“What’s in this box?” asked Toby, from across the room. “What’s Project RG-7, and why is it top secret?”

“I was going to show you guys next week,” said Astrid, leading the others to where Toby was standing beside the crate. “I guess you can go ahead and take a look now.”

Reaching up, she flipped open a latch and opened the side of the crate. Inside, packed with straw, was a metallic girl. She had bright silver skin, but was otherwise quite human looking. Her hair was the same metallic material as the rest of her, a solid hair-shaped mass rather than individual fibers, but she was wearing regular clothing. She had on a pink jacket over a blue t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.

“Oh my gosh!” squealed Valerie. “She looks like me!”

“Yes, she does,” agreed Denise.

“That’s because I patterned her after you,” said Astrid. “She’s a Robot Girl 7.”

“What’s she… I mean it, for?” asked Austin.

“Well, who wouldn’t want a robot?” wondered Astrid. “She could be anything: friend, babysitter, maid.”

“Why did you make her look like me?” asked Valerie.

“She’s just a prototype. I thought you would be a good model for her.” Astrid stepped over to a table and pulled back a sheet. “What we’re going to do is hook you up to her and we’ll copy all the information from your brain into the robot. It will be much faster than trying to program it with a computer.”

“I don’t know…” Valerie took a step back.

“It’s perfectly safe,” Astrid assured her.

“What if it sends my brain into her body? What if I wake up and you’ve turned me into a robot?”

“That can’t happen,” said Astrid.

“That would be way cool!” exclaimed Austin. “Make a boy robot and copy my brain!”

Even though they spent a great deal of time away from each other during the day, the whole gang always got together in the Quad at 12:00 for lunch. Astrid had been looking forward to lunch since she read the menu that morning just after the Pledge of Allegiance—Sicilian broccoli and cauliflower pasta with pine nuts, whole grain garlic bread, tossed salad, and yogurt parfait. Toby, Denise, and Valerie were already sitting at their usual table when she and Christopher sat down.

“So, how’s it going?” asked Toby.

“Fine,” said Christopher and everyone agreed.

“I heard Mr. Kramer is sick,” said Valerie. “I guess we’ll have a substitute today.”

“I don’t like substitutes,” said Denise. “We always end up behind. Then we have to work all that much harder the rest of the week.”

“You won’t get behind today,” said Toby. “My dad is your sub today, so count on extra homework.” He laughed. “I’m glad I don’t have Geometry.”

“You just wait,” said Valerie. “When my dad subs, he’ll have you swimming extra laps.”

At Rachel Carson High School, all parents were required to serve six days a year as faculty or staff members. For Toby’s father, who was a structural engineer, that usually meant teaching Math. Valerie’s father, head of security for Maxxim Industries, usually either taught a Physical Education class or served as a school safety officer.

“Hey, what’s going on over there?” wondered Denise, indicating a table across the Quad from where they sat.

“It looks like Mark McGovern is picking on that kid,” said Christopher. “He picked on me last year because I have dark skin.”

“He picked on me because my mother is from Mexico,” said Valerie.

“He picked on me because I have two dads,” said Denise.

“He calls me a nerd all the time,” said Astrid.

“Well, he never picked on me, because I’d sock him in the teeth,” said Toby. “Do any of you know that kid? He was in my Swimming class last hour.”

“He’s new,” said Valerie. “He was in our Art History Class.”

“I’m sick of Mark McGovern,” said Toby, and picking up his tray, he started across the common area. The others quickly grabbed their food and followed.

“Excuse me,” Toby told Mark.

“What?”

“You’re in my way.”

When the boy stepped back, Toby sat down next to the new kid. The new kid was a little on the chunky side and had a buzz cut. Christopher, Valerie, Denise, and Astrid filled in the rest of the spaces.

“I didn’t know this was the loser table,” said Mark.

“It was,” said Toby. “But then you left and it wasn’t again.”

The boy balled up his fist and stared at Toby for a moment, but Toby just stared back. Finally, Mark turned and walked away and the gang all turned their attention to their new tablemate.

“Oh baby,” said the man on the other end of the line. “That hurts. That really hurts. You know Irving is your number one fan.”
“Really? I thought you were supposed to be my agent.”

“Come on baby. Give Irving some love.”

“How about I fly over there and twist your head off like a bottle cap? You haven’t answered my calls in weeks, and then here you are, all ‘baby, baby’…”

“Baby. Irving has been busy.”

“I’ve been busy too.”

“I know you have, my sweetness, but Irving has been really busy. He’s been busy working for you, my sassy spangled mega-babe.”

“That’s it,” Stella sat the soda down and stood up. “I’m flying over there right now.”

“Before you do, listen to these four words: All American Girl Magazine.”

“A magazine deal? Where and who?”

“National baby! Hatchet Media International!”

“Hatchet?” Stella ran her fingers through her close-cropped blond hair. “They’re big right?”

“The biggest magazine distributor in the world—forty eight hero magazines and all of those supers are in the top one hundred of the New York Times list! Captain Hero! Ultrawoman!”

“Vanguard?”

“Vanguard!”

“Dark Defender?”

“Um, no… He’s published by somebody else.”

“But Ultrawoman…”

“Ultra-woman, baby!”
“So what? They’re ready for magazine number forty nine?”

“Well, no. They had an opening. Cosmic Man, well you know…”

“Yeah, that was too bad. But you try to stop an asteroid; you’ve got to expect that kind of thing. This is big, Irving. This is big.”

“Big baby.”

“You did good Irving.”

“Oh baby, you know Irving is always working for you. But this was all you, super friend. Kicking ass on terrorists. Terrorists with rockets. And doing it right while the traffic copter was there to film the whole thing. That was brilliant baby! You’re all over the news.”

“Am I?”

“You know it.”

“That was a lucky break,” said Stella, more to herself than to Irving.

“Luck is for suckers, baby. You got mad skills. And you know what a magazine deal means? Money. Advertising revenue, sponsors, money, collateral damage insurance, money. Did I mention money?”

“That’s awesome Irving.”

“There’s just one thing, baby.”

“What’s that?”

“They haven’t exactly made the final decision yet?”

“What do you mean? Do I have a magazine or not?”

“It’s down to either you or one other super.”

“Who?”

“Skygirl.”

“Skygirl? That slut! Who’d want to read about her? She’s a total airhead! And have you seen her thighs? They’re like tree-trunks! And what’s the deal with her costume? Were they out of ass spandex that day?”