Heroes for hire

"How do you write to superheroes?" Dylan asked as he stared down his fishing line.
"You what?" replied his brother who stopped baiting his hook and frowned at him.
Dylan looked up. "I'm serious, Ian," he pleaded. "Do they have like fan clubs or something?"
"I dunno," Ian snapped as he finished spearing his maggot and cast his line back into the water. "Whaddaya wanna know for anyway?"
Dylan paused before he answered. He wanted to size up whether his brother was going to think he'd gone completely mad.
"It's school sports day at the end of the month," he began. "And it's always so boring. The same people win each sport all the time. I mean I could tell you now that Sam Parker will win the one hundred metres, Lym Streep will take the hurdles, Mathew Lewis will jump the highest and Robbie Porter will jump the furthest."
"There are other races ya know."
"Yeah, but it's no fun."
"You're just jealous you can't compete this year," Ian said wrapping his knuckles on the illustrated cast that encased Dylan's right leg. "That'll teach you for trying to fly off the shed. Taping a bin bag to your back does not make you Batman. Anyway where do superheroes fit into sports day, or shouldn't I ask?"
"I thought I'd...invite them...to take part," Dylan said coyly.
His brother laughed so hard tears poured down his cheeks. He had to lay down his rod and fish a tissue out of his bag to wipe his eyes."You do realise, Dylan, that superheroes aren't real?"
"How do you know?" Dylan huffed. He hated it when people laughed at his ideas. It made him feel small and pointless.
"Because they only exist in comics and films and games, and stuff, that's why. Now quit daydreaming and pay attention. It looks like you've got something."
Dylan stared down his line. Something was tugging at it, creating gentle ripples in the water. Dylan didn't care now. He'd lost interest in fishing.

******

"Look what I got out of the library today?" Dylan said holding up a thick, paperback book.
Ian tilted his head to read the title. "Stars and their agents," he said.
"And look here," Dylan said thumbing through the pages to one that he'd marked with a scrap piece of paper. He pointed at the bottom corner. "Superman. Agented by Doris Campion. Email dcampion@herosforhire.com," Dylan said with smug satisfaction. "Believe me now."
"Whatever," said Ian. "You'll never get them to agree to come and besides, even if you do, how are you going to pay them to attend?"
"I'll tell them it's for charity. Miss Beets is always saying we should try and come up with ideas to raise money for the school."
"If you manage to get one superhero to come to your sports day I'll eat whatever you fish out of the River Dean. Raw!" Ian said.
"Fine with me. You've got a deal!" Dylan retorted.
Although Dylan was sure his plan would work he resisted telling anyone else about it. At least not yet. If his own brother mocked him he knew his classmates were bound to cremate him.
Over the two weeks since he sent emails to twenty of the top superheroes in the 'Stars and their agents' book, Dylan received sixteen letters thanking him for the invitation but politely declining. Dylan's heart sank into his stomach. He scrunched every one of them up into a ball, thrust them into the kitchen bin and slammed the lid shut.
"Be careful, Dylan or you'll break that," his mother complained as she poured frozen peas into a pan of boiling water. "What's the matter anyway?"
"Nothing!" Dylan mumbled before hobbling out of the kitchen.
As he passed the sitting room door Ian snickered from the sofa. "No acceptances yet then?"
Dylan huffed, hopped upstairs and flicked on his computer. He was so mad there was only one thing that would take his mind of his depression; a game of Zombie Mayhem.
But when his computer warmed up it pinged loudly four times. He had four new emails.
Absentmindedly, Dylan clicked on his email icon, thinking the emails were from Declan. Declan was the new boy in school who, like a limpet, had latched on to Dylan. Dylan didn't mind really. He felt sorry for him, and besides, Declan had a fantastic collection of Superman comics. The thought of Superman now though fired him up with rage. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to read a comic again.
But the emails weren't from Declan. One was from Doris Campion. With a shaky finger Dylan clicked on the email to open it up, wanting but not wanting to read it.
"Dear Dylan, thank you for your kind letter, dated 2nd September," it began. "Having consulted with my client, Superman, I can happily say that he would be delighted to attend you school sports day and compete in your Superhero Olympics. Although just between you and me, he's been looking for an opportunity to beat the pants of Batman given the caped crusader has just made a fortune at the box office with his recent movies. Yours sincerely, Doris Campion. PS Please confirm if Batman is indeed attending."
Dylan was so excited was barely able to click on the other three emails. His hands were shaking, his heart was pounding.
The other emails said the same. Dylan now had four acceptances to attend his sports day from Superman, Batman, Spiderman and Mighty Mouse.

The next day Dylan glided into school on his crutches with a grin he could hook round his ears. He knocked on the door of the head teacher's office, proud to deliver some wonderful and unexpected news. But Mr Smythe didn't share Dylan's enthusiasm.
"You really should have consulted with me on this beforehand, Dylan. We don't have the facilities to support a competition that I fear will result in considerable damage to our sports ground," Mr Smythe said shaking his head.
"But think of all the money it will raise. Everyone in the town will come to our sports day now. We could even sell merchandise; t-shirts, baseball caps, pens, lunchboxes, bedcovers. The list is endless. This school could be the richest in the county."
It appeared that Dylan plucked the right string when he started talking about money. Dylan saw Mr Smythe's eyes suddenly light up. Mr Smythe sat back in his chair and rocked to and fro as he rubbed his chin.
"Okay," he said. "I'll allow it. I'll make the necessary arrangements regarding promoting the event though. I think you've done enough."
Dylan wasn't stupid. He knew Mr Smythe said that so he could be in charge of any money making schemes, but Dylan didn't care. He got what he wanted.

It didn't take long for the rumour to spread. Everywhere Dylan went he was questioned about his idea. The younger kids quizzed him at school about how they could get autographs, the older kids wanted to know how they could hire them, women in supermarkets asked him if the superheroes were single and men asked him if they were planning on getting rid of the town's criminals while they were here.
When the sports day finally came round Dylan was relieved. It got to the point where he couldn't leave the house for having to field a barrage of questions.
The school sports ground was packed full of townsfolk wearing beaming smiles and t-shirts with the words 'Superhero Olympics 2009' emblazoned on them. Everyone was eager for the finale programme once all the school events were over. Dylan didn't watch those. He was in the changing rooms pacing up and down on his crutches.
"You'll wear a hole in the floor you keep doing that," his mother said.
"I'm nervous," Dylan replied. "What if they don't show up?"
"They will. They never let anyone down," she said just as there was a gentle rapping at the door.
Dylan's mum opened it and there standing in the doorway were the formidable forms of Dylan's heroes. If he didn't have his crutches to keep him upright Dylan was sure he would have fallen into a crumpled heap on the floor.
"Come in," Dylan's mum said, making way for them.
"You must be Dylan," Superman said as he boldly strode towards him, his chest puffed out.
All Dylan could do was nod. He'd completely lost the power of speech.
"Please to meet you," said Spiderman extending a hand to Dylan. "Don't worry I won't web you."
Dylan shook it gingerly.
Batman nodded and Mighty Mouse flew up to Dylan's face. "Here I come to save your day!" he said, his red cape flapping behind him.

When the last school event had been won the highlight of the day, the reason everyone was there, finally arrived. Given it was Dylan's idea he was allowed to lead out his heroes onto the track.
As they all appeared from the tunnel the crowd erupted into screams and applause. Dylan was so proud he felt like a superhero himself.
The head of the sports department, Mr Curry, announced over the public address system that the Westfield Secondary School and town were pleased to welcome their honoured guests.
"The first event in this the first Superhero Olympics, will be the four hundred metres," Mr Curry bellowed down the microphone.
Dylan guided Superman, Batman, Spiderman and Mighty Mouse to the starting grid. But just as the gun went off something strange happened. Everyone seemed to notice it, even Dylan. He got a bizarre sense of deja vu. He was sure that he'd seen the race already and that Superman was the winner. But when the gun fired Mighty Mouse was already at the finish line before any of the other contestants had left their starting blocks. Superman instantly objected saying that Mighty Mouse had turned back time so he could put himself on the finish line before Superman. The complaint was overruled by the school sports judge because Superman could not prove that time alteration had taken place.
Superman stormed off to the next discipline-the pole vault.
"First to take the pole is earth's own Kal-El: Superman," announced Mr Curry.
The crowd roared with approval.
Superman took hold of his pole and held it aloft. He ran towards the vault but thrust the pole down with such brute force he snapped it in two.
The judge ruled disqualification.
Superman, in a fit of anger, picked up one of the shards of pole and launched it into the sky. He threw it so far it speared the school blimp, which slowly deflated and plummeted down to earth. There was a loud crash beyond the sports ground and the sound of car sirens wailing.
"Next to take the pole is our contestant that proves you don't have to be big to be mighty. It's Mighty Mouse."
Mighty Mouse lifted his pole with one finger, giving a sly look to Superman, and took off toward the vault. Mighty Mouse might have been mighty but because he was small and light when he pulled the pole back the force and momentum of the pole propelled him through the air and out of the sports ground.
"Oohh, bad luck Mighty Mouse," Mr Curry said. "Next up we have Spiderman."
Spiderman decided he didn't need a pole and so fired a stream of webbing up to the vault which spread across the bars and pulled himself over, landing perfectly with both feet on the mat.
The crowd erupted in applause.
"A perfect dismount," cheered Mr Curry. "And last we have Batman."
Batman who was clearly bitter about finishing last in the four hundred metres was determined to show he was worthy of his title and so launched himself at the vault, but because Spiderman had failed to clear his webbing Batman got tangled up in it and never even made it over the bar.
"Trapped like a fly. Bad luck Batman," said Mr Curry. "So the winner of the pole vault is Spiderman."
Dylan who was sat on the sidelines watching the events unfold was beaming with pride and joy. It was the most perfect day he could ever have planned. He opened his backpack, tore open a bag of popcorn and settled himself down for the remainder of the competition.
The shot putt was next, which Mighty Mouse won as not only did he throw the shot putt the furthest his was the only one that actually landed on the field. Superman's landed in Australia, which was instantly disqualified as use of other continents as landing zones was prohibited. Superman stamped his feet as that particular rule had not been previously explained to him. Batman got tangled up again as his spun round to launch his putt but this time got wrapped up in his own wings and Spiderman, who used his elastic webbing to throw his putt, was taken aback quite literally when it pinged back and smacked him in the face.
"The penultimate event on today's programme," said Mr Curry to a chorus of disapproval from the crowd, "will be the long jump. First up is Batman."
Every one could tell Batman was determined as he was at the start line before Mr Curry had even announced his name. Clearly he was keen to get some points on the board before the event was over, but he ran so fast down the track toward the sand pit that his wings acted like a parachute and whisked him backwards. The crowd were silent.
Dylan could hear poor Batman protesting. "No, not backwards," he yelled. "Oh damn these wings. I'm cutting them off when I get home."
Spiderman, who was sat on a chair on the side line with one leg crossed over his knee, breezily offered the next go to Superman. It was only when Superman launched himself at the sand pit and collapsed face down in front of it, without even scuffing the sand, that Dylan realised why Spiderman was so laid back. Pointing out of the sand was a familiar green glow of Kryptonite. The judge ruled Spiderman should be disqualified from that event from cheating, which he shrugged off. Superman was announced the winner of the long jump because although Mighty Mouse did jump he completely buried himself and so nobody knew where he'd landed.
"So as sad as it is for me to say," said Mr Curry. "The last event of the day is the high jump."
The crowd again booed and pleaded for more but it was clear the superheroes were ready for a final show down to decide the ultimate winner of the Superhero Olympics. As the assistants prepared the high jump Dylan noticed that the contestants were acting a little strange. Superman and Batman appeared to be very chummy, chatting and nodding to each other and looking on at the assistants as they erected the jump; Spiderman was on his mobile talking very quietly whilst Mighty Mouse was flying round the sports ground trying to fire up the crowd to cheer for him.
When the jump was ready Spiderman was announced to take the first jump. Batman and Superman stood at either side of the jump which didn't alarm Dylan at first but when Spiderman ran to perform his flip over the bar he tripped on something and crashed into the mat. Dylan noticed Batman reel something into this bed and then casually step away from the jump, whistling to himself. Spiderman was furious. He pounded the mat with his fist claiming he was tripped. But the judges didn't see anything. Mighty mouse was next and gave a perfect jump. In fact he was so cocky about winning he actually landed on the bar and moon-walked across it before jumping onto the mat. The other contestants sneered at him. Batman was up next but just as he went to take his jump Spiderman fired a web stream that wrapped around his feet and he pull him back. Again Spiderman was disqualified but again he shrugged and said he was happier to wipe the smug grin of Batman's face than win. Last to attempt the high jump was Superman.
Dylan heard him muttering to himself, "just take it stead, don't over exert yourself, you're loosing here you need to save face, you're reputation as the ultimate superhero is at stake."
But just as Superman started toward the jump a familiar black-clad phantom figure appeared from the sky. It lowered itself right in front of Superman and hovered in the air.
"General Zod," Superman huffed. "Could you not have waited five minutes before turning up? I'm just about to jump."
General Zod said nothing. He simply smiled and began flying round the sports ground, picking up shot putts, javelins, hurdles and judges and hurled them around the grounds. Everyone on the stands ducked as flying sports objects whizzed past their heads. Superman had no choice but to forfeit the jump and kick Zod's butt back to Krypton.
At that point Mr Curry came back on the public address system. He cleared his throat and said in a shaky, squeaky voice, "Following on from the slight interruption of interstellar war, I can proudly announce that the winner of the Westfield Sports Day and Ultimate Superhero Olympian goes to...Mighty Mouse."
Dylan was, as chief organiser, given the golden clenched fist trophy to give to Mighty Mouse, which, in spite of the fact that it was four times the size of the superhero, he handled with ease. The crowd, fully recovered from their brush with death at the hands of a disgruntled Kryptonian, clapped and cheered for their miniature hero. It was a title well deserved, and Dylan agreed.

The weekend after the successful and much talked about sports day, Dylan hurried down to the River Dean. He sat on the banks for hours waiting patiently for his first catch, hoping the current would give him something large for Ian to eat.
"You said, and I quote, that you would eat whatever I fish out of the river. Raw," Dylan said with glee when he arrived home.
His brother winced. Dylan could tell that Ian now wished he could take back the bet he had placed, but Dylan wasn't going to let him get away with it. He fished around in his backpack, pulled out what he caught and plopped it on the kitchen table. It was a large, weathered, old, soggy, leather boot.

"Mum," he grinned. "You better get Ian a sharp knife."