17

---

The soft orange glow of a solitary lamp spills its warmth over the room, bathing Kate’s living room in a gentle embrace. It’s an older model, its shade faded and its base a little wobbly, but it does its job, providing a comforting, muted illumination. The lamp sits on a wooden side table, worn down from years of use, and flanks the side of a weathered futon. The seat dips in the center, showing its age, but it’s the kind of old that’s been lived in and loved.

A once-bright carpet stretches across the floor, its fibers having long lost their luster, now bearing a more muted palette. But what the room lacks in modern decor, it more than makes up for with character. Each corner tells a story. Vintage movie posters, their colors vibrant against the faded wallpaper, dot the walls — proud reminders of weekends past, when Kate and her dad would lose themselves in black and white classics.

There’s a creaking sound from the nearby hallway, signaling the approach of Kate’s father. He’s a tall figure, with salt-and-vanilla strands interweaving through his scalp, slightly tousled — likely from countless runs through his fingers during a taxing shift. His beard is thick, more white than blonde now, framing a rugged face that has seen years of labor, laughter, and tears. Even still, his eyes twinkle when he sees us – his daughter’s chosen family.

He strolls in from the kitchenette, cradling an old plastic cooler, scuffed with age, lifting it like it was a feather. He sets the cooler down on the coffee table, its wood scarred with rings from years of forgotten coasters, and pops it open to reveal acres of iced soda cans.

He clears his throat, pulling our attention. “Ah, Sam,” he nods at me, his voice filled with the warmth of recognition. There’s a familiarity there, a bond formed over countless visits and shared memories. “And the rest of the young crew,” he chuckles, eyes flitting to each face in turn. “Help yourselves, kiddos,” he offers, motioning to the sodas with a sweeping gesture. His voice, though slightly strained from fatigue, carries an unmistakable note of contentment. “And in the meanwhile, I’ll be helping myself outside.” He says, pulling a cigarette from his pocket, carrying it between his fingers.

Kate, watching her father, has that look in her eyes — a mix of pride and slight embarrassment that only teens can master when their parents are in the spotlight. She rolls her eyes playfully. “Dad, you act like they’ve never been here before.”

He chuckles, “When you’re a dad, you’ll understand.”

That gets a sympathetic chuckle out of me, too. Kate rolls her eyes, sticking her tongue out playfully and blowing a raspberry at him, while he retreats to the front porch to get a smoke in. I’m glad that he does it outside – I don’t like that he does it, but he’s not my dad, and at least he doesn’t make the place smell like cigarette smoke.

As we settle in, the atmosphere of Kate’s living room immediately wraps around us. Despite its somewhat worn-down look, this place – the closest house to everyone else among the six of us – carries a lot of memories. Marcus scoops up a cushion from Kate’s faded couch and wedges it behind him, adjusting for maximum comfort. I peek over his shoulder and see him engrossed in something on his phone. His fingers tap away with a knowing smirk, probably responding to some debate and about to win it, too.

Lilly is dressed today in a vibrant ensemble that somehow combines at least three different patterns – today it looks like polka dots, stripes, and florals – defying all laws of outfit construction and somehow getting away with it. She sways gently, her fingers drumming an accompanying beat on her thigh while she listens to music on big, old, chunky headphones, clasped over her ears.

Jenna, sketchbook in hand, doodles away, engrossed in her world of lines and shades. Occasionally, she nudges Tasha, sitting right next to her with a focused look, muttering to either herself or Jenna. Tasha leans over to look at Jenna’s latest masterpiece, her brows furrowing in mock contemplation.

And Kate? She’s sprawled out comfortably on the other end of the couch, one leg thrown over the armrest, her head resting against a pile of mismatched cushions. Her domain, her castle. Despite the hardships she faces, this place is her sanctuary, and today she’s the queen overseeing her loyal court.

The unmistakable aroma of fresh pizza wafts in, snapping everyone back to the present. Boxes upon boxes arrive, stacked precariously atop each other. The group springs into action, diving into pockets and bags, tossing in a chaotic mix of crumpled bills and shiny coins, hoping it’ll be enough to cover the feast. Thankfully, we have enough to both pay the pizza deliver boy and give him 20% tip.

As we munch, there’s that familiar, comforting rhythm of laughter, of stories exchanged, gossip whispered, and playful banter thrown across the room. I find myself getting lost in it, letting the voices wash over me like a soothing balm, offering a brief respite from my own unquiet thoughts. I don’t have an interesting talent or personality trait I can indulge here, in the indoors, except being a superhero. I don’t think Kate’s dad would let me do soccer drills indoors, anyway.

Lilly disrupts the brief period of stillness that enveloped us. Mouth stuffed with a gooey slice of blister-inducing cheese pizza, she turns to me, her voice distorted by the delightful mess she’s chomping on into a violent mass of sound. “Hey, Sam,” she begins, cheese stringing from her lip to the slice, “Have you ever thought about getting a cape? Or maybe, I dunno, some sleek armor? Oh! Or those really cool gloves superheroes always wear in movies?”

I have yet to tell them that I have a name, and a costume, and a team. They’re all my age.

My parents need to know. My friends do not.

Marcus rolls his eyes, already preparing his retort. Unlike Lilly, he chews, and then swallows, and then speaks. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. “Seriously? Capes are so first decade. Did you not read ‘The Dynamics of Costume Aerodynamics’ article I shared last week?” He brandishes his phone towards her with an exaggerated flourish, mockingly, like he’s presenting a sacred text, or about to skewer her with a fencing sword, whatever those are called.

The room, which had been filled with the typical buzz of teenage chatter, comes to a pause. It feels like every pair of eyes are now fixed on me.

Shifting uncomfortably, I shrug. “I mean, not everyone needs a cape, right? They seem… impractical? Remember that scene in The Incredibles? ‘No capes!’”

Lilly’s eyes gleam with mischief. She sticks her tongue out childishly. “I have not watched a twenty year old movie, Sam.”

“It’s a good movie! Pixar is a good company!” I protest.

“I don’t think there’s such thing as a ‘good company’.” Kate retorts.

Tasha, who always has a way of grounding our wildest ideas, adjusts her glasses. Their frames catch the dim glow of her laptop, lending her an intense, focused look. “Kids, back on track. Let’s prioritize function over style here, Lilly. Realistically, if Sam’s taking this superhero thing to the streets, she’s going to need protection. Think durable, protective gear. Forget capes, what she needs is a solid pair of combat boots and maybe some kind of body armor. Where can we get Kevlar?”

Jenna, her eyes wide with enthusiasm, pushes her sketchbook towards me. “Really, have a look! There’s one design I made after watching this old anime. It’s perfect for stealth and has a cool, dark vibe. Totally badass.”

“I don’t think they sell Kevlar to children.” Kate shoots down.

I lean in, examining the sketches, trying to keep the smile off my face. “Wow, this is… detailed. And you even added a utility belt. What am I gonna use that for? All I can do is smell when people are on their periods.”

Jenna chuckles, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Uh… In one pocket, there is the cure for menopause. In the other, a knife.”

Kate, her arms folded, tilts her head to the side, examining the sketches critically. “That all looks chunky. Might want something more lightweight than that. Sam isn’t exactly a weightlifting powerhouse.”

“Hey!” I shout, punching Kate in the shoulder, non-seriously, of course.

Lilly, dancing around the room with a playful swagger, mimics a superhero pose, fist out. “And we’ll put the glitter launcher right here!”

I laugh, a genuine, full-hearted laugh. “Sparkles, Lilly? Really?”

Lilly winks, her finger pointed like a gun. “I think it’s a better idea than covering you in knives and kevlar!”

Marcus interjects with a smirk, “And I suppose you’re suggesting sequins and glitter bombs as weapons?”

Lilly narrows her eyes, pretending to be offended. “Can you just imagine how embarassing it’d be to be a criminal about to get arrested but you’ve got glitter everywhere?”

Tasha, rolling her eyes but clearly amused, chimes in, “Yes, covered in glitter and unable to rob a bank because they’re too busy trying to get it out of their boxers.”

Jenna, her excitement palpable, flips to another page in her sketchbook. “But seriously, Sam, check out this cloak design. I was watching some Victorian stuff with my baba and it just hit me. Think of it, swooping into a scene, cloak billowing behind. It’s so romantic!”

I raise an eyebrow, chuckling. “Dramatic entrances aside, how practical is a cloak in a fight?”

Tasha, the ever-practical one, nods in agreement. “It could get caught on something, or someone could use it to restrain you.”

Marcus, tapping his fingers on the coffee table, offers, “But it could also serve as a distraction, a tool. What if it’s detachable? Then you solve the cape issue and you have a convenient restraint device all in one.”

Jenna nods vigorously. “Exactly! It’s all about the element of surprise. It increases the size of your silhouette and makes it harder to determine where your torso and chest are. You know. If someone gets a gun. I thought this more through than you’d think!”

Lilly and Tasha both glance at each other.

Kate sighs, rubbing her temples. “I still say you should stick with something more functional than fancy. We don’t need more drama.”

Marcus gives her a playful nudge. “Speak for yourself! I’m all about the drama.”

---

Lilly looks me up and down with skepticism and mischief in her eyes. “So, let me get this straight,” she says, her voice laced with barely contained excitement, “on top of having those badass shark teeth, you’re also telling us that you heal like Wolverine?”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “Like on Animal Planet?” I ask, confused. I shift uncomfortably under her intense gaze.

Before I can dive deeper into the gory details, Marcus, ever the walking encyclopedia, chimes in, a smirk on his face. “From comics. Wolverine is a member of the X-Men, who has a metal skeleton and is basically impossible to kill because he regenerates from everything. They call it a ‘healing factor’.” Marcus encyclopedizes for us. Encyclopediaizes. This is a word.

I raise an eyebrow at Marcus. “Thanks for the pop culture lesson,” I reply dryly. “But, yeah, I guess. I heal super fast. Like, insanely, unbelievably fast. I mean, imagine getting disemboweled–” I begin, my voice growing more animated.

“Okay, okay, we get it,” Jenna interjects, looking a bit green as she clutches her stomach. Beside her, Lilly shudders visibly. My smirk widens, and I can’t resist showing off my numerous sharp teeth in a mock-threatening grin.

Tasha, with her hair neatly pulled back and her ever-practical demeanor, pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing. “Normally, Sam,” she starts, her tone dripping with the weight of responsibility, “when someone suffers the injuries you described, it takes… I don’t know, forever? It’s a miracle to heal, and then there’s a ton of physical therapy and stuff.” She throws her hands in the air dramatically. “And you broke your ankle like a week or two ago and it’s just fine now?”

I nod enthusiastically, my grin never fading. “Completely fine. I was really worried that it was going to heal crooked or whatever, but the same superpower I guess makes my bones just magically set right?”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Tasha contests.

“Neither does having shark teeth,” I fire back.

“Fair,” She concedes.

Jenna, her eyes shining with a mixture of awe and mischief, smirks and tilts her head, the corner of her lips curling up. Tapping her chin thoughtfully with the end of her pen, she says, “So I guess no superhero costume with a mask for you then? It’d be a real crime to hide those impressive teeth of yours.”

“Speaking of teeth,” I say, ducking the question, “the doctors found something really weird. Check this out.” I announce, pulling out the vial of teeth from my overnight bag, displaying them with a flourish. With a smug little smirk, I place them down on the futon’s mattress, enjoying the wide-eyed attention from everyone in the room. It’s like I’ve thrown down a winning card in Uno.

Kate leans forward, squinting at the vial before glancing up with a shrug. “You shed teeth all the time. That’s not weird.” She mutters, sitting closer to me, her elbow propped on her knee.

Everyone looks at her.

Kate’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink as she realizes her gaffe. “I mean, like, for you specifically, that’s not weird.”

I chuckle, feeling the anxiety melt away. “No, that’s not the weird part. They didn’t get these from my mouth. They got them from my bones.” I say, causing everyone to stop what they’re doing. “They were, like, embedded inside me. I got to see the x-ray and everything. It was gnarly.”

Marcus, who had been typing away furiously on his laptop, looks up, hands paused mid-keystroke. “Woah, that’s next-level creepy.”

Lilly, with a face of disgust, chirps in, “Horror movie!”

Everyone shares their own variation of disbelief, a mix of gasps, grimaces, and gags. But Tasha, ever the analyst, leans forward, glasses slightly askew, her brows knit in curiosity. “That’s intriguing. It might suggest your powers are evolving or… or that they have layers we’ve yet to understand.”

“Like an onion?” Jenna muses.

I roll my eyes, “Sure. A really gross, teeth-y onion.”

“Or a parfait,” Lilly chimes in.

“A what?” I ask.

“It’s a… never mind,” she slumps, visibly deflated.

Marcus, still engrossed in his laptop but now clearly engaged in the conversation, chips in. “Sharks have a unique teeth setup, you know. They have several rows of teeth. When one falls out, the next in line moves up to replace it. Could it be a similar mechanism happening with you, Sam?”

Lilly, always the performer, leaps up from the floor with a dramatic gasp. “Hold on, hold on! Maybe you’re not just Shark Girl! Maybe you’re evolving into… Skeleton Shark or… Bone Bite!” She gives a little dance, her fingers wiggling in front of her face trying to emulate something eerie. “The Chompster!”

Tasha, rolling her eyes at Lilly’s antics but smiling all the same, shakes her head. “Marcus, that’s not exactly right. Shark’s multiple teeth rows are in their gums, not their bones. Also, are we even sure they’re teeth? Not to out-geek you here, but sharks have scutes. Maybe Sam’s growing scutes.” Her eyes gleam with the nerdy excitement that only Tasha can muster about things like shark anatomy. She picks up the vial and rattles it around a little bit. “The thought of Sam growing scutes? That’s kind of fascinating.”

Kate, leaning back and trying to suppress her laughter, throws in, “Isn’t a scute what a car does? You know, scoot scoot!” She emphasizes with a little driving motion, making engine noises, honking a mimed horn.

Jenna giggles, “Or maybe Sam’s just really into the tooth fairy?”

Marcus, lost behind the glow of his laptop, takes a moment to process before he pushes his glasses up his nose. “Actually, Tasha,” he starts with a smirk that suggests he’s been waiting for an opportunity like this, “going to have to one-up you here. Those things on a shark? They’re called… denticles. Scutes are on turtles, not sharks.”

Tasha’s entire body deflates.

Kate, unable to resist poking fun, slaps her knee, a smirk forming on her lips. “Dentacles? I thought we were talking about sharks, not octopuses.”

“Octopi.” Lilly corrects her.

“Octopodes, technically.” Tasha corrects her.

“English is a fake language that is not real.” Jenna quotes, and everyone nods in agreement.

Mirroring an internet video we’ve all seen too many times, everyone stares at the ceiling, spreads their arms in a T-pose, and intones in a low, booming voice; “Postmodernism.”

I raise my arms defensively, rolling my eyes in exasperation. “Come on, you guys. Let’s not get all dramatic about this. I promise I’m not turning into some weird shark monster. No denticles, no scutes, definitely no scales. It’s just… teeth. Bizarre, growing-inside-my-bones kind of teeth.” Taking a second to replay what I just said in my mind, I grimace. “I change my mind, I hate that sentence. Please kill me.”

Giggles and chuckles bubble up amidst our group, and I can see the tension starting to break, but Kate is quick to ground us back in reality. She raises an eyebrow at me, her concern evident in her tone. “Look, before we start fantasizing about names and designing flashy costumes, we need to get a clear grasp on your capabilities, Sam. It’s crucial, especially if you’re still hell-bent on this… hero path. Yeah, yeah. We’ve got the teeth, the creepy blood-sniffing thing, and, surprise, healing factor. Is there something else weird we should know about? Do sharks do more weird shit?”

Tasha, who’s always prepared with a wealth of knowledge, glances at me, one eyebrow arching in a way that makes me feel like I’m about to get a lecture. Her fingers dance over her laptop keys. “Well, if you’re going shark route, there’s a lot to consider. For starters, sharks can pick up on electromagnetic fields. They also have a pretty heightened sense of hearing, especially for low-frequency sounds. Think you’ve got any of that?”

“I do not think I can detect electromagnetic fields, or hear low frequency sounds. Maybe if Kate farts,” I joke, and Kate swats me on the shoulder.

Marcus jumps in eagerly. “Oh, and let’s not forget, some sharks, if you flip them on their backs, go into this weird, trance-like state. It’s called tonic immobility.”

Lilly shoots up from her seat with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Okay, someone grab her legs! Time to see if Sam’s got a flip switch!”

I shake my head. “Please do not flip me.”

Before Lilly can protest or make another exaggerated gesture, Kate grabs a stray popcorn kernel and lobs it at her. Lilly catches it with an over-the-top gasp, clutching her chest like she’s been mortally wounded. “Hey! No flipping the superhero,” Kate admonishes with a smirk.

In an attempt to ease the tension, Jenna grabs a piece of popcorn from Kate’s bowl and throws it at her. Kate retaliates, tossing a handful in Jenna’s direction like buckshot. Within seconds, popcorn artillery sears the air in butter-flavored streaks – although, thankfully, they’re not actually covered in any liquid butter. That would suck. Tasha ducks to avoid getting hit, while Marcus, being Marcus, uses his laptop as a makeshift shield.

When the chaos subsides, we collapse into fits of laughter, while I scoop up discarded kernels into a paper towel so I can dump them in the trash. I feel a little bad for wasting food in Kate’s house, but I think it’s worth its entertainment value in cents spent on corn.

Breathing heavily after our impromptu popcorn battle, Jenna looks around and notes, “It’s almost like middle school again. Except for the fact that one of us might be a superhero now. That’s different.”

Lilly rolls her eyes dramatically. “And except for the fact that Sam might be the next big thing since… I don’t know, Aquaman?”

Marcus laughs. “I’d say Wonder Woman, but let’s try to stay a little humble.”

Tasha, ever the planner, grabs a notepad, hoping to get us as far away from additional popcorn battles as possible, while Jenna and Lilly each grab more pizza. “Okay, let’s brainstorm some names. And no,” she glances at Lilly, “not ‘Water Gal’.”

Marcus, eyes glued to his computer screen, excitedly chimes in, “What if we pull from mythology? Like ‘Charybdis’ or ‘Scylla’? Those were badass sea monsters. Or ‘Triton’? God of the sea and all.”

“I think Scylla is already taken. By some lady in Hoboken.” Tasha comments. “A real badass, too, she straight up kills mafia members and stuff like that.”

I cough a little bit into a chuckle. “There’s a mafia in Hoboken?”

“Where’s Hoboken?” Lilly asks.

“New Jersey,” Tasha and I answer in the same breath.

“Then yes.” She says, with an air of quiet finality.

Jenna twirls a pencil in her hair. “True, but she also has that insane regeneration thing. That’s not purely oceanic. It’s like a phoenix rising from its ashes. A rebirth.”

Lilly claps her hands. “Phoenix? That’s dope! You don’t need to emphasize the teeth. Just do the healing stuff.”

Marcus retorts, “That’s taken by an X-Man. Like, the most important one, too.”

“It’s not Wolverine?” I ask.

“I mean, in terms of popularity, yes, it’s probably Wolverine. In terms of plot, no, that’s probably Phoenix,” Marcus answers.

“Extremely arguable,” Lilly chides.

Marcus rolls his eyes at her. “Whatever, nerd.”

---

Jenna leans back against the wall, her worn sneakers stretched out in front of her. The muted light from the table lamp catches the multi-colored specks of paint on her jeans, hue-shifting it all in the orange direction. She lets her fingers dance over the intricate patterns on the carpet beneath her, her mind clearly wandering, even as her eyebrows remain knitted in concentration. Beside her, Lilly sits cross-legged, the constant movement of her foot betraying her restlessness.

Tasha sits upright on the floor, a leather-bound notebook on her lap. Her eyes, hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses, dart between everyone, analyzing, processing, and absorbing everything in real-time. Every once in a while, she scribbles something down, making quick notes.

Kate, who’s claimed a generous portion of the futon, sprawls out with a casual ease, as if she’s in her own living room. Wait. She is. Anyway, her arms fold behind her head in a makeshift pillow, her gaze fixed intently on Marcus’s screen, every muscle coiled in alertness.

“I’m not finding anything massive here, guys,” Marcus sighs, his voice tinged with frustration. His fingers fly over the keyboard, dancing gracefully over his makeshift tech station. Screens, tablets, and devices surround him, each borrowed from a different member of the so called musketeers, each window open to a different forum or website, bathing the dimly lit room in a sea of digital blue. “Mostly just local stuff. Gangs, small-time hooligans, stuff like that.”

Lilly twirls a strand of her hair, leaning forward with a playful smirk. “What, you don’t even keep up with the locals? You’re too metropolitan.”

“I’m startled that you know what that word means,” Tasha replies with mock condescension.

“I don’t!” I volunteer.

“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, what do you mean, Lil?” Marcus asks, leaning into her information, clearly interested now. “There’s a local superhero team?”

“Duh. The Tacony Titans. They beat up street gangs and, like, distribute food and stuff. Really cool! My dad met them once. They gave him some pre-packaged food they got from a grocery store,” Lilly reminisces, a little dreamily. “It was awesome.”

Marcus raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling into a half-smile, clearly impressed. “You’re more informed than I thought.” He clacks away at his NetSphere search bar, clicking through links and webrings, eventually revealing a website that looks like it was designed in the early 2000s – slightly tacky with glaring neon text and a cute animated visitor counter at the bottom. It reads ‘328 visits’. “But see for yourself, they’re hardly A-listers. More like… local celebrities? Celebrities might even be pushing it.”

On the page, under a bold heading ‘The Tacony Titans’, are blurred and pixelated pictures of five figures. “Bubble”, “Compass”, “Weave”, “Sandman”, and “Sundial” – each accompanied by a small fan-made description, most ending with “powers unknown” or “abilities: speculative.”

Jenna snorts, rolling her eyes. “That website looks like something I made in my sixth-grade computer class.”

“You had a computer class? Like, where you made websites?” Lilly asks, leaning into Jenna.

“Yes,” She replies bluntly.

Tasha leans in closer to the screen, squinting, “Looks amateur. I’ve made a better site for my pet centipedes.”

“You have pet centipedes?” Jenna asks, violently recoiling from Tasha.

Tasha waves her away. “Anyway, what sort of a name is ‘Bubble’? Does this guy, presumably, make bubbles? Is that his power? Because I can do that with two dollars and a trip to the Dollar Tree.”

Kate, her brows furrowed as she meticulously scans the screen, mumbles without looking away, “You can make fun all you want, but these rookies are getting more attention than some pros out there. We need every scrap of info about the neighborhood if we’re getting serious about turning Sam into a big time superhero.” She pauses to glower jokingly at Tasha. “You never know, ‘Bubble’ might just trap you in a giant one and float you away.”

I swallow a lump in my throat.

Lilly raises her hand as if she’s in school. “Okay, so, like, do we go say hi? Maybe bring a fruit basket as a peace offering? Don’t we need to find their headquarters or hideout or whatever.”

Tasha leans back, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Slow down, turbo. First, we need a solid plan. And, Sam,” she adds, her gaze intense, her voice softening, “I don’t want to see you getting hurt any more than you already have. No offense, Lilly, but I don’t trust your Dad’s anecdotes with how insane things are getting nowadays.”

Marcus looks at me, his dark eyes searching. He runs a hand through his thick, curly hair, rubbing at his scalp as if hoping to summon forth a great idea. “You know, Sam,” he begins thoughtfully, tapping his foot in that familiar rhythmic way, “ever thought about bringing your ‘talents’ a bit closer to home? Maybe do some good right here, in our own backyard? I bet your blood smell would be good at triage.”

From her corner, Tasha pushes her glasses up her nose, the light catching them just right. The smirk that follows is pure, unadulterated mischief. “You mean like… a superhero, dummy?” She jokes. “We were already talking about that.”

Jenna’s laughter mixes with Tasha’s, her dark eyes twinkling in amusement. Her hands paint an image in the air, like she’s picturing a comic cover. “‘Local teen stops porch thieves’. I mean, we’re not exactly a hotspot for muggings, it’s no Kensington, or, God forbid, Temple.”

“Temple’s bad?” I ask, my face visibly drooping in fear.

“No, but, like, the neighborhood around it is.” Jenna says.

“It’s not bad, it’s Black. Watch yourself. No comment on Kensington.” Tasha says, flicking Jenna on the head hard enough for her to recoil.

“Wow, guys,” I tease, “you’ve really been giving this superhero thing a lot of thought, huh? What’s next? Marketing strategies? Merchandising?”

Lilly titters about, her feet pressed together, rocking back and forth on the futon’s mattress. “Hey, merch sounds great! But first things first, right? You gotta build your superhero resume. Maybe start with rescuing kites from trees?”

Amidst their chatter, there’s a familiar tug in my chest, a pang of guilt. They’re envisioning this whole neighborhood superhero identity for me, not realizing I’ve already taken that leap. But how can I tell them? It’s a truth I’ve hidden for their safety.

I am so bad at lying to anyone that’s not my parents. I literally cannot hold this information inside of me. My body just rejects it.

I clear my throat, an involuntary gesture as the conversation presses in on me. My fingers dance together nervously, a performance of nerves. “Guys,” I begin, the sound coming out shaky, not the strong, confident voice I was hoping for, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something. I… I really do appreciate all your ideas, the time you’ve put into this. And it might be awkward to say this but… I kinda already have a superhero costume. And, uh, a name too. And a team. I’ve already been… scouted, I guess.”

The room’s atmosphere changes abruptly. The previous enthusiasm vanishes like a popped bubble, replaced with a stifling silence that feels like it’s pulling the air from my lungs. Their smiles dim, faces registering genuine shock and confusion, as if I had spoken in a different language.

Kate tilts her head, eyes squinting a little. Her voice drips with disbelief as she says, “Wait, seriously? You’re… you’re not joking?”

I swallow, nodding. I feel like I’m about to vomit. “Yeah, seriously. I’ve been… doing some minor stuff. You know, saving a few cats stuck in trees, cleaning up the occasional litter in the park.”

Marcus releases a short burst of laughter that spreads in waves throughout the room. “And here we were,” he says, leaning back, one hand gesturing to the computer screen, “spending the better part of an hour diving into ‘Mythological Ocean Deities’ on NexusNet. All for nothing?”

I scrunch up my nose, a smirk pulling at the corner of my lips. “I didn’t exactly want to ruin your detective spree. It was… endearing.”

Kate, leaning back on the futon, allows a genuine, heartwarming smile to curve her lips, her eyes softening. “You always had this in you, Sam. You’ve always had a superhero heart. I think you’re the best of us, really.”

“I object to that. It’s clearly Marcus.” Tasha says.

Kate kicks her gently in the head with the sole of her foot. “Don’t ruin the moment, weirdo.”

Warmth, like the comforting embrace of a blanket, envelops me. It’s an overwhelming sensation of being loved, of being seen. Yet beneath it is a prickling sense of melancholy, like being stabbed by a cactus. I wish I could let them in on everything, every single detail. But some doors have to remain shut to protect them. So instead, I respond with a smile of my own, a quiet one but deeply sincere. “Thanks, guys,” I murmur, my voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea how much it means to have you all by my side.”

Tasha, a glint of playful mischief in her eyes, gives my shoulder a gentle shove. “Well,” she drawls with a smirk, “having a superhero as a friend is definitely a boost to my cool factor. Can I brag about you in school?”

“No.” Marcus, Lilly, and Jenna all say at the same time, with various levels of indignation.

The momentary joy and light-heartedness of our conversation is slowly crushed under the weight of Kate’s far-off look. Her usually animated eyes drift away, as if she’s momentarily lost in another world. I watch as her fingers, in an act of pure subconsciousness, trace the contours of an old, faded movie stub she’s found amongst the clutter on the table.

“But Sam,” Kate ventures, her voice noticeably softer, almost hesitant. It feels like she’s treading on unfamiliar ground. The rest of us can sense it too, the sudden shift in her tone. “Have you ever… I mean, with all that you can do now, ever thought of…you know, playing in the bigger leagues?” There’s a slight catch in her voice, and for a second I wonder if she’s holding back tears. “Instead of just, you know, helping out cats stuck in trees or helping elderly people cross the street, maybe you could… I don’t know, take a jab at those loan sharks or those grimy slumlords? Get some real-life practice?”

The room goes silent, outside of a video quietly playing on Marcus’s laptop. I feel the ache of my arm, my thigh. The bullet wounds, healed into an off-white patch of scarred skin, suddenly blare back to life.

Tasha raises an eyebrow, her sharp gaze pinning Kate down. “Kate, that’s not even a consideration. She’s not turning into some vigilante, going around biting the fingers off every criminal she sees. Do you have any idea how dangerous and illegal that is? She could… get arrested! Go to jail! Among other things.”

Kate leans back, her eyes flashing defiantly. “I didn’t say she should start an underground fight club or something. I’m just saying… well, what if those bad guys had it coming?” Her voice holds an unmistakable sharpness lurking beneath.

Lilly’s eyes open up like a cat taking in sunlight. “Loan sharks? Wait, are we talking like, movie-type loan sharks? Those things are real?”

Marcus, who’d been quiet till now, fixes her with a piercing look, his face etched with seriousness. “Very real, Lilly. And they’re not just some comical bad guys you see on the silver screen. These people are the epitome of menace. They’re dangerous, and their actions have real-world consequences.”

“E-pit-toh-mee…” Lilly sounds out in her mouth, the word unfamiliar.

Jenna leans in, her voice dripping with concern. “Kate, are you alright? That was… abrupt.”

Cutting her off, Kate lets out a chuckle, maybe a touch too forceful to sound genuine. “Relax, everyone! I was just pulling your leg. Everyone knows loan sharks aren’t real – like Santa Claus, or the state of Wyoming.”

Jenna’s eyes go round as saucers. “Wait, Santa Claus isn’t real?”

“Oh dear,” Tasha mutters.

---

Mayfair in the early fall feels like rereading your favorite childhood book; familiar, comforting, with every street corner coated in some new, dim color. The dimming sky above lays down a blanket of warm oranges, purples, and fading blues, allowing the twilight to slowly kiss the streets. Rowhouses stand side by side, like guardians of old stories, their bricks glowing in the moonlight.

We step out of Kate’s cozy little first-floor apartment, its warmth lingering on our skin. The sound of the door, with its slightly creaky hinges, softly clicks shut, sealing us in the embrace of the upcoming night. Kate, with her strong but delicate fingers, pulls her worn jacket tighter around her, its fabric rustling softly, smelling faintly of a perfume I know she’s never worn in her life.

“Rita’s, anyone?” Marcus suggests, his voice light and teasing, attempting to shatter the growing heaviness in the air. Every word he utters forms a small puff of fog, painting his speech in ethereal white in the uncharacteristically cold evening. His old sneakers, with their frayed laces, make a rhythmic tap-tap against the sidewalk, almost like a heart beating steadily. “They have one week left open for the season and I have a coupon.”

Tasha rolls her eyes, a playful smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. “Oh, we’re getting crazy with the Rita’s today. Maybe we can cross the bridge to Camden and get a preroll from a dispensary, too. Since we’re going crazy.” she quips, trying unsuccessfully to draw a laugh from the crowd.

Lilly jumps in, her tone effervescent, seltzer-light. “Bet you ten bucks I can finish three Water ices before you guys even start your second!” The challenge lights up her eyes, making them seem even brighter.

Jenna laughs. “Lilly, remember the last time? You were clutching your head, swearing off Italian ice forever!”

“Water ice.” Lilly insistently corrects. “Nobody from around here calls it ‘Italian ice’, weirdo.”

Marcus ponders aloud. “I can’t decide… peach has that sweet tanginess, but blue raspberry is so refreshingly sharp.”

I nudge Marcus playfully, joining in. “And yet, you still haven’t given the mango a shot. What’s up with that?”

Marcus raises an eyebrow, “Maybe today’s the day?”

“Are there actually blue raspberries? Can we get them? Like, as a fruit?” Lilly asks.

“No. They’re a made up flavor. Sorry.” Tasha shoots her down. Lilly’s face contorts into an exaggerated grimace.

We meander through the streets, the dimming light casting our shadows long and wavering on the asphalt. Our group’s laughter and playful taunts punctuate the evening air, and the motley array of stores on Frankford Avenue extend before us, their lights shimmering and inviting. Among them, Rita’s bright and cheery signage stands out like a promise of sweet relief, about half, maybe a quarter mile away.

Jenna bumps her shoulder against mine, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Hey, Sam, what do you say we hit up Five Below after this and grab some more markers?”

I raise an eyebrow, feigning contemplation. “You mean like last time? When I woke up with clown makeup on in permanent marker? Yeah, hard pass.”

Jenna throws her hands up, affecting a dramatic gasp. “First of all, that was a masterpiece. And secondly, it was abstract art! It’s not my problem your middle school teachers couldn’t recognize a Rothko if it bit them in the face.”

“I don’t even recognize a Rothko,” I spit back, play-elbowing her.

Before Jenna can defend her artistic integrity, Tasha, clutching a paperback in her hand, turns to Marcus with an excited gleam. “Marcus, did you manage to snag a copy of ‘Echoes in the Abyss’?”

Pulling out his e-reader from his back pocket, Marcus nods with an enthusiastic grin. “Oh, absolutely. Started it last night and I was instantly hooked. By the way, that plot twist in chapter three? Absolute madness.”

Jenna leans over curiously, “You guys always have the best book recommendations. Mind if I jump on this bandwagon?”

Tasha smirks, “Only if you promise not to doodle in the margins of my books.”

Up ahead, Rita’s sign stands like a bright beacon, its neon lights promising sweet relief from the day’s residual heat.

Jenna grimaces, stuffing her hands into hand pockets. “Seriously? Why pay more when we can just get some Italian Ice from that deli on 5th? I swear it tastes just as good, if not better.”

Lilly huffs, her face animated with mock exasperation. “Jenna, for the last time, it’s Water Ice! And Rita’s is a Philadelphian tradition. They don’t have these in New Mexico!” She throws her hands up, her enthusiasm palpable, as if defending a sacred tradition.

Tasha giggles softly and nudges both of them, one after the other. “Okay, okay, drama queens. Can we compromise and call it flavored ice crystals?”

Kate tilts her head, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Isn’t that basically… snow?”

Pulling a face, I chime in, “Well, yeah, but only if you decide to pee on it first.” The words escape before I can reel them back in.

Kate wrinkles her nose in feigned disgust. “Gross!” She playfully jabs me in the ribs, forcing out a puff of air.

Still laughing, I rub my side. “Call it what you want, but I’m all about that custard,” I muse, recalling the last time I savored its rich, velvety texture.

Kate wraps an arm around my shoulder, feigning an elitist accent. “Oh, la-di-da! Mrs. Custard over here. Why don’t you just call it what it is? Ice cream. Ice cream for rich people.”

From behind us, Tasha pushes her glasses up her nose, the moonlight gleaming off the lenses. “Well, if we’re getting technical,” she pauses for dramatic effect, pointing with flourish towards Rita’s cheerful, bright-colored establishment that had been the talk of our evening, “it does clearly advertise itself as ‘Rita’s Water Ice’. In the logo. Just pointing out the obvious.” She ends with a smirk, clearly reveling in the little ‘I told you so’ moment.

Marcus, trying to add fuel to the fire, turns his full attention to Kate. “There’s a difference between custard and ice cream, Kate,” he teases, nudging her side.

Kate, her cheeks slightly flushed, rolls her eyes. “They’re the same thing!” She repeats, indignantly, pushing her hair back and puffing out a breath, emphasizing her point with her hands. “Creamy, cold, sweet. Made of milk. What’s not the same?”

With a bemused smile, Tasha fires the finishing volley. “You see,” she begins, using her hands to gesticulate her points, “ice cream is churned with milk, cream, and some sweeteners. It’s like… the everyday dessert.” Pausing to let this sink in, she continues, “On the other hand, frozen custard, while having the same base ingredients, includes egg yolks. This gives it that velvety, richer consistency.”

“So it’s rich people ice cream! I was right!” Kate shouts, drawing a couple of looks. I tousle her hair.

“Yes, Kate, you are so correct. It’s rich people ice cream. And it’s delicious.” I tell her. “You can even have some, if you want.”

Kate puffs her cheeks up and refuses to answer, jerking her body away.

Jenna, scratching her head, looks over at me with genuine curiosity. “Is that kosher, Sam? Like, are you allowed to eat egg yolks mixed with dairy?”

“I don’t keep kosher, Jenna,” I remind her, feigning annoyance as I pick up a small pebble and flick it playfully at her head. “Besides, eggs aren’t meat.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kate confidently stepping up, the leader in our motley crew. I remember her dad handing her some money before we left, a handful of crumpled fives and ones and a couple of coins. “Alright, what’s everyone having?” Kate questions, her gaze passing over each of us as she takes a mental tally.

Lilly and Jenna both get cherry water ice, as I expected them, ultimately, to do so – they get the same thing every time, and then subsequently accuse each other of copycatting. Marcus, in spite of his earlier comments about trying something new, opts for blue raspberry, while Tasha decides to get a chocolate custard, winking at me as she does. Kate surprises us all by picking green apple, a flavor I’ve never seen her choose before.

I approach the counter, already knowing my order. “Vanilla custard for me, please. With Reeses on it. If that’s okay, Kate?” I ask, turning towards her for permission for the fifty cent additive.

She counts coins in her hands, and then gives me a thumbs up.

---

Kate’s father has graciously taken Kate’s bedroom for the night, allowing us to have the much more substantially sized couch futon to cram all six of us onto. Inevitably, this will result in a big sleeping pile, but that’s a problem for future me. The moon rises and the sun lowers, and the conversations turn to boys (and in Marcus’s case, girls), how everyone is doing at their new schools for their first weeks, and, then, a safety pin.

The light’s off. Phone flashlights are all on me.

Marcus, glasses reflecting the dim overhead light, clears his throat. “I mean, you’re not the first superhuman with a healing factor. But I’ve never, like, gone out of my way to watch any videos of it or anything. I don’t think I could stomach it.”

Lilly, trying to angle for a better view, hops onto the armrest of a faded couch, her fingers tapping a quick rhythm on the cushion beside her. “This is so cool! Do you think if we video this, it’ll go viral?”

“That’s not a good idea,” Tasha warns, the tone in her voice serious but her eyes gleaming with interest. “We can’t risk exposing Sam like that.”

“I agree,” I chime in, “My parents would kill me if they found out. Also, this is kind of gross. I only think weirdoes would want a video of this.”

Kate reaches into the pocket of her worn-out jeans, pulling out a small zippo lighter with a triumphant grin. The flicker of the flame mesmerizes us for a split second. “You think you’re ready?”

Marcus tilts his head, brow furrowed in concern. “Are you sure this is safe?”

“It’s just a pinprick,” I reassure him. I’m more excited than worried, but I’m careful not to let it show too much. The adrenaline coursing through my veins is familiar, addictive.

As Kate sterilizes the safety pin with the Zippo’s flame and then some rubbing alcohol, Jenna leans closer, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Is it going to hurt?”

Kate shrugs at the same time as I say “Yes.”

The moment the safety pin’s tip pierces my finger, going in no more than a millimeter or two, there’s a collective gasp from the group. Lilly squirms, covering her face with her hands, peeking through her fingers. I wipe with a rubbing alcohol wet-wipe, fully prepared to recoil from a sting that never comes. Instead, the single droplet of blood is wiped away, revealing a barely noticiable dot of white that quickly vanishes into my skin.

“Okay, that was amazing,” Marcus breathes out, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

Tasha tilts her head, lips quirking into a smirk. “That was it? I couldn’t see anything.” Kate, without a word, disappears into her room for a moment and returns with a box cutter. Tasha’s forehead breaks out into a sweat. “I absolutely, positively, did not mean to get a razor blade.”

“It’s for boxes,” Kate insists, her voice shaking a little bit. She rolls her sleeves up, revealing smooth, pale skin. “Promise.”

“We need to be careful,” Tasha says, leaning forward with authority. “There’s skin, and it’s really thin, and then it’s going to look like styrofoam. If it looks like baked beans, you went too far, and I will call 911.”

“Please do not do that.” Kate exhales breathlessly.

“Styrofoam and beans?” Lilly asks, puzzled.

“Where do you even learn this?” Jenna asks, her face crisscrossed by fabricated wrinkles from scrunching her expression up.

Tasha waves her off. “Medical shows. Not the point. We just need to be shallow. Don’t go too deep.”

I nod in agreement, my heart rate skyrocketing as Kate carefully disinfects the blade with the same procedure as before. First, fire, applied to the razor, followed by letting it sit in a fresh bowl of rubbing alcohol. We set a timer for five minutes.

The air is dead silent. There’s not even a video playing this time.

When the time comes, I grab the re-set box cutter. “I’m gonna do it this time. I know how thick my own skin is.”

Kate raises both of her hands up. “Suit yourself. Do your shoulder or upper arm, though, in case it leaves a mark. I do not need your parents yelling at me for you getting visibly injured again.”

“That was one time!” I protest.

Kate’s eyes narrow at me.

I sigh and hold the box cutter up to my upper arm, sleeves rolled up. Tasha’s eyes are wide behind her glasses and she’s leaning in, while Marcus watches with his face as pale as someone of his complexion can get. Lilly and Jenna are both holding each other, covering each other’s face.

Kate smiles at me. I don’t know how to interpret it.

There’s no sound. Knives don’t make a noise when they cut flesh.

I don’t press very hard.

A small, whitish sliver opens up in my skin. It quickly fills with blood. I wipe it away with another alcohol wipe, and this time, I feel the sting, sucking air between my sharp teeth.

“Oh my god,” Tasha whispers, entranced at the sight of my skin visibly trying to stretch itself back into shape, like a memory foam mattress that someone just got up from.

“Whoa,” Marcus quietly mumbles, as each side of the cut makes contact with the other, starting from the tip and tail. The blood flows, but only for a couple of seconds.

“Metal.” Kate says, before quietly taking down the rest of her can of Diet Coke. “Totally metal,” she repeats, and one more wipe gets rid of the blood. What’s left is just white, barely even a scratch, slowly sealing itself up. It looks like one of those time-lapse photos of a plant growing.

“Is it over yet?” Jenna asks, her face buried in Lilly’s shoulder, and vice versa.

I pop out the box cutter blade and put it back in the bowl of disinfectant. I hand the box cutter back to Kate. My arm burns and itches, but really, it was just a sensation of tearing, that I felt more in my hand doing the cutting than I did on my skin. I show off my upper arm, which has totally closed itself back up into a thin white line. “Yeah. We’re good. I am satisfied knowing that I am now immune to being attacked by cats.”

---

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