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By the time Jenny Wakeman decided to enter the Tremorton High Talent Show, all the contestants except one had already bowed out. The one remaining participant was Epiphany Crust, who was universally acknowledged as the most talented songstress in Tremorton High School history. Rumor had it that what had once been a contest was now to become another of Piff’s concerts. 

But hallway gossip promised a more spectacular event than Piff’s daily lunchtime sets. Students were anticipating a performance with an elaborate light show designed by Tiff and choreography overseen by Brit. Members of the pep squad were expected to serve as backup dancers. And at the end of it all, Epiphany would be crowned “Most Talented” with an actual crown created by her most ardent and artistic followers, now calling themselves “Phanactics.”

The whole thing made Jenny wish she could throw up. She had various vents to void her system of hostile foreign matter, but none of her mechanical outlets demonstrated revulsion with the same flair as good old-fashioned human vomiting. But it was better for Jenny to mask her disdain and hide her plans for turning the coronation back into a contest.

Maybe Tuck had been on the right track when he’d suggested that Jenny’s superhero skills could outshine Piff’s singing. But if Jenny was going to beat Epiphany she would need something new. Something flashy. Something that was sure to dazzle her classmates and win the judges’ votes. She needed the help of her mom.

“Absolutely not, XJ9,” trilled Dr. Wakeman when Jenny broached the subject that night. “You’re provided new equipment only when necessary to combat new threats. You want to impress your fellow teens? Tell them some good knock-knock jokes or learn how to rhumba.”

Jenny was perplexed. “You think I’m going to win the talent show with my vacuum attachment?”

Wakeman shook her head “Not Roomba. Rhumba. It’s a dance.” She started to rhumba around the room.

Jenny turned off her ocular sensors. “Ugh. Please stop.”

“I’d better,” said Wakeman. “Feels like I might’ve tweaked my gluteus maximus. Anyway, why do you need something new?” She gestured at Jenny. “I thought your ‘gunk’ style chassis had won you some converts.”

“It’s called ‘goth/punk,’ Mother. Not ‘gunk.’ And it’s already fallen out of fashion.”

“Oh thank Einstein!” Wakeman grabbed an electric buffer and switched it on. “Will you let me restore your exterior to its standard appearance then?”

Jenny eluded the buffer’s reach. “Only if you give me some new gear to use in the talent show.”

The deal was sealed. That night they stayed up late brainstorming. Dr. Wakeman spent the next day drawing up blueprints for the final design, and fabrication lasted for another week. The talent show was fast approaching, but it looked like Jenny’s new transformation would be operational just in time. The final round of testing went off without a hitch. Then mother and daughter deadlocked on the proper fuel for the new apparatus.

“Canola oil is cheap, plentiful, and clean burning,” insisted Dr. Wakeman.

“But pros like the Silver Wings use Canopus 13. It’s got a flashier effect,” said Jenny as she searched through her mom’s cache of chemicals. “I know I saw some in here…”

Wakeman dragged her daughter across the lab and out the door. “Canopus 13 is volatile. You’re going to get a smoother burn with simple canola oil.”

“Okay.” Jenny hung her head in apparent surrender. But later that night she snuck back into the lab and nabbed a liter of Canopus 13. “I’m going to need the extra pizzazz if I’m going to outdo Piff.” 

But Epiphany Crust would not be outdone. 

Jenny Wakeman would be undone.