51

I SIT AT SUNDAY dinner in a kind of trance.

It’s been a lot for me. The sensory onslaught of Trivia Quest, then a busy week of school, then the sensory onslaught of Comic Fest. The whole excitement about Doc, and John Lockdown, and then the big chicken disaster. Plus I lost Liberty, just when we’d gotten to be friends.

“Your head’s practically hanging in your soup dish, Stanley,” Mom says, giving me the Look. “You need a recharge. I’m letting you stay home tomorrow.”

So I get to spend Monday in bed, surrounded by glorious silence—only broken by the muffled sounds of Gramps’s TV. I sleep off and on, and stare at the painted planets, floating off-kilter on my walls. It’s nice.

Stan: Hey, Liberty.

Lib: Heya, Stan.

Stan: Where are you, exactly?

Lib: Still LA.

Stan: I mean where are you living? Everything okay with your mom?

Lib: Well sure, she’s happy, now that I’m stuck here under her thumb 24/7. Ugh. We’re staying with her new boyfriend. Mom says once she finds a better job, we’ll get our own place and it’ll get better.

Stan: What about you?

Lib: I’m good. I can walk to a library. The boyfriend is all right. LA’s cool . . .

Okay, now Liberty, she’s been through cancer. And a wild, weird, moving-around life, where nothing stays the same for long. And a mom who seems really unpredictable. She doesn’t even have a regular school to go to.

I don’t think I could deal with all that. I’d be having Red Alerts all over the place, all the time.

But nothing ever seems to get to Liberty Silverberg.

How does she manage that superhero trick?