Becoming Hero (WITH COMICS Edition!)

By Jen Finelli

SKYE is the storm-tossed comic character out for revenge on the author who murdered his family. JACE 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jen Finelli
• Release date: Aug 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9780999002254

Jen Finelli

Jen Finelli is a world-traveling award-nominated scifi author who's ridden a motorcycle in a monsoon, escaped being locked in a German nunnery by the sea, discovered beautiful murals and poetry in underground urban caves, explored jungles and coral deserts, and hung out with everyone from dead babies and prostitutes to secretive Senators. She longs for stories that speak truth about the human condition and shine lights on people often hidden in the shadows of modern fiction. She’s a practicing MD, but when she grows up, she’ll be a superhero. Hit her up before the conference on Twitter @petr3pan, and maybe she'll bring you some free stuff! If you want cancer-fighting zombie fiction, dinosaur picture books, scientists jumping into volcanoes, or talking cars and peyote, you might like Jen's stuff. Preview it at: byjenfinelli.com Check out her upcoming movie: mysweetaffair.com

Book preview

JACE

For me, the beginning starts the first time I opened a comic book and knew I had to have that, be that, get in that, somehow. But for you, it starts the first day I met Caleb.

The day ten guys with knives chased me down a shadowed street. My skinny legs burned; my lungs wheezed as sweat popped across my forehead. Bitter voices shouted curses about my dad. Crap, so who—? My head turned for a better look—

Bad move. My grey sneakers skidded across the pavement. I tried to catch my balance—my knee impacted the unfinished, gravel-strewn sidewalk—I rolled over, scrambling on my butt as my fastest attacker stumbled into me. His creepy gangsta-fied Looney-tunes t-shirt loomed over me as my attacker fell, suffocating me with Bugs Bunny's cotton smirk. I imagined the cartoon rabbit twirling that bling around his finger: What's up, doc? You thought you could outrun us? I gagged as a hand landed on my neck.

Hey Jerome, I choked at the one person I recognized: my pissed-off classmate standing a few feet behind the massive human on my threat. Who's the Colossus?

Colossus didn't take the compliment. Jerome don't answer to you. He answers to me. He lifted me by the throat like Vader. Wonderful, always wanted to have something in common with Captain Antilles. And he told me who your Daddy is.

Hahaha, well, you sure you believe Jerome? I normally avoid the sass—sass is a one-way ticket to the ‘ville where they serve your butt and only your butt on a shiny silver platter—but I had to talk them away from my dad, and if it meant a whupping from Jerome tomorrow that was a whole lot better than a stabbing from his boss today. You know Jerome's lied to you about how much product he pushes at school, right? Is that what they called it? Product?

No he hasn't.

Okay, but he's lying about my dad. I don't even have one of those. What's a dad, even?

You trying to get smart with me? The grip of the Colossus tightened on my neck, and my eyes bulged with the oh-gosh-where-the-air-at—note to self, Grip of the Colossus sounds like a sweet book title.

No, I really don't know what a father is, I wheezed. Mine's too busy to play that game.

I'm not your shrink, boy, Colossus smirked. Could be your surgeon if you want, though. He drew his knife. From the looks of him, he was the only one whose mamma told him not to run with sharp pointy things—everyone else had theirs out already. We're gonna write a lil message to your old man, and you get to be the postcard.

Well crap.

I bit down to hold my mouth shut. The writing was on the wall—and soon to be on my skin—so if this had to happen, I wouldn't make it fun for them. Please don't whine, please don't cry, don't say any freaking thing...

You got anything else to share, smart guy?

Nope. Nothing. Silence was my weapon. I pursed my lips and ground my teeth as they held me down, and all I could think about was Jerome, this guy standing right here, blade over my arm, like—this guy was in my class! We grew up in the same neighborhood, almost the same street, so like what chain of events ended with him becoming that guy and me becoming this guy, at opposite ends of the knife?

The first blade nicked my forearm.

I managed not to scream.

Enter the hurricane.

It wasn't much of a meeting, actually. More a series of bone-crushing splinter sounds and screams as I watched in HD clarity while a ripped Asian-looking kid tore Bugs Bunny off me and hurled him into the others. Colossus never had a chance to get back up. The new kid pounced, Batman backpack swinging on his shoulders with the intensity of his punches. He whirled to take out two or three sets of knees behind him with one nasty roundhouse kick, and leapt like a bolt of lightning from person to person, jerking someone's joints the wrong way each time he left them.

Welp.

Colossus' wallet peeped out of his back pocket. ID is the key, Dad would say in his corny way. He wasn't wrong. I scrambled forward, yanked out the wallet, and dashed back, pocketing the leather bulge with my heart pounding and my breath held. I knew I looked as suspicious as a four-year-old alone in a candy aisle, but thankfully no one cared about me...me and my pocket full o’ justice.

The stranger cleaned up. Knives zinged through the air to clang against the nearest telephone pole, all missing the hurricane. The scent of urine stung the air—someone had pissed his pants. Someone else screamed a threat—back-pack dude interrupted with a foot in the face.

When I blinked, we were alone.

New guy stood over me hand outstretched, reeking of banana peels and park benches.

Hey, he said, yanking me to my feet. I'm Caleb.

Hey Caleb. I'm Jace.

Jace, like Jason?

Yeah, but spelled like the son in the Expanded StarWars Universe, not like the second Robin.

He was the first person I'd met outside of the comics shop who got the reference. The son of a rogue, instead of the rogue son. His wicked grin softened. You okay? He glanced down at my forearm.

I looked, and regretted it. I didn't think I was frightened by blood. It wasn't much—just a scratch, just—just—dizziness swept my forehead and my whole body felt weak because holy crap they almost flayed me because of Dad they almost—! I opened my mouth to say nothing.

Is that a no? he asked.

I swallowed. I. Wouldn't. Make. It. Fun. For. Them. If I wasn't scared, they couldn't scare my dad, and they lost.

But I wanted them to scare Dad! I wanted to get out of here! Of this stupid neighborhood, and this stupid high school where my stupid teacher who I trusted let slip in class that I even had a dad, and stupid Jerome, and stupid everyone who said I wasn't Black enough because I was a nerd, as if the math in my brain somehow released neurotoxins that killed my melanocytes because that made sense—oh wait, no, it didn't! It really didn't!

I'm fine. It's just a scratch. I broke my gaze away from it to look Caleb in the face, noticing now the industrial bar piercing his right ear. Are you hungry? Because after that I could eat a bookshelf.

Yeah—uh, yeah, I haven't eaten in a while. His face colored a little: he meant a very long while. He wasn't from around here, and he wasn't dressed well enough to be a lost tourist—not that we got tourists around here on the regs, but hey—so I pegged him as a runaway right away. From where, I wondered?

Why a bookshelf? he asked.

I like books. I shrugged, and pulled my hoodie up against his inquiring stare and against the frigid wind tickling my hot cheeks. Come on. I'll—I have stuff at home.

And that's how I chose to bring a violent stranger into my house.

JACE

My breathing slowed, and the chill began to evaporate my sweat as we passed dingy brush littered with trash, and dead bushes crowded against the alleyway walls, and the yellowing grass that clung to the cracks in the whitish half-paved gravel...we turned onto another street, past the big abandoned red brick building on the corner, and for a second I didn't hate West Baltimore.

I always don't hate West Baltimore when I pass red brick. There's a lot of that here: the big factory-looking thing, with its lone chimney jutting into the grey sky like a bold unmoving middle finger thrown up against all the struggle and change and turmoil; the rows of brick apartments huddled side by side like tall, thin soldiers, shoulder to shoulder against the cold, some of them rounded with feminine bulges, towers and buttresses, powerful women in a protest line holding together their neighborhood...all old, old buildings. Sometimes a new mural will go up, or street art that actually means something. That day a black phoenix rose against one of the grey-walled buildings, framed in purple fire.

We'd almost reached my dad's apartment when we passed a different strain of graffiti. This tag was about cops, and my shoulders sagged.

I caught Caleb watching my reactions.

What? he and I asked at the same time.

He laughed. I sighed.

You got opinions about that, he nodded back towards the angry wall-scars. Mind if I ask what they are?

Man, I don't even know, I said. "My first day out in driving class I got a DWB, with my teacher in the car, with the car marked Student, and they still made us get out while they patted us down and yelled at me and searched the seats because I 'fit a description.' That guy you just whupped, Jerome? His older brother was shot by police who broke into the wrong apartment for a bust. I paused, wondering if I should really tell Caleb why Jerome hated me. Caleb waited, listening so intently, so openly, I kinda had to: My dad's a police officer," I said.

Ah. So you're caught in the crossfire.

There's no crossfire. I'm minding my own business. I sealed my lips, and he minded his own, too.

My dad and I lived in one of the grey buildings, not a red brick one. Mottled grey exterior, greying warped beige stairs, and grey stained carpeting that scratched like sandpaper against the splintering bottom of our apartment door as I opened it. The mildew even smelled grey.

I like your couch, Caleb said right away.

It wasn't grey. I looked at him, and back at the orange and yellow plaid ratty sofa that held so many memories of my Mom, and I smiled.

Yeah, it's ugly, isn't it? I smiled. A superhero team in my favorite comic has the same one.

Yeah, uh...I like comics, too. But he didn't elaborate. He just stood there, staring at the couch.

Awkward.

Hey, uh—lemme grab—food—stuff. I ran to the kitchen. It was so small I could literally put both hands on the walls without straightening my elbows, and so yellow Dad and I called it Twinkieland. (It was supposed to be white.) I snatched the off-brand not-Oreos off the counter, wrapped my arm around two glasses, and yanked the milk jug out of the fridge.

Back in the main room I found Caleb sitting at the dinner table in the corner, scribbling...with my math book in front of him.

Oh crap!

Whoa, that's not, it's, hey! I almost dropped the milk on the floor in my rush to stop him. My math level was my third-most closely guarded secret, after my dad's job, and now I'd given away number two and three in one day! I knew I shouldn't care, but come on. Other guys at school took it like a personal offense that I dared to be smarter, or study harder, or whatever it was I did. If they were nice, they treated me with pity, like I had to have some kind of horrible social deficit to make up for it. Poor naïve Jace, I bet his mom ties his shoes...My school didn't even offer calculus, so I had to take an independent study period for a correspondence course with the local college just to keep progressing, and I made sure everyone thought I was goofing off.

I tried to apologize for it. Hey, Caleb, that's not really, you know, that's...

Caleb slid a sheet of loose leaf across the table.

He'd done my homework.

Hey! Hey, a nerd like me!

Yeah, there's somethin' calming about Calc, right? he said it with a capital C when he said it. Like it's the key to another reality or somethin'.

I chose my words carefully, with a little smile. Well, technically relationships between all matter run on...differentials of various functions, you know? Math's the underpinning of the way the world works. It's the essence and the truth of things.

Or it's our way of describing it, and the world doesn't work on anything. A dark glare glittered under the hair falling over his face as he looked away from me.

I swallowed and looked away from him to pour a glass of milk. I felt shut down. Man, who was this guy? Weirdo, liking my couch, and beating up my classmate, and doing my math homework—crap, this guy just took out like ten people in front of me. He could probably kill me with this glass like the Joker in that Frank Miller Dark Knight Returns.

Hey, I have to study, I said, trying to indicate that stranger-meet-and-greet was over. Whole bunch of problems sets I have to finish. So...

Caleb flipped like a coin. The glare never existed: now he grinned like a little boy freshly declaring war on the girls' treehouse. Race you, he said with twinkling eyes. See who can finish your problem sets first. If I win, you gotta tell me why you stole that guy's wallet.

No man, maybe some other time, I really need to concentrate and stuff, it's been cool, but—all the words that could've come out of my mouth milled around somewhere between my brain and my sinuses. Look at this guy, just so happy about my homework. How could anyone say no to that?

Then again, I'd learned the hard way to play it safe.

Man, but look at this guy's torn jeans and stuff—torn because he'd worn them too long, not because he bought them that way—and the mud on the Batman backpack he still hadn't taken off, and the bruise forming over his cheekbone, I mean, who knew what this dude's life was like? He probably had a reason for feeling like the world didn't work on logic. And now I was gonna push him out?

I couldn't imagine God smiling on that.

Sure, I said.

So that's how I chose to befriend the violent stranger. Caleb cracked jokes every ten minutes or so at first, but after about an hour only the intense fluttering of paper or the occasional curse over a mistake marked his presence. I didn't say much, and I didn't make mistakes. I'd never met someone like Caleb; math was part of his identity, like it was mine, our mental martial arts—a way to master chaos with logic.

Solving simple differentials became solving substitution equations, which became volume functions, which became paging through the textbook for harder challenges, and the fricker finished before me every time. He made basic mistakes, though, like forgetting to add a C after an integration, or swapping out a minus for a plus because he couldn't read his own terrible handwriting. (That crap wasn't just chicken-scratch, it was velociraptor footprints faded in the sands of time!) I didn’t make mistakes. I teased him about his carelessness, and he teased me about my twelve second lag, and in that teasing we drank through three hours, two gallons of milk, and a packet and a half of not-Oreos. Evening found us sitting on the couch, buried in paper. Colossus' wallet sat long-forgotten on the table.

...Really? I asked. "No one's ever told you you look like a comic book character."

I think that's just you being racist, he laughed. All Asians don't look alike.

Oh, shut up, see, now I don't believe you read comics, I punched him. You gotta know who I'm talking about.

I mean, it's been a while...

Hold that thought. I stood up. I'll be right back.

SKYE

DymensiaComics Issue 34: Crab Attack

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A cry rose from under the shadow of the machine, a cry that grew into a roar. A young girl in iridescent green spread her hands above her head, thin black braids flying around her face like a mane as sound streamed from her hands, shoving back against the falling crab.

The broken ship flew back up towards Skye; the heat of its burning engine seared past his face with a blast of rubber-smell. He tumbled head over heels for the girl, out of the way, and when he righted himself—puff!—he caught the ship on a blast of wind, to land it on the roof of a nearby skyscraper.

It screeched and sparked as it slid to a stop. He landed next to it, bending over with his hands on his knees as he panted. Oh man, that was close. So close. And look at that girl, all herding civilians down into the subway to hide—she knew how to take control! Wow.

She looked over her shoulder: eyes like lasers focused back at him.

Uh-oh.

Skye waved as the girl threw her fists to the ground and rocketed up at him on Newton's Third Law of Motion. Uh, hey, thanks! he said.

You're welcome. If you weren't tossing one-liners at a metal hunk that can't hear you maybe you'd pay more attention to the people below. Her dark green mask furrowed with her brow.

Ouch, I'll keep that in mind, Skye grinned. Where've you been this whole time?

Cleaning up, she said, landing atop another spaceship and shoving her fist through it before rocketing away into the clouds.

That's cool, Skye said, flicking electricity from his fingers behind him to knock another crab-ship out of the sky. I'll just be breaking things up here in my corner of the sky. If you need me. Or whatever...

He bit his lip as she dove for the street, firing sonic blasts around her that rocked the clouds. She couldn't fly, but she didn't need to: the thunder power from her fists let her leap buildings in a single bound. Man, she wouldn't need him ever.

Still, a happy shiver ran up Skye's spine. His body went on crab-fighting autopilot, but his mind melted in squirmy, excited awe. Living Thunder, wow! You didn't see that every day. Better do a good job—not because she might see, but because he really oughta be something worth seeing! Tzip, no more crab here. Zap-pow, no more crab there. Move this car full of doctors out of the way of that laser, check.

He waited for an opening. An audition. Sweat beaded on his forehead with the drizzling rain, his muscles hot and skin cold, his suit tightening around him as it squeezed power out of his nervous system. He fought harder, smarter, in the zone as Carl's instructions became his own thoughts, and he heard Butterfly's diplomacy break down, and superheroes from all over the world flew in to help the battle. Skye didn't try to show off or show them up. He wanted to sync with her, to see if his powers could complement hers, if they could dance together. Like that time Robotman threw him into the bad guy's power generator to blow it up, or that move he and Butterfly did where they held hands and spun through the air like a sparking human throwing star. The Guardians' combos made superhero history, with headlines that made villains change their names.

Also, Skye did kinda wanna show this thunder girl he wasn't an idiot who just went around dropping spaceships on people.

Towards the end of the battle he got his chance. She was wrestling three crabs, throwing them into each other, snarling as her hands vibrated and sound shook the world—

One crab aimed a claw at her from behind.

Skye fired his lightning at the same time as the crab's laser went off; the beams impacted each other and fizzled, deflecting a small energy field just past Thunder. Boom, physics saves lives! Skye whooped. Waves in phase cancel each other out and angles rearrange and stuff!

Not terribly technical, are you. Thunder whirled, punching her sound beam over Skye's shoulder. He turned—whoa, crab sneaking up on him, too. It plummeted to the empty street.

Well, you rock, you and your sound-clap. Skye clapped his own hands together; a hiss of lightning knocked out another ship. You know, it's funny, but with your thunder, and my lightning—

Are you setting me up for a pick-up line? Right now? Really? She twirled in dizzying circles around him, dodging a new pack of claws.

A distant explosion threw the crabs out of control. They began to careen around wildly without direction: Carl, any idea what's going on? Skye asked.

Robotman didn't answer.

Carl? You okay?

It's cool, 'mano, no worries, just a little busy right now—focus!

Ka-whooooosh! It was like getting slapped upside the head by the atmosphere as another explosion knocked both teen superheroes spinning across the sky like footballs and past Skye's vision tumbled sky, ground, sky, ground, sky, ground, horizon, street, clouds, street, building side—

Building side! Skye shoved his boots towards the offices of Clint and Harper and shot a wind-blast to stop his collision. No crashy, no crashy…!

He stabilized, panting, his heartbeat so fast and hard in his chest he could feel it rattling in his collarbone. Thunder careened past him. Oh crap! She plummeted, firing sonic power everywhere in an effort to slow her fall. She couldn't aim, couldn't stop—her overpowered sound blast was a weapon, not transportation, and spinning like the Human Boomerang she couldn't get the precision to reverse herself. She only bounced herself off buildings on the way down. Skye zipped towards her, shoulders low as he skated on the drafts. He dashed around falling wreckage—he tightened his body like an arrow—he shot towards her, reached—

Her body collided with his. He wrapped his arms around her, spinning backwards a bit with the force, and dashed back up into the air.

I'm okay, thanks, I'm okay, she grumbled, pushing back on his chest.

He landed atop a fancy glass office building and let her go, stepping back with both hands raised. I know, you're good. But it's only fair. You save my butt, I save yours.

You're gonna leave my butt alone, that's what—

Movement in the periphery! They both raised a fist to the side—a crab-ship collided with their wall of sparks and sound.

Skye grinned. The girl's dimple twitched a little.

You gotta admit that was cool, he said.

Aaaand now you're letting it fall onto the street again.

Naw, there's no one down there. All clear. And all really was clear over the city now as the remaining crabs sat on the ground melting into clear puddles. Skye waved his arm across the brightening sky with a great flourish, ending in a bow. "Congratulations, Thunder, you just fended off the first wave of the Crustacean invasion. The Crustvasion?" He glanced up from his bow, eyes twinkling.

No thanks, I'm not a punny person, she scowled. But her eyes shone with merriment through that military-green half-mask. It encouraged Skye—up close he understood why she thought he was hitting on her. Dude, that probably happened a lot! High cheekbones and a prominent forehead created power in her face, a strength balanced by graceful full lips, a wide, gentle nose, and a sweet, feminine little chin. She couldn't be much older than he was, but she wore her shoulders back and her chest forward like a grown woman, like a movie star, he thought. Does your secret identity model? Skye asked.

Boy, you are trying too hard, she said.

"I'm not trying at all! I don't have