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Friendship was a sour term for Tobey.
Not that he’d ever admit it aloud, of course. To everyone else, it seemed he was perfectly content with solitude - he lost himself in books and spent most of his time locked away in his room, sketching designs for robotic menaces. Anytime a tangible relationship appeared to be forming, he would shut it down quickly, because he found himself much too intelligent to be lollygagging in the company of dull, dim-witted individuals. He simply couldn’t be bothered. No, he preferred holing himself up in his self-proclaimed laboratory, toiling away at metal and circuit boards instead of with a gaggle of vague, faceless acquaintances.
Truthfully, Tobey just didn’t have a reason to interact with kids his age. He was charismatic enough to convince adults that he was a charming, spiffing little boy who had no dastardly ulterior motives despite his numerous public appearances as villain. The sixth graders at his school, however, were another thing entirely. Sometimes he felt as though they were speaking a whole other language; shortened acronyms pouring out of their mouths in a garbled stream of bewilderment. They talked of new shoe brands and hairstyles and recently released movies. The year before had been tedious, but with the transition into middle school came some sort of simultaneous awaking – an awakening he had missed out on.
Aside from a change in clothing (he was growing rather fond of turtlenecks and trench coats) and a growth spurt that had him taller than most of his classmates, he didn’t experience the same bizarre transformation as everyone else. Everyone had changed somewhat – rebellious haircuts and bold, Wonderland-esque assembles, shifted (still shifting) attitudes - but he still felt the same, stuck forever in the husk of childish youth. Once or twice he’d tried to crack through the shell, once or twice he’d slithered back in.
Not afraid. He wasn’t afraid. Just cautious. The few relationships he did have weren’t stellar examples of what thriving social connections were supposed to look like. He’d never been particularly tight with his mother. She was always out, traveling to someplace or another, disappearing off the face of Earth for a few weeks, returning to spend a brief moment in town, and then dispatching again. As a child, he’d been bitter about it; roots of deep resentment that had tangled around his heart like a thorny cage. He faintly remembered a few moments of them, but she was always in the background, watching him with fondness as he colored or ate, like a silent applauder cheering on his existence in the way mothers did.
When she’d started leaving, younger Tobey had felt the absence of her large, secure presence. He’d wandered around the house, his small footsteps padding against the wooden floors. He’d colored. He’d played checkers by himself, then chess. Each chew of food echoed throughout the space like a yawn. He was horribly bored and pretended not to be bitter, especially as he watched the babysitter invite her friends to the house to sit on the couch he and his mother watched science documentaries on. He spied across the room as they rummaged through his mother’s cooking, reclined their feet on his mother’s favorite reading chair, ran their hands over every surface that wasn’t theirs but that they took anyways.
And when they saw him there, they patted him on the head and ushered him back into his room. Go play with your toys, Theo , they’d say, and he refrained from saying he didn’t have any.
He’d felt robbed of something, and he wanted it back. Not from just his mother; from everyone. He’d let them know he was worth the acknowledgement. That he wasn’t some thing to be left at home at a moment’s notice. That he, Tobey McCallister III, not Theo , was not to be ignored.
It was then, through a hazy cloud of anger and loathing, that he’d learned how reprogram the Roomba to chase out his sitter and her giddy friends. Oh, how he’d savored their shrill screams as they’d sped out of his house.
Oh, how he’d savored the silence they left behind.
For the rest of the month his mother was gone, young Tobey toyed with all the machines he could find, borrowed every book possible from the library, and tinkered for hours upon end in his mother’s gardening shed. The information he read imprinted itself into his brain, like a librarian stamping a page with red ink. Every bit of numerical data stuck to him; the things he did clicked. He constructed microscopic glasses after a few days, drawn a crude robot head on his mother’s spare apron, and busied himself during the weeks, oil staining his pale hands, harsh light outlining the slow yet steady progress unfolding beneath his nimble fingers.
After two weeks, three days, five hours, twenty-five minutes and six seconds, it was ready. A basic creature constructed of metal, with eyes that gleamed like rubies, and blocky fingers. They were all individual pieces that could assemble into a machine capable of smothering buildings with one misstep. It was a beast of rage, cooped up within the wooden walls of Tobey’s lab. He’d channeled all his hatred into it, but his anger had fizzled out by now. He didn’t know what to do with it other than be proud; but something so brilliant couldn’t stay hidden.
For some time, the parts of an enormous robot remained strewn out around his lab, dismembered limbs dormant, waiting for the time its owner’s fury would unleash it out into the world.
But it wasn’t fury that let it see the light of the day. It was love – or at least some version of it.
Tobey had barely grasped friendship at that point, but affection was another thing. It was pointless. Trivial. Baffling .
And then he’d met Wordgirl, and everything had changed.
“Screwdriver.”
“Screwdriver.”
“Power saw.”
“Power saw.”
“Mozzarella stick.”
“Mozzarella-” Tobey cut himself off, scowling. “Did you not just have one a minute ago, you bloke?”
Dr. Two Brains rolled his eyes, pulling off his foggy goggles and polishing them on dress shirt. “I’ve got needs, Tobey. Most notably, cheese. Now hand me one, will you?”
He grumbled under his breath, peeling off his gloves and entering the passcode that let him into the garage’s designated cheese stores. Wheels upon wheels of it, varying from stark white to the brightest yellow to mottled blue. Tobey shivered as he stepped inside the frigid safe, grabbing a plastic wrapped stick of cheese, then backtracking and grabbing a few extra handfuls, because nothing ever sustained Dr. Two Brains for long.
“Here,” he said gruffly, shoving a piece into the doctor’s hands, who shoved it into his mouth greedily. He ate it like he’d been denied life-saving medication and was just now given access to it. Although, if one looked at how the throbbing brain sticking out of his white mane of hair subsided, they would rather compare it to a drug addict gaining a dose of their chosen toxin. Tobey never thought he would compare cheese to poison, but here was.
He also never imagined he’d end up as friends with this deranged scientist, yet here he was, watching the admittedly talented man cast hot, melted steel into a mold for his next ray. Across the worktable, scraps of metal, heat-proof gloves, platinum shavings, and strands off fallen mozzarella littered the once pristine surface. It was a stark contrast to Tobey’s lab, which was typically kept tidy, or at least as tidy as an experimental lab could be kept. Two Brains’ garage was a mismatched disaster of miscellaneous furniture and dangerous equipment.
“Alright, this should be enough for a new one,” the doctor said, carefully placing the crucible away and quenching the steel in water to cool. “It’ll be a couple hours before it’s fully hardened. You get how to make alloys now, right?”
Tobey nodded. He’d written down all the steps while carefully observing him, and was ecstatic to try it out later on his nanobots.
“Great, Tobester- can I call you Tobester?”
“No,” Tobey snapped.
“Okay, Tobester. We have a good amount of time to kill. We could go to that dairy exhibit in town-”
“Oh, please, no,” Tobey groaned, his mind wandering to the last time they’d gone. The whole affair had been laughable – open air displays filled with waxy slices of cheese, and they hadn’t stolen a single slice. Instead, Dr. Two Brains had worn various disguises in order to get multiple free-samples, and Tobey had spectated from the sidelines as the man eagerly strode up to the stand thrice with a different pair of sunglasses and an absurd new accent, the vendor glancing up at the iconic second brain sticking out like a neon sign and thinking absolutely nothing of it as she offered up a slice of stinking camembert.
Bloody hell. If Tobey had to watch one more daft exchange between the people of Fair City (who he was convinced shared a single, miniscule brain cell), he would blast everything to bits.
“Fine, then,” the doctor huffed, examining his stormy expression. “Lucky for you, weekly villain rankings come out today, and I made a bet that Seymour just went up a notch.”
Tobey typically despised television (except when he was pulling it apart) but he didn’t complain and sat down on the ratty sofa. A charming jingle came from the program playing on the screen, and curiosity tugged at him from within his gut when the question-marked boxes appeared on the right of an overly-enthusiastic woman.
The bluebell reporter flashed a grin at the camera. Dr. Two Brains shimmied beside him, excitedly snacking on a bowl of cheese puffs.
“Welcome back, everyone! It’s been a long week, but results are in! In number five, we have The Butcher!”
Two-Brains nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes, hurry up...”
“In fourth, Chuck the Evil Sandwich Making Guy!”
Tobey scoffed, but the doctor shot him a disdainful look and he kept quiet.
“In third, Seymour Orlando Smooth!”
“Knew it!” Two Brains shouted, pumping a glove-clad fist in the air. “Mr. Big owes me fifty bucks.”
“Like he’d actually give it to you.”
“He’ll do it if he doesn’t want his skyscrapers turned into gouda,” he responded casually, licking cheese dust off his fingers.
“In number two, we have Granny May!”
“She hasn’t retired yet?” Tobey mused under his breath. He held a decent bit of respect for the woman, who kept up her game and was one of the more competent villains. Also completely unrelated, she made a really delicious apple pie. “Impressive.”
The reporter swept a hand over the leaderboard, snatching is attention. “And in number one, the most dangerous, menacing-”
“Redundant,” Tobey mumbled. Two-Brains shushed him.
“-villain in all of Fair City is...Dr. Two-Brains!”
“Yes!” the scientist shouted, standing up triumphantly. The bowl of cheese puffs fell off his lap, clattering to the floor. “Yes, yes, yes ! Take that, Glen Furlblam, you absolute nobody !”
“Glen who ?”
“Exactly,” he smirked. Then he realized he was standing and quickly plopped down, schooling his expression into indifference. “Anyways. It was expected.”
“Right,” Tobey drawled.
“You know what wasn’t?” Two-Brains went on. “You slipped from the top five. You’re letting the likes of Smooth beat you? What happened?”
Tobey glanced away, inspecting the bright yellow crumbs of dust on the floor. “I’m just...preparing my next big move.”
“Uh-huh,” the doctor said, picking his teeth with a toothpick. “The longest you’ve been on a hiatus was for three months. It’s been six.”
“Has it now?”
Two-Brains lifted one eyebrow. “Tobey, you’re one of the best villains out there. If anything’s stopping you, it’s yourself.”
Tobey frowned, fidgeting with his lab apron. Ceasing his villainous activities hadn’t been a conscious decision. His crime activity had slowed down quite a while ago, but he could pinpoint the exact moments leading up to his gradual disinterest in mischief. Going to the library, admiring paintings at a museum, eating ice cream at the park – all things done with Wordgirl while they’d searched for his robot’s remote months back, though searched was a loose term. He’d known of his remote’s whereabouts the whole time, and had really just wanted an excuse to spend time with her.
The sparse hours they had spent together that day replayed in his head like a beautiful, broken record. And – and she’d admitted to enjoying the day, too. They’d had so much in common, and he wanted to know more, do more, be more with her. At first, he had gotten to work on another robot so he could catch her attention, like he usually did. After all, Wordgirl only really paid attention to him because he was causing trouble. He just needed something more indestructible, creative, alluring...
But then he’d paused, staring at the crumpled sheets of metal in his hands through the blue and red lenses of his lab glasses. He felt his brain running on the same wheel; the same train of thought as usual.
Then it veered off course.
During their previous encounters, Wordgirl had fought him as a villain. He spent days building, eyes bleary from the poor light, cheeks stained with fuel as he worked, and all for the few seconds of time he could get with her before she destroyed his robots with one well-aimed punch. Drilling, screwing, hammering, assembling throughout the night. Watch as his robot was obliterated. Repeat.
Construct. Demolish. Repeat.
Forge. Annihilate. Repeat.
It was an endless cycle. But that one day, for just a pocketful of hours, it had broken like a punch to stained glass. And what had broken it? Not robots. Not evil schemes.
Not villainy.
For three months, Tobey had pondered. If not villainy, then what ?
The answer hadn’t come to him yet. It brushed the edges of his memory, tantalizing and torturous.
“Tobey?” The doctor’s voice was concerned. He loathed it. “Have you lost your villain mojo?”
“Why do you care?” he spat, but his voice felt weak, a bridge heaving under the weight of weary thoughts. “Shouldn’t you be glad to have me out of your hair?”
Two-Brains stroked his chin. “I need the competition. I’m teaching you everything I know, and you aren’t putting it to good use. Or any use at all.” His tone grew teasing. “What happened to the kid who wanted to smash everything up when he didn’t get his way?”
“What if I don’t want to smash anything up anymore?” Tobey yelled; frustration hissing in his throat.
Two-Brains stared at him, confused. He looked like he was about to say something, but Tobey continued.
“What if I don’t feel like destroying things? What happens then? Because – because I want to try something different, but I don’t know what yet. I’m a sitting duck.”
“Tobey-”
“Don’t try and tell me otherwise!” he snapped. The doctor flinched. “And you know what? That’s just it. I’m useless when I’m not smashing things up. At least then I was something, someone . Now I’m just a nobody.” He let out a laugh like broken glass. “I have to destroy things. That’s fundamentally part of me. Maybe it wasn’t before, but it is now, and if I get rid of it, what am I supposed to do with myself? If I’m not a villain, who am I ?”
He peered down at his hands, tears stinging in his eyes. Blink them away. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry, Tobey McCallister III.
A thick silence hung over them. Tobey wondered if saying all of this aloud was supposed to have made him feel better.
It didn’t, but the unexpected hug he received did.
For a moment, warmth enveloped him, like a sausage tucked into a roll. He kept his hands on his lap, where they’d been pinching into his pants, and something inside him began to uncoil ever so slowly. The irritating confusion that had been bubbling inside simmered away on his heart’s stove, and shock curdled into place, keeping his posture stony. Dr. Two Brains wasn’t a touchy-feely type of person. He teased and pointed fingers and made fun whenever possible, rarely expressing complicated emotions or insecurities of his own. And now he was hugging Tobey. Not saying anything, just offering the solace of silent comfort.
Tobey normally hated being touched unless he was initiating it, but this...this was fine. This was okay.
“Tobey,” Dr. Two-Brains began slowly, drawing away, “what do you mean by different?”
He perked up. “What?”
“Earlier, you said you wanted to try something different.”
He grit his teeth. There were a million things different could’ve meant. A million shades of chaotic and neutral and lawful. He decided on, “It’s stupid.”
“No, it isn’t. If it’s got you this wound up, I wouldn’t say so.”
“It’s nothing,” he bit back. “I doubt it’ll matter.”
“If you want to go good, well,” the doctor shrugged. “Go for it.”
Tobey scoffed. Most villains had a period of time where they attempted (key word: attempted) to quit their crime sprees. The duration lasted about a week at most, though many villains lapsed back into their typical behavior within hours. The temptation to go out and break the law was like a chute of fine wine – abstaining was fruitless in the long run, and sobriety was boring and unpredictable compared to their usual routines. How was someone who was used to thrill and violence supposed to get up, pay taxes, and go about their day normally? How were they supposed to fade into the background?
Villainy had, essentially, become a way of life for them. Giving it up wasn’t as simple as ‘going good.’
“It’s just that...I want to be a better person,” he mumbled. The words felt like he was chewing on plastic. “I mean, I certainly can’t get any better than this,” he remedied. His pride breathed in a gasp of air. “I...”
Two-Brains cocked his head. “I feel like I’m missing something very crucial here.”
Tobey laughed woefully. “Some one .”
The doctor’s face lit up. “Oh. Oh . Oh, that makes so much more sense, of course you weren’t doing it of your own accord-”
“I most certainly am,” he shot back, adjusting his glasses.
“Right. And I’m to believe that it isn’t because of your enormously obvious crush on Wordgirl-”
“It is not ‘enormously obvious!’ -”
“Ah, but you just confirmed it, Tobester,” Two-Brains chided, waggling a finger. “Should’ve known, with the dopey look in your eyes-”
“Dopey?” he seethed.
“Dopey,” the man affirmed, a gleam in his eye. “I completely forgot about your crush on her after Mousezilla.”
“As you should have,” he grumbled.
“Still, it’s a much different approach than the whole robot shtick,” Two-Brains pointed out.
“Recent developments,” Tobey said vaguely, adjusting his glasses.
“Recent developments.”
“I’ve decided that my previous strategy isn’t effective at...at winning her heart. I’m trying something new.”
“Trial and error,” the doctor remarked. “Of course, you’ll need my permission if you want to date her.”
“W-What?” he stammered. “Permission? -”
“I’m sorry, I should’ve said court . You’ll need my permission to court her.”
He choked on air. “ Court -??”
“Well, I can’t just let Wordgirl date any kid who tries to destroy her. She’s my friend, y’know.”
“Did you not try to turn her into cheese last week?”
“Friendly squabble,” he dismissed. “Besides, let's not talk about all your transgressions.”
“At least I had a viable reason. You, on the other hand, attack Wordgirl just so you can have full freedom to raid as many dairy shops as you’d like-”
“Not sure what you have against free food, Tobey,” Two-Brains complained. “And how is attacking her out of love any better?”
He turned red. “I’m switching strategies, if you haven’t heard.”
“I have,” he said, “and I think you need to lay out a few things first. One,” he held up a finger, “friendship.”
Tobey blinked. “Friendship?”
“You can’t just ask to date her out of nowhere. Sure, she knows you like her-”
“She knows ?”
“ Everyone knows,” Two-Brains deadpanned. “But all she knows is that you like her enough to smash her into buildings with your robots. Great first impression.”
Tobey winced. He’d been younger back then, and barely understood the likes of friendship. Naturally, his idea of love was warped beyond reality, until it had become something like mania instead; an intense obsession. His feelings hadn’t changed since then, but rather evolved into an actual crush. A horribly cliché one, too. The robot part had simply become routine at that point, and he’d built so much of his identity around it, around being Wordgirl’s enemy, that he wasn’t sure what to do if he stopped. It was like asking him to live without a heart; without the organ pumping his life with meaning.
“You’d need to become her friend first and build trust. Not that it’s going to be easy, of course. She’ll be suspicious, and you’ll need to be consistent. But before you can do any of that,” the doctor held up a second finger, “you need to figure out who you’re gonna be.”
“Who I’m going to be,” Tobey repeated listlessly.
Two-Brains nodded. “Once you quit villainy. If you aren’t Tobey the Evil Genius, who are you?”
“I don’t know,” he said hopelessly.
“I’ve had similar problems,” Two-Brains admitted. “After I had transformed. These days I don’t remember my previous life at all. I just remember a name, and that I was a professor...” he held a hand to his second brain, grimacing, his eyes flickering with unspoken pain. “It’s all fuzzy. I had to choose whether I was going to cling to a past I had no chance of recovering, or embrace the new future laid out in front of me.”
“But how did you know what your future was?”
“I didn’t,” he confessed. “I knew I was having aneurysms over the scent of cheese, but otherwise, it was completely undecided. I had to take a chance. A leap of extremely misplaced faith, if you will. And maybe there are some regrets, and things I’d like to change, but for the most part,” he glanced at Tobey and smiled, “I’m pretty happy with where I am now.”
Tobey’s eyes widened. The way the doctor looked at him was strangely familiar, as if he’d seen it somewhere. He was looking at Tobey the way he gazed at his henchmen before they went to bed.
And then he recognized where he’d seen that doting expression before - as a child, from outside of his bedroom window, as he watched sons play with their fathers and saw, in envy, the way they looked at each other. Like that person was their world.
He watched from outside his bedroom window, seeing those nameless fathers laugh and tease and encourage their children, and wondered where his was.
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. What was he to say? Was it possible, somehow, to translate the fluttering warmth in his stomach into articulate words? He was floating, floating off the couch and into space, far, far away where he didn’t have to process these feelings and instead just exist.
“Last but not least,” the doctor’s voice brought him out of the cosmos, “be brave. And when I say be brave, I don’t mean eat something different for breakfast or wear a different colored bow tie to school, because I know you’ll do that if I don’t specify.” The boy in question offered a sheepish grin. “Take bigger steps. Do things that would normally outrage you. Talk to common folk , Tobey.”
“I do,” he said. “You.”
Two-Brains snorted. “I count as common folk? I suppose I’ll have to be more eccentric, then.”
Tobey groaned. “I’d rather you don’t. You’re plenty eccentric as it is.”
“That’s a relief. But seriously – just step one foot outside the box. Maybe you’ll like it.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“And that, my friend,” he jutted a finger at him, “is the kind of thinking that will not get you the girl.”
“Then by all means,” Tobey droned, and in the most bored voice he could possibly achieve, shouted in a lackluster tone, “ yoo-hoo .”
“That’s the way, Tobester!” He slapped Tobey on the back, cackling.
“Stop calling me that!” he cried, the smallest smile grazing his face like a spot of paint on a bleak canvas.
When Tobey stepped into the crowded school hallway during passing period, his mentor’s (he would never call Dr. Two Brains that out loud) words hit him like a sudden rainstorm.
He swallowed a tired sigh. The day had been long and tedious; as mundane as ever. Science had whizzed by, talk of atoms and force and motion passing through one ear and pouring out the other like runoff. There was nothing he didn’t already know there; nothing he hadn’t known from months of poring over books and inhaling every sentence of information they had to offer. He wasn’t a boy genius for nothing, but being so incredibly talented had its drawbacks – constant lack of interest.
Shuffling through the halls, minding to keep his elbows away from the jostling throng of students, he walked to his locker. A safe haven, he’d added a few extra robotic embellishments to keep it clean and organized. Upon opening it, the planning assistant on the attached to side chimed, reminding him that his history report was due tomorrow. He sent away the notification and freed his backpack of books, grabbing his lunch and a newly borrowed novel (Of Mice and Men was proving to be thoroughly depressing.) He was about the shut his locker door when a mop of brown hair passed his eye.
Just two lockers away was Becky Botsford, humming something that resembled the Pretty Princess theme song as she shuffled her books around. Unlike all the other sixth graders, who sported new hairstyles or swabs of shakily applied eyeshadow, Becky had remained the one constant in his life. She hadn’t shed her holier-than-thou mentality, unfortunately, but she was still the most interesting thing to happen at this school besides him. She hadn’t run out of snappy comebacks and was still interrupting people’s conversations with helpful grammar tips and smart definitions. Her intelligence sparkled like an unearthed gem – not as obvious at first, but all the valuable.
The biggest change in her was appearance-wise. Her chocolatey hair spilled out of its messy bun, framing her face like elegant drapes. The headband was gone, replaced with twin hair clips. Dark studs winked in her ears, and her green sweater was just a little bit oversized, her maroon skirt just a bit shorter, brushing above her knees. Thick lashes framed her dark, intuitive eyes -
“Ogling me, Tobey?”
He jolted, tumbling out of his daydream. Those dark, intuitive eyes were now zeroed in on him .
“No,” he coughed into his fist. “Just admiring that poster behind you.”
She followed his line of sight and smiled brightly. “Oh, really?”
“Yes. It’s an excellent...bird?”
The brightness dimmed. “It’s supposed to be a person.”
He knit his brows. “Did you draw that, Botsford?”
“Yes, and I’m only half insulted,” she sighed. “I thought my art skills would have gotten a little better by now.”
He smirked. “They haven’t.”
She shot him a disdainful look. “And yours have?”
“Oh, you just haven’t seen my stunning progress, dear,” he gestured swankily.
“You’ve evolved from unidentifiable spots of paint to stick figures?” she snarked. “Impressive.”
“I see you have yet to reach my level of skill,” he teased, pointing to her poster. “Now that I think about it, that is a remarkable self-portrait-”
She rolled her eyes, slamming her locker door shut and sauntering away, clearly too irked to continue the conversation. On any other day, he would have brushed off the encounter and walked to the tree in the school yard, reading his book under the cool shade of the white dogwood growing there. He would have thought nothing of Becky’s annoyed look, or how her shiny hair glistened like glitter in the florescent-lit hallways.
Two-Brain's advice kept him rooted to the spot. Be brave.
“Botsford!”
Do something that would normally outrage you.
“It doesn’t look that bad,” he pointed at her poster. “I’m sure you’ll get better with time.”
One immaculate eyebrow lifted over her choppy bangs. “A compliment from Tobey McCallister. I must be dreaming.”
“And I do, indeed, look like a dream.”
Her face flared. “You - ugh .”
He laughed , pressing a hand against his mouth to stifle the sounds, though her look silenced him. The confident slant of her eyebrows suggesting a forming rebuttal; the downward tilt of her lips poised to mutter something uncouth, as if she was about to set off a verbal firecracker.
The look of meticulous aggravation on her face was something to savor, he thought idly.
“This must be a nightmare, then,” she replied, clutching the brown bag containing her lunch tightly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-”
“Wait!” What are you doing, you idiot?
“What now?”
He played with his fingers, pinching the spaces between. “I was wondering if you would like to...to join me for lunch?”
She stared at him.
“Or- or-” he stuttered, “I could join you? Perhaps? If you were willing?”
She continued to stare at him, and Tobey felt her gaze squishing him like a bug. You’re an oxymoron – how do you manage to simultaneously be a fool and a genius?
Finally, she asked, “Why?”
He blinked. Was she actually considering? She didn’t have to. Why would she? In fact, why had he even asked?
“I just...” he paused, breathing in. “Wanted to try something new for a change. If that’s okay.” He shakily pointed towards her. “With you.”
She seemed stunned into silence. “Huh.”
He wanted to close his eyes until she inevitably walked away. Instead, she cracked a little smile.
“Fine, but only if you promise to behave,” she insisted. “Can’t have you reducing the cafeteria to rubble, can we?”
“I wasn’t going to-”
“Hush, Tobey,” she said. “Are you going to come or not?”
He faltered. “Why are you letting me come?”
“Because you asked?”
“No, I mean...” he sighed. “After everything I’ve done.”
Becky leaned against the lockers, her chocolatey eyes peering at the bright lights. “I haven’t forgotten about it. I mean, it’s only once in a lifetime someone tries to crush your house. But you haven’t been nearly as annoying lately-”
“Oh, joy.”
“-and haven’t destroyed anything with your robots. Besides, everyone’s been changing in their own ways. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming that you have, too. After all, you’re only human, Tobey. You can evolve and mature, just like the rest of us.”
Tobey’s heart swelled. “Thank...thank you, Botsford. I suppose I really needed to hear that.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied, grabbing his hand. A strand of lightning went up his arms, electrocuting him to the core. “And people usually call me Becky.”
“Ah, intermingling me with people , aren’t you?” he remarked.
“Oops, sorry, your majesty,” she mocked in that snappy tone he was growing to like. “I forgot you don’t interact with us common folk .”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he assured her. “You’re far out of that crowd.”
Her cheeks colored, though it could have been the light on her complexion. “If I’m not part of them, who am I?”
He smirked. “I have yet to find out. I suspect it’ll be horribly intriguing.”
“Oh, goody,” she replied, entering the cafeteria. “I’d hate to be a bore.”
“I highly doubt you’re capable of that. Now, where to sit?”
“Ooh, there’s Violet and Scoops!”
He groaned. “I forgot they existed.”
She batted his arm. “Tolerate them for thirty minutes, McCallister.”
“Friends call me Tobey,” he echoed, squeezing her hand, if only to mildly vex her.
Becky dragged him through the crowd, and he was sure the blush encompassing her face was real. “Come on, then, Tobey. Let’s not keep them waiting.”
“Of course, Your Imperial Majesticness.”
They sat, and Tobey had, for the first time, talked politely with Violet and Scoops (restraining himself from answering the nosy boy’s ridiculous questions.) They traded lunches – mostly him, with his mother’s leftover pot roast and whatever hellish creature Becky had summoned for her meal that evening. He and Violet had gotten along well, though she was just as blunt as her boyfriend (how Scoops managed to attract someone romantically, Tobey would never know), but he’d mostly spent time debating with Becky until the bell signaled their return to class.
And even though it had been his first time sitting with them, Tobey was slightly (just a bit) disappointed to watch them disperse. The company had been nice, and during his final class of the day, English, he’d pretended to read their class novel, but instead pored over their lunchtime conversations – arguments about school policies and book villains and wild, abrupt decisions. It’d been refreshing, having someone to talk to who understood him, who was practically finished off his sentences like they’d been pulling on the same thread of thought.
Then, bizarrely enough, he realized he hadn’t thought of Wordgirl at all during the entire lunch period. He’d nearly forgot about her. He, the boy with a crush the size of Jupiter, had momentarily forgotten about Wordgirl.
And he wasn’t sure if he was all that bothered by it.
Tobey wasn’t sure who he was when he wasn’t Wordgirl’s enemy, but he was starting to paint a picture of it – a messy, unclear but beautiful picture. For now, though, he would try not to doze off in class. He would try to be a little braver and be a little more spontaneous.
And, most importantly, he would try not to think of Becky, who was taking up an infuriatingly large amount of space in his head and refused to leave for the rest of the afternoon.