Sidekicked Read Free Page A

anymore.
    The Fox dispatches the first wave of drones without even breaking stride. Slices her way through the onslaught as a half dozen more swoop down from the clouds. I can hear the split of the wind with each swing of her sword. I can see the aura of energy radiating from her pores. Watching her in action, I kind of forget that I am only a few feet from a really unpleasant death. Then the crank turns and I drop another inch and it all comes rushing back to me.
    Eleven feet and counting. I look around frantically.
    As if reading my mind, Jenna says, “Don’t worry. He’ll show.”
    And I just give her a dirty look. For all of her talents—extraordinary athleticism, super strength, lightning-fast reflexes, gorgeous green eyes—Jenna’s not a great liar. We both know the odds aren’t really in my favor. But even after all of this, even with everything I’ve been through in the past year, I have to give him the benefit of the doubt. Have to trust that he knows what he’s doing. It’s part of the Code.
    â€œHe’s got two more feet,” I tell Jenna, who flashes a glance that is somehow sympathetic and condescending, as if to say, “Okay, and then what?”
    I don’t know and then what. I haven’t figured out how I would save myself. Unlike Jenna, I don’t have extraordinary physical abilities. Unlike my friend Nikki, I can’t just phase through solid objects. I can’t shoot lightning or breathe fire. I’m not even double-jointed. In fact, at this point, I would trade my powers for those of just about anyone I know.
    â€œJust hang in there,” Jenna says. I really think she is trying to be funny.
    The Fox is battling right outside the pool’s entrance now, moving quickly. The crowd gathered behind the yellow caution tape is cheering like it’s the Super Bowl. Sometimes I wonder if they even care who wins, so long as they get a show. The last four drones surround the Fox, thrusting their harpoons. I figure she’ll just pound her fist into the ground and create a shock wave to bowl them over. Or maybe she will spin around super fast, creating a whirlwind that will knock them back on their fuzzy little butts. But instead she just does this thing with her eyes, where they roll back in her head and little bolts of red energy start arcing back and forth between them. It’s really pretty intense, and it’s just the kind of thing Supers do when they want you to know that they are totally cranked off. I’ve seen that same look on my mother’s face, even though she’s not a Super, and I know what it means.
    The drones are smarter than their name suggests, and they take the Fox’s electric eyeball arcing act as their cue to retreat, flying up, up, and away.
    While I keep going down. Eight feet.
    He’s not going to show.
    Even now. It’s one thing not to make it to training. Or to neglect to take me out on the weekends. But now? Here? When I’m really in danger?
    The Fox looks up at the two of us dangling like minnows, and I know what she is thinking. She is thinking that it’s a trap. That the moment she tries to save us, the Killer Bee will come out of nowhere and blindside her. And she’s probably right. Otherwise, what’s the point in even capturing us?
    But I really don’t care. Because, frankly, I just want her to rescue me so that I can go home, put bags of frozen peas on my wrists, and forget that this day even happened.
    Seven feet. I think the crank is going faster. Jenna looks at me expectantly. I look back at my toes. I happen to like my toes. I really don’t want to see them dissolved.
    And then my ears are suddenly filled with a high-pitched buzzing, much stronger than that of the drones, and I know that the villain is above us. I crane my neck to see him, the Killer Bee, hurtling our way, his multifaceted goggles reflecting a hundred versions of my own freaked-out face, his