TWO HOURS LATER, I’m getting my first full lesson in superpowers.
“Maddy, I need you to pay attention,” Lamont is saying. “This is important. Life or death, actually.”
There’s a warm fire in the stove. Lamont and Margo are sitting in matching office chairs.
“This is great!” I say. “I always wanted to be homeschooled!”
“Be serious,” said Lamont. “No fooling around.”
I straighten up and focus.
“Sorry,” I say. I can never resist making sarcastic comments in class.
But never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined sitting in a class like this. I’m getting a lecture on invisibility, from the Shadow himself.
“The first thing you need to understand,” says Lamont, “is that invisibility has a limited range of projection. For one thing, it can’t project through metal. All that stuff about the Shadow running around with matching forty-five pistols was nonsense. I never even wore a belt buckle if I could help it. Invisibility will project through clothes, as long as they’re not too baggy. Too much loose fabric can be a problem if it moves outside the field.”
“Lamont usually wore a tux,” said Margo. “Ivory or Bakelite buttons. No zipper. Custom tailored.”
“So what about all those pictures of the Shadow with a cape and scarf?” I ask.
“Ridiculous,” says Lamont. “Way too much fabric. That’s all some artist’s crazy imagination.”
“Speaking of too much fabric,” says Margo, looking at me. “Do you have anything in your wardrobe that’s a little more…form-fitting?”
“Form-fitting?” I ask.
“Tighter. Closer to your body. Less like a feed sack.”
I tug on my shirt. It is a little baggy. That’s the way I like it.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Bike shorts, maybe?”
“Bike shorts?” says Margo. “You mean bloomers?”
“What the hell are bloomers?”
“Never mind,” says Lamont. “Margo’s right. Why don’t you go see what else you’ve got. It might make things easier.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll go look.” I go back into my sleeping space. I’ve got a bag full of clothes that I brought back from the apartment. I dump everything onto the floor and start sorting through the options. Almost everything here is loose and baggy, the way I like it. Except maybe for the bike shorts. And one T-shirt. I do a quick change and walk back into the main room. But I’m walking funny. The shorts pinch me in all the wrong places, and the T-shirt is about two sizes too small. I feel like a sausage. This is a fashion disaster.
“Well, my dear!” says Margo, “Don’t you look nice!”
“I hate this!” I shout. “Nobody saw my clothes when I disappeared at school!”
“You don’t know what people saw or didn’t see,” says Lamont. “Sometimes in the confusion, you can get away with things. But you need to be careful, especially when you’re starting out. Stick to the rules. No mistakes.”
“I remember once,” Margo says, “Lamont had to disappear while he was wearing a terrycloth robe. I could still see the loose end of his little belt flopping around in midair.”
“Ugggh!” This is totally humiliating! Maybe I should just stick to mind control. I just want to be gone. Then I feel it—the rush in my head, the rise in my belly, the clarity in my mind.
Then—guess what?—I disappear.