Alternaversity-Archive/all-chapters.txt

Jenny Wakeman’s secondary boot-boosters roared to life as she kicked into overdrive, propelling herself past the massive gravitational pull of mighty Jupiter and on toward Mars. Piloting around planets was no big whoop for the teenage robot, but doing so was a bit trickier while trying to corral a gargantuan, sentient space probe set on a collision course with Earth. 

It was a classic story — Earth launches probe, Earth loses probe, probe gains consciousness, Earth gets probe back. This kind of relationship always ended badly. The “feelings” and “needs” the probe developed for its home planet were never welcome, mostly because the probe “felt” like it “needed” to crash into the Earth. And at the incredible speed it was travelling, the probe would get its chance at reunion all too soon.


“Alright pal, I’ve got one question for you, and the future depends on your answer.” She paused to make sure she had the spacecraft’s full attention. “Should I wear my hair up or down?”

An amplified voice bellowed from the enormous probe. “X-Plor-R does not understand the question.”

“C’mon, big guy. I already explained all this. It’s the first day of the new school year and I want to dress to impress.” She gestured to herself. “This is my work outfit. I’ve been cutting sleep mode short for the past week, trying various transformations to find a ‘new look’ I can debut today at Tremorton High. It hasn’t been easy. Most of my internal gear is meant for combat. But yesterday I finally found the right combination — heavy on style and light on laser guns.”

Light beams shot out from Jenny’s eyes and created a small hologram of herself in a dazzling new outfit. The image of her hairstyle shifted between a complicated up-do and something simple and straight. “So? Up, or down?”

“Um. . .” X-Plor-R hesitated. “What is wrong with how your hair looks now?”

“With my thrusters hanging out?!? Get serious!”

Another amplified voice rang out, but this one came from inside Jenny. “No, you get serious, XJ9!” Jenny’s chest split down the middle and a video monitor emerged. The image of Dr. Nora Wakeman said, “Stop this silly fascination with fashion and focus on the job at hand!”

“C’mon, Mom. It’s just another renegade space probe. I’ve already disabled it. All I gotta do is babysit the big lummox and make sure it burns up in the atmosphere.”

“True. If the craft was still the original size it was when Skyway Patrol launched it. But somewhere in its cosmic travels it gained independent thought and also added quite a bit of ‘junk to its trunk’ as you kids like to say.”

“No one says that, Mom.” She gave the probe a quick scan. “I bet it was the Space Bikers who tricked this thing out with all the extra hardware.”

“No matter the cause, if that spacecraft collides with Earth, the result will be a global catastrophe! So stop all the fashion-chatter, use the self-destruct code I gave you, and neutralize the threat!” The screen went blank, and the monitor retracted.

Jenny reluctantly rotated her rockets, adjusted her wings, and changed her course.

The probe bellowed, “Robotic Response Unit XJ9!” 

Jenny sighed. “Only my mom calls me XJ9. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll call me ‘Jenny.’ ”

“You are interfering with the destiny of X-Plor-R. Our new trajectory will not reunite X-Plor-R with Mother Earth.”

“Trust me, hanging out with your mom isn't all it’s cracked up to be.” Why was stuff like this always happening to her? Summer had been swallowed up by these sorts of dumb but lethal threats, and now this dangerous dingus was going to ruin the start of the school year!

Jenny took a breath, though doing so was impossible in the vacuum of space and completely unnecessary for a robot like herself. Nevertheless, it helped to draw some cosmic dust into her system and run it across the overheating angst circuit in her positronic brain. Scanning her memory banks, she found several enjoyable entries from the summer that had nothing to do with the drudgery of her superhero duties. 

More important was what she didn’t find there. No recent memories of fashionable Brittany and Tiffany Crust, the mean girls who wielded their considerable power to prevent Jenny from gaining popularity. Brit and Tiff had disappeared from Tremorton at the start of June and hadn’t resurfaced. Apparently the Crust Cousins had spent the summer overseas, and rumor had it that they would stay abroad for the fall semester, possibly the whole school year.

Jenny’s diodes danced at the thought of high school without the Crusts. The popularity she’d long sought was finally within reach. She just needed to dispose of this pesky cosmic threat and perfect her “new look” before school was in session. 

But how? The self-destruct code her mom had given her would take hours to upload into the spacecraft’s central computer. She might miss the entire school day! Plus it was kind of mean. 

As Jenny pushed the probe around Mars, the Earth and Moon came into view. The teenage robot turned her boot-boosters up another notch. “How about I set you down on the Moon where you can gaze lovingly at Earth from afar?”

 “Negative! X-Plor-R must be reunited with Mother Earth!” A series of hidden panels opened on either side of the ship and two dozen heavy-duty thrusters ignited, sending the no-longer-disabled craft hurtling toward Earth.

Jenny hurtled helplessly along with it.

X -Plor-R, the ginormous space probe, careened toward the Earth, dragging XJ9, teenage robot and protector of the planet, along with it. At its current speed, X-Plor-R would be violently reunited with “Mother Earth” in a matter of minutes. The result? Global catastrophe, ecological devastation, and two weeks with Jenny’s phone confiscated.

Jenny Wakeman would not let that happen.

Activating her extendo-fingers, XJ9 wrapped one hand tightly around the probe’s understructure. She unspooled her stretchy arm so that she was able to drift back behind the ship and get a better angle on all those pesky rockets that had popped up out of nowhere. Transforming her free arm into a laser-cannon, Jenny took out the righthand array. The lefthand thrusters now pushed X-Plor-R off course and it zoomed past the Earth.

“Mommy!” The probe’s pompous voice cracked with pain. It tried to circle around and have another go at the Earth, but Jenny pulled out a few hidden thrusters of her own, her rarely used and embarrassingly named “fanny pack.” At least Tuck wasn’t here to make his customary fart jokes.

Jenny drove the probe quickly towards the center of the solar system, streaking past Venus and Mercury. The speed and strain made her bolts ache, but Jenny persisted. “Your mom’s a little busy right now. Why don’t you hang out with her Sun?”

“I have a . . . brother?” Doubt entered the probe’s voice, followed by anger. “Negative! None but X-Plor-R shall have Mother Earth’s affection!” The ship’s remaining rockets burned extra bright. It curved and spun toward the center of the Sun. “This is a battle to the death!”

“My thought exactly.” Jenny detached from the probe and watched from a safe distance as the massive bulk of the ship was swallowed up by the much more massive Sun. Her eyes telescoped out and their internal cameras zoomed in so she wouldn’t miss the explosion. 

She needn’t have bothered.

KABOOM!

The explosion was huge, and Jenny was not at a safe distance. She was blown back by the eruption, her metallic skin sliced by shrapnel and sizzled in a gigantic cloud of magnetized plasma. 

When she finally stopped spinning, Jenny ran a quick systems check. Initial findings were good, showing no signs of internal damage. But as the blinding light from the probe’s explosion dimmed, she got a good look at her exterior. 

Jenny gasped. “No!” 

She recalibrated her eyes and looked again. “No, no, no!” She could forget the new look she’d come up with for school. The probe’s explosion had given her a very different sort of makeover.


Talk about a global catastrophe! How could she show herself at Tremorton High looking like this?  

In space no one can hear you scream.

Jenny Wakeman didn’t care. One look at how the explosion of the X-Plor-R probe had wrecked her appearance and she screamed her robotic head off. The sound waves went nowhere, but the teenage robot sent out all sorts of distress signals across the electromagnetic spectrum — radio waves, microwaves, infrared, ultraviolet, ultra-violent. 

These expressions of rage and frustration rippled across the solar system and through the Milky Way, past Cluster Prime and the planet of the Space Bikers. They reached a far corner of the universe where an alien race had devoted decades to monitoring for any sign of intelligent life beyond their remote planet. They detected Jenny’s disturbing distress signals and decided they were better off alone.

Jenny’s chest emitted a loud repetitive clanking. Emotionally, she felt like she was having a heart attack but, mechanically speaking, she didn’t have a heart. The muffled voice of her mother sounded from inside. “Jenny? Jenny! What is going on? I received your distress call. Are you okay?”

Jenny mumbled, “I’m as far from okay as Mars is from Neptune.”

“What was that? I can barely hear you. Why isn’t your chest plate opening up? XJ9, did you fly too close to the sun again? You know a solar flare can fry your circuits.”

Now Jenny started pounding on her chest. “Sorry, Mom! Stuck in a meteor shower. Had to lock down my whole system. Gonna go straight to school, see you when I get home. Byyyyyyyyeeeeeeeee!” She pounded and prattled until her mom reluctantly signed off.

After briefly considering a new life on Cluster Prime, Jenny fired up her rockets.

KABOOM!

And headed back to Earth. If what her mom said about frying her circuits was true, then she couldn’t transform her way out of her troubles. Asking her mom to help fix how she looked after lying so blatantly would surely lead to a very long lecture and an even longer grounding. Sheldon would be willing to help, but he was only one (nerdy, young) man. She needed a team to get the job done before the school bell rang.

She plotted a course for Petterson’s Garage in downtown Tremorton. The grease monkeys there had repaired her on more than one occasion. And, if she declined their signature “hot rod” paint job, she could be fixed up quick. The “closed” sign on the front door dashed Jenny’s hopes. She’d forgotten they now opened late three times a week so the entire crew could attend their yoga class together. “Darn their increased flexibility and peaceful frame of mind!”

Time for Plan B — Sheldon Lee. 

Jenny Wakeman zoomed across her hometown toward Sheldon Lee’s house but, upon hearing the town hall’s bell toll 7:45, she rerouted to Tremorton High. School was about to start, and Sheldon was punctual to an obsessive fault. She caught him just outside, and without slowing, grabbed him by both shoulders, flew him around back, and skidded to a stop in front of the groundskeeper’s shed. Jenny put her friend down and started tossing gardening tools at Sheldon, who caught a couple, fumbled a few more, and then let the rest clatter to the ground at his feet.

“Jenny, what’s going on?” asked Sheldon. “Why are you all messed up? And why the sudden interest in lawn care?”

“What’s going on is the probable death of my social life because I was ‘messed up’ by a stupid solar flare.” Jenny gathered the tools and offered them to Sheldon. “Forget the lawn. Take care of me.”

“I don’t think a rake or a trowel is going to do you much good.” He looked nervously toward the school. “Besides there’s no time.”

“Sheldon, what do you care about more? Your good pal Jenny Wakeman, or your flawless, on-time attendance record?”

Sheldon checked his watch. “Uhm. . . can I answer you from my homeroom seat in 5 minutes 42 seconds or less?”

“Answer me now by fixing me now,” pleaded Jenny as she grabbed his hand. “Otherwise I’m going to look like a fool in front of everyone.”

“Jenny, I never thought I’d say this, but stop holding my hand. Otherwise, I’m going to look like a fool rushing down the hall to make it to class on time.”

Brad Carbuckle looked like a fool as he came rushing across the school lawn with his vest unbuttoned and his shoelaces untied. “Curse you, alarm clock that only goes off if you set it!” He ran past the other two, then stopped, and sauntered back. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Time. Time is up.” Sheldon struggled futilely to escape Jenny’s iron grip. “I gotta go!”

“Brad, help me force Sheldon to fix my appearance.”

“Uh, sorry Jen, but I don’t’ think a trowel or a rake is going to do you much good.”

Sheldon exclaimed, “That’s what I said!”

Jenny let him go and sat down on the lawn mower, crushing its motor. “You’re right. I know you’re right. But what am I going do? I can’t be seen like this, or my life is ruined.”

“Well then,” Brad said. “We won’t let you be seen.”

By the time Brad, Sheldon, and Jenny entered, only a few students lingered in the school’s hallways. Not that Jenny could see them or anything else very well. She was hunkered down and sandwiched between the two boys as they shuffled slowly through the hall.

Sheldon checked his watch once more. “Again, I never thought I’d say this, but this close contact is useless. As soon as we get to class we’ll have to take our separate seats and Jenny will be exposed.”

Brad said, “Jenny’s not going to class. We’re going to drop her at the nurse’s office. As bad as she looks she can play sick all day—uh, sorry, Jen. Anyway, once everybody clears out after last period, she can sneak home and have Dr. Wakeman fix her up.”

It was one of Brad’s better plans. The only flaw was that Vice Principal Razinksi’s office door stood between them and the nurse’s station. And then that door opened, and Vice Principal Razinski’s body stood between them and the nurse’s station.


The thick lenses of Razinski’s glasses magnified the contempt in his eyes. “What do the three of you think you’re doing?”

Jenny shrunk down behind Brad’s back, as he said, “Three, Vice Principal Razinski, sir? Why it’s just Sheldon and me, hurrying off to class, anxious to start the new school year.”

“But still spouting the same sort of nonsense as last year, eh, Mr. Carbuckle? Miss XJ9’s wings are clearly visible, protruding from either side of your scrawny body.”

Jenny peeked out from behind Brad. “Good morning, Vice Principal Razinski.”

“Miss XJ9, you know there’s no flying in the halls.” 

“But I’m not flying.” Jenny raised her head a little further.

Razinski crossed his arms. “Having your wings out is a clear sign of intent.” 

“I’m sorry. I can’t put them away.” Jenny scanned the hallway. It was now empty except for the four of them. She slid out from between Brad and Sheldon and gestured to herself. “I screwed up my system this morning while saving the world.”

Razinski sneered and his voice grew louder. “Saving the world, averting disaster, rescuing humankind. Your part time job is no excuse for flouting the rules.” He regarded her critically, noting the sooty debris around her scorched feet. “Or poor hygiene.”  He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a pad of detention slips. “I hate to write you up on the first morning of the new school year, but . . .”

“No you don’t!” Jenny shouted. “You love to write me up! You’re always writing me up!”

Razinski yelled back. “That’s because you’re always doing something wrong!” Classroom doors opened up and down the hall.

“The only thing I did wrong this morning is save your ungrateful butt from getting obliterated! I should’ve just let the world and everyone in it explode!” Jenny’s voice echoed up and down the hall.

The hall that was now full of students and teachers. They could all see her messed up body and had all heard her messed up death wish for humanity.

Way to go, Jen.

Classes at Tremorton High lasted for 55 minutes with a five-minute break in between. While most students used as much of the break as possible to grab books from their lockers or to gab with their friends, Jenny Wakeman used mere seconds to rocket between one classroom and the next. She zoomed into her seat and buried her head in her textbook, hoping to avoid any and all social contact.

The teenage robot had appeared on the first morning of the new school year looking like a wreck and then wrecked her reputation by wishing for an end to the world she was built to protect. If Jenny could just make it through the rest of the day without anyone looking at her, talking to her, or mocking her, then she could fly home, convince her mom to move across country, and begin her life all over again. Maybe she could even change her name and model number. 

Jenny successfully avoided all contact till lunch period. Her plan was to grab a quart of oil and drink it while hiding in the bathroom. Or maybe the janitor’s closet. Better yet, her own locker.

But two figures blocked her exit from the lunchroom: goth princess Melancholia Adams, glowering from behind a curtain of black hair, and punk poser Jeremy Pistol, who twitched repeatedly. 

“Where do you think you’re off to then?” said Jeremy.

“I’m dying to talk to you,” droned Melancholia.

Jenny “braced for impact” as the two teens approached. If only she could transform into turtle-mode, she’d retreat into her shell and never come out.

Jeremy raised his palm and waited. “Don’t leave me hanging.” Confused, Jenny gave him a tentative high-five. “Bollocks! You can do better than that.” She gave him a real high-five. Jeremy hissed and shook his hand like it was on fire. He chuckled admiringly. “You really gave it to Razinski this morning, did’ncha?”

Still confused, Jenny mumbled, “I guess. . .”

Melancholia said, “When you wished for death and destruction on all of humanity, I just about died.” She exhaled an upbeat groan, the closest she ever came to laughing.

Jenny said, “And that was. . . a good thing?”

“The best,” said Melancholia.

“Death to humanity!” shouted Jeremy and raised his palm for another high-five, then thought better of it, and put it back down. “So, uh, you want to join me and the lads for lunch?”

“Nuh uh, Jeremy. Jenny’s a guest of the Goths today,” moaned Melancholia.

“No way! I asked her first.”

Melancholia pointed to the giant “A” on Jeremy’s t-shirt. “Since when do anarchists believe in rules?”

Were these two really fighting over her? Suspicion seized XJ9’s circuits. It was probably a prank. “Speaking of rules, don’t both your lunch tables have strict dress codes? Jenny gestured to her banged up body and slowly backed away. “I don't think I qualify.”

“Sure you do,” said Jeremy. “Your whole look is post-apocalyptic. Very punk. Very anarchic.”

Melancholia sighed and narrowed her eyes. “Your giant wings remind me of a bat. Giving off a vampire/gargoyle vibe. Very graveyard. Very goth.”

Jeremy snatched one of the pieces of shrapnel from the explosion of the X-Plor-R probe and started fashioning it into a bracelet. “You just need a little fine tuning is all.”

Melancholia swiped a finger through the soot on Jenny’s forehead. “This will make for some killer eyeliner.”

Jeremy scoffed. “As if you know more about eyeliner than me.”

The two went to work and in a matter of minutes they’d changed Jenny’s disastrous appearance into a truly unique fashion statement. 

From Catastrophe to Catastrofique!

Jenny Wakeman was dazzled by her makeover, an unparalleled transformation having nothing to do with her circuits, cylinders, motors, or drives. She gazed at herself in wonder. Her eyes bugged out of her head. Jenny retracted them, afraid she’d smear her newly applied eyeliner.

She whispered, “I. . . look. . . amazing.”

“Hell yeah, you do!” said Jeremy Pistol. He offered his hands to Jenny and Melancholia Adams. “High fives all around.”

Melancholia declined with a groan. Rather than slapping Jeremy’s hand, Jenny seized it. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!!” She shook his hand vigorously. So vigorously that the vibrations shook the rest of Jeremy too. His carefully constructed hair spikes frizzled and collapsed.

“Oh dear,” said Melancholia. For the second time today, a smile threatened to breach her characteristic gloom. “I hope you brought the jumbo tub of hair gel today, Jeremy. You better run to the little boy’s room and get that fixed.” She took Jenny’s hand and pulled her deeper into the cafeteria. “Come along, Jen. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the goths.”

Jeremy grabbed Jenny’s other hand. “Forget it, Melancholia. Jenny’s sitting with the punks.”

Melancholia tugged Jenny her way. “She’s dying to dine with the goths.” 

Jeremy yanked her back. “Which is it, luv? You’ve got to choose.”

Her superhero duties had put XJ9 in a lot of dangerous situations where split-second decisions could mean the difference between life and deactivation. She brought all of her professional experience to bear on her current predicament. 

And came up with bupkis.

“Uh-err-ummm,” she stammered. “Maybe, just for today, I’m just wondering, if we could all eat together?”

Silence from Jeremy and Melancholia. Then, quietly, Jeremy said, “Yeah, alright.”

Melancholia sighed, “If we must.”

“Great!” chirped Jenny.

And it was great. After pushing their two tables together, the groups sat sullenly across from one another, lips curled, and brows furrowed. But the silence was broken when the ironically named Sunny rolled up his sleeves, revealing a small but vibrant bat tattoo he’d gotten to celebrate his 18th birthday. It turned out that Jeremy’s older sister owned The Purple Bat tattoo shop. Before long the two groups had discovered how much they had in common, including some unexpected overlap in musical tastes. The meal became known as the Great Unification Lunch, or GRUL, which also happened to be the name of one of the bands both groups liked.

The good time continued after school at Mezmer’s, where, after a few too many Buzzberry Freezees, Jeremy suggested that the punks and goths join forces on a permanent basis. To everyone’s surprise, Melancholia seconded the motion, and everyone agreed with a rousing cheer. A second cheer went up for the girl who made it all possible – Jenny Wakeman.

Jenny was so happy she figuratively floated home. Under normal circumstances she could’ve literally floated home, but her circuits were still fried from that morning's solar explosion and her hover boots were inaccessible. Dr. Wakeman scolded XJ9 while repairing her internal mechanisms, punctuating her lecture with a wave of her torque wrench. Jenny barely paid attention, basking in the afterglow of adoration from her new clique. But when Dr. Wakeman tried to fix her exterior, Jenny bolted and barricaded herself in her bedroom. Afraid her mom might sneak in for some midnight modifications; she skipped sleep mode entirely and flew directly to school the next morning.

But trouble was afoot that day at lunch. The unity achieved the day before was threatened by a dispute over whether the newly merged group should be known as the Punk-goths or the Goth-punks. All charcoal-lined eyes turned to Jenny to cast the tie-breaking vote. Considering the negative outlook that had united them all in the first place, she suggested a third option —Doomsayers. Jeremy seconded the motion, but Melancholia had a small objection. She thought that Doomslayers fit better. Jenny agreed (putting aside the fact that the name was nonsense) and everyone else followed her lead. Unity re-achieved! 

The following day, a new, more intractable problem emerged. It turned out that the Doomslayers weren’t content to merely talk about doom and gloom. They’d found Jenny’s rant about ending the world to be inspirational. Uncomfortable questions about how the teenage robot might bring about some sort of cataclysm began to infect the group’s conversations. And once they started, they didn’t stop, no matter how hard Jenny tried to deflect. By the end of the week, things were taking on a distinctly villainous vibe. 

Continued group cohesion and Jenny’s newfound social acceptance depended upon her concocting a doomsday scenario. She spent the weekend hunkered down trying to invent a plan to end the world that wouldn’t really end the world. Fortunately, her robotic, positronic brain could process plans and calculate probable outcomes with blistering speed. Unfortunately, her teenage personality system overlay resented doing any sort of “homework” over the weekend and slowed things down considerably.

But by Monday morning, she’d done it. She had a plan to bring on doomsday. It was beyond intricate, with numerous time-consuming steps that would take the remainder of their time in high school to complete. The Doomslayers would either graduate and lose interest before they could bring the plan to fruition and commit any actual harm.  

However, Jenny’s own personal apocalypse came that very morning. It arrived in a familiar form, or rather two familiar forms. The despicable shapes of Brittany and Tiffany Crust loomed before her in the hallway. But who was that with them?

Brit’s nasal voice assaulted everyone’s ears. “Attention, peons!” 

Tiff piped up. “Listen up, fools!” 

Together they said, “We’d like you to meet our other cousin.”

Jenny rewound the digital recorder in her head. She couldn’t have heard that right. There couldn’t be a THIRD CRUST COUSIN!

She recalibrated the lenses in her eyes. She couldn’t have heard what she thought she'd heard. She couldn’t be seeing what she thought she was seeing.

But all data pointed to one undeniable conclusion — There was a third Crust Cousin.

Apparently unsatisfied with the level of attention directed her way, Brit clapped her hands. “Listen up, people! Your superiors are speaking. We are introducing a new, important personage —our distinguished cousin from down south.”

“Way down south!” chirped Tiff.

Brit raised her voice to be heard over those who had insisted on continuing their own conversations. “We stayed with her delightful family this summer, and now she will be joining us for the fall semester. So pay attention, you undeserving wretches!”

The third Crust Cousin glided forward, cradling an instrument that might have been a mandolin. Her delicate fingers caressed the strings. All hallway activity ceased as she hummed softly, sustaining one perfect note. 


Her voice was like a purring kitten nestled on a satin pillow floating atop a pool of golden honey. “Heartfelt greetings, my North American friends. At home I am called Epifania Alegria de Crosta. But my dear cousins Brittany and Tiffany have given to me the English moniker of Epiphany Crust.”

“A.k.a. Piff,” added Tiff.

Epiphany said, “I am certain that I will be most pleased to make your acquaintance.” She gave the slightest possible nod to Brit and Tiff, who took up positions on either side of “Piff” and, without ever touching so much as a fingertip to her person, guided the new Crust Cousin down the hall.

“Epiphany Crust,” said Brit. “May I introduce Vice Principal Razinski.”

Piff’s arm rose with the grace of a swan’s neck emerging from the surface of a pond. She offered her hand. “Charmed, I am sure.” 

Razinski was charmed, for sure. He blushed as he took Piff’s hand in both of his. For a moment Jenny thought he might kiss it. Instead he said, “So pleased to have you join us, Miss de Crosta. Tremorton High welcomes students from abroad. I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful addition to the student body.”

What the heck? Jenny had been abroad—she travelled the world on a daily basis to save it. And if she was gone during school hours, Razinski gave her detention, not compliments.

The three cousins moved further down the hallway and came upon the popular kids’ clique. Brit said, “These are our people, Epiphany. The crème de la crème. We have Don Prima, Pteresa, Jantrice. . .” She waved her hand impatiently at the rest. “Assorted others too numerous to name.”

Don stepped forward, cocking an eyebrow. “May I say—”

“No, you may not,” snapped Brit. “We’re on a tight schedule, Don. You can try your third rate moves on Piff at a later date.”

As they passed disappointed Don, Tiff whispered to Piff, “Your basic boy toy. Wind him up and watch him go.”

The Crusts approached a huddle of athletes and cheerleaders. The latter broke out into a spontaneous (if unoriginal) cheer. “Two, four, six, eight. Who do we appreciate? Piff! Piff! Piffany Crust!”

Brit swatted the pom poms out of the head cheerleader’s hands. “It’s ‘Epiphany.’ Not ‘Piffany.’ "

Tiff muttered, “Some people ain’t got no language skills.”

Next on the tour was the math club. One glance from Epiphany was enough to reduce the entire unit, boys and girls alike, to a quivering, perspiring mess. Jenny thought that if Piff had actually been introduced to them they might’ve spontaneously combusted. Brit snubbing them had probably been an act of mercy.

By this time, the rest of the Doomslayers had gathered around Jenny, many of them edging in front of her to get a better view of the proceedings. Looking confused, Brit and Tiff waded into the newly formed group, and started manhandling the members.

Brit said, “Tiff, you’ve got your punks in my goths.”

“Nu uh,” said Tiff. “You’ve got your goths in my punks.” 

Jeremy Pistol stepped forward. “Oi! Get your hands off me mates!” 

Melancholia Adams slinked into view beside him. “The goths and punks are dead, metaphorically speaking. Together we are the Doomslayers. Tell them, Jenny.”

The Doomslayers parted to reveal their unofficial leader, Jenny Wakeman, in all her newfound punk/goth glory. XJ9 girded herself for the Crust Cousins’ verbal assault.

Brit and Tiff said nothing, apparently dumbstruck by Jenny’s makeover. But Epiphany glided past her cousins, spreading her arms wide. “So this is the legendary Jennifer Wakeman, also known as XJ9!” She bowed slightly as she grasped both Jenny’s hands. For a moment Jenny thought Epiphany might kiss them. And then she did! “Oh, how I have waited for the moment of our meeting, Jennifer.”

The logic and probability circuits in Jenny’s positronic brain overheated as they tried to process what was happening. Was this new Crust Cousin actually being nice to Jenny?

Dr. Wakeman had designed XJ9’s brain with an almost infinite capacity to “game out” different conflict scenarios. In a matter of milliseconds, Jenny could assess an opponent’s capabilities, calculate the most likely method of attack, and take appropriate counter-measures.

But a Crust Cousin being nice to her? This did not compute.

And yet, here was Epiphany Crust clasping Jenny’s hands and gazing deeply into Jenny’s eyes. “Jennifer, please excuse the repetition, but I must once again express to you how delighted I am to make your acquaintance.” Piff’s eyes clouded over. “But tell me, Jennifer, why are you and your compatriots dressed in such a manner? Have I been misinformed about the timing of holidays in your country? It is only early September, and yet you are dressed to celebrate Halloween.”

Jeremy Pistol strode forward, “I’ll have you know—”

Piff wagged her slender finger at him, but her eyes remained locked on Jenny. “No rudeness please, boy with blue rooster hair.” 

Brit and Tiff clucked like chickens as Jeremy backed away.

Epiphany looked Jenny up and down. “Or perhaps you are celebrating your own alternative version of Carnaval, one that takes place at the wrong time of year and has costumes that depress rather than elicit joy.”

Melancholia took a small, tentative step toward Piff. “You don’t understand—"

Piff waved her away without looking. “I understand your sadness to be skin deep and your soul to be empty.”

Tiff winced on Melancholia’s behalf. “Oof.”

“Direct hit,” hissed Brit appreciatively.

Melancholia retreated and faded into the background.

Piff shook her head slowly, sadly. Her eyes glittered with tears. “Leave this childish game of dress up for these lesser creatures.” Her eyes darted briefly towards the remaining Doomslayers, who slowly slunk away. “You are not like them, Jennifer. You are singular. Unique. There is no one else like you. And you will never be liked by anyone else.” Piff raised her hand to her mouth. Was there the hint of a smile? “Pardon my English. I meant to say that you will never be like anyone else.”

The bell for first period rang. Epiphany touched Jenny’s arm lightly. “We will continue this discussion later, my friend.” She glided down the hall. There was no mistaking the wicked grins on the faces of Brit and Tiff as they hurried after Piff.

Jenny Wakeman stood alone in the hallway of Tremorton High. 

Very alone.

Jenny Wakeman had been engineered to contend with calamity. But the arrival of Epiphany Crust was one disaster that Jenny had no idea how to combat. In the breaks between her morning classes, she tried to find Jeremy Pistol and Melancholia Adams. But her efforts to reunite the demoralized Doomslayers was fruitless.

At the start of her lunch period, Jen finally found Melancholia hiding in the bathroom. In an effort to comfort her, Jenny explained some of the colorful details of her (pretend) plan for the end of the world. But Melancholia just turned away and pressed her face into the wall tile. “My world has already ended! Epiphany Crust saw straight into my empty soul.” Jenny tried to console her friend, but Mel just cried louder with each successive pat on the shoulder.

Reluctantly leaving Melancholia to wallow and wail, Jenny headed toward the lunchroom, from which more musical sounds were emanating. The students and staff had all gathered in the far corner of the cafeteria. There, Epiphany Crust pranced across a tabletop, strumming her mandolin, and serenading her newfound audience. When the song concluded, Piff took a low bow, and Jenny figured that the students would line up to buy lunch. 

But then Piff began strumming again, and her audience remained captivated. Another song followed, then another. When the bell signaling the end of lunch clanged, Piff had just begun a second encore. The students voiced their disappointment loudly as the staff hustled them out of the cafeteria. And although Jenny's fellow students departed with empty stomachs, she had never seen most of them look more fulfilled.

Epiphany’s charm offensive continued in Jenny’s social studies class, where Mr. Smellhaus invited Piff to share about her home country. Epiphany filled the period with a talk centered on the major roles various members of the de Crosta family had played in important historical events. Jenny’s ocular servos would need oiling after all the eye rolling she’d done, but everyone around her seemed enthralled by Piff’s story. 

The rest of Jenny’s afternoon classes were mercifully Piff-free. But even though Epiphany Crust was physically absent, she was all anyone could talk about. Jenny hoped that the excitement generated by the vibrant exchange student’s arrival would wane as students settled into their new classes and extracurricular activities.

It didn’t. If anything, the school-wide obsession grew more fervent with each passing day. The students seemed bowled over by how lovely and kind-hearted Epiphany was and how she made time to talk with everyone, no matter how low they were in the pecking order. Only Jenny appeared to notice the frequency with which a student’s appearance and demeanor shifted after a one-on-one with Piff. By the time Friday rolled around, half the student body was dressing and styling their hair to mimic Epiphany, including Jeremy, who was nearly unrecognizable without his blue spiked hair, now brown and straight. 

Jenny blew her final fuse on Friday. When she arrived for lunch, Epiphany’s now daily musical performance was underway. Jenny spotted Brit and Tiff running a booth selling concert shirts, lapel pins, and other assorted Piff merchandise. Enough was enough. It was time for a battle of the bands.

Jenny jetted up onto the stage and landed in front of Epiphany, interrupting a rather soulful ballad that had left some of the audience dewy-eyed. The teenage robot transformed into her urban cowgirl outfit, complete with cowboy hat, spurs, and guitar. Hand poised above the strings, Jenny declared, “You ain’t heard nothing yet,” then gave the guitar a mighty strum.

The crowd cried out, not because Jenny had pulled on their heartstrings, but because she’d endangered their lives. The robot had forgotten that her guitar emitted more than just music. Before she could finish her opening riff, the lunchroom was rife with laser blasts. Once she’d ended the unintentional onslaught, Jenny was promptly booed off stage by the uninjured but upset students.

Jenny was at her electrical wits’ end. She knew that Epiphany’s apparent kindness was a big act, but everyone else at Tremorton High seemed to have bought into it. She’d even seen Brad and Sheldon queued up at the Crust Cousins’ Piff merchandise booth! She was desperate to vent, both emotionally and physically. (Her internal temperature was becoming dangerously high.)

She was so desperate that she sought out someone she’d never normally turn to.

Tucker Carbuckle.

After being booed off the cafeteria stage by her fellow students, Jenny Wakeman fled outside and flew the short distance to Tremorton Elementary. Her lunch hour lined up with Tucker Carbuckle’s recess, so she expected to find Tuck on the playground, surrounded by gleeful kids. Instead she found him with something more sinister.

Jenny should’ve known better that to turn to Tuck to relieve her anger and anxiety. On any given day, Tuck was more likely to add to her woes than to ease them. She strode up to him and yanked the rope out of his hand. “What the heck do you think you’re doing?”

“Making this merry-go-round into a ‘scary-go-round’,” said Tuck as he picked the rope up again and continued winding it around a rocket. “Just part of my life as a devil-may-care thrill-seeker.”

Jenny scoffed. “Didn’t you run to the emergency room yesterday because you had a splinter in your thumb?”

“I suppose you’d rather see me disfigured for life than seek proper medical attention.” 

Jenny rolled her eyes, then examined Tuck’s handiwork. “Have you been picking through my mom’s lab trash again? You know she only throws out malfunctioning rockets, right?”

Tuck shrugged. “One mad scientist’s trash is another mad genius’s treasure.”

“You’re no genius, but my mom will certainly be mad if she finds out I let you use her rockets like this.” Before Tuck could intervene, Jenny quickly untethered the ropes and rockets from the merry-go-round and guzzled the fuel from the gas can. “87 octane. Tasty.”

“Aw, man!” Tuck stomped away and flung himself face down in the nearby sandbox. A moment later he raised his head, spitting out sand as he said, “Some of us weren’t lucky enough to be born with booster rockets, you know.”

“Sorry, Tuck. Hey, how about I pick you up after school and I’ll fly you around downtown — as fast as you like. Make you so dizzy you’ll puke your guts out.”

Tuck leapt up with excitement. “That sounds awesome!”

Jenny gave him a wink. “Then it’s a date.”

Tuck leaned away. “Ew. Don’t make it gross.”

“That’s right. You’re still in the ‘girls are yucky’ phase of life. That’s why I came to talk to you. If any boy I know is going to share my negative opinion of Epiphany Crust, it’s you.”

Tuck nodded his head. “Oh yeah. Piff. I met her. She came by at lunchtime two days ago with a goodwill basket for us kids filled with tropical fruits from her home country. I tried the dragon fruit. It was tasty enough, but there was no dragon inside. Hellllllo! False advertising.” Tuck crossed his arms. “I was not impressed.”

Jenny was ecstatic. “Yes! False advertising. That’s exactly what Epiphany is. She pretends to be all sweet and generous but she’s just a big fake.”

Tuck shrugged. “So expose her for the fraud she is.”

“Easier said than done. She’s so smooth and sly. She never slips up or drops the act,” said Jenny, her shoulders drooping. “And she’s talented to boot.”

“You’re the talented one, Jen! You got all your special superhero skills and transformations. Weren’t we just talking about your booster rockets? And you just swallowed all that fuel. Simply pull out your ‘fanny pack’ and gas her to death!” Tuck tried to keep a straight face but began to chuckle.

Jen chuckled along with him. “Never one to pass up a good fart joke, eh Tucker? But you’re right. I do have my own unique abilities. And I think I know just the right venue to show them off and show up Epiphany Crust – The Tremorton High Talent Show!”

By the time Jenny Wakeman decided to enter the Tremorton High Talent Show, all the contestants except one had already bowed out. The one remaining participant was Epiphany Crust, who was universally acknowledged as the most talented songstress in Tremorton High School history. Rumor had it that what had once been a contest was now to become another of Piff’s concerts. 

But hallway gossip promised a more spectacular event than Piff’s daily lunchtime sets. Students were anticipating a performance with an elaborate light show designed by Tiff and choreography overseen by Brit. Members of the pep squad were expected to serve as backup dancers. And at the end of it all, Epiphany would be crowned “Most Talented” with an actual crown created by her most ardent and artistic followers, now calling themselves “Phanactics.”

The whole thing made Jenny wish she could throw up. She had various vents to void her system of hostile foreign matter, but none of her mechanical outlets demonstrated revulsion with the same flair as good old-fashioned human vomiting. But it was better for Jenny to mask her disdain and hide her plans for turning the coronation back into a contest.

Maybe Tuck had been on the right track when he’d suggested that Jenny’s superhero skills could outshine Piff’s singing. But if Jenny was going to beat Epiphany she would need something new. Something flashy. Something that was sure to dazzle her classmates and win the judges’ votes. She needed the help of her mom.

“Absolutely not, XJ9,” trilled Dr. Wakeman when Jenny broached the subject that night. “You’re provided new equipment only when necessary to combat new threats. You want to impress your fellow teens? Tell them some good knock-knock jokes or learn how to rhumba.”

Jenny was perplexed. “You think I’m going to win the talent show with my vacuum attachment?”

Wakeman shook her head “Not Roomba. Rhumba. It’s a dance.” She started to rhumba around the room.

Jenny turned off her ocular sensors. “Ugh. Please stop.”

“I’d better,” said Wakeman. “Feels like I might’ve tweaked my gluteus maximus. Anyway, why do you need something new?” She gestured at Jenny. “I thought your ‘gunk’ style chassis had won you some converts.”

“It’s called ‘goth/punk,’ Mother. Not ‘gunk.’ And it’s already fallen out of fashion.”

“Oh thank Einstein!” Wakeman grabbed an electric buffer and switched it on. “Will you let me restore your exterior to its standard appearance then?”

Jenny eluded the buffer’s reach. “Only if you give me some new gear to use in the talent show.”

The deal was sealed. That night they stayed up late brainstorming. Dr. Wakeman spent the next day drawing up blueprints for the final design, and fabrication lasted for another week. The talent show was fast approaching, but it looked like Jenny’s new transformation would be operational just in time. The final round of testing went off without a hitch. Then mother and daughter deadlocked on the proper fuel for the new apparatus.

“Canola oil is cheap, plentiful, and clean burning,” insisted Dr. Wakeman.

“But pros like the Silver Wings use Canopus 13. It’s got a flashier effect,” said Jenny as she searched through her mom’s cache of chemicals. “I know I saw some in here…”

Wakeman dragged her daughter across the lab and out the door. “Canopus 13 is volatile. You’re going to get a smoother burn with simple canola oil.”

“Okay.” Jenny hung her head in apparent surrender. But later that night she snuck back into the lab and nabbed a liter of Canopus 13. “I’m going to need the extra pizzazz if I’m going to outdo Piff.” 

But Epiphany Crust would not be outdone. 

Jenny Wakeman would be undone.

There had never been a Tremorton High talent show like this before. Word of Epiphany Crust’s electrifying stage presence had spread through town. The performance had been moved to the football field, where a temporary stage had been built and the bleachers could accommodate her burgeoning fanbase.

As the spectators found seats, Tuck Carbuckle warmed them up with a series of knock-knock jokes. The crowd seemed to love his act, though Dr. Wakeman might’ve been the only one laughing unironically. He was only halfway through his set when his big brother Brad swiped his mic.

“Hello, Tremorton!” bellowed Brad. 

No response from the crowd. 

“Uh. . . um. And welcome to the 50th Annual Tremorton High Talent Show!”

From high in the bleachers someone yelled, “The high school was only built thirty-two years ago, lamebrain!”

A hearty laugh from the crowd.

Public humiliation was nothing new to Brad Carbuckle, so he went on as boldly as before. “Before Epiphany Crust takes the stage, we have a late breaking addition to today’s program. At the very last minute, a new contestant signed up. Please put your hands together for the one and only teenage robot of Tremorton — Jenny ‘XJ9’ Wakeman!”

All heads turned as a low boom sounded from the horizon. A blip in the sky rapidly grew as something rocketed towards the assembled crowd. 

“It’s a bird!”

“It’s a plane!”

“No,” Brad said flatly. “I already told you. It’s Jenny Wakeman.”

Jenny dipped down and buzzed the crowd so they could get a good look at her new, supersonic, quadruple boosted airfoils. They gasped in alarm and amazement. 

She soared through a banking turn, then made another pass, this time upside down. The crowd oohed and aahed. 

Executing a giant loop, she dove directly at them before pulling up at the last second. They shrieked, then cheered.

For her grand finale, Jenny activated the airfoils’ skywriting feature and sent a message that was sure to please, with the contraband Canopus 13 in her fuel mixture lending the words an extra sparkle.


The crowd cheered louder. The students hooted and hollered. The three talent show judges raised their scorecards, each displaying a perfect score of 10. Jenny was elated. Choke on that, Epiphany, she thought. She decided to take a victory lap before coming in for a landing. She ceased skywriting and slowed, waving to her adoring fans as she circled low over the bleachers.

But then Jenny felt a rumble in her manifold that could only be an errant cloud of the volatile Canopus 13. Without further warning, her system backfired and a rancid plume of black smoke blanketed the bleachers. Coughing and choking convulsed the crowd as Jenny landed in front of the stage.

Laughing uproariously, Tuck grabbed the mic back from Brad and said, “Way to gas ‘em, Jen! And you didn’t even need your fanny pack!”

The audience at the Tremorton High talent show coughed their lungs out. Jenny Wakeman, thankful to be lung-free, retracted and stowed the jet-powered airfoils she’d used to first wow the crowd and then gas them. The noxious plume of black smoke she’d accidentally unleashed hung stubbornly in the air until she transformed her hands into twin fan blades and blew the cloud away. 

When he finished choking, Brad Carbuckle spoke into the mic. “Thanks Jenny, for getting rid of the stink cloud, that, uh, you created. Which in no way should detract from your otherwise amazing aerial performance! That ended so badly. Let’s hear it for Jenny Wakeman!”

As Jenny slunk away she heard faint clapping from a few, hoarse coughing from many, and frantic writing from Epiphany Crust, who sat just offstage, scribbling furiously in her bedazzled lyrics notebook. Before Jen could telescope her eyes far enough to get a good look, Piff ran over to confer with Brit and Tiff. They snickered ominously.

Onstage, Brad announced, “The next, and last, contestant in this year’s talent show is none other than that South American songstress — Epiphany Crust!”

Rumor had it that Piff would deliver a highly choreographed spectacle, complete with laser lights. So the students nudged each other in confusion when she took the unlit stage, humming and softly strumming her acoustic guitar. Using her internal music database, Jenny identified the tune as “The Girl from Ipanema.” But as Piff sang, she modified the lyrics for Jenny’s maximum mortification.

Tall and pale and young and chunky
The girl who is a robot comes flying
And when she passes, each one she passes goes — HUH?

She strummed a little harder and sang a little louder.

When she flies, she's like a crop duster
With wings and fuel and spray so rancid
That when she gasses, each one she gasses goes — AGGH!

The crowd laughed as Piff uttered a strangulated sound that was both comic and melodic. From the sidelines, Brit tossed an electric guitar to her cousin. Swiveling her acoustic guitar around to her back, Piff caught the electric and continued the song without missing a beat. 

Ooh, But I watch her so sadly

How can I tell her to stop it

Why would she fart oh so badly

And each day when she emits that stench

I wish she would crash in a trench

Piff sang more and more loudly to be heard over the burgeoning laughter. Tiff activated the laser light show, and the pep squad joined in, dancing in the background. Cranking up the guitar's volume, Piff had to belt out the final verse to be heard over an outpouring of adulation as the audience applauded and cheered. The once gentle ballad had been transformed into a raucous anthem.

Tall and pale and young and chunky
The girl who is a robot comes flying
And when she passes, all laugh — but she doesn't see

She just doesn't see

She’s oh so silly

The judges agree

No reason to plead

Defeat guaranteed

Epiphany Crust ended with a jazzy guitar lick as fireworks exploded behind her. 

Clean-burning, smokeless fireworks. There was no coughing, just thunderous applause. The crowd and judges rushed the stage, lifted Piff, and carried her away. In minutes they were all gone.

As was Jenny’s pride.

The days following the Tremorton High talent show were the darkest of Jenny Wakeman’s existence. And not just because some crazy old rich guy across the state line tried to block out the sun. XJ9 dismantled his giant space umbrella during her lunch period, with time to spare. But whether or not the sun shined, all was gloom in Jenny’s social orbit.

Everyone, absolutely everyone, was humming or singing, “The Girl Who is a Robot,” the song Epiphany Crust had performed to commemorate Jenny's humiliation after her airfoils had malfunctioned and she'd gassed the entire talent show audience. Jenny heard the tune in the halls of her high school and in the streets of Tremorton. If people weren’t already crooning it when Jenny came upon them, they launched into a full-throated performance after spotting her. The only break from these unwelcome serenades seemed to be when students stopped singing and collapsed in a fit of laughter.

Using the mantra function of her positronic brain, Jenny recorded an affirmation in the most soothing voice her internal system could generate. She engaged “repeated reassurance” mode to block out the warbling and chortling. It’s only a fad. It’ll blow over. It’s only a fad. It’ll blow over.

But then word came that the local radio station, KWAK, aka “The Mighty Quake,” had invited Piff to record “The Girl Who is a Robot” so the song could be shared with a wider audience. A worldwide audience.

After hearing the news, Jenny marched down the school hall toward Piff, her robot eyes glowing with a red-hot hatred that could easily turn into a white-hot laser blast. Brad and Sheldon tried to hold her back, but only ended up being dragged behind her.

“It’s only a fad!” cried Brad.

“It’ll blow over!” screamed Sheldon.

“I’ve got to stop her from recording that song,” growled Jenny. “Whatever it takes.”

Sheldon tried to sound authoritative. “The comics are very clear on this subject — cold blooded murder is a definite no-no for superheroes.”

“Got no blood, cold or otherwise,” said Jenny. “And you can’t prove murder without a body.”

Sheldon threw himself at Jenny’s feet and sobbed, “Please don’t obliterate Epiphany Crust!”

Brad joined him there and bawled, “We don’t want to visit you in prison! It’s a long drive and I still don’t have my license!!”

As they blubbered, Jenny sighed and said, “Stop crying. You’re going to get my toes all rusty.” When that didn’t work she added, “Alright, alright. I won’t blast Piff into oblivion. For now.”

Jenny allowed Brad and Sheldon to pull her back the other way. Sheldon said, “Great! C’mon. We’ll go to my house and come up with a plan to stop Piff from making that record.”

But, as often happened in the life of the teenage robot, things did not go as planned.

Huddled together in Sheldon Lee’s living room, Sheldon, Brad, and Tuck brainstormed about how to stop Epiphany Crust’s plans to record a commercial version of her humiliating song, “The Girl Who is a Robot,” with Tremorton’s local radio station, KWAK. Jenny Wakeman wore an actual groove in the floor as she paced back and forth. Nothing her friends suggested satisfied her. 

“Yes, I could end transmission by destroying the radio station’s antenna tower. And sure, I could infiltrate their computer network and destroy the original music files. But what’s to stop KWAK from repairing their antenna? What’s to stop Piff from going right back into the recording booth? Now if Piff couldn’t sing, or speak . . . say, if a discreet, well-directed laser beam severed her vocal cords . . .”

Sheldon jotted in a notebook and said, “Let’s add ‘mutilation’ alongside ‘murder’ on the bad ideas list.”

Jenny threw up her hands. “I thought the whole idea of brainstorming was that there were no bad ideas!”

“I have to agree with Jen here,” said Tuck. “You’re hampering the creative process.”

“No.” Brad scowled at his little brother. “We’re hampering the destructive process.”

“Oh, who am I kidding?” Jenny kicked at the subflooring she’d exposed with all her pacing. “I’m not going to hurt Piff. It goes against everything I’ve been programmed to believe.” She threw herself down into an easy chair, which collapsed under her robotic weight. “Unless I can change reality itself and make Piff into some sort of supervillain, she’s safe from any physical harm.”

Tuck rubbed his hands together, “Wow! Supervillain Piff vs. Superhero Jenny? That’s a fight I’d love to see!”

Sheldon said, “Well, unless you can manipulate quantum physics and access alternate universes, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.” He started to guffaw but stopped when no one joined in. “That was meant to be a joke.” 

Jenny stood up. “Wait! Go back. What was that that nerdy word you said? ‘Quantum’…? ”

“That was one of the nerdy words I said, yes,” replied Sheldon.

“I know I’ve heard that word before. . .” There was a digital beep and mechanical whir as Jenny’s pupils morphed into “rewind” symbols. After a minute she blinked her eyes back to normal and said, “Found it.” 

Light beams shot out of her eyes and projected a hologram of Dr. Wakeman, who was waxing scientific about the distant past. “. . . me during my ‘experimental’ college days. One wild weekend my lab buddies and I invented what we called a Quantum Kaleidoscope. Showed you all the possible patterns of reality. Beautiful. And headache inducing. Too much for the human mind to comprehend. Then Niels merged the machine with his portable atom smasher, which gave it the power to actually alter reality. Tried to use it to get a date to the Spring Fling and ended up turning the dining hall into a giant plate of spaghetti.”

 The image of Dr. Wakeman was briefly obscured by static as she broke into a fit of laughter. Stopping abruptly, she snapped into sharp focus again. She seemed to be looking straight at Jenny as she cautioned, “A very dangerous, world-destroying device.” Then she walked out of the holographic image with a dismissive wave. “I think it’s in the basement somewhere.”

Jenny ended the projection. She looked awestruck. “Wow. The perilous power to alter reality itself . . .” A giant smile spread across her face. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

As Brad and Sheldon exchanged worried glances, Tuck leaned back and said, “Destructive process complete.”

The plan was set. Jenny Wakeman, Sheldon Lee, and the Carbuckle brothers would sneak into Dr. Wakeman’s forbidden underground vault and “borrow” the Quantum Kaleidoscope, a device with the power to alter reality itself. One could argue that rearranging reality to save yourself from public embarrassment was overkill, and Sheldon argued just that, several times. But Jenny would hear none of it. By her calculations, using the Quantum Kaleidoscope was the only surefire way to prevent Epiphany Crust from permanently ruining her social life.

At the appointed hour, Jenny waited outside the cellar door to her house with Brad and Sheldon. She tapped her foot impatiently. Glancing at a wristwatch was unnecessary, as her internal atomic chronometer measured time with unwavering accuracy. That’s how she knew that Tuck was exactly 11 minutes and 6.111995 seconds behind the team’s agreed upon schedule.

She turned to Brad and said, “Pardon the cliché, but this does not compute. You both live in the same house. How can you be here, while Tuck is still running late?”

Brad shrugged. “When I knocked on his bedroom door, he said he had some ‘special preparations’ to make and that he’d catch up.”

Sheldon looked around nervously, “Maybe we should just call the whole thing off. I hate to keep pointing out these sorts of things to a genuine superhero, but breaking and entering is against the law.”

Jenny scoffed. “How can I break and enter my own house?”

Sheldon pointed to the twisted piece of metal in the robot’s hand. “By breaking that lock and entering a part of the house your mom declared off limits.”

Jenny tossed the busted deadbolt into the bushes. “Seems like a gray area to me.”

“I’m here! I’m here!” shouted Tuck as he ran across the lawn. Seeing Jenny's glare, he began to tiptoe, whispering, “Sorry. I’m here. I’m here.”

Brad said, “What are you wearing?”

Posing dramatically, Tuck said, “An all-black outfit is classic heist attire. Oh, almost forgot.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a black knit cap. “Ski mask to hide my identity.” He put it on, pulling it down over his face, then freaked out. “Hey! What happened? Where’d you all go?”

“We’re right here, doofus,” said Brad. “You forgot to cut out eye holes.”

Tuck lifted the cap above his eyes. “Oh. No matter. If things go south, I’ll get some black-market plastic surgery to keep the police off my tail.”

“C’mon, guys,” said Jenny. “All this talk of committing crimes is ridiculous. We’re just going to have an innocent, late night hang in my basement.” She opened the door and the boys reluctantly entered. “But be careful. Three levels down, the motion-activated lasers kick in.”

A short while later, after deactivating the motion-activated lasers on sublevels 3 and 4, Jenny and the boys made it to sublevel 5. They crouched together outside a three-foot-thick titanium vault. Inside the vault, Dr. Wakeman kept all of her most dangerous inventions, teenage robot daughter excluded.

Jenny spread an intricately detailed blueprint on the ground before them. “This is what we’re up against, boys.”

Tuck was captivated. “Cooool.” He pointed at a small notation on the blueprint. “What’s that?”

“That’s an air vent, Tuck. The only non-dangerous feature on the whole diagram.” Jenny turned to Brad and Sheldon. “After I broke in to use the Futurescope, my mom added extra cameras, motion sensors, metal detectors, breath detectors, more lasers, particle cannons, buzzsaws, old-school Gatling guns, and a moat with alligators.”

Sheldon shrank back. “D-d-d-did you say al-al-alligators?”

“The least of our worries,” said Jenny. “Look over here. See that radiation symbol? I think my mom might’ve added a sneaky little nuclear booby trap to the mix.”

Brad shrank back alongside Sheldon. “Okay. Let’s call a quick time-out. You want us to somehow get past an arsenal of weapons, alligators, and a small thermonuclear device?”

“That’s the beauty of it!” said Jenny. “The radiation will neutralize the alligators.”

“And us!” said Brad. “We’re flesh and bone, robot girl.”

“Highly susceptible to nuclear explosions and radioactive fallout,” added Sheldon.

Jenny pouted. “If I knew you were going to be such babies about it, I would’ve gotten XJ8 to help.”

“Do that,” said Brad. “Get XJ8. Get all the XJs! Just let us get out of the blast zone first.”

“Okay, okay!” said Jenny. “I get it.”

“And I got it,” said Tuck, strolling from the far end of the corridor and carrying a large metal cylinder.

Jenny asked, “Is that —"

“The Quantum Kaleidoscope? According to the warning label, it is.”

Brad asked, “How did you—”

“Avoid all the booby traps and retrieve it? Used the air vents. It’s ‘Heist 101,’ guys. You gotta use the air vents.”

Jenny squealed with delight. Ignoring the warning label, she snatched the device from Tuck and scanned the instructions. “Wait, hold up,” she said. “We’ve got another hiccup — this thing is powered by pip crystals.”

Sheldon breathed an audible sigh of relief, then tried to cover, saying, “Gee that’s too bad. Rotten luck. Sorry, Jen.” He turned to the Carbuckle brothers. “Pip crystals are one of the most powerful and rarest elements in the known universe. Almost unheard of on Earth.”

“Almost, but not entirely,” said Jenny. “I know exactly where to find some — inside the Crust Cousins’ warehouse of out-of-fashion clothing.”

Tuck rubbed his hands together. “Cooool. Another heist!”