“Whoa, slow down, Tip!” said Doreen. “What’s going on?”
Tippy-Toe opened her tiny maw, took a shuddering breath, and tried again.
“Chet chikka-chik chutty chut chek—”
“Oh no!” said Doreen. “Tippy says that Davey Porkpun has disappeared. He does that sometimes, especially after eating really old chocolate. He’ll go out wandering for a day or two, but always comes back right as rain, so they wouldn’t be worried. Except his sister, Sour Cream, and her kids, the Chives, are also gone.”
“Well that’s kinda alarming, right?” said Ana Sofía. “I mean, I don’t know squirrel domestic habits, but Tippy seems upset about it. What could have happened?”
At that exact moment, almost as if it’d all been perfectly timed to be especially dramatic (though of course it hadn’t) a voice echoed from somewhere. Or not somewhere—from everywhere, all at once.121
“SQUIRREL GIRL,” said the tinny, robotic voice. “THIS IS THE MICRO-MANAGER. IT SEEMS YOU HAVE FALLEN OUT OF FAVOR WITH YOUR PRECIOUS FRIENDS AND SUPPORTERS. MWA-HA-HA.”
He didn’t laugh. He actually said “Mwa-ha-ha.” Doreen found it infinitely creepier than a real evil laugh.
“YOU HAVE ONE CHANCE TO REDEEM YOUR NAME.”
“What’s that voice saying?” Ana Sofía asked, so Doreen did her best to sign it.
“BATTLE ME! AND RECEIVE THE GREATEST HONOR ANY HERO CAN ATTAIN—TO LOSE TO THE MICRO-MANAGER, THE NEWEST, MOST POWERFUL SUPER VILLAIN ON THE SCENE.”
“Aw, man. All this time I hoped it was ‘Muffin Master,’” said Doreen. “But anyway…no thanks, Mr. Manager. That sounds like a terrible idea.”
The voice kept talking, no doubt prerecorded. “IN CASE YOU LACK THE PERSPECTIVE AND WISDOM TO CHOOSE THE HONOR OF BATTLING ME, HERE IS FURTHER INCENTIVE.”
The Micro-Manager relayed a series of random numbers and letters.
“What the fudge cake?” Doreen said, pausing her signing so she could type the number-letter sequence on Ana Sofía’s laptop as fast as he spoke them.122
“ARE YOU ACTUALLY A SUPER HERO, SQUIRREL GIRL? OR ARE YOU JUST A GIRL WHO LOOKS LIKE A SQUIRREL? IF YOU ARE A HERO, YOU WILL FIND ME AND FACE ME. GO AHEAD AND BRING ALONG AS MANY OF YOUR LITTLE VERMIN FRIENDS AS YOU ARE WILLING TO SACRIFICE. IT WILL NOT BE ENOUGH. I HAVE A SURPRISE HOSTAGE THAT WILL MELT YOUR FURRY HEART. I KNOW HOW WEAK YOU ARE WHEN IT COMES TO TINY CREATURES. HURRY, SQUIRREL GIRL…BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE. MWA-HA-HA-HA-MWA-HA-MWA—AHEM.”
The voice stopped.
“Whoa,” said Doreen. “What in the triple fudge—?”
“Look!” said Ana Sofía. She had pasted the number-letter sequence into a web browser. The address pulled up a video. The image was dark, with a little daylight filtering through a high window. The blackness implied vastness, some huge open space. A single light buzzed on, and Doreen could make out a gray squirrel hanging facedown. A cord attached to his tail was slowly lowering him. A few feet below, a robotic jaw with jagged sharp teeth was squeaking open and snapping shut, open and shut, open…
The little squirrel was quivering, brown eyes wide, teeth bared in terror.
“Davey!” said Doreen. “The Micro-Manager captured little Porkpun! What a jerk! Judging by the speed he was lowering and the distance to the jaws, how much time do we have, Ana Sofía?”
“Fifteen minutes, tops.”
“Chik-chuk,” said Tippy-Toe.
“You’re right, Tip, he must have Sour Cream and the Chives, too. That’s probably what he meant by ‘surprise hostage’ and ‘tiny creatures.’ He’s using baby squirrels as bait to get me to go fight him! What a complete and total jerk! I can go out there and—oh.” Doreen frowned. “Yeah. I’m not Squirrel Girl anymore. I can’t save anyone. I’m not a—”
“You are, Doreen,” said Ana Sofía. “I was wrong. I was feeling sorry for myself and I was mean. You are a hero.”
“I’m not sure….”
“I am. Try a taunt. See how it feels.”
“Okay. Um, that Micro-Manager is going downtown without a bus pass!”123
Ana Sofía nodded. “Try some more,” she said.
“Hey! Dirty bum! Prepare to get wiped by the paws of justice!”
“Maybe something less gross,” Ana Sofía said.
“I’m here to kick butts and eat nuts. And I’m ALL OUT OF NUTS!”
“That’s the ticket,” Ana Sofía said.
Doreen grinned. “But…everyone thinks I’m a freak and a weirdo. I’m nothing like the Avengers.”
“Right now you need to do some heroics,” said Ana Sofía. “Later, after the day-saving, we can decide if you were actually qualified to save the day or not.”
“Right. ‘Leap before you look’ is my motto, after all. I mean, I have to help Davey no matter what, right? Tippy, do you think any squirrels would be willing to search the neighborhood? You don’t have to say I’m involved if they’re mad at me.”
Tippy-Toe sneezed a sneeze that sounded like “affirmative.”
“Hey, start at the warehouses by the river, at the north end of town,” said Ana Sofía. “There’s a ton of radio interference there, and it might be caused by Muffin Master and his equipment.”
Tippy-Toe sneezed again and then leaped out the window, squeaking all the way.
“I think that Rocket guy was onto something,” said Ana Sofía, stuffing her laptop into her backpack. “I’m going to Mike’s house, see if he’s there, look for clues. I mean, not that I think I’m a legit detective or anything—”
“Except you sorta are,” said Doreen.
Ana Sofía smiled. “Yeah, I sorta am.”
“Awesome! So I’ll go—wait.” Doreen smacked her forehead. “Ow! I shouldn’t do that. I hit hard. But I forgot that I have a babysitting job tonight—”
“Go get out of your babysitting job and meet up with Tippy-Toe. Text me when you figure out exactly where he is.” Ana Sofía put a hand on Doreen’s shoulder. “Be safe, Squirrel Girl.”
Ana Sofía climbed down the ladder and exited out the back gate. Doreen leaped out the tree house window onto the lawn. And landed face-to-face with her parents.
They were both frowning.
Doreen took a breath so deep, her tail curled tighter in her pants. “I know I’m grounded. But . .” She pulled up the video of Davey on her phone. “This is the kind of stuff bad guys do. They’re going to hurt my squirrel friend, and probably his sister and her kids. And this is the sort of thing that Squirrel Girl does. She saves squirrels. And babies. And zucchini sometimes, but that’s not like a regular thing. Squirrel Girl defends the weak and stops bad guys. And Mom, Dad…I don’t need to wait till I’m older to know. I know now. I am Squirrel Girl.”
Dor wiped his eyes. “My baby girl.”
“We heard that voice broadcast,” said Maureen. “The Micro-Manager? I don’t know that villain. It’s like he exists just to fight you, and that scares me. It scares me down to my bunions, Doreen. We’re just trying to protect you. Meanwhile, you’re trying to protect others.”
“I wish you could wait till you’re older,” said Dor. “I mean, you bet we knew from the beginning that you were special. You can’t have a tail like that and not be special. But so soon?”
“I need you to believe in me and support me as Squirrel Girl.” Doreen took their hands and smiled. “But, like, right this second, so I can save Davey and his kin.”
Maureen and Dor looked at each other, sighed simultaneously and went in for a family-of-three hug.
“Okay, go ahead,” said Dor. “Save the day.”
“But keep Doreen safe,” said Maureen. “I want you to have your private life, a normal life.”
Doreen tied her bear-eared hoodie around her waist. She smiled, her long front teeth exposed. “I was never gonna be normal, Mom. But I was always gonna be Squirrel Girl.”
And she ran, just a tiny bit faster than humanly possible. It was daylight, after all, and she wasn’t Squirrel Girl right now. She was Doreen Green, on the scene
, in a hurry like any normal teen.
She took the Santinos’ front steps three at a time (rather than leaping up the whole set) and just kept herself from knocking hard enough to split the front door.
It opened almost immediately.
“Hey, Mrs. Santino! I know I’m early, but I—”
“Doreen!” said Mrs. Santino. Her dark hair, normally pulled back into a smooth bun, was loose and sticking out like a wild, slightly crunchy lion’s mane. “Have you seen Dante? HAVE YOU?”
“Have I seen Dante? Like, today? No. I just got here—”
Mrs. Santino’s hands were shaking. “We were in the park. He was chasing after some squirrels. Lately he’s been so fascinated by squirrels.”
“Oh no…”
“I looked away for just a moment, I swear. When I looked back, he was gone! But I saw…something. Out of the corner of my eye. Not a person. Something crawling.”
“Was it made of metal?”
“Silver! Yes, I think it was silver! I searched the entire park over and over, even though I know he didn’t wander off. He was taken! The police are searching now, they told me to wait at home. But I don’t think they believe me that a silver crawling thing kidnapped my baby!”
Now Mrs. Santino was gripping Doreen’s arms so hard she’d probably bruise a normal girl. Her eyes were wide, wet, and fixed on Doreen, pleading…something. Perhaps Mrs. Santino didn’t know it, but she needed Doreen to be a hero. She needed her to save her day.
“I believe you,” said Doreen.
Mrs. Santino nodded.
“Stay here and wait for the police. I’ll go look around for Dante, okay?”
Mrs. Santino nodded again. But she wouldn’t let go.
Doreen’s stomach was so tense it felt like a walnut in there, hard and small and tight. In her mind, she measured how much lower Davey Porkpun was than before, how much closer to those insane snapping metal jaws.124
So she called her mom.125
“Can you come sit with Mrs. Santino?” she said. “I think she needs to not be alone.”
Doreen left. She ducked into the neighbor’s shrubs. Up went the hoodie. Out came the tail. If the Micro-Manager had stolen Dante Santino, the most adorable baby in the world, he was indeed going downtown without a bus pass. He was going to pay, and nothing was on sale. And no matter how gross it was, she was going to wipe the floor with that dirty bum.
But most of all…she checked her utility belt. She was, in fact, all out of nuts.
It was time to kick butts.
SQUIRREL GIRL
Squirrel Girl jumped onto a nearby roof.
“Come on, friends,” said Squirrel Girl. “Let’s scamper!”
Leaping from rooftop to rooftop, she made her way closer to the river. The squirrels within range of her voice followed the girl with the giant tail. There were dozens of them. Then a hundred. Then more. Brown, gray, red, and black, they raced behind her, leaping in unison, seeming to flow behind her like a tremendous sweeping squirrel tail.
She hopped down and ran on the ground. They couldn’t keep up with her running speed, so they jumped aboard the Squirrel Girl Express. Squirrels crawled up her, held on to her legs, rode atop her arms and head. Their little claws dug in to keep from falling. People pointed and shouted.
“Look! It’s her!”
“It’s Squirrel Girl!”
“Is she a hero? Or a villain?”
“Are you sure that’s her? She’s so hairy.”
“That’s not hair. That’s squirrels! She’s covered in squirrels!”
“Why, she’s no girl at all! She’s just a fuzzy conglomerate of rodents!”
At first she waved at the people, but the two squirrels sitting on her hand almost fell off, so after that she just focused on running. Through the neighborhood toward the river, where the air smelled like water and oil.126
She was just a couple of blocks away when she detected a change in the chittering of squirrels.
A message was being relayed from Tippy through the squirrel network. Tippy-Toe had discovered the Micro-Manager’s lair. The old Fly By Knight warehouse, dark, covered with graffiti, and seemingly abandoned.
Typical. Evildoers loved a nice, large, secluded warehouse even more than a solid laser gun.
Even more squirrels were waiting with Tippy-Toe in the warehouse’s shadow. Just tree squirrels, though. Big Daddy Spud’s ground squirrels apparently hadn’t forgiven Squirrel Girl for her mistakes in the robot-spider fight. The reminder gave her a pang in her chest, and she seemed to smell again the singed fur of the squirrel younglings.
The squirrel passengers leaped off Squirrel Girl. She texted Ana Sofía the exact location, then held out her hand. Tippy-Toe leaped up onto it.
Squirrel Girl took a deep breath. Some part of her, a center, a core, still felt off-balance. Her heart still hurt. Her tail felt cramped, even though it was free.
“Who am I, Tip?” she whispered.
Tippy-Toe perched on her shoulder, put her tiny paws on Squirrel Girl’s cheeks, and looked into her eyes. “Ckktkkt.” You are Doreen Green, age fourteen, over five feet tall and not an inch mean. You are also Squirrel Girl—Super Hero, with both powers of squirrel and powers of girl. And you are my friend.
Tippy-Toe caught Squirrel Girl’s tear on her little claw. She rubbed her front paws with it and used it to press the fur on her head into a damp Mohawk. She adjusted her pink bow, bared her teeth, and made a dangerously fierce expression.
“Kkt.”
“Right on.” She lifted her fist. Tippy-Toe knocked Squirrel Girl’s middle knuckle with her own tiny squirrel fist. “What do you think, Tip?” she asked, checking the time on her phone. Davey had perhaps three minutes left. “Sneak attack or full-on assault?”
“Chetty-chik.”
“You’re right, the Micro-Manager must know we’re here. He’s expecting us. No use sneaking.” She turned to face the gathered squirrels, standing tall, fists on hips, tail swooping impressively behind her. “Chuk chetty chik!” she said.
The squirrels stopped chittering and looked at her with their glittering black eyes.
“In that building is a great big jerk,” Squirrel Girl declared. “He’s the one who built the squirrel traps. He’s the one who made the dogs go cuckoo and tried to gas the neighborhood. And now he has some of our own clan—and maybe even our favorite baby, Dante.” The squirrels gasped. “I know. I won’t ask you to risk your lives in there for me or any squirrel or human. But I know you will anyway, and not just for your own clan, but for truth, justice, and the squirrel way. Come on, furry warriors!”
Squirrel Girl marched up to the single metal door leading to the interior of the warehouse. She drew back her foot but before she gave it a kick, she decided to try the door handle. It was unlocked.
“That’s helpful,” she said, walking into the darkness of the warehouse followed by a stream of furry friends. “He left the door open for us. Maybe he isn’t that bad after all.”
There was an electric hum and the door slammed shut behind them, narrowly missing Puffin Furslide, who jumped just in time to save his tail.
“Or maybe he is,” Squirrel Girl said.
She tried the door, but it had bolted shut. She was trapped in a dark warehouse. Goose bumps rose across her arms; the hairs on her tail stood up.
A light snapped on, shining like a spotlight on a balcony mounted high on the far wall. There stood Mike Romanger.
So it was Mike! That Rocket was clearly an intelligent, trustworthy individual.
“Hey, Mike—” Squirrel Girl said, quickly adding “-ro-Manager.” Doreen might be on a first-name basis with Mike, but Squirrel Girl wasn’t.
“Hello, Squirrel Girl,” the Micro-Manager sneered. He was speaking softly, but his voice was loud, simultaneously broadcast from a hundred tiny speakers. “It is impressive how you’ve dealt with my minions. You are a truly powerful opponent. But the Micro-Manager exists in a realm beyond your definitions of power.”
He spoke as if he was auditioning for a play, or reading a poem he’d written in English class.
“Huh,” Squirrel Girl said, looking around the space. No sign of Dante. Maybe Mrs. Santino had been wrong? “Where’s Davey Porkpun?”
“Don’t try to distract me with nonsense,” the Micro-Manager said. “It won’t work.”
“The squirrel,” she said. “From the video? Or am I in the wrong warehouse?”
“Ah, yes,” he said. “The bait.” He tapped at a tablet computer strapped to his forearm.
Another light flickered on, illuminating Davey Porkpun dangling from a metal claw by his tail. Directly below him was something that looked like a cross between a bear trap and a hungry hippo. It was a toaster-oven—size metal-toothed chompy thing, and it was facing up, as if ready to chomp whatever fell into its mouth. A mouth which, despite the video she’d seen, wasn’t chomping at the moment. Squirrel Girl glanced at Tippy-Toe and gave her tail a twitch. It was what Tippy herself did just before doing something particularly sneaky, and Squirrel Girl hoped she got the message. Tippy nodded and backed into the darkness.
“Hey, Micro-Manager,” Squirrel Girl shouted, “what do you call that toaster-oven—size metal-toothed chompy thing? Because I’m calling it a toaster-oven—size metal-toothed chompy thing in my head, and that phrase is taking up too much of my brain space. You must have a name that you use for it.”
“It is,” he said, pausing for dramatic effect, “the gnashmouth!”
He pushed a button on his tablet and the gnashmouth began chomping with loud, angry clicks.
“Isn’t that a band?” Squirrel Girl shouted over the noise of metal clashing against metal.
“What?” the Micro-Manager shouted back.
“Gnashmouth. Isn’t that a band?”
“WHAT?”
“I said,” Squirrel Girl shouted again, “isn’t that—?”