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Chapter Text

Becky had spent the past five minutes scanning over the city skyline. 

She’d checked the sky from every angle possible – well, from every inconspicuous angle, since she tried to keep flying to a minimum near her house. From the backyard, the front yard, from the treehouse. She’d even tossed Bob up to the roof to get a closer look. (She did have to take a brief flight to get him back down. She hadn’t thought that far ahead.)

No robots. So far. 

So what, exactly, could Tobey have planned for his stay at the Botsfords’?

Mrs. McCallister was scheduled for an out-of-state convention over the weekend. After numerous failed attempts to find a long-term babysitter, she’d settled for leaving him with the Botsfords, the only family willing to give it a shot. And Becky would just have to grin and bear it, and hope that this time, he wouldn’t put her family in danger. 

She’d expected some sort of taunting at school, but Tobey had spent most of the day in a daze. More than once, Becky had watched him visibly struggle to keep his head off his desk. Up all night plotting, perhaps? Or just shameless about his disinterest in anything beyond robotics. 

Mrs. McCallister had left for the airport this morning, so Tobey was to follow Becky and TJ home off the bus. Becky sat with Violet, decidedly not Tobey or her brother. Tobey sat across the aisle from the girls, alone, knees rubbing against his chest, head against the window. The only things to keep him awake were the potholes that’d bump the bus up in the air, smacking his head into the window. He preferred to ride with his mother, Becky knew; this was just another change to bring him down. She’d half-expected him to just make his robot carry him to her house instead. 

TJ decided to race them both inside, a competition he won easily, since Tobey was dragging his feet and Becky refused to look away from him, lest he pull a trick. Bob had trailed behind Tobey, eyeing his pockets for any remote-sized bulges. Once the trio made it onto the front stoop, Becky grasped the door handle before Tobey had a chance to enter her home. 

“Before you go inside, Tobey,” she said sternly, “just remember, both of my parents will be home tonight, and I made them promise to keep an eye on you at all times. If you try anything funny under our roof, they will tell your mom.”

“Understood,” Tobey said listlessly, scratching at his vest. 

“And if they don’t watch you…” She pointed two fingers towards her eyes, then at Tobey’s. “I will. And so will Bob.” She pointed down at her monkey friend, who nodded in affirmation. “So you better not–”

“Okay, I get it! Your home is a surveillance state.” Tobey rubbed his temples. “Now can I please go inside? It has been a long day.”

Becky opened the door to let him in first – partly to be polite, so nobody could say she wasn’t the bigger person here, but also so he wouldn’t walk in behind her back. 

Tim Botsford was right in the kitchen, and once he spotted Tobey, he rushed to the door for a warm greeting. “Ah, you made it! Welcome to Casa de Botsford! Checking in for how many nights?” He chuckled. “Anyway. Your overnight bag’s by the counter, your mom dropped it off before she left, and if you need anything, just let me–”

“Couch.” Tobey interrupted Tim with a weak little point towards the Botsford’s sofa. “Please?” 

“Uh, sure!” He ushered Tobey over to the couch. “Make yourself at home. We can pull it out for – or you can just plop onto it facefirst. That’s fun! Love a good plop after a long day.” 

Bob followed Tobey to the couch and continued looking him over. He poked curiously at Tobey’s leg. The boy barely moved an inch. The monkey touched him again, and raised his brow at the unusual heat of his skin. Tobey just buried his face in the Botsfords’ pillow. 

Tim turned to face his daughter, still standing in the open doorway. “Everything alright, Becky? You’re letting all the heat out of the house.”

If Becky stepped into the house, she was officially trapped with Tobey. If he had an army waiting out in the city, he’d catch wise to her sudden departure and make her house his new target, just as he’d threatened before. She could only pose Huggy as WordGirl so many times. She needed certainty before she took the risk. 

“I think I… dropped a book outside,” she said, backing away. “I’m just gonna scour the area until I find it.

“Scour away!” Tim saluted. “Bob and I will keep our guest entertained.” 

“Bob can come with me.” Becky ushered her sidekick to the front door. “He knows where my books are.”

They went back outside and scoured the area until Becky ran out of options, simply sitting on the porch with her buddy, pondering what the weekend may bring. 

The sound of an engine cut into Becky’s brooding. Sally Botsford exited the car, her purse slung over one shoulder, a grocery bag in her arms. “Hi, Becky! Could you grab the extra bag from the car?” She pointed towards a second paper bag in the passenger seat. “Had to pick up new ingredients for the weekend on the way from work. I know Tobey’s a picky eater.”

Reluctantly, Becky complied. The bag wasn’t heavy at all; the rest of the situation was. 

The Botsford women entered the house, instantly drawing the attention of Tim, now sitting on the sofa. He sported an expression of unusual worry. The blonde boy curled up next to him was still as a plank. 

“Oh, good, honey, you’re here!” Tim said as he got off the couch. “I know we promised we wouldn’t leave Tobey alone, but I need to get the thermometer. He’s burning up!” 

Tim made a beeline for the bathroom, so Sally took his place on the couch. Becky stepped back against the wall. She’d been so concerned about staying close to Tobey, she hadn’t considered she may have needed to keep her distance all along. 

Sally pressed the back of her hand against Tobey’s forehead. “Oh, my,” she said, “you do feel hot. Have you felt sick at all today, honey?”

Tobey let his arm hang off the couch. “A touch,” he understated.

Becky chimed in, “He almost fell asleep in math.” Tobey shushed her. 

Sally carefully sat Tobey up, then, using her combined skills as a mother and an interrogator, examined the evidence. “Low energy.” She patted the sides of his neck. “Glands are a little swollen.” Tim swooped back on the scene, dutifully handing the thermometer to his wife; moments after going under Tobey’s tongue, it shot into the low hundreds. “And yep, definitely a fever.” Sally looked Tobey over for a moment, trying to formulate a specific diagnosis… and then she saw him scratching at his vest. “A little rashy, too?”

“N-no.” Tobey stretched his vest further over his stomach. “It’s just… scratchy fabric.” 

“Is that really all?” Sally stared him down. She lacked his mother’s raw intimidation power, but she was still a formidable woman when she wanted to be. “Can I see the spot that’s itching you?”

Tobey folded his arms and hunched over his stomach. “I don’t have to show you any– ah- hahhh. ” His whole body tensed up, and he furiously rubbed at his side. 

Sally intercepted him mid-scratch and lifted up a corner of his shirt, revealing what looked like tiny pink pimples spreading across his stomach.

“Ah- hah !” Sally put her fists on her hips, triumphant. “Now, I may not be a doctor, but I’ve seen that rash. I’d say you, young man, have chickenpox.”

Tim gasped. Tobey looked like a deer in headlights. 

“Wha– don’t–” The little boy coughed. “Don’t be silly! This isn’t chickenpox! This is… prickly heat!”

“In January?” Becky interjected. 

“Stay out of this!” Tobey hissed through his teeth, still scratching his stomach. 

“I know it’s going around,” Tim mused, “but I never thought I’d see it back in this house. TJ’s already had it, and Becky’s vaccinated.” He gestured down to the monkey. “And Bob, well, I don’t think monkeys get chickenpox. They’ve got their own special poxes, hah.” 

Bob grimaced at the microaggression. 

Sally put a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “I’ll call Mrs. McCallister – I think she's landed by now. You get Tobey set up somewhere more comfortable. Probably shouldn’t room him with the kids, he’ll need special attention. Oh – we’re immune, maybe he can stay with us!”

“On it!” Tim said in his authoritative tone. He slung Tobey’s overnight bag over his shoulder. “First, we’ll get you set up in our room.” He nudged Tobey (who was already nodding off again) up and off the couch. “Then comes the real adventure: the rest of us disinfecting that sofa!”

Becky scowled at the prospect of extra work, but seeing her rival trudge next to her father, she softened a bit. The poor kid was probably out of commission all weekend, too sick to scheme or snoop around. Bad for him (and for her family’s schedule) but good for WordGirl, at least. 

Unless that’s just what he wanted her to think. Becky could never fully let her guard down around Tobey. Not even this itchy, fatigued version of him. 

Tobey mustered up the little strength he had to roll out his silver sleeping bag, which turned out to be for naught. 

“Sleeping on the floor when you’re sick?” Tim shook his head and gestured up to his and Sally’s queen-sized mattress. “As long as you’re our guest, you can have our bed.”

“Really?” Tobey asked, his voice small. 

“Sure! Mrs. Botsford and I can get our sleeping bags and have a little indoor camping adventure.” 

“Woo!” Sally cheered. “Indoor camping!”

Tobey hoisted himself up onto the Botsfords’ bed and slid beneath their comforter. He kept looking back at them, as if they were suddenly going to change their mind, because surely their property was no place for a child. But they just smiled and nodded, urging him along. So he pulled the covers up and got snug. It didn’t stop all his soreness and itching, but it soothed him in other ways. 

He could have told them about the button hidden inside his sleeping bag that could expand it into a proper bed, but hey, they didn't ask. 

Tim left the room with disinfectant in hand and a pep in his step, while Sally dialed from the landline. Tobey closed his eyes and tried to get some proper sleep. Unfortunately, just hearing one side of a conversation with his mother was enough to keep him up.

“Claire, hi! Hope your flight landed safely. Hey, is it actually windy in the Windy City? … Actually, that’s why I’m calling– No, no, he hasn’t misbehaved! But he’s feeling under the weather. Looks like it might be chickenpox. … Oh, he is vaccinated? That’s strange, then. Once he feels up to it, we’ll take him to the doctor later and see if it’s something else.” (Hearing this made Tobey tense up.) “He’s resting in bed right now. You can talk to him if he’s still awake.”

Tobey quickly feigned some snoring sounds – honk-shoo, honk-shoo.

Sally smiled to herself. “No, seems he’s already asleep. Poor little thing. We’ll try our best to help him get better.… Oh, good idea!” She picked up a pen and notepad. “You just tell me what would work for him and I’ll make a list.” 

Ah. Detailed instructions from his mother. Great. 

Tobey buried himself fully under the comforter and tried to just shut himself out of this whole stupid reality. 

He was asleep within the minute.

Chapter Text

Originally, Tobey was excited for his mother’s business trip. He seized any opportunity to indulge in his… let’s call them “hobbies”... without parental interference. He expected another gullible babysitter and a lovely weekend of wreaking havoc against WordGirl.

Then Tobey learned he would be staying with the Botsfords. This… complicated his plans. He could only tolerate Becky and her family in small intervals, and they were not the inattentive type, which would reduce his opportunities for aforementioned havoc-wreaking. Additionally, his mother would check his overnight bag and toss any unapproved gadgets before locking him out of the McCallister house. The Botsfords were, however, as easy to fool as most other members of this town. He could easily sneak out of the house and obtain any supplies he’d need for his next evil scheme. Sure, Becky was the suspicious type, but Tobey knew when to turn up his boyish charm and get authority on his side. And if he couldn’t, he’d just scare them into submission with his enormous robot army. 

But then he’d woken up on Friday with that unusual fatigue. He’d tried to shrug it off, attributed it to stress or low blood sugar. No need to bother his mother and risk keeping her home to hover over him. But then came the persistent stomach ache, the unfinished lunch, the pounding in his head. 

And the rash. That blotchy blight on his belly, that smoking gun that could clue his mother in that Tobey had not, in fact, taken all vaccinations she’d signed him up to receive. Luckily, the pox was still hidden under his clothes, so he’d avoided suspicion at school, even with the occasional scratching and squirming. Too bad Mrs. Botsford had a savvy side. 

It’d spread fully to his face and extremities overnight, and the itch was unbearable. But the Botsfords had a plot of their own. And unlike Tobey, they had supplies at the ready. 

“Pain reliever, check. Oatmeal, check. Calamine lotion, check. Word search, check. Gloves…” Tim rummaged, rubber-gloved, through his emergency chickenpox relief kit, then pulled out two cotton gloves, too small even for a ten-year-old’s hands. “Hmm, might need to swap these out. TJ was only five when he got chickenpox.” He sat at the edge of the bed with the puzzle book in one hand and the oatmeal box in the other. “Your mother said you like brain teasers and such, so I figured these could keep your hands busy so you don’t scratch.” He leaned in and whispered, “Becky doesn’t know we have ‘em, or she’d have already filled ‘em all out.” He grinned with pride. “You know how she is.”

Tobey could have said a lot about just how well he knew Becky (derogatorily), but witty comments weren’t coming to mind as easily as they usually did. 

“Or, if you feel up to it…” Tim shook the oatmeal box. “I can set up a nice soothing oatmeal bath for you. I’ll even throw in some brown sugar and herbs to make it smell as good as it feels!” 

The book of word searches looked so juvenile, Tobey could have probably gone through the whole thing in five minutes. But when he cracked it open to a random page, the image seemed blurry, the letters jumbled. Even after wiping his glasses a few times, it wasn’t immediately solvable, which meant it wasn’t worth his time. 

He closed the book and grasped, pathetically, at the oatmeal box. “Bath, maybe?” he whimpered. “Please?” 

“Sure thing, Tobey!” Tim helped ease Tobey out of bed towards the bedroom door, a gentle hand on his back. “Then I’ll see if we have any gloves in your size.”

It was an odd feeling, having an adult calmly escort him somewhere rather than pull him by the arm or ear. Tobey wondered if Mother would be so gentle. 

Too delirious to stop himself, he mumbled to Tim, “Thank you, papa.”

As pleasant as it was to be doted on, Tobey wasn’t quite keen on bathing in front of a family friend, so Tim agreed to wait outside until Tobey’s bath was done. 

Which was good for Tobey, because any witnesses for his fever hallucinations would have mortified him. 

“Oh, WordGirl, dear, you really made this whole delectable breakfast for me?” Tobey said to nobody in particular, running his hands through the chunky bathwater. “Well, you don’t expect me to eat it all by my lonesome, now, do you?” He lowered himself into the water, holding an imaginary cup. “I’ll get started on the tea in a moment. Did your monkey bring in the papers? …Of course you can do the crossword first, my little dove, just do it in pencil and erase it well.”

Little did he know that Tim was not the only one outside that door. And it was not soundproof.  Becky had to muster all her super-strength not to throw up. Bob audibly gagged. 

“Creative, isn’t he?” Tim said, completely unconcerned. He knocked on the door and shouted, “Don’t stay in there too long, Tobey! Would really stink to be poxy and pruney.” He turned his attention back to his daughter. “So you found some good gloves?”

“Not too many.” A half-truth. Becky had no shortage of gloves, but most of them were for costume purposes; she wouldn’t lend her Pretty Princess cosplay gear to her rival even if he weren’t covered in infectious vesicles. And of course she couldn’t offer up her WordGirl gloves. So she handed her father a pair of purple mittens – one of her many spares. “Will these do?”

“Hmm…” Tim stretched the mitten, testing its durability. “As long as they’re not too sweaty, they should make for decent scratch guards. Where’d you get these, anyway? Reminds me of that nice granny we know.”

“Yeah, I confiscated them from her.” Bob elbowed her, and Becky amended, “I mean, bought them from her.” 

As if Becky needed more reasons to be nervous, the bathroom door opened. Tobey stumbled out, clad in a light blue bathrobe he held tightly around his chest (thank goodness). His glasses sat forgotten on the Botsfords’ sink. He squinted at Becky, then shot her a mischievous grin. “WordGirl?” he said, giddy. “You really have come to visit me?” 

“ Not WordGirl!” Becky took two big steps backwards. “Becky. It’s Becky. ” 

“Oooh, such a tease, aren’t you, little missy?” He spun around on one foot, but couldn’t even make a full rotation before falling backwards into Tim’s arms. 

The man put one hand on Tobey’s forehead. “Fried egg on a sidewalk! Even after that bath, he’s still burning hot.”

“Ohhhh.” It clicked in Becky’s head, and she felt a wave of relief. “He’s delirious.”

“It’s more that he’s feverish.”

“Well, being delirious means being really confused, even to the point of hallucinating, usually because of a bad illness. High fever can cause delirium. So Tobey only thinks I’m WordGirl – because I’m very obviously not –” She nervously scratched the back of her neck. “– because he’s delirious, and probably having trouble seeing to boot.”

“And I smell lovely, too?” Tobey asked, not fully comprehending the conversation. 

“Of course you do,” Tim played along. “Thanks, Becky. Maybe you have a future as a nurse! Or at least… someone who writes books about nurses.”

His daughter shyly chuckled. “I just know what these conditions mean, not how to treat them.”

She also knew Tobey had to be delirious, because he hadn’t rolled his eyes once the whole time she’d defined that word. 

A sudden ringing in Becky’s ears, followed by an echoing cackle, caught her off guard. “Oh, I do have one idea!” she improvised, then tossed the mittens over to Tobey and her dad. “I think I’ll go look for some cotton gloves that’ll fit Tobey, since the mittens might be too hot. It could make him more delirious.”

“We don’t want that, do we?” Tim pushed Tobey’s hand away from his stomach mid-scratch. “I’ll get him a cold rag.” 

“Maybe get him his glasses, too,” Becky added. 

“Of course! Can’t finish those word search puzzles without them.”

“You got him word search puzzles ?!” Becky said, starry-eyed. But Bob (who could tell why she was lying even before she clarified) elbowed her again, and she shook herself off. “Right. Well, I’ll be back later.”

As Tim fitted Tobey’s glasses onto his face and the mittens onto his hands, Becky dashed into the backyard. Tobey chalked up the faint “Word up!” he overheard to yet another hallucination. 

“I think it’s safe to say Tobey’s not a threat right now, right?” WordGirl, flying through the air, told Captain Huggy Face. “I mean, he’s crafty, but I don’t think he’d act that loopy on purpose. It was pretty embarrassing.” And not just for him…

Huggy gave a squeak of concern. 

“Yeah, I’m a little worried about him, too. But he’s got my family looking after him, plus his mom should be back by Monday, and then–” 

Suddenly, WordGirl felt a nasty twinge. She halted abruptly; the force nearly catapulted Huggy to the ground. He audibly admonished her. 

“Sorry, Huggy,” WordGirl said, awkwardly reaching towards her upper back. “I think something’s stuck on my neck.”

Huggy chirped. 

“ Besides my cape, obviously. Ngh! ” She felt the twinge again. “Can you see if something’s crawling under there?” 

Huggy cautiously pulled down the top of WordGirl’s cape, and recoiled at what he saw on her upper back. 

Little bumps on her skin, slightly pink in hue. Familiar.

But when he delivered the news to WordGirl, she shook her head. “Chickenpox? No, no, I wouldn’t get chickenpox.” She pulled her cape back in place. “First off, I’ve taken pretty good care of myself during this epidemic. Second, you saw how terrible Tobey looked? I haven’t felt anything like that, just a bit of an itch. Third, I’m vaccinated – I got the varicella shot when I was little, so my immune system should be strong enough to fight the virus off before it even infects me.”

Huggy squeaked, his brow furrowed. 

“I don’t… think being an alien would affect that. I mean, yeah, it’s a little hard to puncture my skin, but…” She put her thoughts to the side and continued along her flight path. “Never mind that, we have crime to stop!” 

WordGirl burst through the doors to the grocery door (well, she triggered the automatic sliding mechanism and flew in once it opened, but that doesn’t sound as exciting), and came face-to-face with the grocery store manager, trapped between a mound of peanut butter and a giant glob of jelly, broken jars all around him. Behind him towered Chuck the Evil Sandwich-Making Guy, because… duh. 

“Chuck!” WordGirl announced her presence, as Huggy pondered whether to dig into the jelly or the peanut butter first. 

“WordGirl!” Chuck twirled his condiment ray, only for it to fall out of his hand midspin. “Uh, hold on,” he said as he picked it back up. “WordGirl!” He aimed it at her, trying to pose a threat. “You don’t need to stop me this time! I’m righting a wrong here.”

“What wrong could you possibly be ‘righting’ by encasing the manager in peanut butter and jelly?” WordGirl gestured to the trapped man beside her. 

“This guy thought it was a good idea to move the peanut butter and jelly in separate aisles!” Chuck sneered. “As if PB-and-J sandwiches aren’t the most important recipe to use either ingredient!” 

“I’m sorry,” the manager explained, “but we simply have too many varieties of peanut butter and too many varieties of jelly. They just couldn’t fit in the same aisle anymore.”

“Then add another shelf! I don’t know!” Chuck whined. “It makes more sense than putting peanut butter next to peanut brittle, and jelly next to those little cups of fruit.”

“We found it appealed more to customers to have all peanut products in one place and all fruit derivatives in another.”

“Well, now if I want to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I have to walk two extra aisles across the store to get jelly, which gets really annoying if I have a cart, because I’ll have to push past other people in those narrow little aisles, and I’ll bump into them and they’ll give me one of those funny looks, like I did it on purpose. A-and I didn’t !”

As Chuck and the manager had their back-and-forth, WordGirl felt the twinge again – this time on her forehead. She shoved her hand under her helmet and scratched furiously, mussing up her bangs in the process. Shaking her hair (mostly) back into place, she called out to Chuck again. “We’ll get the manager out of this jam ! And out of the peanut butter, too! Ha!” 

“I believe it’s more of a jelly than a jam,” the manager corrected, “seeing as it’s not quite as thick.”

WordGirl rolled her eyes (as if she wouldn’t be that pedantic in other circumstances). “Yeah, sure. Huggy, free the manager, while I procure the condiment ray!”

The monkey enthusiastically chomped down on the PB and J, while WordGirl flew forward towards Chuck, but the tingle on her neck broke her concentration. A blast of ketchup sent her flying into the sticky peanut butter blob. 

“Wait,” she realized, “when did you update your condiment ray to have peanut butter and jelly?”

“Actually, he didn’t!” the manager explained. “He just brought up a large quantity of peanut butter and jelly jars and shattered them with the force of that gun. You’d be surprised how sticky it is – especially at these low, low prices!”

“To show the force of peanut butter and jelly together! Yeah ! Oh, but don’t worry,” Chuck assured them, his voice softer now, “I’m gonna clean up the broken glass. Don’t want anyone getting really hurt.” 

WordGirl grumbled as she strained to get out of the trap – particularly because her neck was itching like crazy . So was her face, for that matter, and her upper back once more.

Chuck grinned wickedly. “Now to put all the peanut butter and jelly in the same aisle – where they belong !” 

“But you broke most of the jars, didn’t you?” WordGirl asked. 

The sandwich man’s face fell as the realization dawned on him. “Oh, huh, yeah. I got caught up in the meaning behind the whole thing.” He put on his angry face again, and leaned in towards WordGirl and the grocery store manager. “Well, that’s okay, because I’ve already proven – hey, WordGirl, what’s on your face?”

“What?” The superhero tilted her head. 

“You’ve got, like, a little rash on your cheek. Is it allergies?” Chuck put a hand to his face, looking guilty. “Oh, you didn’t develop a peanut butter allergy, did you? Because I know you didn’t have one before, but that can happen later in your life. Maybe you should get tested?”

Huggy took a break from gouging himself to grab a hand mirror. Reluctantly, WordGirl looked at her face. Right beneath her bangs, spreading down to her cheeks, were the same little bumps Huggy had seen on her back. 

“No, no, no, no, no! ” she quietly cried, then directed her attention back to her nemesis. “Ugh. Look, Chuck, can we wrap this up quickly? I think I need to go home.” 

“What’s the matter? Are you not feeling well?” He recoiled, horror in his eyes, dropping his ray in the process. “Did you come to fight sick again ?!”

“ Not on purpose!” Thanks to Huggy’s voracious appetite, WordGirl was able to free her arm from the frankly disgusting ketchup/peanut butter combo and scratch her cheek. “But I think I have chickenpox.”

“You know, WordGirl, I find it really disrespectful that you’ve done this multiple times.” Chuck put his hands on his hips. “You come in to fight me while you’re contagious with something, knowing how much I hate getting sick.” His admonition was interrupted by a blast from his own condiment ray, courtesy of WordGirl’s sidekick – who successfully spun the ray around, just to show off. “And that’s my ray!” Chuck continued. “You’re just being really mean to me today.”

WordGirl did, admittedly, feel bad, so she tried to give Chuck some reassurance. “Hey, Chuck, did you ever have chickenpox when you were a kid?”

“Yeah, once,” Chuck continued. “I had to miss our school dance. I mean, I didn’t really know what I’d do there, but it still would have been nice to go. Plus I broke out all over my face, and it itched so bad.”

WordGirl had trouble with the mental image, but she stayed professional. “Then you shouldn’t have anything to worry about. If you’ve had chickenpox before, you can’t catch it again.”

“Wow, that’s good to know.” Chuck did look more relieved. “So I’m, uh, what’s the word?”

“Immune!” WordGirl perked up despite her itchiness. “It means you’re protected against the virus, so it won’t affect your body and get you sick.” She added bitterly, “I actually thought I was immune to chickenpox, but… well, you’ll probably be fine.”

“I hope so.” 

As the sirens pulled up and the manager exited the sticky trap, Chuck told WordGirl, “Hey, if we’re done here, you should go home and rest. Maybe get some nice lotion or something for the itch.”

“We got calamine lotion on aisle two!” the manager chimed in. 

Chuck continued, “I’ll even put off my next crime until, I guess a week? Not because I don’t wanna be evil, I just get grossed out fighting heroes when they’re sick. It’s not fun.”

WordGirl nodded, contorting herself to try and scratch her back. “Yeah, it’s not fun for me either.” She patted her shoulder for Huggy to hop on. “C’mon, Huggy. I’m pretty sure monkeys are immune, too.”

Huggy eyed her, as if to say, “that better be the case,” but perched upon her shoulder anyway as she took off back into the sky. Once they were airborne, he squeaked out a question. 

“I don’t know, Huggy. A week with no WordGirl could spell disaster for the city – even if two villains are out of commission – but I don’t want to go out when I’m contagious again. If I have to get close to anybody who isn’t immune to chickenpox, it’d be a huge risk.” She pulled her cellular phone out of her belt. “I hate doing this, but I don’t have much of a choice.” She scrolled down a bit and pressed the relevant contact. 

Somewhere in the galaxy, in a spaceship that miraculously had cell service, another superhero picked up his phone. “You’ve reached Kid Math! Ready to subtract all the problems from your life!”

“Hey, it’s WordGirl.”

“Aw, hey! I was just about to come back to Earth – just finished calculating how fast I can travel between all the planets here.”

“If you’re not too busy, could you cover my battles this week? I’ve come down with chickenpox and I don’t think I should be fighting.”

“Oh no!” Kid Math gasped. Then: “What’s chickenpox again?”

“A disease kids get on Earth. I’m basically covered in itchy bumps.”

“Ooh, how many bumps?”

“I don’t know! A lot! I’m too itchy to count!” 

“WordGirl, you are never too anything to count.”

WordGirl sighed. “If you take my shifts, I’ll try and count my bumps for you.”

“Deal! I’d have done it anyway, but if there’s counting involved, I’m all for it. I’ll be down in a jiff!” 

He hung up the phone. Even though Kid Math had his own odd way of thinking, and she didn't like the hero duties being out of her hands, WordGirl was glad she had a substitute superhero. Fighting while sick had never been fun for her. 

She twitched again from the itch, but luckily Huggy scratched her with his foot. “Thank you, Huggy,” she said. 

If nothing else, at least she’d get to relax. 

The spots stuck out even more once WordGirl became Becky, and of course her mother noticed right away. 

“Well, this is unexpected,” Sally said, examining Becky’s flecked forehead. “I’m so sorry, honey. Looks like you’ll be staying inside this week, too.”

“Yeah,” Becky sighed, though her feelings were more mixed than negative. 

“We really had so much planned for this weekend, and now both you and Tobey are sick…” Sally tapped her chin… then her eyes lit up with inspiration. “Oh! Maybe the two of you can–”

“No.” Becky knew what her mother was going to say, and very much did not want to hear it. “No, I’m not spending time with him. I’ll just stay in my room.”

“We’ll have to clean your room and the master bedroom…” Sally thought aloud. “But this way, not only can we make it easier to clean up and take care of you both–”

“Mom, really, it’s–”

“You’ll get to enjoy the weekend together after all!” Sally squealed, proud of an idea only she seemed to think was perfect. 

Becky wanted to protest further, but distracted by the itch and her own exhaustion, she soon found herself escorted upstairs to, presumably, her doom.

Tobey lay back in bed, a cool rag on his forehead, nodding off as Tim read him a mind-numbing fairy tale. Tobey already knew the fate of the third little pig. There was no suspense here. (Besides, brick was no match for the mighty steel of a robot’s foot.)

Suddenly the door opened. There was Sally Botsford and the tired, mottled Becky. 

“Great leaping leopards!” Tim yelled, startling Tobey back awake. He leapt over to Becky, squishing her poxed face with his rubber gloves. “Not Becky, too!”

“Afraid so.” Sally solemnly nodded. “You think we should keep her in here, so we can keep an eye on them both?”

Even though Tobey tried to motion “no,” the idea delighted Tim as much as it did his wife. “That’d be splendid! I’ll have to double up on the chickenpox kit. Becks, you want a sleeping bag, or to take the–”

“Sleeping bag, please!” Becky pleaded. Even if Tobey wouldn’t still be in the bed, sleeping where he’d sweated all day was a nauseating thought. (And she was already a tad nauseous.)

“We’ll go grab it for you, honey bunches. And anything else you need, too. Because for the next few days, this is your room, too!” And both parents left the kids to their own devices. 

Tobey actually got out of bed to look Becky over carefully. Still half-asleep, he asked, “I wouldn’t happen to still be delirious, would I be?”

Becky leered. “Unfortunately, no.”

Tobey leered right back. “Why do you smell like ketchup and peanut butter?”

“Why do you smell like oatmeal and basil?”

“...Touche.”

This was going to be a long weekend.