Super Secret Series (Book 1): Super Model (2 page)

When Dad first told me his secret, he told me that the first rule was that we don’t talk about being Supers. And the second rule is that we
really
don’t talk about being Supers with Mom.

I didn’t like lying to Mom but some things she didn’t need to know. She’d just be worried. Lying was really the lesser of the two evils.

Last September, Dad was behind the grill when he just grabbed his chest and fell to the ground. I was in my usual spot at the counter but Mom saw him first. She dropped the full plates she was carrying and ran to him. I was too shocked to move. He died before the ambulance even got to the diner.

I still couldn’t believe it happened. It felt like something that happened to someone else, even though I could perfectly picture him on the floor of the kitchen. Four months later, I continued to make every excuse in the world not to ever go in the diner kitchen again.

Dan Philip Gordon

Husband, Father, Friend

“Hi Dad.” I pulled off one my gloves with my teeth and ran my fingers along the engraved words. The cold stone burned my skin but I lingered anyway. This was the only way I could ever communicate with my father again. I’d tried praying. Or picturing him on my own. But the only way that felt like I was actually talking to him was to come to Mount Zion cemetery. And that was yet another thing I couldn’t tell Mom. She worried every time I didn’t finish my dinner or sniffled a bit. She would probably have me in therapy if she knew I was visiting Dad’s grave to chitchat.

“I can’t stay long today. I have a math test and an oral book report in English class. Why do teachers even assign this stuff? Reading the book was no problem. But is standing in front of the class telling people about it really necessary?”

I paused as if he was going to answer me. But I wasn’t a little kid. I knew that my dad wasn’t there. Still this was the last place on earth he’d been and it made me feel better to come here.

“And Mom is still on my case about school next year. It just kills me that I could be going to Super school instead. I could be learning actual useful stuff. But instead I have to play dodgeball in gym. Not that I blame you,” I quickly backtracked. “It’s not your fault you weren’t around to finish what you started. But I really wish you had been.”

“I had that dream again last night. It was so real but I don’t know if it’s one of
those
dreams, you know? I know you always said to look for the signs but I haven’t seen any.”

I glanced at my phone and noticed it was getting late. “I have to go, Dad. But I’ll be back soon.” I patted the gravestone and headed to the nearest bus stop.

“So, who should we hear from today? Hmm?”

My English teacher, Mrs. Beauman, looked us over from the front of the classroom. No one answered her but groans erupted from several places in the room. We had been giving oral book reports all week with a group of kids going each day. It was the last day of reports so I knew I’d have to go but I was hoping to go last.

Please don’t pick me. Please don’t pick me. Please don’t pick me. Please don’t pick me. Please don’t pick me,
I prayed in my head.

Her eyes flitted over the room and finally landed on me. “Penny. You’re up.”

Ugh.
But I made my way to the front, trying to avoid tripping in the process. I didn’t need to give them any more reasons to laugh at me. Once in the front, I cleared my throat a bit but it turned into a cough that lasted just two or three seconds too long. Mrs. Beauman had to come over and hit me on the back a couple of times before it ended.

“Gross.” It came from somewhere in the back of the room and was followed by a bunch of laughter. It wasn’t much more than a murmur but I heard it. I couldn’t identify who said it but that didn’t matter. All of my confidence slipped away.

Mrs. Beauman was already concerned. “Penny, you good? Do you need a glass of water or something?”

“Um, no, um, I think I’m OK.” Her face told me that she didn’t believe me, but she told me to start anyway.

I took a deep breath and began. “The book I read was
The Hero and The Crown
by Robin McKinley. It’s the story of a young unwanted princess, Aerin, who finds her purpose by teaching herself to be a warrior and eventually—”

I never finished the sentence.

My mouth moved but nothing came out. All of the air evaporated from the room, and I gasped for breath. The classroom fell away and I was suddenly surrounded by inky blackness. I couldn’t hear or see anything.
This must be what it’s like to be dead
, skittered across my mind, leaving a dirty trail behind it.

A flash of blinding light exploded and when it was gone I could see again. I wasn’t in the classroom anymore. I stood on a sidewalk in front of a building I didn’t recognize. Cars and people passed me on the street, not realizing that I wasn’t supposed to be there.

I looked down at my clothes. I was still wearing my school uniform. But how did I get from school to this place? And if I didn’t get back to school, what would happen to my oral report? The thought of a failing grade made me break out in a cold sweat. I had to get back to school. I’d figure out the rest of this later.

I turned back to the building, searching for the street number on it. If I could figure out where I was, then I could get back to school. There was no building number but there was a directory for all of the apartments inside. There were nine or ten listings but the one at the top caught my eye:

Audrey Hart, Super

The name wasn’t familiar but it drew me for some reason. I had the sudden urge to go inside and knock on her door. I reached for the doorknob but never made contact. I was back in darkness again.

“Penny? Penny? Can you hear me?” Mrs. Beauman’s voice—a full octave higher than usual—penetrated the black. I opened my eyes to find myself lying on flat on my back with my teacher and half of the kids in the class standing over me. Each of their faces featured its own emotion—concern, fear, and completely freaked out. They were all waiting for me to say something.

My head was pounding. The cold tile floor of the classroom was hard against my back. And the word “Audrey” throbbed in my mind. I licked my lips and forced myself to say something. “I. . . I. . . think I need to go see the nurse.”

“Why aren’t you answering me? Should I come pick you up? I’m getting worried.”

An hour after I woke up on the floor in English class, I was headed home with a note from the school nurse suggesting a panic attack. She told me to get some rest and avoid stress before calling my mother to tell her I was on the way home. Now Mom was calling and texting me in her own version of a panic attack. I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone yet, so I just sent her a text.

“I’m fine. I’m already on the bus. Be there soon. Love you.”

A part of me wanted to believe the nurse’s note but the rational part of me knew it couldn’t really be true. A panic attack would make sense if I hadn’t had such a clear vision during it. I’d never heard of that happening with anyone. I even googled it on my phone on the ride home. It seemed I was special—and not in a good way.

When I walked into Poco hours earlier than I should have, my mother was on me within seconds. “The school called me. What happened?”

Mom smooshed me into a bear hug before I could even begin to answer her question. The pre-lunch customers stared at us. “The nurse said I had a panic attack,” I said but it was muffled by Mom’s hug.

I pushed her away from me with as much gentleness as I could. “Here,” I said, handing her the note the nurse had given me. “This is for you.” She read it as I dumped my backpack, coat, and other stuff onto an empty table in the corner.

“I don’t understand. A panic attack? What were you panicking about?”

“I don’t know. I was giving my oral report and it just happened.”

“I’m going to call the school. They should not be putting you in these situations where you have to panic. What is this? The Hunger Games?” She went off to ruin some school administrator’s day. I couldn’t tell her anything that would stop her, so I just pulled out my homework and got started like it was any other day.

“—I need to speak to him right now, actually. It’s about my daughter’s near death incident at his school today. Yes, I’ll hold.” Mom was already deep into her conversation by the time she came back with a grilled cheese sandwich for me. “
Eat, eat, eat,
” she murmured to me as she put it down, the phone still wedged between her shoulder and ear. “And this came for you.” She pulled a large envelope from her apron pocket and laid it on the table next to the plate.

I made short work of the sandwich before moving to the envelope. I didn’t get much mail—a birthday card or two from relatives. Since my mom had started sending off for things, I was getting brochures or letters from private and charter schools. But this envelope didn’t have a return address. I tore it open and fished out the letter.

“Ms. Penelope Gordon,” the letter began. “Thank you for signing up for the Big Super, Little Super program. Super work is a tough yet rewarding lifestyle choice but with the help of your Big Super, you will have a supportive role model to help you traverse your educational years.”

I stopped reading. I hadn’t signed up for any programs. And this was the first piece of anything that had mentioned the word “Super” to me since Dad had died. Could it have been him that signed me up without telling me?

Reading further, I discovered that I’d been matched with a Big Super through the program’s review of my abilities and preferences. “Below, you’ll find that the name and contact information for your Big Super. They will receive a similar notification, but don’t wait for them to contact you! Reach out and set up your first meetup as soon as possible.” Then a few lines down it started with “Your Big Super’s name is—”

“—Yes, thank you, thank you. I appreciate this. And I’ll call back if there’s anything else.” Mom came wandering back to the table and I barely had a second to stuff the letter into my backpack before she saw it. She hung up her phone and beamed at me.

“So, your principal says that you won’t have to re-do your report. You just need to give your teacher the part you wrote down and she’ll grade that. And I’m sure she’ll give you an A considering all of the trauma you’ve endured. . . and if she doesn’t, I’ll just call the principal again.”

“Um, thanks, Mom.”

She covered me in kisses. “Oh, you’re welcome, my love. Anything for you. Now you just rest here and I’ll see if I can get Jeannie to come in early tonight. I think you and I need to have a nice quiet evening together. Maybe we can go over some of those school catalogs.”

I winced at the idea of a long night planning my future. “I’m still pretty tired.”

“We’ll just do a few and then you’ll get some rest.” She gave me one last kiss and then sauntered away to make another phone call.

I waited until she was out of sight before I snatched the letter back out of my bag and uncrumpled it enough to continue reading it. It took the longest second in the world for me the find where I left off. “Your Big Super’s name is Audrey Hart,” the letter explained, followed by a phone number and mailing address for her.

“Audrey Hart,” I repeated. My mind flashed back to the hallucination I’d had early that day. That was the name on the building directory. This had to be a sign—just like Dad always talked about.

I looked down at the paper again. The universe had finally sent me some help. And her name was Audrey Hart.

When my dad shared the Super secret with me, I just assumed that I would start having visions and dreams all of the time. But I didn’t. I had a few vivid dreams and followed Dad’s instructions to look for signs everywhere. Still, nothing came true. And then I started having that dream about the Super book, but nothing had happened with that, either.

I guess I should have told my dad. But he was so excited about the possibility of me developing powers that I didn’t want to burst his bubble. Besides, people kept telling me I’d get taller if I was just patient. Maybe if I was patient enough, my powers would come in, too.

And then Dad was gone. It killed me to know that I wasn’t going to be able to finish what he started. So while I was still queasy about the whole thing, I was kinda excited that I finally had a lead on something that could make my dad’s plan come true.

But I guess this Audrey person wasn’t really that excited about our meeting. I spent most of Friday night and Saturday morning trying to get in touch with her. I called the number on the notice but it was disconnected. I googled her but she didn’t have a digital footprint—no social media, no blog, nothing. I even called 411 but they didn’t have a listing for her.

So I did the only thing I could do—I went to her apartment.

The address on the letter was in the Crown Heights section of Brooklyn. I was a Queens girl so I didn’t really know the area but I used my phone’s GPS to find it. I wasn’t sure what time to go because my vision didn’t have those details. I just got up as early as I could and took the train to Brooklyn.

My stomach was doing flips from the combination of hunting down a stranger and the possibility that I’d actually had a real vision. I even lied to my mother about where I was going. She thought I was at the library studying. Somehow, I had stumbled into a really cheesy after-school special combined with a rerun of
That’s So Raven
.

As soon as the building came into view, I got a flash of recognition. The directory looked very similar to the one I’d seen in my vision. Except when I got to the entry for Audrey, something was different.

Audrey Hart, Superintendent.

Still, I knocked on the door for apartment 1A.
This is it
, I thought as the waves of expectation washed over me.
This door is going to open and my whole life is going to change.

The expectation started to waver a bit as I waited, nervously tapping my foot. I knocked on the door, again, a little harder this time. I put my ear to the door but no sound came from the other side. Obviously, there wasn’t anyone home.

“She’s not home.”

I turned around to see an old guy standing across the foyer. He wore camouflage pants and an army jacket with a black beanie and a snowman-patterned scarf. He was basically all of my mom’s fears about me navigating the city alone come to life. “Um, OK.” I turned to go.

The man took a bite out of the corn dog I suddenly noticed he was holding and mumbled “She’s having pancakes with her boyfriend.”

“Do you know when she’ll be back?”

He shrugged. “When she’s done with her pancakes.” He turned to walk away but stopped in mid movement to turn back to me. “Is this about the Phams?”

“The Phams?”

He pointed up the stairs. “Yeah, the Pham kids from upstairs.”

“No, I’m not one of the Pham kids.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, duh. You’re not Vietnamese.”

I had no idea what he was talking about but it was pissing me off. “Listen—” I started. But he already disappeared down a set of stairs on the far end of the foyer. Left alone, I had two choices—I could go home or I could wait until my Big Super got back.

Considering going home with the same problems I’d left with made me feel queasy. I’d come here to get some help and I just couldn’t bring myself to leave until I got it. So, I went outside to sit on the front stoop until my destiny got back from having pancakes with her boyfriend.