In the living room, Miranda found a few blood splatters, a bullet-ridden briefcase with manacle attached, a bright yellow hooded rain slicker, and a matching umbrella. 

     Dad’s home. 

She gathered up the umbrella and slicker and took them into the foyer, hanging them on wall hooks to drip dry.  She then followed wounded animal sounds to the kitchen.  Drinking from a bottle of Jack Daniels, her father occupied a chair, his shirt in tatters around his waist.  Mom was slapping on antiseptic and bandages, a sour expression on her face.  One of her dinner plates held a couple bloody bullets and tweezers. 

Must have been a hard day at the office.  Good thing Mom’s a world famous surgeon.

     “Dozens of high tech gizmos and gadgets, and you still come home hurt.  I thought you were a good spy,” Mom said.

     “Any spy not dead is a good spy,” Dad rumbled back.  “Ahhh!  Easy there!  I have contusions.”

     Mom rolled her eyes.  “Men!  Get a few bullets in you and you scream like little girls.”

     Miranda cleared her throat to interrupt the domestic bliss.  Her dad swiveled his face her way, and smiled lopsidedly.  “Oh, hi, Pumpkin.  Hey, you’re all dolled up.  Going somewhere?”

     “Gonna catch the light rail down to the K street mall, and hook up with my friends.”  Teenagers just wanna have fun.

     “It’s raining pooh bears and tiggers out there,” Dad warned.  “Better get a poncho and umbrella.”

     “And while you’re out, eat something healthy,” Mom said.  “Stay away from junk food.”

     “Sure.”  As if.  “Bye!”  Miranda returned to the entryway, her purse dangling from a shoulder strap.  She slid a bright pink poncho over her clothing and hunted about for her umbrella.  It wasn’t in the stand or on a hook.  A vague recollection drifted through her mind; she remembered having taken it to her room after its last use.  Considering the exorbitant clutter of her personal environs, she knew there was no way she’d ever find it in under an hour. 

     Her gaze fell on her father’s umbrella.  I’m his only child.  Dad won’t mind.  Besides, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt me.  She took it off the peg and headed out onto the porch.  She unsnapped the binding strap and examined the handle.  There were a number of color-coded studs.  She tried the blue one.  Nothing.  Depressing the yellow caused the shaft to extend and the umbrella to pop open.  Perfect. 

Curiosity nagged at her.  She hadn’t tried two of the studs, the red and green, but since this was her Dad’s umbrella, she knew experimentation could be dangerous.  Heading over to the light rail station, she distracted herself, contemplating the shopping that lay ahead. 

Under cover, Miranda collapsed her umbrella and bought a ticket from a machine that greedily swallowed the last cash in her pockets.  She took a seat, and minutes later, the train came whizzing along, screeching to a stop.  She climbed aboard and joined several passengers heading toward downtown Sacramento.  The train lurched into motion, jostling her seat. 

Six stops later, she reached Cathedral Square and disembarked, joining a light crowd.  The rain had slacked off, but could resume at any time so she kept the umbrella in hand.  Passing several storefronts, she let her eyes wander.  A lot of people didn’t like the winter rains, but she did.  Makes me feel alive and with any luck, the rain will keep the panhandlers at bay.  Oops, spoke too soon. 

     A man lurched out from under an awning.  He was scary-big, wearing a green army jacket, sporting a matted beard and the aroma of too many months without a bath.  He really ought to stand out in the rain when it kicks in again, she decided.  It will do him some good.  I’ll even spring for a bar of soap. 

     “Ya got some change?” he asked.  “I can sure use a beer.”

     She made it a point to carry very little cash, preferring plastic.  “Sorry, no.”  She tried to move on, but the man dodged into her path. 

“C’mon,” he said.  Ain’t cha got a spare dollar, or two?”   Tell ya what, I’ll go away for five.”

     She knew better.  She’d heard about aggressive panhandlers before.  Stand there and open your wallet, and the next thing you know, you’re menaced out of everything you have.  It had happened to one of her friends.  She cast a nervous glance around.  There weren’t many people close by, and most of those were studiously looking away, trying not to get involved.

     She remembered the training she’d received in a self-defense course.  Don’t act like a victim.  Be firm.  Use a commanding voice while reaching for pepper spray.  Crap!  She hadn’t brought her pepper spray!  “Stop right there!” she ordered, edging away while keeping her eyes on him.

     “Awwww, c’mon, lil girl” he reached for her arm.  “Just a lousy dollar…”

     The umbrella picked that moment to begin speaking in a high-pitched synthetic voice.  “Vocal stress levels have become unacceptable.  Initiating auto-defense sequence.”  The umbrella vanes snapped open, fanning fabric as the shaft extended.  The vagrant stopped dead in his tracks, starring in a bug-eyed wonder. 

     Miranda was suddenly shaken by the conviction that if she were to try the blue stud now, something terribly incredibly violent would probably occur.  She kept her fingers still, not wanting to find out for sure.  Thankfully, the panhandler retreated.  She carefully folded the umbrella and compressed the shaft again until it locked into place.  The thing spoke again.  “Auto-defense mode deactivating.  Returning to yellow alert.”

     Perhaps taking Dad’s umbrella without asking wasn’t the brightest thing I’ve ever done.  Still, as long as I’m here, I might as well finish my shopping.  She pushed on toward the Plaza Mall.  The giant guitar outside the hard Rock Café beckoned with its bright red cheer.  She saw her friends waiting for her there, across the crosswalk. 

     After the light changed, she hurried over, pushing back the hood of her poncho.  Suzi squealed, and bounced happily in place as Miranda arrived.  Tanya simply grinned a greeting, offering her a quick hug.  Her friends were a study in contrasts, fire and ice, energy and reserve.  Miranda filled the middle ground between them, the center that held the friendship together. 

     “So what’s the plan?” Tanya asked.  The Picture Store for killer anime, or maybe Bwanna Republic for accessories?”

     “The Pretzel Shoppe!” Suzi suggested.  “Something with lots and lots of nacho cheese!”

     “How about Sushi Safari instead?” Miranda asked.  “I need to build up my strength for shopping.”

     “Sure,” Tanya said.

     “But I want a pretzel,” Suzi wailed.

     Tanya turned on her.  “I’ll get you one--later.”

“With lots and lots of…”

“Yes!  With lots and lots of nacho cheese.”

     “Then it’s settled.  Lets go, guys.”  Miranda began to move deeper into the mall.  “I have plastic to burn, and time to kill before it kills me!”

     A short time later, Miranda confronted assorted sushi on a bed of shredded lettuce next to a side of rice.  She sipped diet cherry cola as her friends sat down.  Playing it conservative, Tanya went with a California tuna roll.  More daring, Suzi attacked white lumps, the remnant of once-wiggly appendages.  Calamari--squid in laymen terms.  Miranda had tried it once.  The experience was similar to eating pieces of a tire.

     Across the great circular courtyard, rushing by through a maze of tables and chairs, she saw the panhandler from before.  Holding a tray of samples, he seemed to be in the midst of outracing pursuit from a gangly teenager in a white apron and paper hat.  The kid was screaming with a breaking voice.  “Come back with those!  You can’t have them all!”

     The homeless dude hurtled closer.  “Leave me alone!  You said they were free.”

     “Gawd, no!” Miranda said.  “Not him again.”

     At her table, the umbrella reacted to her excited tone.  “Initiating auto-defense sequence.”  The thing popped open.  Reflexively, Miranda grabbed the handle, as if she were restraining a small dog.  A sick, sinking feeling went through her as her finger accidentally stabbed the blue button.  “GAWD NO!  WHAT HAVE I DONE?”

     The open umbrella spoke once more.  “Initiating molecular energy polarization.”  A yellow blur, it shot out of her hand at mach speed, striking the panhandler, slamming into his ribs.  He spun and crashed onto a table before sliding to the floor. 

     Suzi stared in bug-eyed wonder as pretzels pieces flew wildly.  Several of them landed on her plate.  “Cool!”

Tanya’s jaw dropped in amazement.  Then she turned to Miranda.  “You go, girl!”

Embarrassed, Miranda pulled her pink hood over her head as she went to reclaim the umbrella.  She stood with it in hand as the teenager got there, snatching up his tray from the floor. 

“Thanks,” he said.  “Maybe I can get you some free coupons from my boss.  Good deeds should be rewarded.”

“That’s not necessary, really.  Please, just forget I was ever here.”

”But what’s your name?” he asked.

Her friends caught up to her, bracing her to either side.  “Don’t ask,” Suzi said. 

“Her secret identity must be safeguarded at all costs,” Tanya teased.

“Whose secret identity?” the panhandler muttered from the floor.

Suzi took a step toward him.  “You were pummeled by the righteous wrath of Umbrella Girl, and don’t you forget it!”

“Umbrella Girl,” the pretzel guy nearly whispered the name in reverence.  “You wouldn’t want to go out some time, would you?”

“Uh, sorry.  I’m usually kept too busy with my…uh…crime-fighting patrols.  Speaking of which, I gotta go.  The security guards are coming.”

She ran off, snagging her dinner in passing, heading for the back exit of the Mall.  Outside with her friends, Miranda breathed a sigh of relief.  The rain began again but she refused to open the umbrella.  “That’s it.  I’m done.  I’m going home.  Next time out, I’ll use my own rain gear.”

At the breakfast table, she mangled her fried egg, herding it across the plate with a piece of toast as her Dad read the paper.  Mom was at the stove, fixing him a plate. 

“Interesting story here,” he said.  “Seems there was trouble at the Mall last night.  A vigilante hero apprehended a pretzel thief.  Did you happen to see it go down?”

Miranda looked up.  “Well, uh…”

“There’s a picture on the front page.”  There was a steel-hard quality to his stare.  “Umbrella Girl got her self photographed by someone with a fancy cell phone.”

Mom came to the table with a couple plates, and joined the discussion.  “Umbrella Girl?  What a name.”

“Well,” Dad said, “she was a girl with an umbrella.  What do you expect from the media?”

Miranda’s voice wavered.  “Is it a…good…picture?”

“Yes,” Dad said.  “You can’t make out her face.”

She sighed.  It felt like she’d just been offered a reprieve on death row. 

Mom looked at the photo.  “That’s funny.”  She turned to Miranda.  “Don’t you have a pink poncho just like that?”

“Alright!  Alright!  I confess, it was me.  I’m sorry!”

Dad suddenly grinned, setting the paper aside.  “That’s my girl!”

Mom’s voice grew stern.  “Just don’t let this new hobby interfere with your school work.” 

Miranda dropped her toast.  “As if!”