"You'll learn the definitions of nouns and prepositions; literacy's your mission, and that's why I think it's a GOOD TIME!! (To learn some grammar)"
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Sharing a crossover piece I've wanted to write for a million years and finally did because I am cringe and free <3
“Flypaper” - One-shot
Read on AO3
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The panel they’re speaking on starts in two minutes. Super Why hasn’t shown up. If you've never tried looking for a 3-inch-tall, non-invincible superhero in a busy convention center, WordGirl highly discommends it. It's gonna be one of THOSE days...
Also, teen friends sharing a vacation rental get to have wholesome fun at the beach. Life has its bumps and jealousies, but it's beautiful and kind today :)
[Unless you're Roméo Mécano and Tobey almost flings you into the sun, but this ain't about him /jk]
(First 1,000 words under the cut)
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Flypaper
N. - Sticky, poison-treated strips of paper used to catch and kill unwanted pests
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Huh. So… Even at a superhero convention, she just can't catch a break?
Of course she can't. Two minutes before the "Learning Is Fun!" panel is supposed to start, Kid Math yanks WordGirl from the restroom doorway. He really jerks her too, almost throwing her spine against the water fountains with all the super strength in his 16-year-old body. Her elbow slams the fake white bricks. "Hey!" she yelps. Huggy squeaks from his position on the younger hero's arm and smacks the back of his head. Gently. Sort of.
Kid Math doesn't hesitate. He grabs her shoulders and shakes her back and forth hard enough to rattle her eyes around in her sockets. "Hey," he blurts, STILL shaking her. The word explodes in a bright yellow burst in her head (courtesy of eternal synesthesia). "Have you seen Super Why? He's been AWOL all day. Huggy and I even flew around to check all the flypaper strips, but there's no sign of him. He's going to be late!"
Late is one of Kid Math's favorite words. It's spiky and violet in her brain like a train caboose at the end of the rainbow. If WordGirl could play a reel of all the times her friend has called her phone, kicked in a door, interrupted date night, or slammed his hands down on a counter to ramble on about how if they don't leave in "exactly 4.218 minutes" then there will be heck to answer for, she'd love to. Well… "Love" is a strong word. And actually, watching a montage of his fretting sounds decidedly awful. That's not the point.
"What?"
"No one can find Super Why," Kid Math repeats, fussing with the collar of her cape. His gloved hands are rough, unintentionally aggressive. He's six inches taller than her these days (and his curls add another six inches on top of that). His icy breath smells like chalky candy necklace powder. WordGirl slaps his fingers away. Kid Math floats back, looking queasy. His brows form a carat on his forehead. "Do you think he's hurt?"
"I think I need a few seconds of personal space," she mutters. It's almost too bad that she put her gloves back on after washing her hands. She'd like to flick a bit of water at him. It might give him goosebumps. He deserves it.
Kid Math backs even farther away. Huggy tacks on another statement, gesturing across the convention center with a wave of his arm. Apparently, they've both been looking for Super Why for the last 15 minutes. In addition to the flypaper strips, they've also checked the bug zapper by the main entrance and did a search on ground level for mouse traps. No sign of the tiny superhero hanging out around those hot party spots either. Which is for the best, obviously, but… What's she going to do about this?
Focus. Super Why is missing…
WordGirl presses one hand to her temple, still centering herself after that dizzy shaking spell. It's a bad day for headaches. The lights and noises of the convention center have been pretty brutal on her super-hearing so far. Both she and Kid Math have been checking in with each other every hour, making sure they're drinking water and taking regular quiet breaks outside. She had lunch with TJ at a pizza place down the street. WordGirl tries to pull up the memory of the big glass windows, brick interior, and the scent of tomato sauce and garlic powder in the air. The alfredo pizza with the spinach mixed into the sauce? It's amazing.
Okay. So… No one's sure where Super Why went? Not that unusual; the convention center's pretty crowded and he's easy to overlook. There are a thousand reasons why he could be running behind, from waiting in line for somebody's autograph to struggling to push the button on a water fountain. Being his size can't be easy. He also doesn't have super speed. Maybe it takes him a while to get from one place to another.
"He's late," Kid Math says, drawing close again. Another violet blossom blooms in her mind's eye, back to back with the green circle that represents he in her brain. He's late, he's late, he's late…
Right. Also, Super Why could totally be at risk of getting crushed under someone's foot, but WordGirl doesn't point that out. She, um, doesn't really know Super Why that well and he'd probably get offended if either of them imply he can't take care of himself even at age 18, but… it is pretty weird that nobody's seen him. A flicker of anxiety shoots up her throat. How well has their non-invincible, 3-inch-tall (friend? associate?) been doing two days into the superhero convention without a proper bodyguard?
But she doesn't bring that up. "Calm down, calm down," she says instead. She pries Kid Math's gloved fingers from her arms, firmly pushing his shaking hands down by his sides. He's got hot sweat droplets dripping down his forehead. Kid Math always smells like mangoes and apricots now. Apparently, that scent's natural for Hexagonian sweat after puberty. She's more jealous than she'll ever let on. It's one of the most unfair aspects of his home planet over hers, second only to the fact that Rex grew up next door to a real, actual unicorn ranch. Garbage. Absolute atrocity.
WordGirl lets go of his wrists, drawing in a calming breath. "Hey. Super Why knows not to get too close to the floor. He's probably just in the bathroom, like I was. Let's take a loop around."
Huggy nods, situating himself a bit more comfortably on Kid Math's back. "Okay," says Kid Math, but his shaky answer doesn't peel the frown from his face. That tentative word is sparking and blue. He twists his hands, wrinkling his gloves as though making tiny snowballs. "But I can't find him, and everyone's waiting for us onstage. We're going to be late."
There are worse fates than being late. For example, despite Huggy's search check, Super Why could be inches from touching another bug zapper. He gets way too much enjoyment out of coasting along their edges, playing with cruel fate and bright blue sparks. No joke, but yesterday her heart dropped like a guillotine every time she heard him whoop and spiral. He'll definitely get his hair fried one day if he keeps that up, and he's cheeky enough that it probably won't stop him.
"Is she bright, so well read? Are there novels by her bed? Is she the sort that you've always said could satisfy your head...?" (x)
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New Factor It In chapter today! ~ WordGirl trains Kid Math 'fic
Chapter 4 - “Theoretical Probability”
📖 Read on FFN || Read on AO3
🐒 Start from Chapter 1
🌆 'Fic Series Guide
🥗 More WordGirl 'fics
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His shoulders slump as though weighed down with pianos. "Oh, what's the word? It begins with 'in' and I think it ends with the letters 'i-v-e'?"
"'Insensitive?' Being insensitive means not valuing another person's experiences or feelings, and saying things that might hurt them personally."
"Exactly that." Chuck plays his fingers across his crutches. One glove's starting to slip down his arm, exposing pale skin. "See, this is what I wanted to talk to you about. Is he going to be here much longer?"
WordGirl’s not the only one who’s concerned about having Kid Math around the city, and the villains aren’t afraid to let her know it.
Meanwhile, Tobey speculates on her secret identity.
(First 1,000 words under the cut)
January 3rd - Saturday - 4:10 pm
"Take time to predict resulting actions. Then take control."
➕ ➖ ✖️ ➗
Psst! Look for the words insensitive and replacement
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3.46 miles due southeast of the jail, the crooked wheel of a shopping cart rattles and squeals. It croaks a final plea, then grinds to a halt altogether. The poor shopper tries to force it the last few steps, but the cart bucks against her wishes. A warbled wail echoes over the parking lot, pleading for help. A small child bursts into tears.
Rex lets his super-hearing blur out of focus. A stuck shopping cart? That's hardly a superhero's problem. The lady will fix it before he gets anywhere near her. He leans all his weight on the two jail cell bars in his hands, calculating the exact amount of energy he'd need to exert if he chose to bend them, flick Seymour Orlando Smooth on the nose, and pull everything back together before Warden Chalmers finished speaking with Becky further down the row. With WordGirl. WordGirl… Not Becky.
Seymour's still gabbing. Rex tries to listen - he really does - but the invisible cellmate behind him is incredibly distracting. Water sloshes over unseen hands. Seymour stands a few inches from his face, fumbling with his fingers as he yaks on and on. Frankly, his vocabulary is lost on Rex's ears.
3.1 miles west, two children on a playground argue over the swings. A ragged dog barks, chasing a stick that wasn't thrown- or if it was, thrown in silence. Paws kick up a splash of dry dirt, which sprinkles the sidewalk with a patter. One little heartbeat is racing extra fast. Is it the puppy's? Impossible to say. Squirrels bounce through the tree branches in the park, lightweight as they free themselves a mite early from winter hibernation. Or doom themselves to months of suffering. Who knows. Two joggers pant near the new barber shop. Hungry rats scuffle in the sewer. A cat mews, claws scratching down a door.
A bit farther west, Theodore 3 paces around his bedroom. The shuffled pacing always turned out to be Theodore 3's big feet. He lives with his mother, Claire McCallister, and her home lies halfway between Ms. Question's lair and the Big Left Loft. Not that it matters, really. After a quick search for buzzwords on the wind, Rex picks up no scheming whispers from either one of them. Two dozen homeowners clink dishes in their sinks.
In the south, the Whammer baps a tired hand against either the arm of his chair or a punching bag. The reverberation of the sound matches his exact calculations of texture, strength, and size, so the Whammer it must be. And speaking of sinks… Rex presses a little closer to the bars, legs lifting behind him. Sooner or later, Invisi-Bill has to finish with his hands. And then he'll reappear.
"Come on… Come on…"
2.2 miles away, Violet Heaslip pulls open the lightweight front door to her adorable-as-a-fractal wooden house. She greets the person who knocked instead of ringing the bell, and he says her name in a chipper, gushy way. Gentle windchimes tinkle in the breeze. Her cat lets out a purr. Judging by the newcomer's rapid-fire, cheerful voice, Violet's saying hi to Becky's reporter friend. Rex has yet to pin a name to his face (Wide hat, black hair… He's picking this up, slowly but surely, like an exponential function).
1.7 miles in the opposite direction, the grocery store manager hums along to the music in his store. That prickles Rex's attention, unavoidably. White, bouncing shapes dance across his vision, reacting to the synesthesia he gained along with his superpowers after leaving his home behind. Even when he blinks, the shapes crowd behind his eyes. They look like sugar on black cloth. Crystal arrangements. Molecule formations.
0.4 miles north. A familiar, drawn-out mumble for help drifts from a side street as the voice's owner makes a small trip to fill up gas. The car wheel hits a sharp stone. It flies sideways and bounces off a brick wall. The stone clicks twice before vanishing in the grocery store manager's song.
0.0 miles away. Here they are at the city jail, soft and routine. You know, Rex has to hand it to the warden- he actually kept to his goal of running a neat, organized ship all week long. Looks like he won't be eating his hat after all. Well, he might choose to anyway.
Each of the six inmates he can see is pinned in their cell by solid iron bars. Each bar is three inches in diameter, spaced five inches apart. All residents have been organized in pairs, precisely two per cell… with the lone exception of the Butcher, who pouts in his titanium-tofu prison in the neighboring room. 3 x 2 = 6. Not many villains chose to commit crimes so near the holidays. Who knew?
Seymour finally nails the shape he'd been trying to create with his fingers. He holds his thumbs and fingers in a rectangle. Rex purses his lips. He gives Seymour a few more seconds to wrap up his cheery, zing-y little elevator pitch (That's what WordGirl calls his ramblings) and taps a finger on his cheek.
"So… it's likely each of my guardians has a card with numbers on it?"
"Numbers on the front and back," Seymour assures him. "And you can share those numbers with me in exchange for a grand prize beyond your wildest dreams!"
"Well, it is hard to say no to a personalized string of numbers…"
"Don't do it," WordGirl warns from across the jail. Rex glances over, but she's busy with the warden. Seymour rolls his eyes, drifting towards his bunk.
"WordGirl's right," says the Narrator. "Sharing your foster parents' credit card number can land you in major trouble. I advise against it."
"Okay…"
Blip! A bespectacled man pops into view on the other side of the bars. Rex jerks back. The man's face presses as close as it can get, hands squeezing the bars like sandwiches. "Hello!" the not-invisible man chirps, then bursts into giggles. "I saw you at villain karaoke! Hey, it's great to see you again. Calculator Kid, right?"
Arithmetic Lad. MathBoy. Division Dude. Logic Lad. Graph Guy. Hex Flexer. Now this. Can anyone in this city be bothered to remember his name? Rex takes a careful breath, squaring his shoulders. "It's Kid Math. The Calculator Kid is one of my old classmates. Trust me, he isn't nearly as free-wheeling when it comes to chatting up evil villains as I am. Uh. Invisi-Bill, right?"
One of the things I love about “WordGirl” is the reactions of regular citizens to dealing with villains in their city. The thing is, the villains show up with so much flair and put on such a great show that everyone WANTS to pay them for the entertainment. Captain Tangent stole everyone’s stuff in his debut and when WordGirl pointed this out to her mom, Sally’s response was, “Totally worth it!”
Tobey has canon fangirls. Kid Potato is so polite that even WordGirl instantly shifts gears when she sees him and happily calls him “Sir.” Ms. Question is a known villain who flirts with everyone and even though the people she dates (Reginald and Brent) aren’t criminals, they just adore her. Reuben gets super excited when Chuck robs him and super jealous when he robs other shops.
And WordGirl just. Has to deal with being “boo”d every now and then when she shows up to do her job. A true hero.
