The Amazing, Undefeated Zola.

The Amazing, Undefeated      

     ZOLA

 

 

 

I am the unintended superhero of suburbia. Tights and all.

            Okay, that last statement was a little weird. Let me make it clearer. Now… At this point your probably wondering “what the hell she talking about?” I mean… At least I hope you’re thinking that. Because, if you’re not… Well" Something’s seriously wrong with you. Go away.

            Anyway, back to the point. Let’s cut to the chase here. When I said I was a “superhero” I meant it literally. Kind of. You see, there are a lot of different elements that have landed me in this predicament. There are also a considerable amount of weird occurrences that are pretty strange to talk about (a lot of people don’t believe me).

            But I thought I should probably tell someone about all this. It is pretty cool. In a… kind of creepy way… It’ll make for good conversation, I guess…

            Oh god, I’m procrastinating…

            Before I start I figure I should give you a good bit of backstory to work with. Because" after all" none of this will really matter unless you have a good grasp on the people who are going to appear in this story.

            So let’s go back in time a bit, shall we? Let’s say… Summer of nineteen-ninety three. Approximately nine months before a certain event occurred, which then spawned several other events that lead up to today.

            Katrina Martin (she’s my mom) was a recently retired ballerina, dropped by her troop after she broke her leg during the final pirouette of the Christmas show. She had just moved back home to Butte Montana to live in her deceased parent’s old home when she met Jeff Saunders. My father, of sorts.

            From what I’ve been told, Katrina first met Jeff when she went to see his ballet troop (he was the manager) perform at the Butte studio.

            Basically, they met.

They had dinner.

They decided to procreate.

            And so came the birth of yours truly. Phoebe Zola Martin. Don’t bother gawking at my name. I get that all the time.

            After I was born, my mom decided to start her own ballet school. The first in Butte. She bought this odd little studio in the outskirts of town, with an apartment upstairs.

            Jeff came back for a weekend the next year.

            That spring my mom had Caliope.

            And then the next year he came home again.

            And then she had Philippa.

            And then he came home again.

            And my mom had Maui.

            And then… He disappeared.

            Jeff Saunders. My father-of-sorts just kind of… dropped off the map. He stopped coming to Butte. He stopped managing the ballet troop. He changed his phone number. He changed his address.

            We never saw him again.

            I never really thought too much about my dad. I mean… he stopped showing up when I was four. And even then, I didn’t really care about him. He was just some random weirdo who invaded our house once a year and stole all of my mom’s attention from me.

            So what if he left? It’s not like I care.

            We carried on. Mom taught ballet school (even with her bent up post-brake leg) My sisters all dance, too. None of them are very good, though. (I seemed to be the only one who realized that our father’s genetics kind of killed whatever dancer genes our mother tried to pass on) Mom enrolled us all in some fancy, schmancy prep school here in Butte.

            That brings us to my school… ahhh… memories… You see… I don’t really think my mother thought ahead very far when she decided to send us to Kelton Prep. She didn’t really take into consideration the fact that almost all of the little rich kids who go there take ballet lessons from her. They’re always coming up to me asking things like “Do you think you could tell your mom we have to change my lesson?” or “When exactly is the recital?” and stuff like that.

            It get’s really old after a while.

            I wasn’t born to be my mother’s walking schedule book, after all.

            When I think back to the original decision to send me to Kelton Prep, I think the only thing my mother was really thinking about was the fact that they made us wear uniforms.

            This was a fact that my mother took great joy in knowing.

            Okay… So… there are only a few other things I still have to tell you and one of those things has to do with our clothing, or, our lack thereof.

            You see, my mom is an ex-ballerina. She spent approximately seventy-four percent of her life wearing tutus and leotards. She got used to them. For her, they’re the most comfortable clothes money can buy.

            So she made a deal with this guy who makes sports wear in town: She gives his eight daughters free ballet lessons for however long he wants, and he provides free leotards for every one of her students.

            Sounds like a nice deal, right?

            No.

            You see, there is only one thing my mom hates almost as much as not being about to be a real ballerina.

            Spending money.

            So for the past six years or so (ever since she made her little deal) she’s been… exaggerating the size of her classes, so that she can get free leotards for us to wear when we’re not in school.

            She thinks that’s normal.

            And you want to know what’s even creepier?

            My sister’s don’t even care!

            I’m the only one in the family who dislikes the feel of clingy spandex during the heat of summer.

            It just feels weird. It doesn’t feel like something I should be waling around wearing.

            But what else am I supposed to wear? My Kelton’s uniform?

            I don’t think so.

            There’s one other thing that I think I should tell you about before I start getting into the whole “story” part of this story, and… it’s fairly important.

            Here in Butte, we have this thing called the Berkely Pitt.

            It’s like this giant hole in the ground filled with acid and fungus and all kind of nasty stuff that will kill you almost instantly as soon as you touch it.

            It’s also a top selling tourist attracting.

            And… It’s also where I work on Tuesdays, Thursdays and every other Wednesday.

            At least they let me wear a smock over my leotard. And pants. Whoo-hoo.

            Now you know me. You know everything that’s important, anyway.

            So can we get to the real story now?

            Good.

            This particular story starts on a little holiday commonly celebrated here in America called Halloween.

            AKA- The worst day in the world to be working at the Berkely Pitt.

            You see, there are all kinds of dumbass kids who show up on Halloween and try to scare the staff here at the Pitt. They try to push people in. They pretend that someone fell in. They love this sort of stuff.

            And what the hell are we supposed to do? I mean, if someone says, “Oh my god, Johnny just fell in the Pitt!” it’s not like we can ignore that.

            We’re forced to fall for their little pranks every single time. By default.

            That’s why I hate it when Halloween falls on a Tuesday, Thursday, or other Wednesday.

            But it happens. Unfortunately.

            So there I was, just standing there, in front of my mirror, dreading what was soon to come.

            “Phoebe?” my mom called through the door.

            “Come in.”

            “I just got a few of your leotards out of the wash,” she said, handing me about ten different multi-colored spandex leotards. I stared at them in disdain.

            “Maybe I’ll be a ballerina for Halloween…” I muttered, under my breath. “That would be just adorable.”

            Katrina rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t joke about ballet, Phoebs. It’s art. Not really something to laugh at.”

            “Says you,” I said, folding my many leotards as I stuffed them into drawers. “You don’t have to watch Caliope practice every day while you’re teaching.”

            Katrina smiled, faintly. “Don’t kill her confidence, Phoebe. Caliope is going to be an amazing dancer, someday. And you could be, too, if you wanted to be.”

            “Fat chance,” I said, laughing as my mother closed the door.

            There was absolutely no way that they’d get me into a tutu again. I played that game my entire childhood and I was not ever going down that road again.

            I sighed, closing my eyes.

            My boss, Missy, always makes us dress up for Halloween. Every year. She has this thing about how we should all be more “festive”.

            Easy for her to say, she’s an overweight forty-nine year old woman with fricken dimples. She’s nothing if not jolly. She could be Mrs. Santa Claus.

            I laughed at the thought as I pulled on my new leotard. I glanced in the mirror. I didn’t have a costume. I had a ballet suit. What was I supposed to be?

            I reached over to my easel in the corner, where I had been working on a drawing of Caliope attempting to do one of those twirly-spin things on her toe.

            With one hand I scribbled the word in chalk across the front of my leotard.

            Zola.

            My middle name.

            See, I have thins thing about my first name. I kind of resent my mother for giving it to me. All my sister’s gave kind of weird, unique names that I always thought were cool. But for some reason I had to be Phoebe.            

            Let’s face it, Phoebe looks really lame next to Caliope.

            It’s a fact.

            But I always liked my middle name. Zola. Like… a mix of Zoey and Lola. Why couldn’t my mom have named me that? Why not Zola Phoebe instead of Phoebe Zola?

            That would have been a lot more impressive.

            Quickly, I grabbed my books and took another look at myself in the mirror.

            Oddly enough, the mix of boots and leotard and Zola label made me look like one of those comic book super heroes from the old days. I smirked in the mirror. Perfect, that was simple enough. That would make Missy happy, wouldn’t it?

            I turned quickly and grabbed an old sheet and one of the broaches my grandmother had left me in her will.

            I made a cape.

            Good enough, right?

            Not quite.

            I bent down on my knees, searching under my bed for something.

            It had to be here. It would be perfect. Hilarious.

            I found it.

            The mask.

            Ages ago, when I was still a dancer, my mother made all her ballet students put on a play for our recital.            

            I played a robber.

            I had this cool little mask left over from the show.

            It fit perfectly.

            I took a triumphant breath and stepped out of my bedroom and into the hall.

            “Cool costume!” Caliope shouted from down the hall.

            I turned just in time to catch a glance of her and Philippa practicing arabesque by the banister.

            I rolled my eyes, but muttered, “Thanks,” is response.

            As expected, Missy ate my costume up.

            “Phoebe! That costume looks fantastic!” she exclaimed when she saw me check in.

            “Thanks,” I said, with a shrug. “Made it myself.”

            Suddenly, I turned to face her, and she was towering over me.

            “Zola?!” She demanded. “Is that some kind of drug term?”

            I sighed, shaking my head. Of course Missy would suspect the worst. “No,” I said. “It’s my middle name.”

            “Oh!” Said Missy, cheering up again. “Well that’s lovely, honey.”

            I tried to suppress a groan as I approached my post by the front entrance. I knew Missy would be going home now. She never bothered to stick around in Halloween. Luckily, though, her house was just next door, so if some kids decided to mug me for candy or something I could probably scream and she’d waddle over and beat the kids with her  cane.

            I stood waiting for the first of the Halloween idiots to arrive, holding the plastic pumpkin full of tootsie rolls I had been instructed to hand out to any tourists in costume.

            I sighed, glancing down at my boots uncomfortably.

            I missed my smock.

            About ten minutes later my sisters (guided by my mother) arrived for a pity visit. I gave them each a tootsie roll and my mom paid the two dollar admission fee to enter the viewing deck and look at the Pitt.

            They all stayed about five minutes before walking off pathetically and leaving me.

            It was nearly dark before the next trick-or-treaters showed up, and like usual, I could just tell they were looking for trouble.

            “Hey,” a guy who looked no older than fourteen said when he got within hearing range. “Nice costume.” I could feel his creepy fourteen-year-old eyes on my legs and again, I thought longingly of my usual smock-and-pants work ensemble.

            About three minutes later the first of the pranks began. Some kid in a pink princess costume and far too much make-up came running up to me screaming about how her friend had fallen into the Pitt.

            What these dumbass kids never realize is that it’s practically impossible to fall into the Pitt. The viewing deck is about a million miles high, and there’s this huge fence surrounding the gate and a lookout is always watching for stuff like that.

            There is really no way that someone could fall into the Pitt.

            I sighed, putting down the plastic pumpkin and walking up the stairs towards where princess-girl was pointing.

            “Okay, kid, where did you say your friend was?” I asked, monotone.

            “He’s right over there! He’s right over there!” She shouted, jumping up and down like some kind of deranged animal.

            I scanned the deck pathetically. “Oh gee,” I said, sounding bored. “I don’t see him. I wonder where he could be?”

            “Got you!” Someone shouted from behind me, making me jump. It was the fourteen-year-old pervert from before

            “Get out of here!” I bellowed, angrily. “We don’t have time for this.”

            “Awe, have a sense of humor, will you?” Perv-boy asked, laughing. “Don’t be so uptight.”

            “Get out of here,” I said, pointing to the exit.

            “We want our money back!” Make-up girl shouted.

            “Sorry,” I snapped. “No refunds.”

            Make-up girl flipped me off angrily. “Screw you,” she said.

            “Where’s you Halloween spirit?” Perv-boy mocked as they walked off into the darkness.

            I slumped against my post, realizing that the kids had made off with my plastic pumpkin.

            “Oh well,” I muttered to myself. “I suppose that’s just one less thing to look after.”

            Less than five minutes later, a couple of fat kids dressed up at Power Rangers showed up demanding candy.

            “Sorry. All out,” I lied, quickly.

            “Aww, darn it!” The little boy shouted.

            “Mom told you not to say that,” a girl I assumed was his sister replied.

            “Don’t tell on me!” he pleaded. I groaned aloud.

            “Listen kids, maybe you should run along and find your parents,” I suggested. “I’m sure they want to take you to other places… probably.”

            “Hey! Cool costume!” the girl shouted, obviously ignoring my comment.

            I glanced down at my leotard and boots costume and gave her a nod. “Thanks,” I said, running a hand through my hair.

            “You look like bat woman!” the boy shouted, wiping chocolate off his face.

            “No!”  The girl replied. “She looks like cat woman!”

            “Cat woman has ears, dumby!” The boy, snapped back.

            The little girl gasped. “You said another bad word! I’m telling mom!”

            Taking a deep breath, I tried my hardest to keep my cool.

            I watched as the kids ran off into the distance, the little boy chasing his sister and shouting things like, “Don’t tell! Please, don’t tell!”

            I took a seat on one of the front steps after that" something that is strictly prohibited at the Pitt. Missy says it makes us look “inattentive” or something.

            I say that’s bull.

            The rest of the night went a little like that. Trick-or-treaters came and went. They tried to trick me. They tried to bug me.

            I got a few more comments on my costume, which was pretty cool, though. For once the leotard was cool.

            But besides my few rare compliments, the night was pretty boring.

            In fact, nothing even remotely worth telling you happened until a few hours later, just before closing town.

            The return of Perv-boy.

            “Oh, joy,” I said, flatly. “It’s you again.”

            “I have a new costume,” he said, motioning to his clothes. He wore a cape, a mask and… oh god… a leotard.

            “I can see that…” I said, slowly backing away.

            “Don’t you want to know who I am?” he asked, sounding almost disappointed.

            “Not really…” I said, stumbling up the steps. I hoped he got the message. I really wasn’t in the mood to deal with any more fourteen-year-old weirdos tonight.

            “I’m your nemesis,” he laughed. “Get it? You’re wearing black. I’m wearing white! We’re enemies.”

            “That’s great, kid,” I said, feeling kind of creeped out. I mean… presumably, this kid went all the way back to his house and changed his outfit so that he could match me, some girl who worked at the Pitt.

            That is a little creepy, right?

            And he was following me up the stairs.

            “Come on…” He laughed. “Come with me, let’s ditch this place and get out of here!”

            I barely heard what he said next, I was to preoccupied thinking, Did he really just say that? ‘Ditch this place’? What is he…? Fourteen? Oh… Right…

            “Fine,” he said, after a moment’s pause. “I’ll just have to battle you, then.”

            “B-Battle me?” I stuttered, kind of surprised.

            “Yeah, you’re my nemesis and you won’t join forces… So… I’ll have to battle you.” He shrugged, like this was the most normal thing in the world to say.

            “Okay, kid, I really don’t know what you’re trying to do here, but this is not a good idea,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m trying to work. I don’t really have time for games.”

            “That’s the spirit!” He shouted, triumphantly. “You have to be pissed off at me.”

            “I"“ I began, before shaking my head. “I really don’t have time for this. I have to"“

            All of a sudden perv-boy took off running like something was chasing him. He shot right passed me and onto the deck. Right over to the control room.

            “Listen! You’re not supposed to be up there!” I shouted, starting to get annoyed. “I’m going to get in trouble. If my boss comes and"“

            “" Well, then you’d better catch me!” Perv-boy laughed, and I took in a deep breath of frustration, as I ran up the stairs after him.

            Luckily, I knew for a fact that Missy always locked up the control room when she left. It wasn’t like he could do any real damage.

            “Kid, get back over here!” I shouted.

            I realized then that I had lost track of him.

            “Kid?” I shouted, again. “Where are you?”

            I muttered a couple of swear words under my breath before stomping off in another direction.

            After searching the deck for nearly ten minutes, a shock of fear struck through my body.

            What if perv-boy really did manage to fall into the Pitt? What would happen then?

            I ran towards the viewing deck frantically searching for perv-boy. Where was he?

            After another brief moment of panic, I comforted myself with the rational thought that there really was no way that perv-boy could have actually fallen in.

            “Okay, you got me!” I shouted, finally. “I surrender. You win. Whatever. Can you just come back, now?”

            No response.

            “This isn’t funny!” I shouted. “I have work to do, and I can’t be messing around!”

            That’s when I noticed it.

            The control room window.

            Perv-boy must have been hiding in there.

            “Oh, Missy,” I muttered to myself. “Why couldn’t you just keep the window locked?” As carefully as I could, I maneuvered my way in through the control room window, holding my breath, fearing that I would set off some kind of alarm or something.

            I was definitely getting fired for this.

            “You in here, kid?” I hissed as I entered the dark control room.

            No response.

            “Aww, come on. I’m not playing around. Where are you? Just answer"“

            “" Aha!”

            Blinding light.

            “Jesus!” I shouted, falling to rest of the way through the window. “Turn that off. You’re gonna blind me!”

            “Well, I have to weaken my opponent. Jeez, for someone dressed up as a super hero, you sure don’t know much about them.”

            “What the hell"“ I started.

            “" No time to talk,” he said, cutting me off. “We must battle.”

            “You have to get out of here,” I snapped, getting to my feet.

            Perv-boy grinned a flirtatious little grin that kind of made me want to puke. “Not until you fight me.”           

            I sighed, feeling defeated. “You have got to be kidding me. You do know that it’s illegal to me in here without a trained member of our staff? It’s fricken dangerous in here, kid! What’s going through your head?”

            For a moment, Perv-boy looked kind of nervous. For a moment, I hoped that he had come to his senses.

            I was thinking way to highly of him.

            “Well… I like danger,” he said.

            I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Now was not the time.

            “Come on kid,” I said. “Let’s just get out of here before I get fired.”

            Perv-boy girnned.

            And then he flicked a switched.

            “What the hell are you doing?!” I demanded, fear in my voice.

            I don’t know if you know this but the Berkely Pitt is full of all these chemicals that make metals. In the early nineteen hundreds miners came from all over to forge silver, gold, and copper from the Pitt.

            But then, when they finally closed the mine, they were forced to take all of these water pipes out of the ground, which made the Pitt fill up with all these chemical liquids from the ground. Chemicals that can kill you.

            Ever since the eighties the water level in the Pitt has been rising rapidly. So, the government came up with this kind of… solution. For now, anyway. It’s slowed the flow of the ground water into the Pitt.

            There’s a control room that controls the flow of that ground water.

            That was the control room.

            And Perv-boy had just turned the water on.

            “What have you done?” I demanded, again.

            “I" I don’t know!” He shouted. “Why are you getting so mad?”

            “Because!” I shouted. “You’re about to destroy Butte!”

            “What?” Perv-boy asked, his eyes widening. “I think you’re taking this game a little too seriously.”           

            I paused for a moment, unsure of exactly what to say. “I’m not playing around,” I said, finally. “Do you have any idea of what you’ve just done?”

            Perv-boy sighed. “I thought you would be able to fix this,” he said, finally. “You do work here, after all!”

            “Yeah, I sell the freaking admition tickets, I don’t know anything about this stuff.”

             Perv-boy looked genuinely scared now.

            “So… What do I do?” he asked, frantically.

            “Uhh… I don’t know…” I struggled, staring at all of the control levers hopelessly. I could here bubbling water outside. “Call 9-1-1!”

            “I don’t have a cell phone!” Perv-boy shouted. “My parents took mine. I’m grounded!”

            I swore loudly.

            “Run to Missy’s house next door!” I shouted. “Find a pay phone. Just do something!”

            Perv-boy nodded and ran climbed out the window.

            In nineteen ninety-five, there were a flock on more than four hundred geese that flew into the Pitt.

            They all died.

            Instantly.

            The government tried to cover it up. They said that it was just an accident. The geese had some kind of disease. That’s why they died as soon as they hit the water.

            But then some scientists stepped in and did some tests and guess what?

            The government lied.

            Big surprise.

            The water in the Berkely Pitt has so many terrible chemicals and acids that it could kill a person the second that they touched the water.

            This was bad.

            I stared at all the dials and lever, hopelessly.

            Which switch did Perv-boy touch? I wondered, fear taking over my thoughts.

            This was a crappy way to die.

            There were so many different little buttons. So many weird switches and controls.

            I had no idea how to fix this.

            It’s all my fault, I thought. I’m about to burn down this whole crappy little town because I dressed in a leotard and no pants, and some teenage wimp got turned on and decided to tamper with the only thing that keeps thirty-two thousand people from dying a firey and acidic death.

            Yep, this was pretty much the crappiest way anyone could ever die. Ever.

            I closed my eyes.

            It was no use. I couldn’t remember what lever perv-boy had pushed.

            So there I stood, in my cape and my mask, and my books and my leotard. All dressed up to be the hero of this story. And you know what? I was about to become a complete villain.

            I reached out one hand, cautiously. I wasn’t really sure if I should try and reverse what Perv-boy did by pulling random levers, or if I should just wait until the cops got there and helped us.

            If Perv-boy even bothered getting the cops.

            Well… Since I was going to hell, anyway.

            I reached out one hand, and slowly touched a random lever.

            I might as well try to fix this.

            I paused once, and then I pulled the lever.

            The water was still running outside. I could hear it.

            But things didn’t seem any worse…

            I reached out again and grabbed another lever.

            Pull.

            Nothing.

            At this point my adrenaline was way up and I probably wouldn’t have noticed if I accidentally blew up all of Butte. 

            I reached out once again and pushed a tiny button on the wall.

            Nothing.

            I flicked one more switch.

            Nothing.

            And then another.

            Something.

            I heard the slow of water outside. Other noises were now more audible. It took me a minute to realize that there were people standing out on the deck.

            People were watching this. For entertainment.

            Suddenly, the door to the control room was ripped open and some guy I didn’t know came charging into the room.

            “Who are you?” He demanded. “Is it over?”

            I froze, kind of in a state of awe.

            “Um… I think so,” I muttered.

            The man nodded.

            “What’s your name?” He asked.

            Before I could answer, he caught a glimpse of my leotard.

            “Zola, huh?” He asked.

            I nodded, unsure of what to say.

            “Well, Zola,” he grinned. “You’re a hero! You saved Butte.”

            I started at him. What was going on?

            Suddenly, Missy burst into the room, looking flustered.

            “Is everything okay?” She demanded. “I came down here as soon as I heard all of this commotion. I started charging admission by the door, by the way. Is everyone all right? Oh please don’t tell me someone actually fell in… Oh please don’t tell me that"“

            “" Nothing’s wrong, ma’am,” the man said. “Zola, here, just saved all of our lives.”

            “I"“ I stuttered.

            “" Phoebe?” Missy asked, sounding kind of amazed. “You did this?”

            I froze.

            “She saved us, ma’am,” the man answered for me. “She saved us all. Butte is safe because of her.”

            At this point, I was just kind of stunned. I saved Butte? By randomly pushing buttons? What the hell did that mean?

            “Well then, Phoebe, come one out of there. And tell me what’s going on,” Missy said, looking unsure.

            When I left the control room I caught sight of Perv-boy standing by himself.

            “You didn’t get the cops,” I managed.

            He didn’t answer, he only motioned to Pitt.

            I craned my neck to the side, looking at the Berkely Pitt with wide eyes. There was a crowd of hundreds of people staring at the now much deeper expanse of luminous water

            I could see my mother. My sisters. My friends from school. They were all just… standing there, looking out at the water.

            Missy squeezed my shoulders.

            “You have no idea the kinds of money we made tonight.”

            I stared out at the water on awe. It was glowing. It was probably just radiation, but… It was glowing.

            It was really pretty, actually.

            “You saved Butte,” Perv-boy said, as he walked to stand beside me.

            I stared out at the water, still kind of dumbfounded.

            There I was, the hero of Butte. I’d saved the city, made a fortune for the Berkely Pitt staff, and I was probably getting a raise soon.

            And I did all that while wearing a leotard?

            A gust of cold wind passed by me, blowing my cape back behind me.

            I smirked.

            There I stood, the amazing, undefeated, Zola.

 

 

Author's Note

Another older story. Writing isn't great but I hope you like it. Written about a year ago.