Kozmik Kat and I couldn’t agree whether he was now my sidekick or I was his—just in case we were ever officially called into action for some mission. We didn’t come to blows over this, since it was mostly hypothetical; as soon as the fall semester started, I planned to put my Quarantinium-Quelluminum mesh-fiber Ms. Megaton Man uniform in its garment bag and consign it to the back of the closet. The hard part was learning to put my cape into hibernation, which I could only do through some complex instructions on my touch-screen visor. But before I could do that, I still had one personal mission of my own to perform.

I waited until the Saturday before school started before paying a visit to my family back in Detroit. My parents hadn’t seen me since they chewed me out for my shameful behavior with Yarn Man—an episode known ever since as my delayed freshman crisis—delayed because it occurred in the second half of my junior year; a crisis because it blew my scholarship and grade point average. I hadn’t communicated much with my family over the summer months since except for Avie, who visited Ann Arbor with her theater troupe and encouraged me to dress up as Captain Clarissa, my Halloween costume. Not even Avie had any inkling of my emergence—my breakout—as Ms. Megaton Man. She was certainly going to be surprised that I was now a real Megahero, to say nothing of my mama and daddy.

I couldn’t be sure that Mama hadn’t burned all my clothes back in Detroit, so I packed my overnight duffel, strapped it over my shoulder and under my cape, and took off from Ann Street.

All of the traffic coming into Ann Arbor—parents dropping off their kids for the beginning of fall classes—must have been bewildered by the sight of a blurry object overhead, rocketing in the opposite direction. I know I was seen because people pointed up and craned their necks from their vehicles. Maybe I should have started out before daybreak or waited until dark, but I didn’t trust my sense of direction to fly anywhere beyond the town limits except in broad daylight. But I was a Megahero now, so I’d have to get used to making a public spectacle of myself. Since Arbor State’s school colors were yellow and blue with accents of red, I was hoping they’d think I was some kind of promotional balloon, not your friendly neighborhood costumed weirdo.

I could tell immediately my new costume handled much better in flight than the original. The cape especially seemed to intuit my thoughts, anticipating the direction I wanted to turn before I did. This made midair maneuvering much easier, even with the duffel on my back causing extra wind resistance. Although I’d crisscrossed campus several times over the past couple of weeks, mostly at night, I’d never attempted to fly such a distance—more than forty miles from Ann Street in Ann Arbor to Boswick-Addison in Detroit. What if I couldn’t make it all the way for some reason, and was forced to land in the middle of nowhere—in the woods or a corn field or something? When I think back how green I was back then, I cringe.

But the only problem was I didn’t have the map of southeastern Michigan memorized. When I started to suspect land mass beneath me with the roller coaster and Ferris wheel was Boblo Island, I touched down in Windsor, Ontario to ask directions back to the United States. It wasn’t until I overshot Hamtramck three times that it occurred to me to use my visor; I touched the temple, and—lo and behold—the computer screen superimposed labels over all the streets below me instantly. I was home in Boswick-Addison within five minutes. Those ICHHL guys think of everything.

When my back yard came into view, I could see Daddy tending barbecue while Mama and Avie sunned themselves on lounge chairs. When I landed, my entrance had more dramatic effect than I bargained for. When I saw Daddy’s shocked expression, I realized I could have given him a heart attack, while Mama and Avie jumped to their feet. Mama didn’t look any happier than when I last saw her in Ann Arbor.

Only Avril, God bless her, beamed with pride and joy at her first sight of Ms. Megaton Man. “Sissy, you’re a Megahero now,” she said. “A real one. When did this happen?”

“I’m Ms. Megaton Man,” I said. “I guess that means you can call me Missy instead of Sissy, like Yarn Man does.” As soon as I said that, however, I realized that reminding my family of Bing might not have been my best move. “Not long after the street fair,” I replied to Avie. “I saved Trent and Preston from a toppling stack of firewood.”

“I told you about that firewood, didn’t I?” said Daddy, who set aside the barbecue tongs and gave me a big hug. “We’re just glad you’re safe, Clarissa. When you said you wouldn’t need someone to come and get you today, we thought that meant you were going to take the bus; we were waiting for you to call.”

“I’m sorry about that,” I said, unhitching the duffel from my shoulder. “I got hung up over the Detroit River—I’m pretty sure I entered Canada illegally.”

“I was afraid this day was going to happen,” said Mama. “Come, Avril. Bring Clarissa’s things into the house. It’s time I sat down with my girls and we had a little talk.”

Daddy remained in the back yard tending to the barbecue while me and Avie marched behind Mama into the house and through to the living room. I suppose I was expecting Mama to spontaneously confess who my real father was—that I was related to the Phloogs in some distant, Byzantine way—but as soon as we got out of earshot of Daddy, Mama ordered Avie and me to sit down on the sofa—and I knew I was in for it. She grabbed the duffel from Avie.

“You have a change of clothes in here?” she demanded of me.

“Yes, of course,” I said. “My jeans and—”

She threw the bag in my face.

“Take off that ridiculous get-up and put on some decent clothes, then,” said Mama. “How dare you show up in my house dressed like that!”

“Mama!” I said, too shocked to cry.

“Don’t ‘Mama’ me, young lady,” she said. “Don’t you dare ever wear anything like that in this house again, or I swear to God, I will whip your ass—Megapowers or no Megapowers!”

I searched Avie’s eyes for an explanation; Avie was cowering behind a sofa cushion she pulled up to protect herself.

“Mama—what’s the matter?” I said. “What’s gotten into you? Why are you so upset?” I thought perhaps Preston had phoned her and tattled on my sexual escapades over the past couple of weeks.

“Sissy, how could you—in front of your father?” said Mama, almost in tears. “The man I love—who’s loved you and raised you as his own daughter—just the same as Avril—your whole like long, and here you show up dressed like that, dropping in from the skies, no less! Are you trying to break his heart?”

I had instinctively pulled off my visor and snapped off my buttons—the free-floating cape now fluttered slowly in mid-air. I had planned to change as soon as I arrived anyway. Now I removed the red panties and began pulling off the body suit from my shoulders down to my waist. It occurred to me that this was the second time in as many weeks I was stripping in a living room in front of a couple people.

“No, of course not,” I said. I certainly wasn’t trying to break anybody’s heart. “Why would this…?”

By then had pulled the body suit down to my ankles and stepped out of it. I picked it up and held the yellow “M” in my hands. That’s when I realized what it symbolized: my absent, biological father—the one who abandoned me and my Mama.

“Oh,” I said. “I wasn’t thinking, Mama.”

“You’re darn right, you weren’t thinking,” Mama said. “I tried to raise you girls the right way, to be thoughtful and considerate. And how do you show your gratitude to Cray Bellisle for all those years of love and support? By announcing he’s not your father—and you’re not his daughter!”

“I don’t think Daddy is upset,” said Avie, her knees up in front of the cushion for added protection. “He was just worried because Sissy was a little late…”

“You stay out of this, Avie,” Mama snarled. “Now, Clarissa, as soon as you put on your clothes, I want you to march right out to that back yard and apologize to your father. And I mean grovel—beg—for forgiveness.”

I hurriedly pulled on my jeans; I hadn’t worn long pants all summer, since before I had manifested my Megaton Megapowers. They were a bit difficult to pull on—maybe because of my new muscle tone but maybe also because of too much snacking.

“But Mama, I wanted to ask you,” I pleaded. “Not just for myself, you understand, but because of a potential public health crisis…”

“What are you talking about?” said Mama. “What did you want to ask me?”

“Who my real father was,” I said. “It’s a long story, but I did something very stupid. In fact, many stupid things…”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” said Mama. “Creighton Bellisle is a better father than you deserve…”

“I think what Clarissa is asking, Mama,” said Avie, “is more genetic. Naturally, she has a right to know whether her Megapowers are hereditary…”

“I know what she’s asking, Avie,” said Mama. “And my answer’s still the same. Your real daddy was a good-for-nothing who walked out on us and never looked back. And here you’ve turned out to be just as ungrateful…”

I flinched at this, but spat out my question just the same. “Is my daddy’s name Farley?” I asked. “Is my real daddy named Farley?”

“Farley?” said Mama. “Have you lost your mind, Clarissa James? I have never known a man named Farley in my life. End of discussion.”

“Mama, I think what Clarissa is asking is whether her real father was a Megahero,” said Avie, “and which one. She has a right…”

“He was no kind of hero,” said Mama. “Now go to your room.”

“I’m not going to my room,” said Avie. “I’m eighteen.”

“Just calm down, both of you,” I pleaded. Good Lord, I was bringing my Mama and my half-sister to blows just for the sake of my own curiosity. I had pulled on a T-shirt and tucked it in, and was pulling on a flannel shirt. “I’ll go talk to Daddy. Just calm down.”

I tiptoed through the kitchen and out the back screen door. Daddy sensed I was coming—no doubt because Mama’s shouting had stopped—and was whistling as he turned over the steaks. “Sissy, that you?” he said.

“Daddy,” I said, racing across the patio in my bare feet to hug him. “You know I’ll always love you, Daddy. I meant no disrespect…”

“None taken, Sissy,” he said, stroking my hair. “You know how your Mama gets. If I’ve told her once, I’ve told her a thousand times: I’m the luckiest man in the world, with three intelligent, beautiful women in my life.”

“You’ll always be my daddy,” I said, tears streaming down my face. “I wasn’t trying to disown you…”

“And I will never disown you, Sissy,” said Daddy. “You will always be my first baby.” He was crying now. “Did I ever tell you the first time I held you?”

“About a million times,” I said, sniffling.

“I saw you take your first steps,” said Daddy. “Back then, I could hold you in my arms and rock you to sleep singing French songs.”

“I know, Daddy.”

“I never loved Avril any more than I loved you, nor any less,” he said.

“I know, Daddy. You told me a million times.”

“Your mother just…she was hurt,” said Daddy. “Some things she won’t even tell me.”

“But Daddy,” I said. “I have to know, don’t you see? I have these abilities now…”

“That much is obvious,” Daddy said. “I’m not surprised. Some of the hints Alice dropped over the years…not hints, so much…but whenever some story would come on the news about some Megahero, she’d change the channel.”

“So, my daddy…my real father…was he…? Oh, you know what I mean.”

“Of course, I do,” said Daddy. “I’m not sure who he was, but I’m reasonably sure he was one of those costumed characters.”

“Any idea which one?”

“You didn’t hear this from me,” Daddy whispered, “but I always suspected it was Roman Man.”

“Roman Man?” I cried. “Are you sure?”

“Shh,” he said, looking around furtively. “Do you want your Mama to hear you?”

“Roman Man!” I whispered. “The guy who dresses like a centurion, with the cuirass and the brush-thing on his helmet? No way.”

“He has a cape, and he flies,” said Daddy. “Alice could have run into him before I met her.”

That didn’t sound right to me. Roman Man was some kind of mythological character, not a nuclear-powered character like the Original Golden Age Megaton Man. But then, I couldn’t tell you what portion of my abilities could be considered nuclear. And it did generally conform to the cryptic hints Mama dropped over the years that my real daddy was in the military…

“But Daddy, you understand, don’t you?” I said. “I just need to know why it is that I’ve turned into what I am. It’s could be important, because…”

“Of course, it’s important,” said Daddy. “Just give your mother some time. She’s got to get used to the idea that her worst fears have come true.”

“Why is it her worst fear?” I asked. “I can fly, and lift things, and…. Well, I haven’t saved the world or anybody yet, but…”

“I’m sure you’ll do lots of good things,” said Daddy. “Because you’re a good person. But let’s just leave this alone and have a nice weekend, okay?” Daddy wiped my eyes and held me by the shoulders. “Now, let me turn these steaks before they burn.”

With my uniform out of sight in my duffel bag and safely tucked away, Mama did calm down, and we had a nice weekend after all—although my cape didn’t like being pent up like that for so long—at that point I hadn’t learned from Preston how to turn it off.

After church and an early Sunday dinner, it was time for me to return to Ann Arbor to start what should have been my senior year, but would instead be at least partially a repeat of my junior year. I had planned to fly back as Ms. Megaton Man, just as I had come, but there was no question Daddy would drive me. After I hugged and kissed Mama and Avie, we climbed into the pickup and waved goodbye. A few blocks west of the house, Daddy pulled into the driveway next to Boswick-Addison High School.

“Why are we stopping here?” I asked. “Are you trying to remind me of all the hard work it took for me to get into college? And how I need to make up for lost time this semester and all that?” It would be just like my daddy to pull something corny like this to inspire me.

“If you like,” said Daddy. “But I just thought I’d let you out, so you could fly back. You need to get some practice in. You’re wearing your uniform under your street clothes, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but what are you going to do?”

“I’m going over to Gratiot Avenue and shoot some pool with some of my buddies—what else?” He said. “You can find your way back to Ann Arbor?”

I explained I had the map function of my visor all figured out, and it would be no problem. I kissed him and grabbed my duffel and hopped out of the truck. I waved as he rode away.

I looked up at the neoclassical columns of the façade of Boswick-Addison high school. “Roman Man?” I thought to myself. “That can’t be right.”

As I flew back to Ann Arbor, I wanted to get some perspective—not only on the ground I was flying over, but on whatever it was my life had become. I started circling up higher and higher into the sky—the late Sunday afternoon was clear and bright—and I could see not only southeastern Michigan below me, but the Great Lakes—the waterways separating the eastern United States from Canada. I could make out the vivid outline of a glove—the lower peninsula of Michigan; I was reading the information supplied by my visor—street names, cities, highways, counties—a virtual map superimposed over the real geography miles below me.

I was so fascinated—mesmerized—by this information coming to me in real time that I barely noticed the sky all around me growing dark, not because of bad weather but because the atmosphere was literally thinning away to nothing. I must have been getting light-headed from the lack of oxygen—and indifferent to the freezing cold against the bare skin of my face and V-neck—because before I knew it, I was in the stratosphere, and flying at such a velocity I threatened to break out of earth orbit.

I recalled that I hadn’t asked my mama how she knew Bing, or rather, how Bing recognized her—knew that her name was Alice. He couldn’t have been my real father, could he? No—I’m pretty sure if Mama had found me in bed with my biological father, she would have killed the son of a bitch, not just kicked him in the balls.

By the time my conscious mind realized I should probably start dropping back to earth, I was starting to black out; suspended in space I felt unable to either go further up or come back down. I was trying to descend, but something—inertia, or some gravitational force—continued pulling me up.

That’s when I saw it: big as life with the moon in the distant background— metallic, covered with panels and hardware, with blinking lights—like some model starship from a big-budget special-effects movie. It was gigantic, but its shape resembled that of one of those pistol hair dryers like you’d have hanging in your bathroom—only with giant letters “ICHHL” painted on the side.

“A blow dryer,” I said weakly. “I’m being sucked into a blow dryer.”

I was caught in its tractor beam, it was pulling me aboard.

I must have completely blacked out, because the next thing I realized I was sitting on the tarmac inside the hangar of the satellite, looking out of the wide, horizontal bay that opened out into space.

I could breathe again; the first thing I saw was Preston Percy in his golden suit, surrounded by several beautiful women in gold lamé jump suits and spiked heels. Man, did they have great hair. Along the sides of the hangar were several of those egg-shaped shuttle pod things, like the one Preston had used to drop to earth’s surface—the one that looked like an old-school bonnet hair dryer.

“Preston?” I said, weakly. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you were earth-bound now.”

“When you went off the grid, I had no choice but return here,” he said. “I had a feeling you’d try something stupid like this. What do you have—a death wish? You know, I haven’t said too much up ‘til now, but your self-destructive behavior is verging on the pathological. You realize even Megaheroes still need to breathe in space, right?”

“I guess I got carried away with the view,” I said. “And my reveries. I just wanted to see…”

“It’s natural Ms. Megaton Man would want to test her limits, Agent Percy,” said a rich, female voice. It was a young, red-headed woman who wasn’t dressed at all like the others. She wore a raspberry beret, rose-colored glasses, a cream turtleneck, and bell-bottom jeans. “If every dumb rookie mistake were a desperate cry for help, all our Megaheroes would be under observation in Belleville.”

“I recognize you,” I said. “You’re the daughter of the President of the United States.”

“Director Lemon Lime,” said the woman, extending a hand to help me up off my ass. “I’m pleased to meet America’s Newest Nuclear-Powered Hero. I think we’d better issue you your bubble helmet if you’re going to be making frequent visits to the Blow Dryer.”

“You really call it the Blow Dryer?” I said, clambering to my feet. “I have a sixth sense.”

The group whisked me away to the bridge of the satellite—this place was huge—and I was wondering whether I was dreaming. “From this command center we can monitor most Megahero activity on the ground,” Agent Lime explained to me. “Except for those nocturnal vigilantes who prefer to operate outside the law, and off the grid. There a bit sneaky. But if they don’t want our protection and oversight, there’s only so much we can do. Some of these characters have such personal issues and hang-ups they’re one step away from being completely dysfunctional.”

“Tell me about it,” I said. “I just spent the weekend with my family.”

One of the other white chicks—one of the female agents in gold lamé with great hair—presented me with a spherical glass helmet like a fish bowl with a small oxygen tank connected by a springy hose. “This goes over your head, obviously,” she explained, “and the tank can strap to your back, under your cape.” A V-shaped panel on the front with control knobs and buttons exactly covered my neckline.

“You really are going to drop me from this orbiting satellite and see how I manage,” I said.

“Not so fast,” said Preston. “Since you are our guest, I think the ladies have prepared something special for you.”

I felt one of the girls behind me, feeling my hair. “We’re thinking of a rich burgundy to go with your complexion, Clarissa,” she said. That’s when I noticed many of the chairs and fixtures on the bridge looked like something out of a space-age beauty parlor.

“The hair dryer motif—now I get it,” I said. Three of them sat me down in one of the chairs; I felt like Dorothy visiting the Emerald City, being reclined and shampooed and primped and whatnot. It was intoxicating. Or maybe my brain hadn’t recovered from the lack of oxygen.

“You guys have great hair,” I said.

Before I knew it, they were blow-drying and propping me back up. One of the girls held up a mirror; I now had bright, burgundy locks.

“Cool!” I said. “Do you have a slightly lighter shade of this in a lipstick?”