The Superswagyrainbowboomerizer 1017

Jaeden saw it when she was flipping through her older brother’s disused comic books. She didn’t much like the old things; the heroes were dumb-looking and the villains frequently burst into maniacal laughter almost condescendingly, as if the reader’s feeble little minds needed to be constantly reminded they were the antagonists. But, the back pages were a whole different story. They held ads for everything one could ever possibly need. Printable money, hoverboards, a machine that could stop time, even a pet unicorn! Unfortunately, most of the places you were supposed to mail to did not show up on Google Earth or Maps, which meant basically nonexistent to Jaeden. But, this time was different. Wasp Man and Bumble Boy issue #47 (Attack of Pesticidius and his Evil Minions of Evilness and Doom!), was the forty-ninth one she had gone through that lazy Saturday.                                                            Jaeden was beginning to get bored and thought of talking to her best friend, Cynthia who she could always count on for some inane chatter. That was, until she saw the back page. The ad was huge, with a big photo of a complicated machine smack in the center. It read: The Superswagyrainbowboomerizer 1017! The only thing you will ever need in your entire life! Once gotten working, it functions as the perfect closet, creating any outfit you think of immediately! Mail order form to: P.O box 11, Reno, Nevada and this is yours for only three easy payments of 79 cents or dollars! We Choose!

Hmm, thought Jaeden as she scrutinized the ad. It sounds legit, and Reno is only forty miles away from Currant. Oh, wait there’s some more fine print here: Some assembly required. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I really, really want this. See, Jaeden was a part of a contemporary fashion movement that most of the common people call weirdos, and was proud of it. Though the stares in the hallway and being dubbed Rubber Queen after her, ah, unique ensemble composed of several surgical gloves and bottles of sand at Valentine's Day Jamboree. The snider of seventh-graders at City of Sparks Junior High were laughing always, but Jaeden was proud of her getups. She strutted the hallways with utmost pride, though sometimes not that much because too much swagger would shatter the glass hummingbirds on her nicest pants. But, her costumes were hard to make. (That flying squirrel replica had cost fifty dollars!) This machine would make everything much easier, and give her more time to do things she enjoyed. (I, the author confirms that she is actually believing this and is as gullible as you think.  I also confirm I just broke the fourth wall and now have to call a debris clean-up service.)                                                                                                                                                        There was one fledgling worry blossoming in the pit of her stomach, though. She would still have to put the whole thing together. That would make it very difficult, maybe even impossible.  It would involve wrenches and screwdrivers and other things that may damage her treasured outfits.  That worry was suddenly dispelled when she saw a kid her age riding his bike on her street. His dark skin was beaded with sweat and his shirt had long ago been deluged in the stuff from the sweltering temperature. His wild, curly hair was determined to escape from his helmet. Jaeden knew him from school, and his name was M.C or Jay-Z or something. He was something of a prodigy in mechanics, and she had realized he was just what she needed.

“Umm… you want me to do what?” It had been six anticipation-ridden weeks since Jaeden had placed the envelope in the nearby mailbox, and the package had arrived earlier that day. She had finally gotten up the bravado to call up M.C, as she had confirmed was his name the previous week. Of course, he was a little confused about her proposal to be colleagues.

M.C had been attempting to crack the parental controls password on the TV, when the phone vibrated.  His father’s favorite ringtone of fanfare blared, sounding more like a bleating sheep due to the phone's age.. He grabbed it, hoping his shipment of three-tooth aluminum gears was on its way, but instead, his ears met the rather squeaky voice of Jaeden Padgett. Her entreaty was irritating but intriguing, and after a minute or so of arguing with himself, M.C decided he had nothing else to do, and his crusade to watch TV-MA shows was over quicker than it began.

A flat tire protracted the bike ride, but M.C eventually got there. Jaeden was dressed her best, sporting a small, simple dress adorned with several old Christmas ornaments and an attractive hat that had been a flowerpot in a former life, but then had a stuffed walrus colored on with blue highlighter duct taped to it. M.C’s expression was priceless, as if he had just realized Jaeden was that girl who dressed weird. She handed him the tools and parts, and he got to work.

M.C was rather unimpressed with the supply of tools in Jaeden's garage, but he made do with the few he had, using several parts of an old toaster before discovering it still had a very shriveled, moldy slice of overcooked Wonder Bread in it.  After the eeeewww had been properly given, they went back to work.  Time seemed to blur in and out for both kids, and before M.C knew it, the cylindrical shape of the  contraption could actually stand up on its own.                                                                                   “Eleven-twentieths. That wrench is very precise, and I don’t think this dashboard will hold up without it.” Four hours had passed, and the Super-I-cant-pronounce-it-enactor was taking shape nicely, thought M.C. Most of the parts were cheap, but he had just had to work a little of what his friends liked to call M.C Magic. He had put Jaeden to good use as an assistant, despite her whines about the fragility of her ensemble. M.C had simply said he didn’t give a lizard’s rear end about her hodgepodge of an outfit, and if she wanted this done, she needed to help him. He was proud that he had managed to shut her up for once, and the machine had been coming along famously since then. Jaden now had handed him a three-fifths wrench, and the appropriate scolding was carried out. After a little more confusion, and at least seven of the flamboyant girl’s ornaments shattered while she attempted to flaunt her natural originality in a futile attempt to convince her partner to let her take a break, the dashboard was finally screwed on, and M.C was done. “Now, “ said Jaeden brightly. We just need to get it working. You do know how to do that, right?  It didn't come with instructions, but I think you can do it."                                                                                                                                                                                                     She leaned over to inspect the device. “See? It seems pretty simple.” She turned around to look at M.C, or, at least, the spot where he had used to be.

No way, Rubber Queen. ,Thought M.C as he rode his bike down the street as fast as his pedals would let him. Sucker.