Invisible Inkling

The other kids in Neons are babies. There I am, sitting on the edge of the pool waiting for my turn to do some doofy kickboard practice, and I’m watching Chin, Patne, and Kim learning butterfly stroke or dives.

Mom and Inkling both remind me that if I’d only concentrate harder in class, before I know it I’ll be a Hammerhead. But I can’t concentrate when I feel like such a loser. All of them together, and me in the baby class. My brain just won’t focus on kicking or airplane arms.

It’s not that Patne and Kim are mean to me, exactly. Sometimes they’re funny. Sometimes they’re nice. The third Saturday, we’re sitting in the bleachers with Chin, waiting for lessons to start. I get the idea that we should all make up supervillain names for ourselves. “Chin, you should be The Architect of Doom,” I say.

“Why?” asks Kim.

“I like building things,” explains Chin. “Is that it?”

“Yeah,” I say. “We built this Great Wall of China and half the Taj Mahal out of matchsticks, which was Chin’s idea, even though I helped. She’s always building stuff with blocks or Popsicle sticks.”

“Or pipe cleaners,” says Chin. She is wrapped in a towel decorated with enormous daisies.

“I think you’d have a superpower to do with buildings, like changing them all around, or putting them up instantly or something,” I say.

“Completely,” says Chin.

“Only evil,” I add.

“Of course. Plus, I always wear a tiara.”

“Whatever,” I say. But hello? The whole supervillain idea comes from the way we all look in our swim caps and goggles—defeated supervillains, remember? No way is The Architect of Doom wearing a tiara. She wears Chin’s silver swim cap. Also, you can’t fight properly wearing a tiara, no matter what Wonder Woman thinks. I just say “Whatever,” as I don’t want to hurt Chin’s feelings.

“What am I?” asks Patne.

I squint at him. “Lord Baldy.”

He nods very seriously. “I am. You are absolutely right.”

“Is that because of what he looks like in his swim cap?” says Kim.

“Yes,” says Patne, still serious. “And I am evil because of how bald I am. I live in one of those big creepy mansions. I have lots of minions and a butler. I drive around in a limousine.”

“You have a lot of gadgets,” I tell him. “The minions make you gadgets.”

“Exactly. And the limousine can go underwater if I want it to. “

This is why I like Patne. When I like him. Underwater limousines are good.

“I am The Holy Terror,” announces Kim.

What? I thought I was making these up.

“How come?” asks Patne, lifting up his goggles to look at Kim.

“That’s what my mom calls me when I’m in trouble,” Kim explains.

Okay. That is a good name. “Are you a religious guy or something?” I ask.

“No, I’m like a giant toddler,” says Kim. “’Cause you know, that’s something parents say about kids when they’re rambunctious.”

“A giant toddler is awesome,” says Chin.

“I have temper tantrums and I always wear footie pajamas,” says Kim. “I have all these weapons that look like teddy bears and rattles, and I have a scream that can, I dunno . . . stop time? Yeah. I can stop time as long as I’m screaming, which is very useful in battle. But sometimes you can defeat me by giving me a lollipop.”

Fine. I would have made him Kimchi, like the spicy Korean cabbage thing. He could kill people with hot pepper in their eyes and supersonic farts from eating too much cabbage. But The Holy Terror is pretty good, I guess.

“Who are you, Hank?” Chin asks me.

I have been thinking about this. “Reptiliopolus,” I announce. It sounds grand and venomous.

“What?” Kim does not look properly impressed.

“I have fangs, like a poisonous reptile, and my weird scaly skin makes me angry and evil but also cool looking. I can swallow really big things, things way bigger than my head. Whole people even. And I ride around on a giant Gila monster lizard that does my bidding.”

“Reptiliopolus is not a good supervillain name,” says Kim. “It sounds like a city.”

“It is too a good name,” I say.

“Nah. How about SnakeMan?”

“No way.” I am not being stupid SnakeMan.

“Or Mr. Reptile?”

“That is the dumbest thing I ever heard,” I snap.

“Reptiliopolus sounds totally evil,” says Chin loyally. “Don’t give Hank a hard time, Henry.”

“Okay, fine,” says Kim. “Be Reptiliopolus if you like it so much.”

She Won’t Catch You. You’ll Be a Unicorn.

The next day, Dad makes six different batches of whoopie pie cakes, all of them too crunchy. Mom wraps piles of them in foil and sends me to deliver them to neighbors. I bring some to Seth Mnookin and Rootbeer across the hall. Some to Chin and her mom downstairs. Some to Mrs. Gold, the talky old lady in apartment 2E. Even to this neighbor on the third floor that I swear I’ve never seen before.

When I get back, Mom and Dad are having an argument. Or rather, Mom is having an argument, flailing her arms around and stomping. Dad pretty much never argues back. This time, he isn’t even listening.