A Guide to Being Super

Rule #8

Rule #8: Keep your best friend posted on what's going on. It helps more than it hurts. This rule can apply to every important relationship in your life, actually (except for your parents, we've already discussed this). Telling your close friends and (sometimes) family can be very helpful because it keeps you from having to lie to them and it means you have more people to support you. Keeping a secret from the people you love (even if you don't always tell them you love them), tears your soul apart. Trust me, I know.

Dan and I were only a few days into our continued training but you could already tell that it was going to be an upward battle. Everything he tried to teach me, no matter how simple, just didn't work. I was too clumsy, too slow, too slick, too fast. No matter what I tried to do I messed it up. I couldn't even blame everything on Dan, which was my favorite past time (and why wouldn't it be? It was hilarious and time wasting, my two favorite things). Nope, this was all my fault. And everyone could tell. Everyone, sadly, including Dan. Let me tell you, nothing is worse than Dan Smalls trying to be extra nice. The guy is already sickingly nice and kind and all that so when he's actually trying to be nice it's awful. Just one long guilt trip and he doesn't even realize it.

The one good thing about Dan being nice to me, and I do mean the only good thing (yes, I do realize that this is sad to be annoyed at someone being nice to me, I am a horrible person, but it's Dan so I get to be horrible), is that I can totally milk it. Seriously, once I get him feeling bad for me I can basically get him to do anything. Which is how, at this point in the story, I was able to sit for an hour and a half doing nothing. Well, technically I was "resting" and "preparing for the next stage of our training" but all I was really doing was playing on my phone. I probably could have stalled for a little longer, most likely a lot longer, but I was actually getting bored (no one was texting me, which is sad for them because they were missing out on my genius) so I decided to actually get back to training. So I don't die on the job or something. But just because I was willingly going back to work doesn't mean that I didn't complain about it constantly to Rachel, who clearly was through with me (what else was new?).

"He's just... ridiculous, all right? I can't handle this anymore."

"You say that every day," Rachel said, without looking up from her book.

"I do not."

"Fine." She turned a page. "You may not say that every day but you say some kind of variation of it most days, if not every day. But you're still a complainer and that's what's important."

"You're so sweet to me."

"That's what I'm here for." Another page turn. "Most people think that sidekicks are here for emotional support but really we're here to keep you from becoming slimy whiny idiots."

"Too late," I said.

"Don't I know it."

"Come on, Rachel, can you please just help me out?"

Now she looks up from the book. "And how, my dear Matthew, do you expect me to do that?"

"I don't know. I figured you would come up with something."

Rachel sighed, obviously trying to decide if she was going to cause me some kind of bodily harm or not, and put her book on the coffee table as she got up.

"Can you give me some money?" she asked.

"What?"

"Can you give me some money?"

"What the hell do you need money for?"

"To go get lunch..."

"I don't have any money," I said.