *they* know.

And then I thought about how weird it was that, here  everybody was, giving a week-long celebration to a  guy that they didn't even really know at all. They  only liked him because he'd probably saved their  lives... and who doesn't like a live-saver?

"You okay, Kayls?" Dad asked me, putting his hand on  my shoulder as we walked toward the haunted house.

"Yeah, sure, Dad... I'm fine."

* * *

I can't believe it's June already. Aunt Lucy's  getting married next week. She and Ben are tying the  knot down at the courthouse. Big romantic deal.  There's going to be a party afterwards, at our place.  School gets out on Friday... that's two days away.  This school year went by so slowly... until Kiranay  was born... since then it has just *sped* by.

Carson got his cast off. No permanent damage done. He  and I sit together at lunch now -- at the table  formerly known as the Loser table. Emily, Devin, and  Chloe are great, and Carson's friend Kenny Lingheim  has been sitting with us too. It's a much more  pleasant environment than sitting with Lisa and  Courtley. And Carson has *finally* stopped making  food sculptures... I guess there's hope for his  maturity after all. Maybe there's hope for me, too.

Kiranay's just shy of three months old now. She still  cries a lot, but not quite as much. So I suppose  there's hope for her, too... and for everyone else's  sanity!

Crissy's still in her funk. Sometimes I  worry about her. I talked to Mom about it and she  told me to tell Crissy that she's welcome to stay at  our house any time she needs to get away from her mom  and Ben. I told that to Crissy and she seemed pretty  grateful. She's been coming over to our house for  breakfast on Saturday mornings... every week.

Michael lost another tooth. He was biting Lego's to  get them to detach and bam -- there went a tooth. He  put it under his pillow three days ago but I think  the tooth fairy's been preoccupied because Michael  still has yet to see a cent.

Jenna made friends with Oliver, the boy who won the  school contest, even though he's a grade older than  she is. She says they talk about Superman all the  time, during recess.  My parents are doing great. Mom's back to the  usual -- burying herself in her work. Dad's back to  the usual, too -- trying to stop Mom from getting so  involved in her stories, but at the same time, being  busy with his Superman activities. In the past week  alone he's had to deal with a derailed train, a  sinking yacht, and a trailer park fire. Something  tells me that being a superhero is tough -- I'm  seriously considering *not* being one when I grow up.  But if the world needs... ugh, I don't know what to  do... I don't want to think about this... not until  I'm at least fifteen, sixteen....

Other than the abovementioned inner conflict crisis,  I'm fine. I wish I knew what will happen with Carson,  though. Are we still going to be friends when we get  to high school? Or... more than friends? What if I  find another boy that I like? What if Carson finds  somebody else and I never find anybody to be with and  end up miserable and alone? I think I'm going to take  Dad's advice... and that is: take life as it comes at  you, one day at a time. Or Mom's advice: stop  worrying about the future, you'll give yourself a  headache. Of course, whenever she has a headache, Mom  also has a very good excuse to indulge in a Double  Fudge Crunch Bar.

Which reminds me, I'm hungry. But what else is new? I  have an eternal stomach, let's not forget... but hey,  that's just me. I'm as normal a the next  Kryptonian/human. And I couldn't be happier about  that.

* * * * *

The End (of this chapter, anyway...)

Table of Contents

Normal's Relative